Tag: grief

Soaked in Pain

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, Poetry1 Comment
One of the photos I took of him in a secret meeting in April, the last time I saw him
Untitled
by S. Nithish
The Beatles needed each other.
I need all of you together.
Nithish can only take you to the door,
but you have to open it.

*         *         *          *     

Soaked in pain, guilt.
Let alone in the dark.
Can’t find a ladder.
I hit rock bottom
and sink even deeper,
laying for the lies that built the world.
Where do I find a cure for this virus?

We stepped on a bubblegum.
Will stick for life.
Can I be forgived for being myself?
Now I see how people turn evil and bad.
Is it the society or the world or both?

I could almost call myself a homeless dog,
but even the dog is happier than me.
I saw a kid who can’t speak properly,
but even he is happier than me.

The worst part about life for me
is that I can’t go live with my daddy, [1]
and I’m afraid that I can’t forgive myself
till the end of time
if I don’t go live with him.

Ever minute of my life spikes of sorrow and guilt.
Poke me on the inside and the outside
it’s been very long time since I’ve got wet
in the rain of love and joy. [2]

Darkness on the corner and light on top of the mountain,
it’s easy to run but can’t hide
from the radiation of the bed I sleep in,
the hole that I’m falling.
The mud is soft but the hole is deep,
and I’ve gone blind.
I can’t see the world or feel the world
of what it was.

I’ve never wanted to go to North Korea. [3]
All I had to do was follow the damn train, [4]
and I am warmed by his smile
cause I’m the one who has his mouth stitched.
Who am I?
Why are we both chained to the pain of the world
and suffer from this poison
and keep drowning in the bottom?

Where is the divine?
Is it a rock?
Everybody thinks that I’m evil, bad, greedy, selfish.
The one who really love me
will really ever know me.

Where is my mother? [5]
I don’t see her.
Why aren’t you coming to the rescue?
This is the story of the universe.
Why aren’t you introducing the twist of my motive?
My story is not filmed by IMAX.
It is filmed by the divine, the universe.

What sin have I done
and pay so much
and put me in debt?
Look into my eyes.
See and feel the pain, guilt
that is untouched by you.
  • [1] Me, what he calls me
  • [2] He lives under almost total control so that he will not make contact with me in any form and so that he will make passing marks in school, and that control entails being called names, being beaten and slapped. In his entire school career, and he’s now in 9th standard, he’s never been able to pass all of his exams. He has learning disabilities, mild dyslexia and severe dyscalculia, but his parents do not believe in learning disabilities nor will allow him to be tested for such. I was there from his birth and informed his mother of his dyslexia when I began trying to teach him the English alphabet when he was three, seeing him write letters backwards and not able to put sound to letters, and when he was not learning to read and write English in school, 2nd standard by this time, I taught him to how. His parents have been told it’s impossible for him to learn to read and write Tamil.
  • [3] A favorite activity of his growing up in my care was, when it rained, to take off all his clothes and go and play in it, I mean every time it rained and it wasn’t too late, on the roof when we lived in town, simply outside when we lived on the farm. I only made sure he didn’t harm himself or offend anyone.
  • [4] In our own personal speech between us, this phrase, which comes from a GTA gameplay video that he liked when he was six and watched more times than I liked, came to mean for us the simplicity of just going with the flow if it were taking us in a good direction, and we used it among ourselves to correct one another for going against that flow. The whole phrase is “all you had to do was follow the damn train 
CJ.”
  • [5] The Mother, Sri Aurobindo’s spiritual collaborator, who is for him is the divine mother and whom he adored and dreamed about often.

The poem was written by a 13-year-old Tamil boy. If you’ve read his previous poetry, it’s more organized than this and more poetic, but he’s suffered a lot since he was taken from my home a year and some months ago, and his poetry has suffered also. The first verse is classic muse, the inner voice of poetry, in its mode of giving advice and guidance, and so I set it apart from the rest of the poem. I suspect the rest of the poem is not pure muse, is him mostly just pouring his heart out, although still under the rush of inspiration and still in the voice of poetry. The trauma he’s suffered has almost turned off his muse, and, with the exception of a song he wrote upon being able to spend some time with me the first time since he was taken, “Heaven and Hell,” he gets very little muse now.

