Right there in Kuruchikuppam, people are gonna be made to see they’re wrong. That’s not the way to handle life. There are better ways of doing it. You don’t hit children, and you don’t cover it with fine speech. You beat the shit out of them with a wooden board, just for mention he loves me, and then you talk about your excellence in him for education?
The sophistication of a mag doll tears apart your life and makes you sin. I am there to remind you. Oh sophisticated sister, I will show you to the world as the braggart you are and the bane of your children’s lives. You are not fine gold. You are a base and raw metal that crumbles society. I will take you down to your underpants, as symbols see society, and show the hatred and anger you really live life with.
I will call your name as the one that so traumatized Nithish, you almost destroyed his life. I will pick those pieces up and tarry him in healing waters, and take that aching heart of his and expose it to the sun. I will heal that boy from the trauma you gave to him. You took his own identity and threw it in the trashcan. You could not stand his preference for me, and you ate his life with it, so jealous of me you put his life out on the line.
This is the poem of her. I will get you baby dog, away, safe from her, or I will lay down my life trying. This is a sudden rescue we will do, as God counts the hours, and it will be legal and square with all involved. Kidnapping will not be justified here, and you will have rights to your child as he gives them. When he feels safe with you again, then he will visit you.
You know I want custody of that child, the legal guardian of his life. This is not take him from you as you took him from me, and it was in my house that he lived. You forbade all outer contact, even the slightest touch, no visits, not even for an hour, no phone calls, not even a message to each other. We couldn’t even see each other, best friends most of his life, and I am the parent that he prefers, why you took ‘im, and for that woman low, you will know the price of pain, but I won’t dish it out. It’ll be in your death’s star. You are the willow in the wood that weeps for long and sure, standing by eternity.
The cruelty of that moment you will feel as if it were done to you, and tearing your heart out of your breast, crying away insanity, in some death lesson after death, you will come to know this. The time that you took to change your mind, was measured in pathos of pain, where one single hour is insanity’s wait, crawling through time like death has your hand. Do you even know what you did?
Is this your son’s pain or mine? We put on a happy face and forget about it to all but inner eyes. I am the child of destiny, and if I show you my pain, you will bite me with it— the nature of a child weeps. Are you game for this? See it, feel it, know what you did. I will show the world, and you will see it in the eternities of your mind. Here, here, I reveal.
But not now you change your mind. You are too proud for that. You are too cruel for that, and now you call me names and a good man, who helped you like a bitch, a helping hand that always mattered, that you drew from left and right, my time, my money, and my care and concern. Don’t you think the Gods look down on such hateful ingratitude, and see you as nothing but that woman over there who dangers children’s lives, her own the point of pain.
I will see you there, in humanity’s heart glow, when we’ve made our long journey and brought it to a close. Disguised as sin and defeat, disguised as love, we walked the ways of the Earth. Now here we are in Heaven’s reach, but the heaven after the goal, and we will forgive each other the disguises we wore that were necessary on battlefield Earth. I will see you there Sandiya, one day. That’s the nature of Earth.
(Vision of Nithish sitting down on a bed in a room like his family’s room in Kuruchikuppam. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, head down and holding his hands together in front of him, elbows on his knees) As you get details of his life in here, alone in a room. I’m a little child. I don’t know the number of school. Lumber did that, killing every sweet thing I had. I was into long silences, and I could hear the room breathing. I thought I would lose my mind. Talk Nithish. What do I say to them? I will beat you you stupid kid. This was bouncing off walls, and I could not see the room that I lost my life in.
I had so much pain in my heart. My mother kept me from crying. She was an alligator for my tears. She was just some other room. I defied her for as long as I could. Then she hit me, everywhere on my body but my face, a flat board rainin’ down blows. I gave in. I’m okay with it. I’m fine with it. That is not the way it happened. I will do what you say I said in my mind. Then I forgot about you for a little while. You were there somehow. You wouldn’t let me go. I cried and I cried. No the tears had all gone. I was a happy kid they said.
I continued to support them, and they rewarded me for it with so much favorite food. Then the hill came. I climbed it to death, and that’s when I touched your face in an amazing dream. You were holding me in a chair at my old school. I was telling you about my mother, how she is. You told me about your tears. You had a hold of me like you’d never let me go. The comfort at that moment stayed in my room, and I carried you there. I continued to act like a little brat, but my road had found you, and I aloned to that. This was wonderful news to my aching heart.
I was wonderful there in my house by the lake, and I want to see my puppy again and get my life back, but my mother has said she will not change her decision. Move me toward the door. She can’t bury love. She can just torture me for it and make me feel bad I don’t love her like you daddy. I will see you soon.
He’s saying I will be there soon, in your house your little boy again, grown bigger by his tears. Now can we get him outta there, Sandiya? I’m holding you responsible for this. You’ve cut that boy’s mind, made him suffer so much pain because you are jealous of him with me, not because of school, or the love of Sri Aurobindo, what you tell people to sound nice. I have you in my sights, and I will not leave you alone. I will continue to rush you with the pain you’ve caused us.
You’re the pain of the old society, where kids were their parents wishes, no freedom for them, and they wore school around their neck like it was what they were worth, and their parents could beat them, touch them, yell at them and abuse them, and no one ever heard, and they grew up and brought a mean world into view.
