To copy our means of hidden vision,
look past yourself.
I like your style.
There’s no evidence.
Just close the back door.
You don’t know the universe is knocking on your door,
for centuries.
You’ve heard this wash before.
It just means somethin’ today.
I can get screwball with this
and really twist your arm.
The possibilities are endless
in the coming of lines.
You don’t know what that means.
It’s a soup actually,
and the ingredients come from the stars,
divine being’s realms,
or they register your soul.
Can you be a shoemaker?
It’s a combat zone.
So many voices pipe in.
Fuck you I’m gross.
See there?
We go beyond the devil
and have a moment of silence please
gettin’ back to Starbucks.
I’m a holistic speaker,
and I tell you a ride,
all in vision’s lair.
You know I see the world
as a representation in time.
This is in the node of my vision.
It eclipses the world at times.
I see straight out there
the nature of reality,
and then I cry for my boy
or get mad at my neighbor
and lose myself in shoes.
I can still feel pain
of the loss that humanity wears.
I cry for you sometimes.
Oh my God I’m Still Here,
can you believe it?
Okay I cry for you a lot.
Papa come back please,
and the government’s dug ‘im under
in how many places on this planet
right now
Marcelo says.
Oh that little boy touched me
through his mother
and sisters.
I lived that movie
and hold it high in my heart now.
Can we call it a real life event
brasilero?
I want you to know I don’t approve of this.
Can you believe the oppressor said this?
Feel the pain
of I want you I’m murder,
and all you did was disagree with me,
hold an opposing opinion,
in a state where that’s not allowed.
How often this does humanity
like it’s an edict of God.
Is God a dictator?
Look how many people wear these shoes
one dictator smiles.
Hup, two, three, four
the output of a nation at your door
to turn it against itself
and control you.
Even the meek and mild support it.
It’s not happenin’ now—
I think they say that every time.
No amount of support can suppress it,
and watch the world deal with China
and make this okay,
because they have the industry
and the arms maker
to sow compromise in capitalism
and threaten everybody.
Its citizens are expendable.
Just step out of line
or mention democracy.
Most don’t.
Iran and North Korea,
we have kill boxes there.
It’s a slaughterhouse really.
I’ve come to political lists
to give you examples,
but we’re talkin’ half the globe.
Makes you question God.
It’s not odd it’s the default mode
of government handles on populations,
what we guard against continually
it’s so prevalent in us.
Do you just stand and watch it happen again?
We don’t know how to fight it,
as the majority takes control,
the base man being human,
the mass mind.
It’s always derelict.
It’s usually mean.
You idiot;
you retard—
said Musk to an astronaut,
and what do we do with that?
Everyone’s delighted.
He’s our man,
just as hateful as the bunch of us,
just as mean.
Yep he’s ripe for the job,
the Department of Functioning Government.
Does anyone else see this
ask somebody,
and Trump will answer just as mean.
When do the disappearances start,
that’s the tell-tale sign every time,
when it starts.
No other sign you need.
Trump’s the default man again.
You get my barometer?
Purple ass in common,
oh Jesus,
basic a dictator basically.
What are you talking about?
You’ve polished balls and chains too
in the rule it over people’s dicks.
Oh my God those glass relationships,
it was a microcosm of the macrocosm
a simple history show,
and I live that history to myself
in rows of sorry.
It doesn’t take the choir to remind me.
Do you see it,
where you’ve been a dictator too,
even if it’s just been a jealous husband
or a teacher in control of little boys
or dictatorial parents
or some bossman on the job?
It might be the way you treat your dog.
It’s such a human disease.
It heaves society.
It brings society to its knees
in servitude.
Wake up.
And changed Earth’s story,
alive in theater,
the divine pick me up there.
Great experience
I know an experiment.
What is that?
What is it?
And no handle,
and now
we symbolize becomes our lives,
and that’s the new TV,
and we symbolize a greater show.
It’s in our schoolbooks already,
a manifestation of truth, justice, and liberty for all
into our very rooms.
You can’t see it yet I know,
but those meanings hold Earth today
in her manifesting spirit,
and I’ve come to tell you
it’s there for the seein’ now,
another way to think the Earth
and your role on it.
That’s big symbol us
and your glow on it.
Kinda makes yah release the prisoners, eh?
Let’s go.
It’s your thought’s glow.
Everybody watch it glow.
Life is a journey time got on.
Bag it,
all the glorious symptoms of God disappear.