In the months before the was taken and his ordeal began, he wrote poem after poem, two raps, and a song from the muse, each spoken or sung to him on the inside, and each one a prevision of the future he’s now in, the raw hopelessness and desperation of this present poem so painful to read in the light of those past poems, which are full of confidence, faith, and resilience.

I am very familiar with his handwriting and form of spelling, and so I can make out what he wrote (you can see the dysgraphia) and organize it into lines and verses. I include the pieces of paper that he wrote this on at bottom. They were smuggled to me recently. He wrote this in school, in secret, on the back of exam papers. His muse told him to give it to me, and my muse told me to give it to you.

Months ago I gave his school a copy of all his poetry and asked that they provide for him a child mental health professional because he had mentioned suicide. I did this with a letter, as the parents have bribed the police near the school to take me to the station if I come there, what Nithish’s mother told him they had done, and what he warned me about. I might add that neither his school recognizes learning disabilities, and of him they have repeated what his mother told them, that he is acting and failing on purpose because he’s a smart boy.

I had complained to the Child Welfare Committee of Puducherry earlier, and they didn’t even know what dyslexia was, and a bribe was paid there also, his mother told him. The school has also complained that he thinks of me a lot, and that interferes with his studies, not able to recognize that he’s suffering the grief and heartbreak of the loss of a parent, a relationship with him they will also not recognize because I have no legals rights to the child.

It took months for the school to respond to the letter, and when they did it wasn’t to me or to provide him with care; they asked him to write a poem about his school, praising it, and they’d publish it in their weekly newsletter. The request that he write a poem came some weeks ago, and he wrote this poem instead, after much deliberation and anguish over the whole thing, but he’s afraid to give it to his school because his parents would see it and punish him for it, and so, I have to open the door, albeit without causing him further harm.

In Day One This Is Ridiculous

On By Donny Lee DukeIn applied nonduality, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment
photo by the author taken in a secret five minute meeting with Nithish nine months ago
I’m fighting stars.
I have no idea
I can’t do anything
unless my muse reads it to me.
You are the couch
existence sits on to write.
Still hasn’t found you
able to write anything.
Here, do this circle.

No matter what I say,
no matter what I dream,
I can’t get rid of
those institutes
that go against the grain
of society in compelling posts.
I have been left without my boy
and wondering if he’s better off without me.
I am bereft of hope,
and this is bigger than my boy.
Is the whole thing a tin can?

Is existence squeezed out of existence
by the Diamond Bearer?
Is this all a charade,
and even God himself
can’t stop cryin’?
Is there a safe harbor anywhere,
a safe place?
I’m talkin’ existence big.

Thank you I’m smart
and can see the ruse in everything,
even my own ruse.
I can’t change my consciousness to save my life,
and I know what change means.
Are the roads to Supermind
blocked by Supermind?
Is enlightenment just a scare?
What gives?

Do you know how fucked up everything is?
Do you know how big it is,
the screw in everything?
We can’t climb Mount Everest with that.
We are foiled by cliff hangers,
and we can never reach the top,
and in the history of poetry I have to explain to you symbolism.
Nothing gets out of my bag.

Do you know how tall that is?
I’m meaning’s worth,
and I keep reaching holes in my story.
I don’t understand all that is,
but I know Gods play with us,
and there really are monsters under the bed.
Can you see my daily life?

Bigger than being
it arrives from distant shores,
the very breath of being,
and it gets there all the time,
in our underwear.
I cannot move this molestation.
Are we fucked from the very first?
There’s a hole in the program.
Whatever it is that uses us for existence
is unhinged?
That’s how the story grows?

What guarantee do we have that it is safe?
Are we existence’s pall bearers?
Alright arouse my pen
are we safe from the universe?
I question everything.
In the horror of day to day living,
living
where peace finds us
and goodwill,
you can’t condemn it all to understand.
You can’t even breathe.

Do you know we eat bread together on the inside,
and I am you and you are me?
That’s the joke ain’t it,
we spit on that.
I’m goin’ somewhere,
even if I don’t believe it sometimes.
I’m tryin’.

