Some Violation of Boarding Pass

On September 15, 2025October 12, 2025 By Donny Lee DukeIn PoetryLeave a comment

A lot of things up there I don’t like to talk about.
It’s a mess up there,
and it chases your life.
I’m an idiot for believing it.
There’s no hope on this runway.
I can’t even see my dogs.
I lost all the people who matter to me.
They’ve taken me out of India
for a visa violation.
Can you imagine Dylan?

I had several minutes to pack.
Nithish came and we talked.
Everybody was crying.
No appeal allowed.
They were stone-hearted men.
The immediacy of the situation derailed me.
I was not prepared to go.
No one would listen to my pleas
just a few days please.
It was heartbroken.
The dogs were so confused.
Bruno knew.
The pain in that dog’s eyes, can it kill you?

Who knows
the price you have to pay for poetry?
I made the Auroville Foundation mad,
and they promptly got rid of me
and didn’t even show their face.
Their lackeys did it.
I’m going to shoot them tomorrow,
not with guns with their guilt.
Douglas and I are on a plane to nowhere.
We’ve been kicked out of our home.
I am over skies now.
I don’t know where I am.
I don’t care to.
I will never see my dogs again.

A few minutes to pack
after a life of 20 years.
No international rights,
what do you do with that
when your life-blood is on the table,
all your hopes and dreams?
Even Nithish’s parents cried,
and we all forgave each other.
So many crying people came to see up off,
and it didn’t move a cop.

This is land’s lamb,
a spoken inner voice,
and it will even tell on itself.
It won’t leave you alone.
To trust it is to invite paradise,
but hell is its price.
Pain and suffering slam me now,
and I don’t know what to do with that.
More poetry please.
Look I gotta get out of this ride.
Most things have to be deleted anyway.
I’m sorry.
Look it’s over.

What happened?
The government has cancer.
It only has a gun.
It breaks people’s hearts,
is only concerned with its name,
can’t see past its own nose,
is a bear eating people.
No one can call it on it.
You get in trouble.
They won’t let you talk.
When you give them a divinely inspired poem they get mad,
shoot the messenger,
tear apart his family.

What’s the wasted gun,
where I meet the government,
or where it meets me?
Hand that over
a hide and seek.
Show dinner now
how much bullshit serves me on myself,
or am I worth the life of this poet?

Plenty of people
have no pride.
It’s part of the hardship of life.
Do we let then in?
Do we let the haphazard come in?
They’ll throw it open like they’re dying without it.
They are not sincere.
They’re trying to get over on you whatever they can.
They can’t look you in the eye and say they’re sorry.
They’re all over the place,
a dim a dozen.

I need to know what that man’s like.
Test him some.
Come to his house and sit at his table.
Is there anybody but himself in his banyan tree
who are not satellite I’s of his solar I?
Can he have compassion?
Will he sacrifice
for those around him?
Is he a hope in humanity’s heart?
Does he genuinely feel the presence of others?
What does it take to make him smile?
Can you count lighthouse in him?

I’m askin’ the right questions
say you find an illegal immigrant.
These are the criteria we live by,
and he needs to show that.
Can I get a horseman here please?
We’re blowin’ humanity out of the water
throwin’ somebody out of the country
such as these.
An immigrant’s status
give the immigrant’s worth?

Look at yesterday.
They pull a poet
out of his home.
Because I didn’t read his poetry.
I listened to the bossman.
We celebrate this.
You’re at 1 o’clock.
Put more tickets through.
It’s all good.
Put the police upon the table,
and this defends a society
of Indian spirituality?

Our family there were told that the Secretary of the Auroville Foundation, Jayanti Ravi, filed a police complaint against me for the past three poems on this blog, which are about Auroville. Four men came to our house, all in civilian clothes, and only one would show his ID, the one from immigration, whom it’s reasonable to assume that they brought just in case there was a visa violation, and there was. Later, since I was holding out in my house, the regular police came.

Recently Auroville News and Notes reported that the Auroville Foundation has brought 15 members of the special police who are crushing dissidence in Kashmir to do that in Auroville. I suspect at least two of the men who wouldn’t show ID were them.

That You Compare

On May 18, 2024November 13, 2024 By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment

the photo of the Mother over my kitchen table

This poem has been published by Edge of Humanity Magazine: https://edgeofhumanity.com/2024/11/12/harms-end-blog-by-donny-lee-duke-that-you-compare/

ஆங்கிலப் பதிப்பிற்குப் பின் தமிழ் பதிப்பு.

No parent to you
in the chair means
that was not your cradle,
that was not your hold that baby sweetly,
that was not change his diaper,
that was not teach him to walk,
and that was not to show him the world for the first time,
and all the things in it that made him wonder and laugh
and cry when it hurt him.
You did not sooth that child
in the bottom years of his life,
those three years of Earth
when he rose into human being.
It is there we hold him
his parents say,and you have no right there
they tell me.

Is this all that’s wrong?
I have been his parent for life.
I came in
when that boy left his toddler years,
and I formed him
into the boy he is now,
formidable years,
the ones his two front teeth came out,
and the teeth there that I had him grow back
were not mean.
They were full of spiritual impulse,
and they formed his muse,
the poetry he writes from inner house,
and that is my job with him.
He is a poet to show the world
we have to change our way with children.

We have to make it right with them.
We have to give them ourselves
so they can be themselves.
We do not own them.
God does,
and is our job to help
them discover their soul’s purpose in life,
even if that is not
where we want them in our home.

This is the parent I am
to that boy,
and even if he never sees me again,
I have parented him there,
and that is in the bowels of the Earth,
and no amount of hatred and brainwashing
on his parents’ part
can remove that from his life.

Here on social media I have not called a name,
and I have not shown a face.
I have broken no rules of engagement,
and I want the world to see what you have done to this child,
just at that point in his life,
at the very second,
the body wills into adolescence,
and you have damaged him there,
ruined him,
and you will see this bear fruit.

I’m all over this with my arm,
and I know how to heal this boy.
Please step aside
and let it be done.
Put down your jealous egos
and let me save your child
from the hells and howevers
of being a sociopath.
I cannot state it more clearly.
Now you see it,
let me heal him.

நீங்கள் ஒப்பிடுகிறீர்கள் என்று

நீங்கள் அவரது பெற்றோர் அல்ல
நாற்காலியில் பொருள்
அது உன் தொட்டில் இல்லை
அது உன்னுடைய பிடி இல்லை, அந்த குழந்தையை இனிமையாக,
அது அவரது டயப்பரை மாற்றவில்லை,
அது அவனுக்கு நடக்க கற்றுக்கொடுக்கவில்லை.
அது அவருக்கு முதல் முறையாக உலகத்தைக் காட்டுவதற்காக அல்ல.
மேலும் அதில் உள்ள அனைத்து விஷயங்களும் அவரை வியக்கவும் சிரிக்கவும் வைத்தது
அது அவரை காயப்படுத்தும்போது அழவும்.
நீங்கள் அந்தக் குழந்தையை சமாதானப்படுத்தவில்லை
அவரது வாழ்க்கையின் கடைசி ஆண்டுகளில்,
பூமியின் அந்த மூன்று ஆண்டுகள்
அவர் மனிதனாக உயர்ந்த போது.
அங்குதான் அவரைப் பிடித்துக் கொள்கிறோம்
அங்குதான் அவரைப் பிடித்துக் கொள்கிறோம்
அவரது பெற்றோர் கூறுகிறார்கள்,
மேலும் உங்களுக்கு அங்கு உரிமை இல்லை
அவர்கள் என்னிடம் சொல்கிறார்கள்.

இது மட்டுமா இதில் தவறு?
நான் வாழ்நாள் முழுவதும் அவருக்கு பெற்றோராக இருக்கிறேன்.
நான் உள்ளே வந்தேன்
அந்தச் சிறுவன் தன் குழந்தைப் பருவத்தை விட்டுச் சென்றபோது,
நான் அவனை உருவாக்கினேன்
அவன் இப்போது இருக்கும் சிறுவனாக,
வலிமையான ஆண்டுகள்,
அவருடைய இரண்டு முன் பற்கள் வெளியே வந்தவை,
நான் அவரிடம் இருந்த பற்கள் மீண்டும் வளரும்
அர்த்தமற்றவை அல்ல.
அவர்கள் ஆன்மீக தூண்டுதலால் நிறைந்திருந்தனர்,
அவர்கள் அவரது அருங்காட்சியகத்தை உருவாக்கினர்,
அவர் உள் வீட்டில் இருந்து எழுதும் கவிதை,
அது அவருடன் என் வேலை.
உலகைக் காட்டக் கவிஞன்
குழந்தைகளுடன் நம் வழியை மாற்ற வேண்டும்.

அவர்களுடன் நாம் அதை சரி செய்ய வேண்டும்.
அவர்களுக்கு நாமே கொடுக்க வேண்டும்
அதனால் அவர்கள் தாங்களாகவே இருக்க முடியும்.
அவை நமக்குச் சொந்தமில்லை.
கடவுள் செய்கிறார்,
மற்றும் உதவுவது எங்கள் வேலை
அவர்கள் வாழ்க்கையில் தங்கள் ஆன்மாவின் நோக்கத்தைக் கண்டுபிடிப்பார்கள்,
அது இல்லாவிட்டாலும்
எங்கள் வீட்டில் அவர்கள் எங்கே வேண்டும்.
நான் இத்தகைய பெற்றோர்
அந்த பையனுக்கு,
அவர் என்னை மீண்டும் பார்க்காவிட்டாலும்,
நான் அவரை நன்றாக பார்த்துக்கொண்டேன்,
அது பூமியின் குடலில் உள்ளது,
மற்றும் வெறுப்பு மற்றும் மூளைச்சலவை எந்த அளவு
அவரது பெற்றோரின் தரப்பில்
அதை அவனது வாழ்க்கையிலிருந்து நீக்க முடியும்.
இங்கே சமூக ஊடகங்களில் நான் பெயர் சொல்லவில்லை,
மேலும் நான் முகம் காட்டவில்லை.
ஏற்பாடுகளுக்கான‌ விதிகளை நான் மீறவில்லை,
இந்த குழந்தைக்கு நீங்கள் என்ன செய்தீர்கள் என்பதை உலகம் பார்க்க வேண்டும் என்று நான் விரும்புகிறேன்,
அவன் வாழ்வின் அந்த நேரத்தில்
இரண்டாவது நேரத்தில்,
உடல் இளமைப் பருவத்தில் விரும்புகிறது,
நீங்கள் அவரை அங்கே சேதப்படுத்தினீர்கள்,
அவனை அழித்து,
இதன் விளைவை நீங்கள் காண்பீர்கள்.

நான் என் கையால் இதையெல்லாம் முடித்துவிட்டேன்,
இந்த பையனை எப்படி குணப்படுத்துவது என்று எனக்கு தெரியும்.
தயவு செய்து ஒதுங்கவும்
அது நடக்கப்பெறட்டும்.
உங்கள் பொறாமை ஈகோக்களை கீழே போடுங்கள்
உங்கள் குழந்தையை நான் காப்பாற்றட்டும்
நரகத்தில் இருந்தும் மற்றும்‌ சமூக விரோதி களிடமிருந்தும்.
இதைவிட தெளிவாக என்னால் கூற முடியாது.
இப்போது நீங்கள் பாருங்கள்,
நான் அவனை குணமாக்க அனுமதியுங்கள்.

The Poet of a Sunrise

On May 9, 2024May 9, 2024 By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment

What happened
at your advocate's office?
He was threatened,
when you came alive he was threatened.
He had to obey his mother.
Is that the real card?
You thwarted her.
You put yourself there not the mission.
It was all your fault,
never mind her cruelty.

Why do you allow her that?
Why does she have all the power?
You’re not being fair,
and it has never changed,
and I got no help there.
So blame it on me,
but You could’ve helped.
You could’ve done something.

Why die?
Because I’m lost him,
and I cannot live without him,
and it’s the betrayal of the universe,
the betrayal of God.
There’s a spider there.
She believes it,
does not see how inhuman she has become.

To not even allow you to embrace after all that pain,
two solid months of grief?
She kept him behind her
and even put her hand over his face
so you could not see each other
when he tried to look at you from behind her.
No one will show her cruelty to her.
We just want you to feel certain effects,
and We allow this.

Yesterday was your tragic happening,
and you did that tragically.
The list’s off the end.
I know to pleasure that,
so I know I’ve done the right thing.
There is no possibility.
There is no possibility.
There is no possibility.
He’s deleted everything
except the system delete.
Go in the freezer please.

Open your account.
You’re a fish.
You’ve got to give maybe.
He needs your care and attention.
This number’s strong.
Please try later.

This is the stage of real power.
This is the lonely winter stage.
It’s about who’s going to the stationary shop
and buying him metals and honor.
I can do that.
No, no, my hair’s growing.
Lydia
will fight me for it.
I’m not concerned with that.
I’m concerned with your future.

People this is imaginary pool.
He hasn’t told me these things in the outer world.
I look at him in spiritual vision,
and I hear him tell me things.
Lydia I think you’ve punished him for that.
You have a primitive mindset,
all of you,
and you don’t understand the power of poetry.
I have restored everything to show you.
These poems here might be valued long after you are gone.

What that boy is is a poet,
to a degree that most childs aren’t.
Here is a poem that speaks of the future.
It’s talking directly about
Sandiya taking Nithish from me,
and the way that we find peace from that,
how to do it.
It is written in poetic symbols.
You will only recognize the last line
as him talking about what’s going on today.

Read this poem and tell me
he has no future here;
this is the stupid babbling of a child;
this does not show that he has any talent whatsoever;
this is just a piece of garbage.

The argument I am having
with his mother and father
is over his future.
I can give him American citizenship,
a U.S. passport to travel the world,
a university education in America
if he so choose.
I will not shove school down his throat.

I also give to him
the status of a poet,
not his future self,
the child Nithish today.
What is a poet?
A person all honor
and hold in high esteem.
They write the culture
and give it direction and meaning.
They hold out their hand
and presidents and prime ministers kiss it.
They are the special meaning
the world awaits
with honor.

I give that to Nithish.
His parents can’t.
They are concerned with possession, rules, and school.
I have his department.
I not only know what he wants.
I can give it to him.
They know now he loves me,
wants to be with me
and has this whole time.
They punish him and punish him now
simply because he loves me.
That is not fair.
That is not right,
and I’m sorry you have to see this,
two parents doing this to their child,
from waves of jealousy
and hatred of the foreigner.
Here I am,
and here is his poem
take us to the future.


Paradise Things With Lyrics
by S. Nithish

Reach for peace,
but it’s a long jump away.
It’s One stairs.
Butterflies are our airplanes.
They’re peaceful and calm.
They can fly us to space.
From there we need to walk.

There’s a place for everybody in the world.
I did two steps:
let the Light be the guide;
my place is out of this world.
We all have something that we should pass on.
I do not have a turnoff button.

The ancient minds were better.
They left out clues for us.
They left out clues around the world.
We should always say thanks.
Stars were meant to be together.

He Would Not Even Speak to Me

On May 8, 2024May 9, 2024 By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activismLeave a comment

This is a photo of Nithish my advocate took at his office last night, May 7. He has lost so much weight, the hollow look on his face and in his eyes I cannot stop crying over. He did not look like this when his mother took him from my house.

I am very embarrassed to explain, but I lost control of my emotions in a meeting with the mother and the boy and my advocate. When she entered, she kept the boy behind her, using her hand to put over his face so he could not see me. I went behind him and put my hands on his head, and she quickly maneuvered so that I couldn’t touch him. There had been a second, when he was on the stars behind his mother, that he gave a week smile, but after that he pretended I was not even there.

The mother, boy, and the advocate went to the office, and I stood near the door, until they shut it. I could hear the boy crying and then the advocate shouting at him. Then I and my grown son was called into the office. I just looked at Nithish, who was trying to pretend I wasn’t there. I could not take that, and I began asking him to please speak to me, say anything but say something, and he would not. I asked him is he loved me, and he gave a weak yes, and then I began asking him about his mother hitting him with a flat board, what he had told to me to begin by in a phone conversation the very night before. He nodded a weak yes, that the advocate saw but not the mother, and when she turned her head to look at him, he stopped assenting. I told him that he had told me to do that, and he would speak, and he nodded his head again, and when the mother looked, he stopped.