The middle of man
will not shout our name
or even know we’re there,
yet the Godhead lives inside of us.
We’re not there
at its manifestation yet.
I’ve put it together in words
to hold our hands and move us along.
Ya’ll leave me alone.
You’re crazy.
But I’m a spoonful of God
completely outside
the reign of the dictator,
as my fashion words to you.
We are all in this disease,
when it’s called I be the one dictator.
School on it
the visionary of this poem.
Completely outside fashion dictators,
parents honey,
can you strong that?
Can you please?
That’s the handle on the world today.
There is where we begin,
and you know I’ve said the truth.
I’ve been here anyway
championing my little boy come home.
You know he’s unbelievably sad,
crushed,
spent,
under total domination
that won’t let up,
simply because his parents is jealous of me,
no other reason.
I’ve got to show you its price
so you can come up with my poem,
get these lines down,
so we can heal our world.
It’s on fire.
Tag: the muse
My Sign
by S. Nithish
1st Part
I am Nithish a growing poet.
I will write for the world and me,
and I will take big steps anywhere, anytime.
I am opening (muse) my marker
a bag with development.
If the bag doesn’t get bigger
I will fly away.
Oh I am high on poetry.
Get me a ride home.
Hey god, how tall are you?
Ha h aha I’m going to my job.
2nd Part
Exchange the world for some divine,
and my marker call the muse.
Will you listen to the paper it’s right.
Why are the poets here for?
The Spiritual Variable of Nithish
A poem by S. Nithish
I have the flower in my head.
I just want to get it in the light.
Can I just be in my life?
Can I just get my life back?
I am running to the light again.
Pull me up so I can join you.
For next level it’s coming up.
I am crying I need sleep.
They call me poison.
That’s not my name I am Nithish.
Why do you care will show my name to the world
going down the road?
Ha! can you see that coming?
That’s the new world formed.
Pass it can you hear me out?
Let me get back home.
I am very loud if you know—
your smartass come from the divine.
I am blinded from the light.
Is that it that’s the start of the border?
Wanna go beyond?
Let’s go to the spark of soul
that’s a frost fire
running out of school.
Run with me hear the bird.
Run with me for good.
They judge me by any downfall.
Well see my poem from God.
Have you met my birds?
To the surface we can go to New York,
get the jet ski fly away from ground.
If you have been reading these posts of Nithish’s poetry, then you know he’s writing this from spiritual vision, meaning he’s not making it up; it’s spoken into his inner ear and he writes it down. This a poem he wrote while at school some months before he was taken from his home at the lake. In one fell swoop he lost his whole life, me, Douglas, his dogs, his own room, his new computer, the farm, the lake, all of it, and he has not been allowed to return or visit me since, anywhere, call me on the phone, have anyone give him message of me, or view his YouTube channel. Read the last post to see why his parents have done this, and you will suspect, as I do, that they have abuse they are hiding, and they know the boy will tell me if he sees me alone long enough, and they are preventing that.
I don’t think I need to interpret this poem line by line. It’s obvious what he’s talking about, but what’s extraordinary about it, miraculous, is that he wrote this months before the he would be in the situation he’s speaking about, so his future self could read it and understand what is going on. His ‘wokeness’ to his situation comes and goes, more goes than comes actually, if my spiritual vision of him is correct, but I do know from others telling me that he is silent about me and the life that was taken from him, does not even mention me or it. That sure does make me think, and the purpose of his poetry, why he wrote it to his future self, was to make him think, understand what has happened to him, and stand up for himself. I do not understand spiritual process, all this miracle just to go to the garbage can of his mind, be deleted. He has as yet no interest in reading it.
The Spiritual Vision of Nithish
Saying
by S. Nithish
Today morning I saw a car.
Its name was sunny.
In my I saw sunny.
In my pen I saw sunny again.
And my friend,
he wrote something in a paper,
and he gave it to me.
In the paper it said sing, sing, think.
I saw a sun shine in my life.
One, it will happen again,
right happy I am.
I told you can I have my rights back?
My back I got my back I say,
and you say haha haha.
Are you the Joker?
No I am the divine power of the God.
Wanna see me fly?
Nithish is writing this poem to his future self, as he is in the video-poem “Edge of the Game”. The poem was written some months before he was taken from me, when his life was taken from him, his daddy, his dogs, his computer, his room, his home, and the lake, all in one swoop, and he was taken to live with his parents and given no rights, supervised constantly so as not to try and call or see me, controlled to the nth degree for the same reasons.
The sun that he is talking about is Supermind, and before he was taken, he was a serious student of Supermind. His parents have forbidden him spirituality and to follow Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. The friend that he is talking about is me, and I’ve been writing on Facebook just what he says I’ve been writing so to get him to sing and think, as he’s been almost completely brainwashed by his parents by this time, two and a half months since he was taken. He does not want his rights taken from him, being made to feel like the Joker because they say he’s brought shame to the family, and here he is trying to wake up his future self so he doesn’t lose himself.
You might ask why won’t his parents even look at these things? Do you know they won’t let him read his own poetry? Just ask them to let him, and they will tell you they don’t want him to remember me and change his mind, someone that has been there since the day he was born, parenting him for half of his childhood, giving him years of memory he can’t completely erase, and their answer shows their intent, and it’s not for the needs of Nithish nor is in his best interests. It’s to take his memory of me and to get him to only love them, despite everything, simply to possess him. His mother told me over the phone she did not care about his needs; she wanted him, and he was hers.
Just this poem alone show strong evidence of prevision in the boy’s poetry, and there is much more, where he’s also talking to me from the past, giving me instructions for how to deal with the situation of him being taken by his parents and abused by them in the video-poem “Menu of the Gods”. Then there’s his song, “Big Time Song”, a general prevision about how it feels when they take him from his home, take his life from him, and the process of him coming to understand that, and how “date is in his life, working for his life,” the time that he returns home to the lake.
Yesterday I found a stack of poetry in his drawer in his room that he’d written while in school, and he’d shown the poetry to me when he’d written it, and I’d just filed it away, telling him the poetic quality wasn’t up to pare with the muse he was getting for his YouTube channel. Now I’m reading them, and I’m humbled and blown away by the fact that he wrote all this to his future self of some months hence, to himself now, to guide him to wake up from the brainwashing that’s being done to him by his parents to kill the poet in him and the spiritual seeker, the boy that wants to stand up for children everywhere and have some kind of neighborhood court, he told me, where children can challenge decisions their parents make concerning important things in their life. I must tell you now I’m not really his daddy; I’m his spiritual master, and that’s the secret relationship we’ve been having, what I tell him not to tell anybody, although I am not a master; I’m an adept, but you understand the relationship.
We need strong evidence of the soul and the divine active in humanity today, like more that at any other time in our history, because we are on the brink of destruction. Here we have that, and this is a miracle. We need miracles, ones that can be clearly seen, and what is a miracle but Nature when she has been stripped of her plain clothing of ordinary and shown to possess powers we have suspected all along is in her store, but ones she does not show often enough to believe in nor to very many people at a time, powers that show us her secret divinity and close bond with the soul and God? A miracle, people, I give you a miracle, where the whole wide world can watch it, on the world wide web, the inner poetry of Nithish. We are watching the boy fly.
The Inner Poetry of Nithish
by S. Nithish
Can you really stretch two mountains?
I don’t need to jump off.
I can just fly through space.
I met Neil Armstrong.
It was his pride to do that can’t you see?
I do something from the bottom of your heart.
Mine is poetry.
Why can’t you speak your mind?
Because of those evil touts control your mind.
I learn to fly.
I see another world in the pond.
I can’t be right,
but I can be truthful to the world.
I can feel the change.
The world is changing once again to a bad turn.
Do you really want to let them in with yourself?
No way I am gonna let that happen.
This was sung to Nithish on the inside as a rap while he was in school about two months before he was taken from me. It was one of two raps he wrote, or, I should say, his muse wrote. The other is at the end of the video-poem “Edge of the Game”. This rap comes from spiritual vision, and he is seeing what is about to happen to him, that “bad turn” coming. In the second to last line, he is speaking about his parents when he uses the pronoun “them”, who are psychologically manipulating him so that they kill the poet him because they think poetry is a waste of time and because they are suspicious of the lines of poetry that he hears from the inside because they turn him towards God and spirituality and not to them, his parents, and I’m paraphrasing things they’ve said.
They do not see any talent here, but, dear reader, do you see no talent here? He has a talent that maybe only two or three kids on the whole planet have, an ability to not only write poetry and song completely from inner listening but also an ability to tell the future. Do you really want that destroyed? Maybe he has this talent to help us not to destroy the world. I might ask who the two mountains are. Would you laugh if I said he and I? I write poetry from spiritual vision also, and it was me opened this up in him.
We Ready This Music for Death Today
We have Nithish
shortly—
how are you?
I’m fine and you?
This very big quote discipline,
where you don’t have to.
Nobody’s taking down your posts.
You’ve reached starlight here.
Oh I don’t know.
Would you like some singers please?
Grab dumb ideas,
unless you put that in the shop,
make this beautiful,
give this a whirlwind.
We’re comin’ upon it now.
Brandin’ a microphone.
It’s got good music on it.
They will hear it.
You’re soundin’ the alarm.
Nithish is in trouble.
He needs help,
these five points.
That You Compare
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.
Nithish and I Down by the Samadhi
This poem was written for the trustees of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry, India, and was given to them the only way correspondence can be, if you are not an ashramite or someone they know, by giving it in an envelope to Mr Puru at the photo room adjacent to the Samadhi, and whether or not he will pass it on is entirely up to him. The Samadhi is the tomb of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, where people come to sit, meditate, and pray, which is located at the ashram.
We met these tomfooleries.
Do you ever look at your own car?
Can you be a better sadhak in wood,
a better disciple of Sri Aurobindo?
I lunge there:
I spend my day in total concentration.
This is a farmer on my land.
I really till the soil.
The concentration comes and goes,
but it’s picked up time and time again.
It’s fits and starts,
all day long.
Can you be a better sadhak of Sri Aurobindo?
I’m burnin’ on that ground.
I clear my mind and find it’s there,
for few certain minutes.
Can we come back to this?
I always do.
I am disciple of Sri Aurobindo
that always hears words
my inner ear hears.
I write them down
through a voice recorder.
My God I’m a seer someone said.
No one’s said this yet.
I’m just this guy with wood,
if you see me on the street,
held by my little boy.
He’s white and I’m black,
as society sees us,
an easy lesson in symbols if you hear.
What color am I with him?
I am navy green.
That means he’s safe with me.
What a spectacle for a pair of eyes.
The racial mix’s intriguing,
on the bandwidth of ourself.
Don’t doctor this up.
We’ve got infinity going for us,
racin’ around,
a whole field show.
We do sadhana together.
I be his teacher.
He’s not cloven foot.
He stands on his sadhana too,
a kid in grace and poise.
Okay stand back.
Here’s where we differ.
Open the inner consciousness
child.
Reach in there and find soul.
Open up in vision God.
The Mother and Sri Aurobindo take those places so many times
in his dreams and visions,
and in his understanding of God.
A child’s understanding basks in time.
No matter,
they are his guides and goads.
He’s opened the inner consciousness,
and his poetry would map our Earth,
if we but could give it time to breathe.
School shoves it down his throat:
hey kid, study for your exams?
An exam is a holdover from the last institution:
caveman you gotta learn this mile;
it’s survival of the fittest.
My God the lists against this kid are strong.
It’s a wonder he’s even doing it,
bein’ a vehicle of the inner voice.
The inner lines are strong.
I know the doubt and fear cast on this.
You would only see
to know.
His latest poem I include
at the back of this email.
His latest voice I include.
We measure this
by the strength of his ego.
That’s not fair.
A little kid’s sense wrote this.
Now here we are sittin’
at the back of this ego.
And we mention the poet.
I’m in the poem you see.
Now listen to a story.
I’ve given my kid the voice recorder.
He might get a line.
We are at the opposite pole of the Samadhi from the crowd.
I’ve never sat there before.
I'm with my other student Mithun,
who hears inner music.
I don’t got no more students but them.
A band plays.
I hear the line “Ice cold Samadhi”
just given into my inner ear,
but my boy’s got the voice recorder occupied,
whisperin’ in two lines of his own:
“Rechargeable minds here,
Olympus.”
Here’s where it gets weird.
Someone not connected with the Samadhi watch,
not a staffer there,
or so I think not,
gets an eye on the voice recorder,
walkin’ by the mountain.
“Gimmie that.”
No polite words were spoken,
no considerations one,
no respect none.
It’s here you’re doin’ sadhana,
when somebody pops yah.
All the gold comes out.
I’m sorry to say none of mine did.
In the ensuing conversations
with this person and that,
I just defended myself,
and my boy there.
I did not do what I was supposed to do:
not react,
but I didn’t tell one person off.
I kept reaction out of my voice,
to the degree
anger and ill will
I didn’t let show.
This I was careful to do.
No one heard me.
No one said a word.
You know how this is gonna be reported:
that son of a bitch lied and stole.
You will believe your people,
of course,
but all things show themselves in time,
and no one will be able to lie then,
together or apart.
I’m left with a voice recorder
I’ve used there now many years.
I’ve written poems from that Samadhi,
framed one and gave it to yah,
“The Rotisserie of God”.
No one has ever copied me,
the reason I was told I couldn’t do it:
everyone will.
You think I’d of been discovered by now
if it were a ruckus,
but I can bring a pencil and paper if you insist.
That leaves me with gold
they will take from me there,
when I come to pray.
We will check you now every time.
You know when a threat’s spoken.
It’s the hatred in their eyes.
We will harass you every time you come here.
Can this not be what they really said?
Well Savitri asks for boons,
from the spectre death.
I’m not gonna ask for the blind to see.
I’m just a sadhak not Savitri,
but I hear you call my name,
and can I write poetry sir
on my voice recorder at the Samadhi?
Well, I’ll wait.
Now here’s the one I’m worried about.
Can I enter the ashram gates
without bein’ harassed?
I’ll bring pencil and paper sir,
until you tell me otherwise.
No hidden cameras to record my voice
I’ll wear.
Do we have a deal?
Trustee please,
are you spiritual?
This is a Samadhi question.
I live there
in my heart all the time.
I react, sure, but I’m there,
and I live in vision.
I see the world before my eyes
a thing under creation.
It’s being made right now.
I hear this in vision,
and you did too.
“Ice cold Samadhi” means
it was a frigid place
emotionally,
and where was this?
It was in the situation I described.
These men were ice cold,
no warmth at all in their voice
or in their eyes.
Immediately they rose to anger,
all riled upon themselves,
and I’d had prevision of this,
in that line of muse,
just before it started.
The world rose there,
before my very eyes,
and I only saw it after it was over.
Could help then?
Well it sure helps in our conversation.
I don’t think those men
gathered the future before it happened.
They were not focused and gathered.
All came to put that foreigner in his place,
like their reaction was natural the order of the day,
like they weren’t doing sadhana.
They acted like the inner voice had no place in Sri Aurobindo’s yoga.
It was wrong.
Can I tell you something else?
Well, my inner voice was right on.
I forgot to tell yah…
Some people say no
I just made a mess.
He wants to go over it look—
my muse on where I’ve been.
I’ve been to the moon and back,
if you’re listenin’ to muse,
and I’ve danced with the military
on tactical nukes,
a U.S. special forces commando.
I’ve been in the heart and breath stop in Silent Mind,
that hurried glance,
and I saw the Gods in their tiers in Overmind,
and on a rim of dreamless sleep,
dived into the well of soul.
Would you believe in overhead?
The consciousness raises up there,
like several meters,
and there you find Supermind.
Makes for a lot of poetry.
Brief glimpses all,
but I’ve seen what I’m sayin’.
I can go round about the world
a penniless vagabond—
27 countries in 10 years.
Do you have that faith?
I don’t think you even learned Classical Greek.
Translate Euripides into English verse,
and you’ll gather strength in poetry.
You also get good at it,
in time.
Took me 25 years,
even after I started hearin’ it.
Now can we define the future poetry?
The future’s got that in hand.
I don’t understand.
I’ve heard the future call my name,
and you won’t show this to anyone?
Paper airplanes
every poem I’ve made?
Make or break yah,
these are not conventional teeth.
Are you open to the divine?
Candywood
make or break yah,
what you hear on the internet today.
I’m sorry I took it up,
the internet speaker.
I get laughed at and lauded.
The latter’s not louder,
but they’ve gotta eat too,
the people on there for the breeze,
and I might be seen soon
by a pitchfork and a vital
that hate me so much I go viral.
Look there’s nothing in them,
the threats I face today.
The rotating officer
is not interested in me.
I’m not hurtin’ anybody.
I’m not doin’ anything wrong.
Now you’re starrin’ me,
at your look see.
Oh well,
do it to her face okay?
Get another bad piece from her.
You gave her a poem
that said she needed to work on it,
humanity’s tiger.
Do people really wanna act like that at the ashram?
A boy his hair,
that’s what he does.
I thought you’d notice
they walk silly.
Good idea,
I’m talking about
being human kind and loving
to all who enter your gates.
You’re gonna have to,
whadda you do?
Really buckle down and be good to people,
and her hair could be picked up too,
and she could focus and concentrate,
breakin’ along can reality period,
yeah, yeah.
Global,
I even ask you to global change.
Here it is you have a mirror.
There’s broad stroke said it.
There’s the yoga.
Everybody makes mistakes.
Would you offer this to the Mother?
Opening up kids,
I agree with you.
We don’t block them from society.
We fathom them God.
We don’t fathom them school.
And they become there,
on the journey to God
a society rose.
What do we hope by it?
We get bigger than ourselves.
His heart,
a little boy rises
his soul.
A little boy rises
I’ve been meanin’ to tell you.
The expectation’s not the kid.
It’s the consciousness.
What’s this mountain?
You wanna bring God into the world.
I tried to do a little explainin’
on boyness and the nature of man,
on bein’ human.
We are here for this.
We need all our strength.
Practice is another suite.
Send it sweet.
Did you get everybody put in this spirit?
It takes the world to make it up.
Blown up yeah.
We made it here,
in this section,
to the touch of a magazine.
Everything’s online,
and this will be too,
now or never.
Do you understand the flavor here?
That’s the flavor of change.
That’s the flavor of Harm’s End.
These are bunk beds,
and we live here,
grandfather
and his grandson
you keep hittin’ at.
Did I mention Douglas?
Puts together his life with the Mother.
A house is not complete without dogs,
and we have four.
They are the love of our life.
Our friend is on the roof,
Narasimha,
protecting my house
if you should try to take me down.
I don’t die.
A divine worker is protected.
This is what I’m aiming:
the life divine.
So much power,
you’ll have instructions.
May God bless you.
Your outer form was carried right.
We are not derelicts or sinners.
We are safe and sound.
I’m will
extra deep,
alright?
Okay,
you have been warned.
You don’t mess with divine protection,
but are you really mean-spirited?
Does the Mother cross your brow
if you should hate someone?
Okay your character’s on the table now.
May you wish blessings for all.
May you really hold the Mother’s hand.
I bear you no ill will.
I’m not in a campaign to smear your name.
I’m doin’ what I’m supposed to be doin’,
here writing you a poem,
now doing sadhana.
I’ve changed the ticker tape in his life,
that kid.
Am I glad
he met me with the divine.
I’ve met you that way.
That’s the story.
Oh wait a minute daddy I wanna fix my lunch,
one second.
A purity of kid rose,
a gracious cartoon.
Now let’s survive this
and become better friends.
You know it’s there,
the fact of your will or consciousness behind a lesson.
Okay,
noted.
Well it will transfer
that it was made by the foreigner.
Okay,
spit on ‘im.
I don’t think so.
Your thought process in relation to your thoughts,
and you pick them up randomly?
Now that’s got uncle and brother,
your bigger clothes,
without AI.
I’m here to help.
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.
Deepenings
The title to this poem came, meaning was spoken into my inner ear, at the very moment in the movie Maestro when Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony ends, which the main character, Leonard Bernstein, is conducting inside Ely Cathedral, England.
You’re gonna light a fire then,
somewhere in your heart,
to see past form and measure.
I can’t show this to you.
This is big stuff.
I ride it sometimes
a formless thought
so big I can’t contain eternity.
I mean I see pictures
of the forms of things
and know they’re void.
I see the act.
I wonder over creation,
how formless it is
in reality,
in essence.
I mean there’s nothing there.
A hold on reality,
that is all,
some picture frame
that houses more it can be.
I’m riding the waves of time,
and I can’t believe it’s there.
It has formlessness attached
to every rod.
We’re seeing things
in the cough of the Void.
Oneness is there
absolute.
Now let me get at this seeing.
I see nothing
would not be the truth of the matter.
I see bright and shiny.
I see a world before my eyes
imbued with meaning.
It gets stuck sometimes.
Where does the meaning come from?
From my very lips.
That’s larger than sound.
A story is spoken into the Void,
and the aeons stamp it out,
and we hear it.
We can’t grasp its meaning,
but we know it’s there
animated by souls.
Oh my lovely little boy,
my Rottweiler,
my Doberman,
that candle on the street
honking at me,
they are all lit with soul.
I see it in their eyes.
I can’t get over the vision.
They’re larger than soul.
My God what’s in there?
Have you every been alone with yourself in the midst of another person,
in the grasp of the world?
They can be sucking your tongue.
Please, I’m a cultural enterprise.
Don’t bite me here.
You just stand there stark still
in disassociation’s quiverings.
Infinity bites the finite.
You can’t get over that guy.
That’s the one that has you in hand,
the maker,
the dream maker,
the unimaginable everything that’s about you now.
Can he grasp you?
Can he pull your pants down?
You’re robbed of sense.
This is a stark moment.
I bound there.
I know it’s comin’:
I never leave there again.
And I’ve caught you in half circles of it.
I cannot grasp to you its whole.
I’m not there sometimes.
I never get to that fullness
in my momentary lapse
into the lapse of infinity.
My momentary circles
just buy me lunch,
and I breathe awhile
everything is wonderful and strange.
I get so excited
I opera to myself,
and I get scared sometimes
it gets so deep.
I’ve given you half failings
of what it means to be human.
We are so much bigger than stars.
We are that guy you see,
making his alone-rounds
where everything collides together.
Oh my God he’s a bulletin bull,
and I’ve reduced to you its mystery.
If infinities were universes,
all-encompassing infinity could not encompass him.
I’m just saltin’ the ocean
and countin’ crows.
This is bigger than time,
in any duration of its meaning.
We get bigger than universes,
and we get bigger than infinity.
We can crow there.
I’m taking you back through time
to hello please,
let’s take a bite of infinity.
You there,
in your suit,
remove yourself from time,
get back in yourself
to vision’s eyes.
Let down the world some
and revel in its majesty.
Get your gun out and shoot
at the presumption of the stars,
at God’s mighty glory,
at something that’s just so strange
God comes out of it.
Amazing
is just a teller in a window.
We’ve broken in on time.
Copy this down
the story of the universe.
It came from such musings
in infinity’s time.
Now it’s your story keep.
Will you handle it?
The Robinson Crusoe on Mars,
I’m a pallbearer.
Can you hear infinity?
Let your ego down some,
your ego’s guts,
the ego’s lair.
Divine intervention [this line from my little boy Nithish, from his muse, and came to him at this point in the writing of this poem, while having pizza in town at Taka Pizza]
beyond deity.
We’re lookin’ through
I don’t know if I can see that high.
The relationship starts
when you’re alone in your room,
your environing personal consciousness,
and you can field notes.
You can get in there.
Start noticin’ your room.
I’m not sayin’ wall yourself off from society.
There are times to be alone
in the midst of it.
Cut yourself off from society,
can you even do that?
It’s not possible.
We are your own personal consciousness
in the field of the One.
I vaguely remember
the strength we’re all together.
Here, this is a lily pond,
and you’ve lily’d unto yourself.
Draw back in your room.
Investigate reality.
The time will come
you will open doors
of seeing.
Let it happen.
Don’t count it away.
It will all come upon you when it’s there
tangible real.
You will billow in your room,
become a flower-pen.
You won’t let you down.
You’re on your way to seeing.
Just let the thoughts roll back
and thin towards silence,
and meet the world with that
in your vision’s eye,
in your mind’s eye,
and draw back the curtains
so you can see eternity at work.
These are not beliefs.
Just see.
Eventually
you’ll arrive on sight
into veilless infinity.
You will feel this in your room
stark naked.
Now you’re in glory hole.
Keep movin’.
You come to a fullness of yourself
riding waves.
Now tell me the world has no meaning.
You saw it, didn’t yah,
the meaning alone.
Did it wink at yah,
give you a nod?
Wow, that’s personal.
That’s really personal.
Well I’m writing my poems
the boost we need to get there.
You’ll walk around.
You needed something.
It’s the American revolution.
I think they stole it,
all this hatred online.
Has blocked poetry has blocked mine.
Show it to you investment in reality,
like you’ve never seen it seen.
This actor
shoots directly to you
I got the movie
in parables of see.
Wear it on your face
your intense hatred.
I’ve left it so beautiful,
reality’s face.
Where are you at that you can’t see it?
Swallow your nose.
Lay down your religion.
For once here we are at score.
It’s in your eyes today.
Willy Wonka,
will you offer some chocolate?
That’s administrators if you like it.
That’s the burn name.
I’m behind you
reality meets the press,
one second,
your thinking.
Captured,
Oppenhagger,
constructing love.
Under what conditions?
Bomb material
poems I publish.
You can hear me on the bus.
You pretend to ignore me.
Costing so much chocolate.