There I am on cars,
and I carry the world around all day
a poet’s worth.
I have these great big thoughts
that ground.
I mean I’m a scout for the human race
really involved with you.
I question my own worth,
but that’s not throwin’ myself away.
I work in the engine room of humanity,
and I don’t even think you know there’s there,
for what it’s worth.

We haven’t found ourselves yet
larger than our own personal skulls,
dangnabbit.
I’m a shopping spree
of the limits of ideas.
I can do it,
get out there where no thoughts are,
and I can hold existence in my hand.
Is that a safety rope?
I’m gettin’ underneath things
not because I have to because I love you,
and we can figure you
my little boy.

I witness
the safety ground,
and I’m lookin’ for it
in the large eyes he wears,
and I could just tear my heart out, you know?

I have the living room in my hand,
and I got a shot at Earth
lead me to him.
That’s the death of a unicorn
has almost swallowed him whole,
and he don’t know how to feel right,
my little boy.

I’m comin’ upon him now.
I’m placing a wall.
I thought for a brief time
there’s no doubt about it
this is what he wants
to flower with me.

You can’t lose your job.
James, I’m tellin’ yah the truth.
You will have his little hands in yours again,
right there on bright Earth,
where the Earth makes sense.
You’re fillin’ a role in the sky.

I didn’t allow
there’s monumental change ahead.
What happened?
It’s alright—
monumental impact.
Well here’s the movie here’s the camera,
and I’ve got ‘im,
I’ve got ‘im in my pocket. [sing this and above line]
Can this be like all played out?

Wide God,
did he actually go to touch that?
No, he resurrected Tommy
another poet live on earth;
another poet rides the Earth.

Whispering Softly at the End of the World How Loud I Sing

On By Donny Lee DukeIn ego activism, Poetry2 Comments
photo by the author

This poem has been published by Edge of Humanity Magazine: https://edgeofhumanity.com/2024/11/11/harms-end-blog-by-donny-lee-duke-whispering-softly-at-the-end-of-the-world-how-loud-i-sing/ and has been posted at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, in David’s Poetry Partner series. He wrote a companion piece: https://skepticskaddish.com/2024/08/27/whispering-softly-or-screaming/

To know on the edge of your screaming
that you’re gonna be alright,
to see it plain as day
in the darkness,
you go on steam engine,
you take your task with God.

I don’t know if it’s gonna rain
mud puddles in my mind,
firecrackers in my heart,
but I’ll be okay.
The world has caved in,
and sunshine has found me lying in the sun.

Do you know sleep?
Do you know how to sleep?
It’s a ridin’ all night long
the team fellows of the mind
with what you need to know liberty
while you’re still in bonds.
It’s a conscious sleep.
You hear it talk to me now.

You can’t spend me.
I’m a waste of your time,
but I will speak to you from the hours
the training of the ways,
deep soliloquies of love

that hasn’t found its purpose yet
but challenges the world with it anyway.

You will laugh at me,
but I know time like you know your own hair,
and I can stand up and sing when God is killing me.
What is a poet for?
Can I quote my little boy?
It’s for blankets in the sea.
I can only grasp his hand in verse.
I can’t see him anymore.

Whales sing,
and they bring in the ocean round to itself.
It’s more than call letters.
It’s an attempt to dare fate
and expose ourselves to bright shiny blades,
so we can give time its meaning,
even if that’s just a language cloak.
You sit there and read us
those bright and shiny blades.

Fuck you I love you the poet says.

Nithish did you hear that?
It’s how we meet the world Planet Us
and not die in the telling.
We undress in front of the world
and give it its mic,
all the while singing our hearts out
in front of I don’t care.

I am loud in a sea storm,
Prometheus battles night
on top of an angry world
because he’d brought fire down of the Gods
into the people of his sleep,
and lit the poet’s tongue on daily cares,
common battles,
and everyday falls
to know we are more than these.

The Last Podcast

On By Donny Lee DukeIn Dreams, Inner Voice and Vision, Nitish's YouTube channelLeave a comment

Video Description

Reality
You were crying and trying to hide your tears.
Nithish, do not fake it.
Only 500 meters
to where you’re home again.

You have some tears to show Nithish,
your thoughts of suicide,
your pain at the world,
the unspoken madness.

Let it all come gushing out,
safely, wholly,
by pounding on your parents’ foreheads
let me live with daddy!
Now that’s the vehicle in the room.
Come on kid let’s go.
Now baby dog.

Dominance
next
undo.
They lord it over you.

You want to come to America,
and that’s your airport,
your insistence on seeing me.
That’s your offering.
You give it to that boy in you
you have not let the world see—
I really wanna see daddy I can’t take it.

For about a year and some months, from the beginning of 2022 to October of 2023, Nithish, Mithun, Douglas and I did a post cast on the interpretation of dreams called The Dream Company. The podcast ended in our last recorded episode, Episode 56, recorded on October 1, 2023, which has not been posted yet on our podcast site but which I present here.

Two minutes and 51 seconds into the podcast, Nithish relates a dream and interprets it in regard to his need to live with me here at the lake full time, and we discuss the abuse that was happening to him at that time at the hands of his parents, when we had no idea what would happen in a few months time, that he would be taken from me and suffer much worse abuse, which he predicts in the video-poem Edge of the Game when he says, “Well, next time bad spirits of school Nazis.”

In interpreting his dream we did recognize that it was a prevision of the future, but we just did not imagine that that future was many months away and not days. That future that he predicted in the dream has not happened yet, as he’s not got the power he has in the dream, has not overcome the biggest bully in his school, and his mother has not brought him to the lake and left him here, all of which happen in the dream. We await it to come to pass.

I relate my own dream next in the podcast, but I interpreted it wrongly. My worry over Nithish at that time did not equate being smothered by a python, but now with what his mother has done after she took him from me does. By not allowing us any contact with one another, it’s been like having the life squeezed out of me by a huge snake; the grief has almost killed me. So my dream was a prevision of the future too, but I could not imagine at the time what it really meant until the events the dream foretells came to pass. That the Mother assures me at the end of the dream that I will be rescued gives me the same hope that Nithish’s dream gives me, and that is that he will be back with us soon.

That hope is further broadcast by muse, spiritual vision, giving the name of this video and asking what I’d done with things just the other morning at dawn. I wasn’t thinking about our podcast and hadn’t in some time, and I didn’t remember the content of our last recorded episode, didn’t have the slightest idea what we talked about in it. It just came out of the blue because my muse, which is a divine power, has the power of omniscience, and it knew what we recorded nine months ago and also knew that now was the right moment for the boy to hear what he needs to hear, and for his parents and everyone else involved. With that kind of magic supporting us, we have more than hope; we have faith given to us by the divine. Will the divine lose? Wait and see, but we can also ask if the sun is coming up in the morning. Do you think it won’t?

The Hat’s on Lisa

On By Donny Lee DukeIn film photography, Poetry, reincarnationLeave a comment
unless otherwise noted, photos by Donny, black and white photos developed by him
When you have sad news,
that murder with Lisa,
a parenting
did not handle it right.
How do I make amends?
You give her what she wants,
the tall part of the story.
She is the sacrifice of the story.
She is your dog.
What does Lisa’s death day mean?
It’s the ascension of dog.
She is taking on her human,
and with consciousness pain she does that,
birthing into another world.
We greet her there.
This has gone on for some time.
You need to meet,
and she forgives you and moves on.
Will she be there when I die?
This is not just some free-for-all.
It’s consciousness arranged.
That will be your other side guide dog,
and she will accompany you in death.
Don’t worry she’s your angel.

Three years ago today, on June 3, the day before my 60th birthday, my beloved Lisa Joy Rottweiler died in my bed surrounded by everybody in our house. Dr. JP was our vet, had been for some years, had been to our house many times, but it was during lockdown, and he was shifting to a new location for his clinic, and he neglected Lisa and misdiagnosed her condition and gave her tablets that caused kidney failure, and he knew she had kidney disease. We took her to an expensive dog hospital in Chennai, and they made a bad decision to have her undergo dialysis when she was septic inside. I had to take her across town to the government vet hospital, and they wanted to admit her but told me I could not stay with her, and so I asked that, if I took her home and got her the treatments she needed, would she live, and he said yes. She died that night.

She did not pass rightly but got trapped in some dark place in-between life and death. I was going into lucid dream and calling her, did that several times, but she would not come to me so that I could help her rise out of there. I learned to my horror that she thought I’d killed her, as I’d unknowingly given her the tablets that made her kidneys fail, and I made that bad decision in Chennai, because of wanting the pleasure of spending my birthday with my boy, Nithish, who was back home in Pondicherry.

She was so present at our house after her death, but it was Nithish that saw her in dream the most. I had visions of her all day long, but she would not let me pet her or hold her big, beautiful head in my hands. She would just look at me with such sadness and the look you give someone when they’ve utterly betrayed you. She began changing forms, as soon after death we do that, and our bodies do not stay as we know them. She became very deformed. Demons came to claim her, as she was on the outskirts of hell. She fought them off and somehow managed to find a place there so she could always see me. Despite thinking that I’d killed her, I was still the love of her life, and she did not want to leave me. It was horrible, heartbreaking situation.

From the moment she died, I was in heavy grief, similar to that I’ve felt with Nithish being taken from me, and it’s as though he is dead because I can’t see him or talk to him. I gave her my tears, a lot or tears, but it didn’t show her I didn’t kill her. To this day, three years later, it’s still unresolved, and I am still in grief over her.

Photo by Nithish

On the first anniversary of her death Nithish met her in a movie theater in a dream. She was the only one in the theater, and Nithish came in, saw her seated about in the middle of the theater, and he went and sat next to her. Then on the screen began to show images of Lisa with Nithish and me in her life with us. Then she looked at him very lovingly, very sadly, and the dream ended.

The extraordinary thing about Lisa is she is to be human in her next life and was a dog with almost human eyes and feelings. I believe that dogs and cats are with us, why we brought them into our fire circle so long ago, to be the species that is the jumping off place to the human being in the evolution of the soul. Lisa is now in the afterlife on the way to being a human being in her next life, a dog developed to the upmost a dog can be developed in terms of consciousness and proximity to human, and she has managed to find a niche there so to continue to see me and present herself to me so to resolve her death, but it’s a heaven place she’s at; she’s no longer in darkness. This in itself is incredible for a dog to do, but now she’s reaching out on her death day to tell me what she wants, and I’m giving it to her, Lisa my dog, above any other dog I have. She sacrificed her life so Nithish and I can be together again, so our relationship continues, and she’s at the top of the story.

photo by Kamesh

The Terms of Abuse

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment
photos by the author
I will not speak.
My inability to speak
keeps this bottled up inside me
so I don’t feel it.
Do you trust me?
Some day
I will touch this pain again
and tell you how much I love you my very precious daddy.
I cannot do that now.
I’m sorry.
It hurts too much.

Signed, Nithish

Okay world,
you got your answer.
The boy will not stand up for me.
He will simply let me die
without saying a word,
if I choose to do a hunger strike.
That is powerful pain
I have to deal with,
my boy’s denial of me
when I am doing everything I can to help him,
as I promised I would
when I spoke to you on the phone Nithish,
not long ago.
Has it only been two weeks?

Okay Sandiya what can I say but I’m sorry?
I made a very big mistake
in challenging your pride,
and no there was no blackmail
with the intention of putting you or your husband in jail,
no matter what the boy said
the day you took him from my home.
He was confused.
Throughout these two months,
in everything I’ve done,
in everyone I’ve spoken to,
I did not try to put you in jail.
I made no attempt to file a case
of any kind.
The video lies there unopened.
It’s never been used to get you arrested.

Will you please forgive me?
If not for me,
then for the sake of your son?
He needs me and you know it.
His heart is a battlefield,
and he’s just lost a major battle of the war.
You don’t understand love,
how it can’t be killed,
and it only hurts your child to try.

Do you know how much time together we have spent?
Many years of his childhood,
formitable years,
influential years.
We have been so together for so long,
and he can’t just wipe that out of his life,
like it never happened.
It’s too big a hole in his childhood.
He can’t get rid of it.
What you are asking of him is too much,
and it is too cruel.