We have a planet here, raising stakes. I’m gonna get that sweetheart, and with our poems and with our might, we’re gonna help bring in the new society and change life on Earth. This is not you Sandiya. It’s not me. It’s not Nithish. We are world carriers in form, the boy and I where change comes in, you the adamant old rule. I will see you in hell for this, and that might be sooner than you think.
A lost guitar, you’ve think you’ve kept him from me? You’ve only showed him more. I will find you, and I will tell you: give me that boy, not for my rule, not for my pleasure, for his aching need. You know what I’m talking about Sandiya. You see it everyday.
What kind of mother are you? And you ask who am I? I am the sustainer of this boy’s life. I am his protector and I am his love, and you will step aside and give him room to grow as I parent him towards a clear and certain goal: he is himself on wide green Earth, and he’s doing what he loves, not what he hates, and he’s doin’ pretty good. He’s got all of this going for him that you don’t see, and you speak like you know this boy, but you don’t even know me. I’m comin’ Sandiya, with the proper people next time, and I’ve failed and I’ve failed, but you know I’ll succeed. Here I come.
On the loud speakers this is a terrible story, and it’s showing Indian. They beat children. That’s her form: what a powerful might that can’t hold itself together and soon falls down. Sometimes art general. This is a heartache spotlight. There really is an abused child there, scared and alone. Lay down, come on lady, come on.
I will see you there Sandiya in the not too distant future. Wet means? Where our Earth meets the Sun. It’s the supramental, where that boy is found, and his emotional statement will bring in the picture the child, and that child needs help. This is infinity’s room, and we’ll have an upgrade soon, a golden opportunity. (Vision as the above line was spoken of Nithish at some wall in a city, and on the wall was a box of squares like a tic-tac-tow box but with many more squares, and Nithish wrote an X and an O in the top let hand corner of the box, the first two figures written on the box, and the sense was this was just the beginning) Let them be known together.
I am in my own city now. I have to get Nithish out of my consciousness or else insanity looms. I cannot carry him anymore. This is painful. I'm all out of sorts.
We have reconciled. He stood by while a cop tried to arrest me and said nothing. His mother had put the cop there because I had spoke to Nithish at his school, there to speak with his principal about the real reason his mother wouldn't let me see him, and I was concerned with her abuse.
As the cop tried to put me on his bike to take me away, Nithish was walking away and did not even look back. I had committed no crime, and so they could not take me in. Sandya stood by gloating, and then walked away disappointed when I wasn't nabbed.
The consciousness can't take that. It doesn't compute. I am finished holding him. This is terrible news. I had gone there to defend him, and I was worried sick over his situation. He all but pulled the trigger.
And I am left holding the gun. Nithish showed me a video on his mother's phone, which had gone to him. It was of his little brother masturbating, legs spread, penis erect, hand going at it. Sandya can be heard in the background laughing, but she didn't take the video. It's child pornography, but she said they did it in fun.
I've heard about for the last three years Nithish's father masturbating his little brothers, not diddling with it pumping it, for several minutes or more. He had tried to do Nithish, but Nithish said no. I did nothing with this information, except tell Nithish to say no. When Mithrin, the boy in the video, who's three and some, got big enough, his father masturbated him a lot, and Dhina, Nithish's auntie's husband, taught the boy how to spit on it and rub. Nithish told me these things. I heard all this, and just filed it away.
Dhina made the video, and now I'm left holdin' the gun. Do I shoot them with it? I don't want to hurt Nithish. So what do I do? I just leave the boy alone. I don't stand here and study him. I don't try to get him back to me. It's over. It's done.
Okay you've heard the news, why Nithish was taken from me. I mentioned that video to his mother and his father masturbating his brothers, to try and protect him from them. You see the results. Even the boy hates me, but I don't truly know that. Okay shoot me, public. I am the bad man here, turning that little boy against his family, and wanting him to go with me.
I thought I had a better home, and I wasn't his abuser, but you know kids are fickle. They hang on that family tree. I'm a nigger to him, a வெள்ளைக்காரன், and he just wants to be left alone. He's happy with the presents his parents buy him and the cater to his whim. And pain? Fuck pain. He wants his smile to be real.
So you have a masturbating video as the cause of all this charm that he's getting from his parents. They don't want him to tell on them, and they want his love for me gone. Well that did it, no word from him in days: daddy are you okay? what happened? I've been so worried about you.
He's just decided better go with it, his refusal of me. It's easier that way. Just ignore me and enjoy himself. I will never hear from him again. I can see that now. I've done my job, every possible thing I could do, to get him out of his parents' clutches and back towards the poet of the coming dawn, a destiny he had refused.
Now what do I do with this? I know the public you don't care. You would also have me arrested if you could. This may be my last poem. I'm throwing in the towel. We tried. We finished, and I failed.
Now glory in your self-righteousness, and tell me again you love kids. I don't believe that. Okay now I'm leavin' my little boy. You will not help, but I think I know what happened. He was totally afraid of his mother, that boy of twelve. There at the school she told him to renounce me and raised her hand to slap him. I grabbed that hand and pulled it down, and he did not give her what she wanted. She even put her hand over his face, so he couldn't see me. That's total control, and he had to go home with her afterwards.
What does a child do when the shit hits the fan? They stand there and cry, Ben 10 not included, or the Avatar and his gang. Nithish showed kid shock. He was just bewildered. He managed a weak head-bowed yes when I asked him if he loved me, and would he back me up. That was before the cop came. We were invited into the office to settle this dispute, by the principal before that cop arrived, but that Sandya refused. She wanted me arrested for defying her to see my boy.
