"shankar" poems
The Saga of battle face off between Arjuna & Karna.
Karna gets the Naga ashtra from the Lord Brahma.
The Naga ashtra arrow is set to hit the target without miss.
Arjun Chariot is Guided by Lord Krishna.
Arjun & Karna face to battle for the survival for the supremacy
Battle of best in the Kurukshetra between karna & Arjun
Arjun is know as the Best in the Bow.
But while the situation is different with karna with Naga Ashtra arrow.
Force of Arrow from bow making huge noise of impact in the wind.
With every arrow from bow of both are hitting in the mid air & collapsing
Karna lefts the Arrow of Naga ashtra & prays the Slogan to be effective
Arjun no answer to the arrow of Naga
Keeps quite & focus towards Lord Krishna
Lord krishna smiling replies to bow
Arjuna replies with angry Iam an Hero & can face with my Bow.
Karna with Big laughter speeds the Arrow of Naga towards Arjun.
The Naga Ashtra is a Destruction weapon in the world.
Naga Ashtra targets the Head of the Arjuna
Lord Krishna pushes the chariot by his thumb towards down earth
Arrow of Naga is straight towards Arjuna Head.
Lord Krishna Commands to bow the head down
Arjuna does so the arrow is supposed to hit the head with out miss.
Arrow is will not stop without hitting head.
Karana is eager to celebrate the Victory of best in Kurushetra
Lord Krishna hears the sound of hitting head
& Turns to see the What happened?
Lord Krishna says yes the arrow hit the head
Arjuna replies Lord Iam safe
According to Shastra Naga Ashtra hit the Head of Chariot
Karana will not able to reuse the Ashtra of Naga
as it has hit the Head of Chariot.
By this Arjuna Leaps wider angle to arrow the Bow
& the Bow lands on Karana chest.
The Battle of Big is won by Arjun in the period of Kurushetra.
Yours
Shankar Pattabi
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
Shankar smiled as the waves crashed
To the drop of the bass we were
Alive and breathing subconsciously
Losing all air to the cry of peculiar felines
And there existed a flittering longing
Once common perception returned.
My hair was threaded gold
Beneath your fingertips.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys:
She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank,
Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it.
In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse
We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon,
Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men.
Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile,
Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank.
I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my prick.
With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs
I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper!
We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle
Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks
While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits.
Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them.
Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself
And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies.
We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph
Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds,
Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts
Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers
That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles.
Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”.
In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze,
I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier,
Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls.
“You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped.
The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board.
Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
"FARE-WELL"
sometimes, is not sensed,
but, stirs like a silent wound
goes on vibrating like the string of "SITAR"*.
**********************
SUN is a naughty gardener
can chat with the dumb bough
can hum the hue of emotions
SUN is a musical dialogue of flowers .
*********************
FARE-WELL
it is always a PAIN
waves becoming static
flowers falling down
sitar hugging silence
it is always a PAIN
********************
pain transforms into a sweet history
yes, to me , a sweet memory
i too like an unknown shell
on the same shore of time
have been breathing his music.
*******************
HE is not HE, now on
an essence of "RAGA"**
silence is the space in sound
that took birth in his blood
is sinking in our blood
*****************
his sitar is the divine mystic piece
his music is the definition of purity of life
HE is a flowing memory
HE is the peacock feather
that i preserved in my c.d. folder !!
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
while you were sleeping,
stars stepped out to dance,
trees whistled a tune with the wind,
river shimmered a firefly glow,
sheet of grass blades spread cool,
street mongrels howled a love ballad,
cat clawed a tune on the guitar,
the late Ravi Shankar plucked
divine on his ghostly sitar...
while you were sleeping,
world made a blanket of clouds,
crown of a dozen sunflowers
ii
while you were sleeping
I delved out of this dream
and finally opened my eyes,
saw illusions on angel wings,
mermaids celestially sing of
beauty's imprisoning knots,
dazed world of impossibilities,
eternal bewitchment, disparities,
all afire in new unbiased light,
it is the puzzle that binds you,
not its swab drab culmination,
a loop threading in forever land,
iii
while you were sleeping
I fled the valley, the valley
of hatred, fear, the blind,
while you were sleeping
while you were sleeping
while you were sleeping
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 8:41 AM UTC
Freshly bathed & shivering
in the cool weak sunlight
of the early morning
the boy returns
to his bed,
the quiet young couple
who sleep gently nearby,
prepare their first
sweet smoke
of the morning
as a string is drawn
back & forth inside
the chillum pipe
to clean it,
& then the hashish is warmed
so as to soften it before
it's crumbled & mixed
with the tobacco from
a broken cigarette
kneaded in the
palm of the hand,
a small stone is placed inside
to anchor the mix yet
leave room for air
to flow & then
a damp rag is
wrapped around
the narrow end
to cool the smoke,
the woman holds the pipe
quite intricately it seems
to you at first but it's just
to create a space
so as to draw the
mix deep into
her lungs,
"Bom Siva Shankar"
intones the man as
she places her mouth
upon the joined hands
and draws that first
fiery draught
of purest black
Afghani hashish.
The chillum circulates
& the day has begun
as the youth of a
rejected Western World
envelop themselves
in the smell of dung
fires, incense, &
the Krishna chant
from the small
idol at the
corner
nearby.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 4:30 PM UTC
I
Big and Black and
filthy after
his bath in the sand.
The giant best
free from collar
rid of all command.
His mahout speaks
a foreign tongue
of broken antiques.
Shankar Ravi
my newest friend
one of nature’s freaks.
II
Healthy fodder, all
branches and leaves, won’t
eat at any cost.
Peanuts and
bananas,
devoted to those.
Deep ends of
winter lakes
until his ***** froze.
Crazy giant, son
of the wild, father
to a herd long lost.
III
How and when did
you and I grow
so close, so soon?
Splashing away
simmering days,
beneath the stars
studying the moon.
‘Here have all these
bananas and
peanuts that I
saved for this day!’
Wretched fate that
put you in chains,
plays its part to
take you away.
One final bath
in the sand to
bid us farewell
in our own ways.
I hope you find
a herd in the
wild to make up
for the lost days.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 11:23 AM UTC
(+) vibrations buzzzzzzzz
lifting
mouths & spirits
r ning
d ow
out the (-)
i n g
matriculating curves t w i s t
quickly churning
bending like w
a
t
e
r
in a whirlpool
with/ou t grrrravity
as we sail on the stream of consciousness
to another realm
inside ourselves
on our rainbow brain boat visiting
tye-dye twilight night skies
giggling wind PLAYING with
our hair beginning to laugh
like cats after discovering chicken it the fridge.
We sing Hendrix
Joplin
Morrison
Floyd
Lennon
and Shankar
all the way to the shore
of the island.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
canadian geese honking overhead
ravi shankar in my head
pandora's box
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC