penance – Harm's End

I don’t think it was specifically because of this poem, but Auroville International posted a poem of mine in their private Facebook group some days after I posted this poem to Facebook and here. I think it had to do with the quality of the poem they did post, maybe not in terms of poetic merit, but in terms of being sincere to the goal of Auroville International, which they seem to be. That poem is called “Prayin’ for the Hour of God” posted on this blog a few days after I posted this one.

Not one star
Auroville International.
These are the streets
humanity is lost.
Wow,
could you say the Mother’s will is here?
Fuck this assistant,
is that what you say?
I give my critique to the Sun.
A poet’s basin it hears,
and that’s how I write this poem.
I’m a rose for my little boy,
and I’m fighting for him here,
S. Nithish.
We make music together.
Hear it?

Stop quivering old D,
your fingers will look like the attention,
and they are.
Alright rebel,
steal the show.
I have my own blog to put it on,
to make sure I can be heard.
I guess you don’t have anything to worry about,
and I’ve just processed you with the snake.
Auroville International,
here I leave my calling card
you hateful organization hellbent on revenge,
and that’s where we find your attention.

We’re all completely naked.
All of you
need to get off your thin horses and see this:
that boy needs Donny.
I feel like a fundamental character.
I feel like a plot.
These are ice to snow more shoes.
We’re both realizing we’re here.
Our mastermind
sets people free.
That’s the long and short of it.
Now terrible channels go home.
I’m about to go on the other side of the wall.
You will see me there promptly.
Then you can count grab ass and green cards,
you holier than thou bunch of people,
you people Auroville don’t need.

Just look at the character you endow with.
You come upon the scene with the hatred of the machine,
and you throw people away.
Self-sacrifice to help your brother,
go out on a limb to speak to him,
you can’t find that in yah,
because you’ve agreed among yourselves to hate
and rob people of their right to exist
and banish them from the land,
and not even eternity
can redeem them,
oh you Christian bunch of people
where your bones meet the land.

Stark naked I am
in front of your mow me down,
and I ride vulnerable and sweet
to your execution
where you ban art.
I ride healing
in the midst of your hate,
and I’m here to stay.
Are you gonna shoot me?
There is no love in your ice machine,
and that is pitiful and strange
because you are the consideration of a city
that seeks to grow new men and women
who want to radically change the Earth
into a paradise of brotherly love and hope
that dares bring God into our human flesh
and divinize the land.

You are that change,
oh you normal people
putting hate where God grows.
Old system be gone,
old ways,
that punishes you
an infantry of hate and ill will
that has no means to grow
the integration of society
in healing’s ways.
You destroy that
too selfish and a pain
to the officer of love.

See this and change
or lose your raison d’être with us,
the people on the groundwork of human unity,
harvesting it into the hands of the city
to realize this on Earth.
Now take my sin and look at it again
in light of the art I’ve given you.
It’s the end of harm isn’t it?
Paid for by penance
and long years of learning
the pain that I have caused.
Can you grasp that?
Goodbye.
Auroville International will you answer your position?

This is like fire. This is electricity, horses, I don’t know. Take the sound off. You have a pay by go guide, a living tree. What do I do with it? It’s not of public interest. You hear me? Magical, it broadcasts the sun. I just sit here and read it. It’s got lives in it. It’ll tell you anything you need to know. So much to hear. I’m not fond of it where poems are concerned. It’s like a tunnel I have to go through. It’s got me until the end. Can you say it? Let’s twist the words around I’m sorry, can you meaning? No, it’s not a broken muse. I’m godawful sorry for things. I don’t know how to show this to you. Do I take my hat off? I think about you a lot, where feeling meets life. I don’t drag my wrong through my mind at every moment. I think about how you feel. I put myself in your shoes. Remorse has this as a gun. Repentance means these words and a lifetime of service to humanity. I gut feeling this. I’m racked by your pain, sit at my computer and cry when I encounter it, or in my mind’s eye when I rove around the world. Your loss rents my breast, the pain of the tortured child, the destroyed city, the puppy dog that’s lost its owner, the man that’s done something wrong, terribly hurt somebody. I want to gather you all up in my arms a power of God to heal, but I have not God’s strength, and I can only feel my inadequacies to help. Let me tell you my strategy. I have a world in front of my face, all these people I care for, tend to when they’re sick, encourage them when they’re down, counsel them when they need, cook for them when they’re hungry, shop for them when they need things, carry their dreams in my heart to help give some interpretation. I listen to them. I hold their hands. Half of them are dogs. A puppy is to me a human child, and I spend all day with one, giving her that special attention, and with a human child, giving that concentrated care. It’s how I take care of you. When I look in their little eyes I see all the world. Can you feel me here? I am a servant of mankind. I am my brother’s keeper, and I love you so very much. Have you heard me? Forgiveness is a model for the road to understanding. It’s not something you do like a magic out of thin air. We know not yet the issue of our deeds. We cannot see their fount. We have a whole ride to do that, a great big storybook to learn. It takes inner searching to a degree most are uncomfortable with. Understanding comes that way, in the middle of forgiveness. Can we learn forgiveness? Can we bring peace on earth?