I can only ask you again to forgive me
for this boy’s sake.
Where does this go?
Let me see him,
and we can avoid this drastic measure
I’m about to take.
Can you see that?
Can you see that with your heart?

After all the years we’ve spent together Sandiya,
since you yourself was 12,
you do not want to let me die
refusing to allow me just two hours alone with your son,
after all that we’ve been through together
for so long.
Please Sandiya listen.
For God’s sake listen,
and let us avoid catastrophe,
let us avoid more pain.
Lay down your arms,
and I lay down mine,
and let us make peace
for children’s sake,
and I do not have to lay down my life
for the sake of this boy.
It is not just me seeing him;
it’s about letting Nithish be Nithish,
what I will truly be fighting for.

Will you accept my apologies?
And we can move on,
get through this,
and give Nithish what he truly needs,
and he needs both of us for that future.
Listen to his English.
Listen to his ideas,
his manner of speaking,
his manner of thinking.
That is my stamp upon him not yours.
You are not an intellectual
nor someone culturally refined.
I am sorry but you aren’t.
I have sophisticated this boy,
cultured him,
in things that are the high pass of humanity,
and I have shown him God
reaching down into his life,
and I have shown him the opening
to the well of soul.

Listen to his poetry very carefully,
and you will not find the stupidity of a child.
That is not a baby there
rattling off
with no will of his own.
It is a very alive and mature soul
wanting this boy to fulfill his purpose
to manage his destiny,
and that is not my destiny nor yours.
It belongs to Nithish alone.
Grant that to him
and let us pass
this brush with death.
I beg you Sandiya.
What else can I do?

I can give him America
and U.S. citizenship
and what his future could do with that,
anywhere in the world.
You can’t give him that.
You are limited to India
for this boy.
Why can’t I open up the world to him?
Because you need him to fulfill your life?
Isn’t that what you told him I wanted him for?
Please Sandiya,
think on yourself.
Doing evil to me with no goodness involved
is a grave sin,
and it will haunt you
for the rest of your days
if we cannot make amends,
and my death will be between you and Nithish
even unto the afterlife,
if you let me die and do not let him to speak.

Let us put his future together,
as I am not a mean man,
unlettered.
I have the college education you want for him,
and I have the experience of an unusual and varied lifetime
that reaches for humanity’s heart.
I do not believe you are filled with so much hate you will let me die.
I do not,
and I stake my life on that belief.
It is not my folly that I hunger strike.
It is your folly,
your heartbreaking refusal to let the boy and I see each other.
Okay Sandiya,
where do we go from here?
It's for Nithish.

Divine Guidance Fills the Room

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment 
Stop trying to send it,
the right posture.
I’m a dog.
I can’t handle this.
I just know I’m sick.
I don’t know what to do with you.
You are too big for me,
and I am so out of place
I look for you.

What is the background ruler?
You’re in my consciousness a healing element all the time.
You have your episodes.
You’re trying to heal me.
You see my pain.
I don’t know what to do about it.
Not being able to tell my mother
that you are good for me
is my special cowardness.

She doesn’t understand.
She could care less what you feel.
Her hatred is so intense it scares me,
and why did it suddenly come?
She’s not the right person for it,
remove you from the scene.
She can’t even do it.
Okay do I need you?

You are my living defense,
no matter what I do to you.
You have love in the places I hurt you.
Why can’t I do that?
Do you know that I’ve thrown you out in the street?
I do not place my hand on phone calls.
I am through you with you,
finished,
but I don’t know how to do that.
You’re so alive in me.
You’re so there.

What do I do about you?
I keep asking that question.
You are so there for me I can hardly believe it.
You can call yourself love.

A fine touch on that consciousness
I have started your hand.
You will bring him back to you shortly.
He loves you so very much.
I understand your misgivings about Us.
We must seem horrible,
and you don’t know the reasons for things,
and you don’t know how to tell the muse.
It just runs with things
and gives them pass.
Your hopes and fears are a coloring sensation.