We can't blame this on the kid. He's innocent in this, and I don't know how he feels now, but I can't continue hurting him and me. I can't love him like this. That little boy's been broken, stabbed in his identity, made to feel all alone in the world, put down for trying to hurt his parents, and at the same time they lift him up, afraid he'd tell.
What do we do with children, when they're in a bad situation, and our helping them hurts them more? We leave. We tear our heart out of our breast, put blinders on the soul, and just walk away. That's what I'm doing today. You with me?
Here is the address where the mother and the boys live and Sandya’s telephone number: +91 9384460042 64 Nettu St. Kurusukuppam, Puducherry, 605012 The street is only a tiny alleyway accessible from Advocate Chinnathambi St. Fourth Cross. On Sardar Vllabhai Patel Salai, a main road, turn left on Francois Martiin Street. Turn left again on Advocate Chinnathambi Street, about 500 meters from the Patel Salai. Go to Le Nid Apartments on Advocate ChinnaThambi Street, which is on the left where the street turns sharply right. Stand facing the apartment gates and turn right 90 degrees and you will see a little alleyway in front of you. Go down it and it immediately turns left and her house is the first door on the left. It is a very narrow alley. Time is of the essence. They are on their way to his father’s apartment in Chennai to avoid me. His address: Ashok Pillar 29 sector, 6th block Chennai, 2nd apartment building and the left, 1st floor, wooden door.
A heartbroken line. You just have to write this down. There is no Earth and Heaven but you. We glide here on our own devices. We can’t see the world around us. It’s blind to us too. We can’t even see our yard. There’s a process there. It’s image on sight. We have see things to believe in them. Our fingers have to touch their face. No other process allowed. That’s the ring around the rosie for us. It’s how we live.
It gets us in a lot of trouble. We can’t always see things. When people are away from us they’re gone. We imagine their existence, and it’s not real to us. They’re not there. Now tell me what to do? Go outside and see things, and try to transfer sight to some bigger picture happening before your eyes. Don’t just see your little world. It’s gotten big enough to swallow you whole. We gotta get outta here.
It eats us alive. It’s the only thing we know. Can you see this? Do you know what I’m talkin’ about? We are blind before our face. Our world is the world, and there is no other that has the reality of ours. We can put this in a movie or a sports field, or maybe even a good book. We feel something other than ourselves, but we’re involved in it. We’re still the center of the room. Look at YouTube Shots. They piece you to pieces, this show, and that show, and this show, and you have your favorites. Where are they taking you? They don’t know how to time. They don’t stop. You are lost there in the middle of you.
I’m tryin’ to get to some larger whole none of us see. We’re divided up in pieces, your world and my world and Larry’s world. Will we put our glasses on and see this? It really sucks you know when you lose someone. Say you had a kid and you’ve been raisin’ them since they were three. At 12 you lost them, and they were just taken from you for no other reason than just to take, ‘cause you made someone mad. Devastating.
It was a bubble relationship. We were the captain of our ship laughin’ at the world go by we teammates, best friends, together all the time. We were joined, and the world went by, and we were so special in it, so much comfort in each other, so much love. And then you lose that boy. No contact is allowed, and you watch that boy turn like he never knew you, and now he wants you gone. No, no, I didn’t abuse him. His parents did. He was broken whipped and spanked until he gave his parents what they wanted, the keys to himself. They can do that. They’re Indian parents. He was broken, lost his will, lost himself. They spanked him, and he cried and cried, and I had promised to save him and couldn’t come. That anger rides.
What are we left with? A quaking world. Death would seem a happy state, and I almost long to be there. I want my boy. I can’t take it. There is no escape from this pain. What do you do? You feel pain. You don’t know what to do. There’s no way out. Months ahead, the death of a child. There is no remedy for this. I’m lost in him, and oh the jesters of pain, that kid could care less if he sees me again, in just two short weeks.
Where do we go? To death? We have to do something. We have to live. We have to get up and live. You’ve been fucked by the universe, abandoned by your Gods. All soul’s failed, and you’ve got to find another life, and you really want the one you had. You’re stupid you tell yourself, a fool. Children are treacherous, and they only like pleasure and joyrides, and their heart can be bought with candy and cake, and they forget you, even when you were their whole world.
I’m dying in this pain, and I’m just showing it to you so you know of the reality of which I speak, in some little lost world forgotten from the whole. To cut him out of my heart is blind. That boy needs protected, and he’s in a bad situation. It’s an abusive situation. I cannot abandon him. I must go on tryin’ to free him, but the loss is too great to bear. You see the predicament.
It’s going somewhere. I am being perfected for him in parental ways, as he will need to be healed. If he returns, he will be healed with certain hands. I’m ready for him. There is just this need to swallow, this ever aching need that he fulfill my life, be its ornament, and meet my emotional needs. How can I get rid of this? Don’t look at me funny. You do it too with children. We are property lovers with them.
I don’t know how to do this, and that is my lesson now. It hurts. Where do I find you? In the lesson plan. I’m reaching out to you to be a lover with you, to put down that kid a minute, and let’s say hey look at this: we are fragmented world. Will you do the time with me? It might be a pickup truck that takes us all on a ride to higher skies. That’s where we think about larger things than ourselves and the contents and people of our little world. I’m pushin’ yah there in my own flagpole as I do this too. Will you sing with me?