I had pulled out my phone in the beginning of the meeting, and my advocate told me not to make a video. But then I saw the mother holding her phone like she was making one, and I knocked it out of her hands across the room. Then She took Nithish by the arm to leave, but I blocked her, telling the advocate that he saw the boy’s being abused and brainwashed, and I asked him to call child welfare. He refused. He physically took a hold of me and began moving me out of the office so the mother could leave with the boy, in a way that I could have to contact, even be near him. I was trying my best to keep her from taking him out of that office. I failed, and they left, and then I was severely dressed down for my actions by the advocate, asking me if I wanted to go to jail, and I was told once again, that in India, you can do anything about child abuse, not matter if it’s illegal or not.

I tried to explain that I am not India, am an emotional American, and that for two months I had been in severe emotional distress, getting calls from my boy to help him, and here I just could not not hug him or greet him, how impossible that was for me. I had to get him to speak to me.

So, it’s now over, and I am returning to America in the fastest possible way. I have to get away from this pain that boy giving it to me. If he won’t help, then I can do nothing for him. I’m sorry. I did my very best, and no one out there would help either. I never even got a single comment for support in any of these posts describing this tragic situation.

Message to Nithish

On May 6, 2024May 6, 2024 By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, photopoetry, soul healingLeave a comment

This I put on my Facebook timeline and tagged everyone in his neighborhood that I am friends with, and I also sent it as a WhatsApp message to everyone near him I’m connected to on WhatsApp. There is still little chance he will see it. I am not Tamil, and that makes the decisions around here. His mother tells people they cannot give him message of me, even mention my name to him, and people comply. They are not educated or cultured, are urban village, are the same crowd that watched his mother pour hot wax on him to punish him when he was a toddler. No one corrected her. I saw her light a match, blow it out and burn him with it when he was three. I really got onto to her for that, and speaking to Nithish about it some months back, he told him that wasn’t the half of it, and he told me of the hot wax and how the people on his street just watched his mother do things like that to him and say nothing. So it’s no surprise they say nothing now. It’s just tragic.

For those who have only seen this one post, two months ago tomorrow my little boy, Nithish, 12, was taken from my home by his mother because she had made a sex video of her younger son masturbating, and I did not want Nithish exposed to that. He was there when the video was made, and I wanted to make sure that stopped as far as he was concerned. So I took my advocate to talk to her about the schedule of parenting. At that moment, I had him on the week days, and they the weekends. His mother had informed me some days before that they wanted to change it to he would be with me one day a week. I only mentioned the video in the discussion of our differences in parenting, did not say anything about it at all because she immediately began screaming to get out of her house, out of her family, and that she would take Nithish, which she did about an hour later.

She has not allowed visits, phone calls, or, like I said, anyone to talk to the boy about me. She keeps repeating that she will not allow me to spend one second with Nithish, and here in India, she has that power. Parental rights override the welfare of the child. He has been able to call me in secret to tell me about the abuse he’s received since he was taken and to ask me for help to get him out of there. I have really tried, and today I was finally at court, but only in the parking lot talking to senior advocate who may help. I am a nigger here, and please do not get offended at that word because, although I am not enslaved or beaten, it does describe the level of discrimination I face here in trying to to just talk to my boy. Can you possibly imagine how it feels to not even be able to talk to your child in a photograph, and I was there the night he was born, began parenting him when he was three, have been the main parent since he was seven. The pain of this several previous poems attempt to give some picture of. Imagine how the boy feels. That hurts the most.

Let’s Grab Nithish

On April 22, 2024April 24, 2024 By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment

Why lift the boundaries? (vision with the line of a wave of birds, thousands of them, coming up from the ground and into the sky in one solid waterfall-like movement but going up. This happened as I was sitting on a park bench)
To go through life together under the Sun.
To be ourselves with other people,
but ourselves alone too.
To give that boy what he needs,
and he needs an involved I love you son
wrapped around me.
To change the world.
We’re not messin’ around.