Now what’ve We done here?
How have We surrounded you with Nithish?
You will greet him you will see him you will be with him
in some short meeting on the way.
This has got you down
because it hasn’t happened
and looks like it never will.
You think this present attempt has failed,
and you’ve started your hunger strike
by announcing it on the news,
not yet though in your arms.

You’re sure right about one thing:
We’ve messed up with Nithish.
We don’t know how to lift him.
We don’t know how to care for him.
There is too much in the way.
We don’t work directly on people.
We send them influences,
suggestions.
We don’t make them act.
We can do nothing with this boy.
He does not field Us.
He is too scared and alone,
and he won’t listen to you.

That’s texture,
and he needs your paste creamy and smooth,
like you gave in the lucid dream
where you held him so tenderly.
Every chance you’ve had with him,
you’ve messed it up.
You are in the same shape he’s in,
unable to handle things,
a filibuster,
and Sandiya revels in this,
like you’ve suddenly lost your mind:
“See there! See there!”
Is that what the boy thinks?
He knows you’re dad.
You’re not given any slack.
Every mistake you make is exploited
for political gain,
and it’s not fair.

We’re tryin’ to arrange a room
where you and the boy can meet,
and there’s no one there yellin’ at yah
or tellin’ him what to say.
That’s Our next move.
Please be patient with Us,
as we take these world forces
and put them together.
They may not work.

This is terrible sweetheart,
and I know it,
but We’re lendin’ a helpin’ hand.
Can you come with Me I’m sorry?
You just want the boy in your arms,
and we’ve got to get back to a sadhana room.
You got so close
last time,
so very close.

What Insanity

On By Donny Lee DukeIn ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment
photos by author
Bless on shoulder
what got in there.
Very message
your message to Nithish.
That’s how he finds out
it’s in his room now.
How will I know he even reads it?
YouTube channel,
check there.
I’m a message there.

One step for the game.
Did the little boy see me?
In his underpants,
no dice.
He would’ve cried if he could.
He was on description.
It was long and short.
This buried him in memories.
Wherever he had imagined he would live,
never was it away from me.

We’ve got to get along here,
so we can get back together.
I don’t know fantasies.
I hate being played with.
I don’t know if he saw anything.
I only know it hurts deep inside,
and insanity has returned,
and the walls are closing in.
There’s no way outta here!

The passage of time is like hours
that crawl through hell,
and I am so deep underwater there’s no way up.
The waves a grief tear at my throat,
over and over again.
Oh little boy I would like this fantasy real,
and the Anarchs that play with me fuck you!
Are you in my description my wonderful little baby dog?

It’s a thumbnail
on your disease:
get me all this food.
Do you remember that?
How can you forget
our time together?
Where have those memories gone?
How do we find them?
I’m sittin’ here livin’ with ‘em,
and they bring on such tears.
They’re crowding my life away,
and I can’t see you anymore.

This is too much for me sure pet.
It’s the infinity in the room.
It’s eating me alive,
and I’d almost rather die than be here,
but I know that’s not true.
Death is hell.
I can’t do this.
I need relief from my pain.
You are gone forever aren’t you?
This I cannot take.

Your form is haunting me.
I feel you walk up to me
over and over.
It’s like you’re almost there.
I feel you live and breathe,
and this is too insane to think about,
but I feel you baby dog,
like you’re right here!

This is insane take,
and I don’t know what I’m doing with you,
and you’re all normal and not surprised
that you’ve forgotten grief.
I hate this undershed
upnoodle.
The ways of insanity go deep.
The Anarchs of pain have arrived,
and I will be shot dead soon.
We just have left the rifle shot.

Claustrophobic,
it’s the air I breathe.
It’s on my downtown,
and I can’t get outta here.
It tries in space and blows it apart,
and I just get snot on my nose.
Oh Nithish I love you Nithish.

Wait a minute,
that’s you,
actually you,
comin’ to me again.
Insanity by the hours,
I’m not goin’ crazy.
I'll be comin' for yah,
honey dog,
on the edge of tomorrow,
within the next fews days.
How do I know this is true?
Read my blog.
Put us together on WordPress.
Compliment to go,
I’m so excited.