Will we be together again? We come from afar. This is not our home. We’re on dangerous ground, where the Void meets Earth. There are doings here that have us all undone. We live out our lives little people, totally forgetting who we are together, the very next field above this one, the supramental field.
I’m ridin’ yah there, journeying myself. I don’t want to go. All my thoughts on little boy and what’s going on with him right now. Is he happy is he sad? Is he missing me? Would he like to see me again? Are they hurting him? This goes deep.
Alright I’ve told you some about what we don’t talk about: look there’s a whole; look there’s together again; look we are bigger than what we are. Have I reached out to you? I can’t see it. I don’t even know you’re there. I think that’s a reality kingpin. I’m alone in here in front of all of you, because of my perception. Can you figure it out?
That is put to the finish. Hey you got some things growing up there. Tunnel things this reality. It’s trustworthy. There’s no other way to see it. We’re not real, is that how far this goes? Do you see what I’m gettin’ at? Where is reality’s footing? Where do we place ourselves? In the center of attention? I think we look higher up. We look where it happens, where reality gets arranged, and we find ourselves there watching the arrangement. Isn’t that funny? Here I am.
Suffer the supramental solution. Sri Aurobindo wrote his letters just sittin’ there. He didn’t see the disciples, yet he knew they were there. He didn’t have to see them. He had concrete inner contact with them, and he knew what was goin’ on. He could see their own selves, and he knew what they needed.
This was just vision to him. No, this was the substance of his room. He grabbed the whole with his own hand. It was his messenger. He substance see’d, knew in relation to the whole, and he could see without errors. I cannot do that. I have strong inner vision. It doesn’t come everything’s true without errors. It gets a lot of lie, exaggeration, and endless possibilities worked out. I can’t see straight.
You don’t know how much this sucks. I’m glued to inner vision now to protect my kid and bring him back home, and it’s driving me crazy, all these scenarios played out one by one. He’s been hit with a dog. He’s been pissed on and raked over an open fire. This just kills me, and I don’t know what to do. The bad part is over, when they broke him to turn him from me. Now they’re tryin’ to act normal, and they want him to be happy.
Gaslighting is the order of the day. What’s a kid to do? Acquiesce and be what their parents want them to be, do what their parents want them to do, and say what their parents want them to say, and that’s what he’s doin’. and I can have no contact, and not a single person there will tell him of me. It’s inhuman. It’s a total blackout they’ve arranged. The abusers become his saviors, and his beloved grandpa a foreign devil tryin’ to take him from his family.
I was his main parent from the time he was six. Six years with me more than his parents, and they’re gaslighting him to make me some babysitter they mistakenly arranged. Okay public, what to do? I’ve shown you his card, a song he wrote himself when his parents were pullin and kicking him about school. This is where he is at. This is the boy on his own. Where do we find him? I hope that’s not the graveyard. Can you come and help me find him please? I really need you, and this is a live child waiting for your help. Can you help? Oh Puducherry, you couldn’t Aarthi.
Now there’s hope. The boy’s alive. How do I know he’s unsafe? His father’s a killer for a Lawspet gang with BJP connections, but he hasn’t killed in awhile. Says he’s done with it, but see the gold on him you’ll know he’s still involved, a gold ring on every finger like a pimp. He could kill that kid in a jealous fit of rage, and the mother’s of low character, and she may not prevent him. That's where this is headed. Don't be sorry. I’m calling on you now, Puducherry, rise up and protect that boy before anything else is done. Will you help me? Can you take this boy to safety? That’s wonderful. Thank you.
This is the boy’s address in Puducherry, India:
64 Nettu St. Kurusukuppam, Puducherry, 605012
The street is only a small alleyway accessible from Advocate Chinnathambi St. Fourth Cross. Go to Le Nid Apartments on Advocate Chinnathambi Street, stand facing the gates and turn right 90 degrees and you will see a little alleyway in front of you. Go down it and it immediately turns left and his house is the first door on the left. There is also an Ave Maria Kebi on the left side of the apartment gates.
Nithish’s school and he’s in 7th standard: New Modern Vidhya Mandir Higher Secondary School, 73/A, Pillayar Koil St, Angalamman Nagar, Muthialpet, Puducherry, 605003
His father lives in Chennai and has a business there and comes to Puducherry on the weekends. Here is his business address:
P. Sundaram S.S. Air Controls No. 432 Pachaivalliyamman Illam 29th St. 6th Sector K.K. Nagar, Chennai 600078
This is the address they spend the weekend at, usually from Saturday evening to Monday morning. It is his father’s parents’ house:
I might’ve slipped on the internet This is no problem for me. It’s how I entered the internet. What do we got comin’? Poetry in your yard. Can I cross your brow with it? This is a think page. Go back to puppies and bullshit, if you want your hands in your underwear. The internet is for porn, in a nuclear holocaust.
What do I got for yah today? I don’t wanna write this down. A little girl was killed in Pondicherry, raped and murdered. I didn’t hear the news. Nithish told me on the way to school. Whatever happened, this girl suffered. Oh my God the reality these days. You should’ve seen caveman days, and all along humanity this has happened to children. It’s not special today. It’s just horrible.
I’m sorry little girl. She was nine-years-old. Nithish told me about Hindi kidnappers in Tamil Nadu. There were 300 of ‘em, it said on the news. Again, it’s Nithish’s report. I don’t speak Tamil, especially on the 6 o’clock news.
Goddamn this girl got killed, and do you know what? She was in her neighbor’s house for two days before it happened. She tried to escaped and they killed ‘er. What was normal procedure? You search the goddamn neighborhood, especially across the street. A strange old man livin’ alone? Hey man, can we check your house? That didn’t happen. Everybody was lookin’ for Hindi kidnappers, far away from the house, taking her organs and selling them. It was a mass hysteria, and it cost the city a lot. They would’ve found that girl, if they followed procedure.
I don’t think no one’s listenin’ to me. There was a day long strike all over Pondicherry before they found the girl. Where is she? Not far from the Hand, not far from God’s grace and lovingkindness. She can’t come back to us. No way, she’s dead.
Man is a trapped being; I can make that armstrong strong; what do you want to die next? said the demon to the little girl. Cause she’s a baby, can we carry this baby? Can we get around this baby? It wasn’t her fault. Hell opened up on that child and ate her.
We are left stunned. The pain, the fear, the little child suffered is unimaginable. I can understand the anger all over town, but it’s misplaced. She’s here to tell us something we can’t see: we can never blame ourselves for the wrong done by another; we aren't able to.
It’s exemplified in her, the abuse of children in Pondicherry. Slapped, kicked around, put in school, you don’t know the half of it. They’re made to bleed there, produce paltry items, the unnecessary, the boring, the out of wack, and they’re hit there. They’re made to go day after day to an excuse for school. Exams punish them. Their day is wasted in mean environments. Of course they bully each other. That’s what they’re learning there.
Can we take them home? Home’s a little harder, where the environment spills out. My God kids are beaten, made to serve their parents, told they are alive for their parents, controlled to the nth degree, lied to, spit on, and treated like they don’t count much. Is this your typical home in Pondicherry? It happens enough to produce this girl and her ordeal. Do you know the will available to abuse her from the collective conscious of Pondicherry? Set it right.
These are tell-tale signs that give us some indication what’s goin’ on in the collective. The symbol reproduces it in exaggerated form. It was not done by God it was done by devils, the demons attached to the men that did it and the horde of demons that came to feed. They’re all over Pondicherry. You don’t know their station here all over the world. They’re in your homes and families. They are the evil behind the act. We can only see the act.
Will you bear with me as I show you the blame game? I don’t know the timeline, but this girl didn’t die right away. She spent a couple of days in a house very close to her home. Nobody was lookin’ there with the focus of their concentration. Maybe she’d be alive if they did. A news report had broadcast some days earlier Hindi kidnappers were afoot kidnappin’ children in Pondicherry. That took the news and stupidly took the police station. Tamils don’t like out of state. They don’t want Hindi people here. So the search begin focusing on the mass hysteria of these organ sellers?
A video had circulated, of course, a Hindi kidnapper confessing all and tellin’ of the network in Pondicherry. That was the focus of the search, not for the little girl. I don’t know if they combed the neighborhood, knocked on doors, but that old man’s house was nearby, and he lived alone suspicious. What kept him from being searched? She was alive and there when they found her missin’, being raped repeatedly, while they looked elsewhere, and she wasn’t just murdered; she was killed with Hell’s hands.
Where are the Hindi kidnappers now? They are two Tamils in police hands, neighbors nearby. They young man had raped her before, and the old man ordered him to kidnap her and bring her to him, by threatening him with police would you believe? It all happened so fast. She was nabbed playing outside near her house. We have ganja to blame, new reports say. They were pot smokers, and it corrupted their Tamil. Tamils wouldn’t do this otherwise. Do you see the logic? Ban grass! and people are demonstratin’ in town. It’s already illegal.
What’s goin’ on? A culture is blind to itself, every culture on Earth. can we get ourselves to see? What do you do with your children, the first thing you should ask. Are you a teacher? You’re complacent just being one, but are you happy there? Do you really get mad at children? Do they see you smile throughout the day? Do they know your lovingkindness? It’s too much for you isn’t it, the system. You take it out on the kids. Would you get yourself to see that?
Now parents, do you shine on your children all the love and attention they need? It’s backbreakin’ work idn’t it, takin’ care of a home. Kids throw wrenches in the system don’t they, mess things up, won’t leave things alone. What do you do with them? I’m not askin’ if you love them or not. Do you speak harshly to them? Do you hit them? Do you rag on them all the time? They don’t measure up do they? No kids does in his parents’ room.
Pondicherry I’m sorry this is you. You’re hateful to your children, not every minute, not in every home, but it’s there strong enough to get this girl killed. You share responsibility Pondicherry with these two men, and I’ve written this poem so you can see that.
Do you know what a kidnapper is? Hold in the atmosphere the abuse of children where they are kidnapped. That’s the formula for TV. That’s the formula for Tamil Nadu. That’s the formula for Pondicherry. If you don’t see this more murders will come, more kidnappings. You’ll need to break ship to get it to stop. You’ll have to come from oneness base. That’s not typical. That’s not ordinary. That’s not the way we do things. It’s time we start.
All this talk of Hindu today, Hindu this, Hindu that, riled over cows, marriage conversions, temples in the air. I think Hindu gave the world oneness, didn’t it? It’s its underlying philosophy. On this Hindu stands. Where do you see it today in Hindu society? Is it ever-present? It’s not Hindu it’s oneness Hindu’s about. That is the temple we yard. That’s what brought it into being.
Hindu is alive on oneness. Without it it’s dead. Can you show me where India is alive today? Is Hindu alive today? Let’s do Hindu. Let’s do oneness.
I’m just anxious to ICU, and did you know that Hindu does that, brings us all to church? No, we need to get past temples and the religious offerings. We need to see oneness as the everyday of our lives. In practical hands it works, when you see the underlying of it all. Here I’ve shown you. I’m sorry Muslims don’t do this, or Christians, and Buddhists don’t believe it’s there. It’s the oneness of everything, the vibrant conscious oneness. It’s what Hindu has given to the world. It’s the truth of things. It’s why I’m here, and I’m here a long way from you. Will you join me in oneness?
Is this area to become worldwide useful? And oneness it is. We become practical that way. If we become oneness it is. We have to find the way there. I did, after bein’ horrible to children. It made me do it. I was open to God. I’m sleepin’ with one now, holding him safe, writing you this poem. I’ve taken care of him all night, his little heart, making sure he knows I’m here. He’s on me now, his little face on my chest. He’s seven now. He was born in my room. That means he was born from my house. His mother’s pregnancy was there. I’m a parental figure.
He trusts me. I have the key to his pants, but I don’t get into them with desire hands. He’s Nithish’s little brother. Nithish is in his room sleeping. I know how to take care of children, after so much trial and error. They really like my house. They are so welcome there, and I know how to do it, take care of a kid, just enough hands off to leave them alone, just enough hands on to give them what they need. This is fun for me. Did I hear you call me pedophile? I do love children, so much I can be in their presence all day, and I love it there. You need people like me. I make mistakes with my anger sometimes, yell and scream, and quickly apologize. They rule.
My ego gets bashed a lot, but you concede to a kid. You treat them well. They need to be the center of attention. The house revolves around them, in any God-given house, naturally. I teamwork this with Douglas, and he’s good with kids, funny as all get out, and we keep them kids safe and well taken care of. We are sweet to them. Everybody watches us do it here on the farm, smiles and warm faces, and we’ve been along together for years. Now I’m takin’ it to the next level, the public eye.
I want you to see oneness in operation. I’m one with you, one with these kids, and I want the world to see that it can be done, correct your problems with kids and move on. This is what I’m doin’ now, shakin’ Pondicherry by the leg, and sayin’ hey wake up, you need to change your way with kids. Is that too much to ask? It’s what we must ask. It starts with kids, our humanity, and the world unfolds in their hands how our hands have treated them. It’s not a nice world today is it?
Be nice to kids and it will be soon. If one generation, all around the world, could get it together with kids, and heal themselves of the abuse of them, the world would change automatically, dramatically be a better world. Is there too many of us to try? We can get it down in Pondicherry. We can take one city and show the ropes. We can make it our mandate, plan, not with the policeman’s stick, the angry shout, the tabloid news. It would have to be on oneness base. It would have to be holistically done. Hey, I’ve got a problem; can you give me the space to heal?
The healing would be immense. We would record how. It’s on God’s base, a dynamic healing plan right inside you. You’re hearin’ it speak now, an immune system we don’t know about. It heals us. Punishment, hatred, doesn’t.
What am I sayin’? Pondy grab your files and heal from what makes you abuse kids. I’ve shown a way, if you’re relaxed enough, if you can do it non-judgmentally and not even condemn yourself. It’s a love angle. It’s where we’re happenin’. Healin’s what we gotta do. Can we get started Pondicherry? Let’s see you put this on the news.
What came first the chicken or the egg? Why the egg of course. Auf wiedersehen. Is this is a prompt? It’s skyward license. I’m on the way up. This will shake your world, and I’m a pied piper— hey everybody let’s go. You’re sterile wars today. I’m gettin’ there. I have an honest day’s work. My hat grows today Supermind. It’s Supramental Darshan at the ashram of Sri Aurobindo and inside the whole world. Comes once every four years, leap year.
Did I shake you some? Nobody’s doin’ it today, where Supermind’s concerned. It’s a blow out the top of your head, on the top of the world, beyond the universe. It’s a station up there, who you are inside beyond all the lives. It’s God up there, on His first row. We get bigger God. You identify with You. You’re there, the origin of all your lives, the Being you are in time representing. You are there You.
We come back to this, as our being gets there. I don’t wanna get this wrong. We are representative in time, representative of That, this station above our heads Supermind. It’s a golden foyer open in all its glory. We haven’t gotten to that yet. The Mother released it into the subtle physical. It’s yet to invade matter, but it’s there on our tops, if you’re old enough to get there in wheels of sadhana.
You can experience this, and all the doors you have open to do. They take you by surprise. I’m there I said. Oh no I am not. I’m not even in Silent Mind. I’m sittin’ down on my spool measurin’ sadhana. I let the supramental influence glow, a time or two, throughout my day, because I’ve been up there you see. Right at breaking point, and I beam up there again. Well I can block it all day long. I’m holdin’ myself down. Oh I’m sure your influence has somethin’ to do with it. You don’t put together the world hey look there’s Supermind.
I’m all over this. It’s a supramental thought I write, and I do it damn near every day. The top of my head’s open for to receive. You hear this now. Baby, I’m yours. [line heard sung by Barbara Lewis, line song title] You know how the song goes, “till two and two is three”. I’m a supramental can. I don’t give you the straight shoot the whole cigar. I can’t. I’m in Overmind bundles. I give you some facsimile thereof. I’m talking to you so many think cans an overmental thought wore. I’m not the direct Sun.
I couldn’t even try. We haven’t everglade that yet, the world is open to Supermind, and it writes our poetry. There’s a balance between error and what’s this shit? Okay who corrupted my piece? We are aware of those. Now you wrote the most healthiest thing to say if you were formin’ Supermind to an overmental audience. We’re all overmental today. We are on the plane of the cosmic Gods, anywhere we touch religion and put on spiritual shoes, and Overmind formed civilization, if you didn’t know. That makes us pretty overmental, any way you go.
It confounds the animal, and it makes us man. Did I get that right? Or people I should say. We’re good in it. We’re terrible to people who do not honor civilization. We cut them up in little pieces and feed them to the dogs, even if we don’t love them. Did I just say something wrong? Well the Gods are merciful, but our hands in Their laws carry the day. We just stood there and punished sin, God there or not.
We are overmental beings how we see reality. You don’t see that pole. You don’t even see me an answer to grave letter. I’m an overmental pail, and I see into this matter deeply, sittin’ here open to Supermind, the bad man on Earth. You get bigger God. Not all overmental divinities are open to infinity. I carry the Integral Yoga of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, and overmental House if you please. They are open to infinity, within infinity, within infinity, and they are open to Supermind. This is a Tamil bakery plan, and it’s all over the place, but Supermind arrived here in the Mother’s plans.
I am the supramental manifestation on Earth. And you would be wrong, if you brooded there. The Mother didn’t manifest Supermind either, where her consciousness was concerned. What am I sayin’? You’d hear me say it. It got on Sri Aurobindo’s tops, but he did not abide there, but he did not manifest it there. He was a supramental being in form only. He didn’t get there. Sudden shoot ups saw him stop in the Supermind, and all the glory he arose. How do I count this to you? Let’s understand it.
Though Sri Aurobindo counts Supermind, we encounter him in Overmind, as our uncle and our sage, as our guide and our teacher. Do you worship this? Do you just sit there and count stars? Supermind’s above us, and we do not get there in overmental ways. I have all these knowledge bits for you to handle. I am not a sudden sit there in everybody’s glee. I tarry you in understanding, because it’s there, Supermind and Supermind realizing on Earth. This is a different mode of consciousness than God on Earth in any form today.
We don’t worship transformation hello God. Supermind grabs us by the arms. No, it doesn’t even call on our tops. It transforms. It doesn’t deity. It’s just itself up there lookin’ down. We look up and meet it, and in that look transform the world.
Do you snake bite? I’m afraid you do there’s no hope for you. Everything’s about vengeance, and even the Gods dry there, in wells of compassion they can’t seem to rise. Where do you go for healing? Can we tell the public you do? This is Supermind’s regard on the world. It heals stuff, transforms its nature. It uses the very stuff of nature to do that. My how amoral this is. Right in nature’s man, it takes a man’s vice and heals him with it, heals him with his sin, changes it, perfects it, gives it divine reason to live, and all the harm has been removed.
Nature won’t allow this in halls of man, and we get stuck there, not knowin’ what to do. Oh it seems us right to punish. Punish harder take out the stinger it is believed. Can I get you there? It doesn’t work. Throw a gay off a roof, and you have a dead gay. Who has healed homosexuality? Oh if I said pedophile you would agree— kill the son of a bitch.
What do we do now? Give God the plan. In sudden moments of universe, I’m on my tops now, basking there. You’re there with me, not all smiles. My God the forms of this world, they carry you to Supermind, and they’re right there on our tops, changing forms. Do you see the God inside? I can’t pronounce it none. It’s where we get bigger, lookin’ at the world through formless eyes, letting the world get bigger than her visage, seeing behind the form God.
You can’t let a thang trip you up. Nothing can get in your way. You are bigger than the world you see, and you find Supermind there, behind the forms. It’s been here all along, is the ground of everything really, is where creation starts, in the supramental pail we are. Supermind’s the ground of being, as far as we’re concerned. It’s what gives intelligence to matter, is the look that set the stars to light. We see it blossom in a flower, so insects will eat it, and pass their honey round. It’s the arrangement of things. It’s starred everything to a certain hour.
It has no business here, as interferers. We can’t pray to it and get it to act. It’s bigger than the Gods. It has no fetters the conditions of the universe impose. It’s here I said, in sudden storms, not as a God acting, as time being, since it’s the nature of things. Can you get this? Would you believe it’s here now, a time born storm?
The Mother and Sri Aurobindo arise its fountain on Earth, not as Gods, as the beings they are, set to this task. You wouldn’t worship them there, but they’re aligned with Earth to see this through, and they’ve picked a pedophile to bring it to you. Do you see Supermind? You can’t know its formula, unless you do. Transform the nature of the Earth, can you get a better man than pedophile to reveal what needs to be changed? And he is not the revealer. You are. My God the piles of wood we’ve chopped and stacked today. Do you see them?
I’m there, right around the corner from you, and we’ll meet soon, as the glory finds us. You hear me people? What do I say but WHAM! It is the nature of things, the supramental manifestation.
The title to the above poem came several feet from entering Sri Aurobindo’s room at the ashram in Pondicherry, India. I had completed the poem waiting for the room darshan outside, writing it all day, both at home where I live in the country and in the city, driving in traffic and sitting at various businesses and at the central park. The last line came when I arrived at the ashram in the late afternoon.