Now have we been put on hold,
for the umpteenth time?
Will I awake?
Call me,
senior advocate.
Very closely nearly there.
You better let me.
I’ll delete everything,
and you got your seer no more.
What is it,
a love reaction?
You’ve betrayed the very essence of reality
in my fundamental makeup,
in my fundamental see,
if we don’t come together,
and I will know that the world is a fucked place we’re doomed.

And if we set ‘em sir,
and if they’re not here,
what is their placement?
You can sit us in your organizing society,
and we will show you where we rose.
We’ll be here
master plan.

I’m getting close I can’t stay yours.
I’m a learning disability.
Daddy do something about that girl. (vision with the line of a big man walking beside me with a black beetle in his mouth, and he was choking on it, and I was slapping his back to get it out)
You’re dyslexic that’s okay.
Your mother can’t punish that no more.
I will take you with me,
and you can be dyslexic in my school.
I love you so very much.
Next week,
I promise.

Start happening!
Start happening!
I looked at it, [this line and the two above lines heard spoken in Nithish’s voice]
and exactly
as you said
it happened.
I want to know what your vision was.
Momma laid her feet on me.
All’s I could feel
was our deep, undying love
taking me to the lake.
I will be there soon.

You will paint some rosy picture that I am to blame.
I’m a Facebook mob.
Oh I’m sorry, seven views.
On WordPress there’s two.
And Nithish,
I see him now.
His mother has replaced me,
and he let her do it.
The hugs, the kisses, the warm rubs,
the excited talk about this and that,
that woman who beat him has replaced me,
and he’s happy with it.
I can see the treatment.
He’s a baby
Sandiya told me on the phone.
She’s gettin’ her juice.
Before she would not even admit he was still a child.

Okay they go together.
What am I still doing here?
What the fuck, over?
You have replaced all my lands.
You have taken my very child
and given that place I have with him
to someone else,
and they beat him and they slap him,
and they lord it over his life.
What more do you want from me?
Why do I have to see that?

I have been betrayed in the sense of my stuff,
by a little boy that took all of my heart
and always wanted more.
Where is release from this?
He’s still won’t speak my name to his parents.
Get that,
won’t even say he wants to see me,
the love of his life for all these years.
What blackness is in the heart of children?
What cruelty lurks behind their touch,
wizziles with you in their face?

This is blind cruelty.
The boy just wants to get by.
To hell with me,
as long as he gets his good food
and bag of sweets
and special treatment.
He’s cast me aside,
and I made so much noise,
whenever he called,
it forced him to call me
and come out of his stupor
face me a moment,
come out of his animal bliss.

We’re dealing with a kid from the train yard.
Whatever divine element in him,
he has just gotten rid of.
What do you do with such a kid?
He will never speak up.
He’s satisfied.
He’s got his parents’ attention,
and is the focus of so much love,
even if it’s for his parents to have him and not for him.
This operation sucks.

Do we rock that poem on Main Street
and show it to the kid?
I’m not happy with this boy.
He’ll walk the room
listening for phone calls,
listening for Nithish.
Man-managed plan
develop on rainbows.
Let’s look at that replacement line.
Ruth, this is daddy.
Now I’ll call you mother.
There a step-mother sleeps.
And you never got close to her,
but you were dependent,
a little child,
and you had to look to someone to take care of you.
She was mean.
She was a monster,
but you called her mother,
and that was your choice.

You hated the relationship.
You cried and cried.
You really tried to please her,
took her assessment of you
as conscious fact,
believed her
when she came crashing down on you
for just leaving your boats in the yard:
you were a bad boy.

She saw you naked,
washed your back in the tub.
She combed your hair before school in the morning
and fussed over your clothes,
and you hated that woman.
You were 10 and 11, no?
She was just so mean to you.
“Get up you little bastard it’s time for school.”
“I know you like a book.
You’re no good,
and your father’s no good.”
That really sucked.

The constant tirade
coming out of her mouth
she flushed at you,
anytime you were in earshot,
that did you in.
You hid in the woods for hours,
until your father came home,
and he was no gentle lover.
A stern man with whippin’s,
that’s what he gave.

Now look at Nithish.
He’s making the best of a bad situation.
He’s being punished for loving you,
and no one seems to notice that.
In his heart it’s liberation towards you,
like you felt towards your mother,
only she didn’t want you back,
was not on the edge of consciousness night and day
trying to carry your pain.
That boy has got you,
and you’re all he’s got.

Can we mention this
to the world at large?
A boy has a man he’s loved all his life,
who’s taken care of him more than his parents,
and for that he has been so traumatized
that he’s died inside.
He’s still loves this man,
and so much time his parents have spent
to kill this in him.
What the fuck, over?
Are you listening to this?
Can they do that?
Just because he loves me
he’s gone through so much punishment,
gaslighting,
brainwashing,
and psychological torture:
here boy, love this man?
Let’s go to a fine restaurant.
I’ll take you to a spa.
Forget him, forget him, forget him.

But it doesn’t work,
and the parents are frustrated.
They don’t know their son.
Okay we just ride this,
let it be?
The boy’s better off
just doing his school work?
I beg your pardon?
You put a child through hell
and say it’s for good grades in school?
That’s his reason for living,
why he can’t have this man?
That’s an eight standard education talking,
his mother’s.
This man is a Classical Greek scholar,
and knows dyslexia when he sees it.

Oh beanpoles,
you will not get away with this.
I’m comin’ for that boy,
and I’m comin’ loud and clear,
and I’m bringin’ the posse,
and I’m bringin’ the cavalry,
and if Indians don’t know matters of the heart,
just say yeah beat the children,
let them lick their parents’ spoon,
Americans know better,
and they’re on the way out of this,
and that’s who I’ve employed.

Aerosmith,
it’s Aerosmith
to tell you that American thing,
lights out on total control
and ever remember your dreams.
Got some Pink Floyd here.
American music,
there’s music there for the land Earth,
and it sticks in your craw
like a love song.
You hear our anthem here.
Won’t you buy a little American pie?
We don’t doubt the man does.
Are you afraid the boy does?
And I’m not givin’ the lowdown on abuse.
That’s magic in love,
a parental man for his little son,
a big boy for his best friend,
a man and a boy who love each other.
Hear it?

We gather you in poems,
one after another.
Can you speak that far?
I don’t think you’re over the fence,
one foot process from stuck in the craw to living school.
You don’t know how.
That’s saving grace,
whether you know it or not.
Come on let’s ballon,
and let’s give this keeper his time shares.
He’s keepin’ a boy safe from harm.
You know his mother reads this,
reluctantly,
somehow,
despite herself.
We take her there.
For the poems now. (vision with the line of someone offering two Rupees notes, one a large denomination and the other a bit smaller, but it was big money)
I get paid in regard
and help this little boy,
not a baby in the room,
not even a chair.

He’s been taken out of the picture by his mother,
and no one can question him a thing
about where his mother is taking him,
if she’s not in the room.
A boy of 12 see that,
no will of his own,
year there’s a civilization on record,
mluv pomaleji prosím. (vision with the line of being on a bicycle and turning to my passenger behind me and saying that Czech phrase, putting my finger to my lips so to say be quiet).
May I help you with that?
Expressive of their will is expressive of their life.
Don’t deny them that,
and you’re off to the races.
Don’t put down later.
Pretty much
give him to the public.
Hey, what color of a shirt didn’t he didn’t wearing today?
The color his parents choose for him.
A raccoon
was not a ground speaker,
but he lifted up his head.
The voice is in the room.

Is that what you want society,
another person dependent upon society
to be his mother?
No will of his own,
that blooms.
He can’t find himself.
He might even kill you,
the manhood takes its stand.
Robbed of his will
right there where he becomes a man,
just entering the body changes of adolescence.
Can you say that?
Just tell me what to do okay,
that’s what we hear.
Sure society,
that’s what you want,
a world of beggars please.
Let’s study this room.
See Nithish.

Okay Nithish,
I forgive you son.
It’s not your fault.
You’re not to blame,
and I will see you soon.

Sudden Sandiya

On April 15, 2024April 27, 2024 By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment

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.

The Roots of Pain

On April 9, 2024April 9, 2024 By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment

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.