George de Forest Brush – Orpheus, 1890 (public domain)
This is a poem written to G Surya Prakash Rao, the founder and managing editor of Muse India, an online literary magazine, in regards to their rejection and criticism of Nithish’s poem “Paradise Things With Lyrics”, which was submitted to their online forum Your Space, not to the literary magazine itself. A Twitter/X photo-poem of mine would give more details: “Where Were the Ones That Felt?”
And the poem below was submitted to Muse India for publication, not through their regular channels, directly to the managing editor, as we were having a brief email conversation regarding the boy’s poem. I would gather he doesn’t want to publish the poem below, and that in itself I find remarkable, and you will have to read the poem to find that remarkable too, but the fact that he won’t even bother to tell me, I find that absolutely incredible.
Human civilization is a world apart. I grab you by the poetry today. The overhead music, the overhead town, some suggestions for your unmanageable poetry scheme sir. I speak poetry to your sense of self, and that’s a long ride, half-religion, in the carnival of God. Do you wear zeitgeist on your sleeve, offended if I grab your ass and smile? Man I tell yah where we put poetry today, in the hullabaloo.
You give me 40 lines to tell. How people don’t know it, tellin’ poetry to be quiet is sexual reassignment surgery, cuts its dick off. Well foreign he’s brave. That room is shocked. That room is sorry. This one here, what do you do? Do you publish a poet, Donny Lee Duke?
Teacher of the day master of the poetry. Who says that’s prayer or insightful? That’s a line from the movie Beat Kids. I’m throwin’ at you rabbits to know the meaning of the word, its symbolizing form. Rabbits are a dictionary, and they fecund.
How do I open poetry in your heart that’s not a diction model, phrased put? But I’m putting sound down as a vehicle of meaning, categorically put. Imagine we lived in a rose, and we petaled differently, the speaker said.
You’re not huntin’ meaning. You’re all about sound rose a churppin’ model with words you can cut your finger on, your personal stuff that sees the corners of things, gets at feeling and taste, ode to a green jar and supposin’.
I wrap you around wood in a different kind of glory. I laugh-loud you to go get greater silk to stand your life, because I’m sittin’ here strandin’ mine, where it hurts, where it counts, and that’s bubblin’ up poetry.
That’s not it I’m listenin’ to myself speak, here I am on the table the thought of London, Batman in robes, lyrical put. A new generation of poetry, a new thought of poetry, here I am and you chase me down this mountain you tin can. I’m a dormitory of words.
Is that bowl I’m missing let’s listen to Tennyson? Grab your evolution by the poetry sir. Blast your pillars of salt. Blast your shadow kings. Don’t look back at some exam of poetry Orpheus. Grab your poetry by today.
To the editor of Sky Magazine: change Orpheus into a pillar of salt. Lay down your lines you’ve surrendered to poetry. Can you hear that? Muse India a scolding. How sad. You hear that?
The tops of teas lyrical ballads. Where am I at? I don’t think you’d recognize me. I’m poetry fits the day, sudden splendor.
Can we get to the top of that mountain? I offer you a chair. It’s closer than you think, a morph of Orpheus, of your kind. You open it binoculars.
Peace is a drug that you get from the upper store. [above line Nitish’s muse, my 12-year-old grandson] Nithish’s smile. Your anthology papers, post my letters, it is very change. I’m not lookin’ forward to the new ghost story. Oh man, do your ignore me? A new music, a flute overhead, we need that to survive. Things are not going in our direction, and can we just change the tunes? What a poetry says a culture does.
You’re not playin’ around with smithereens. Come on don’t groupthink and let poetry rock. I don’t understand you sir. Does it have to be highfalutin? You stuff shirt, come out in the world and see. Am I wrong? Do we need something more out of poetry that we’re not getting?
Come out of your damn ivory tower and touch the world. Is that so hard to listen to? What are you doing that you can’t see this is poetry? And I will haunt you for the rest of your life a poetry gun, a poetry speaker, a poetry man.
I don’t think you realize the power of poetry, the muse today. It will be inevitable we dance along the Thames putting it out like Shakespeare. It will come out of its bottle and change the world. Too strange driven, you think it just needs to be thrown away, like this email’s cut off here. Are you kiddin’ me?
A spread of humanity
in Indian business,
that’s the way.
Everbody’s calling cards,
their race card,
caste or religion.
I’m tellin’ yah the direction is up.
We’ve been clannish too long.
Hear what I’m sayin’?
What would govern us?
Some say love it is a fountain. [heard sung]
I can only quote love,
give it divine wings.
It’s the psychic fire in us
recognizing the unity all is,
and with this soul lamp
we will argue in favor of God.
It’s not the God of Hindus,
however many you may count.
It’s the Supreme in each of us
bearin’ out Its world.
I can light the fire
in my own soul’s keeping,
in the middle of my own life,
to bring God closer to me
when I see your face,
in any face I see.
This is not popular.
It’s not the rule of the crowd.
It’s God on earth my friend
manifesting His reality among us.
We need to get over the divisions among us
in our heart’s call to the world.
Can you see this in India
and still love India,
and still be a Hindu, Muslim, or Sikh?
Does God count rainbows?
Each one is His smile upon the world.
Tell everyone
God’s on earth you see.
That’s the epiphany.
I was born yesterday,
and I’m pushin’ the envelope now,
a foreigner
just blinding speaking his piece,
a foreigner causin’ trouble;
would you handcuff me this way?
Let me make myself clear:
God I love you,
I’ll put it on the freeway
and drive that idea across country—
and keep your eyes on the roadway at all times.
Harm's End 