Yours was letter-formed into poems.
Think about it this is a different kind of funeral.
We lost you the character of new bullet
today.
A demon’s eye [Nithish’s muse, heard while behind me on the bike, seeing a bird with red eyes]
will distort to you the truth.
Don’t let it.
It’s got rings on it,
and it hurts you:
you are some kingpin you are not.
Stay away from demons.
You can get off here.
Did you just hear it speak?
A bit of muse
will show you the way.
I wouldn’t get hung up on it.
I would bring you to the truth,
and that’s bigger than reality,
and it’s not a game we play
to convince each other.
There is a vision there inside you
that can interpret reality.
We get along without it
most of the time.
That does not get you
to pure reality
or anywhere near the truth.
You just hang there.
Can we get beyond name and form?
We embrace each other there.
This is really personal.
We embrace each other there
and get out of ourselves.
Practical hands see the no-self show.
See that no-self show,
it’s that guy you see
stark naked.
I mean the cameras are in the room,
but there’s no cameraman,
just his see.
Awesome we wait time
the right formula
to meet the world,
and do everything we need to do
to stay alive
and operate reality
to a bigger game than time,
and become Ourselves again.
They’ve got a furigation.
They just don’t let the water go.
It’s the pilot Supermind we are beyond time.
No issues,
the body’s there too.
And now let’s hump reality
to the right place on earth,
where you are no ego,
riding waves of reality
to the see of that guy.
You there,
have I brought you home?
I can’t picture this.
Just look in your drawer.
You wouldn’t go through every picture.
Where do I see this?
Don’t laugh it’s in your room
larger than cat.
You’re gonna piddle me apart of course.
I’ve got a strength of muse.
You can’t get rid of me that easy.
You’re gettin’ enlightenment on a piece of paper.
Have you ever saw it before?
Do you need to see it?
It’s your lifeline.
It’s the reason you were created,
to become That you see.
There’s no way around it.
You can’t avoid it.
Your death journey has this in store,
but it’s here we graduate.
It’s here we do it.
It’s here we get it done.
There is no other place on earth
to take what you can get out of life
as your homecoming.
You only see animal quiverings,
do not know we get bigger than that.
Your spiritual empty,
but you can go the distance,
man you can go.
That’s what we Earth for,
to bring the planet here:
beyond the animal
into God-quiverings.
I don’t have it.
And I’m gonna pick him up,
lay the bridge down for him
in some parable of tomorrow.
Fasten your seatbelts.
Need to practice it,
the acceleration of life.
Need to get going.
Tra la la! [line heard yelled in the voice of Captain Underpants from the movie of the same name]
Oh hallelujah.
Peel back silence in your mind.
Lift it there.
Extraordinary,
you have depth of vision.
The Fate You’re Said Desperate Need
Looking my answer.
I’ve made such a rainbow.
No one sees its beauty/sense. [words spoken simultaneously]
It’s just another lunatic in a long game.
It’s just completely ignored,
except for a handful of brave souls
I would like to thank.
5,4,3,2,1,
I’m countin’ your love here.
You have risked your lives online
and put a like by my material.
Can I count that?
You must love humanity
more than your own lives,
or you feel so strongly
about what’s to do right,
you will put that before your very selves.
Where do I put you?
Go down my like columns and see.
KK, lunaiswriting, DirtySiFiBuddha, The Emotional Pixel, QuanTouch, B Gourley, Tony Self, Notes & Silence, Frank Solanki, Narayan Kaudinya, Elena, Lorene M., Bogdan Dragos,
and you others,
I don’t know what to say.
Thank you.
Let’s count the score.
I’m flabbergasted.
I don’t know what I mean.
I’ve counted meaning in the stars,
summed up the meaning of Earth,
and physically grasped Supermind,
and I’ve even housed meaning soul,
yet I cannot grasp in my own hands I write.
I cannot write my meaning in Earth.
I cannot even tarry there.
I don’t know how.
I don’t know where I am
where I meet you with the pen.
This is a mystery to me.
I am a steady stream of starlight
that doesn’t leave out one iota
of where my thoughts are,
my hands in the business of life,
my heart as it sees the world,
and I can’t even gauge you my time.
I write things down
I hear from on high,
and that is not the half of it.
I run this through the strands of my life.
I sit and wonder the lines I write.
I pick and choose and beg and plead
to give you the date of poetry.
It’s all scrambled up sometimes
in the gut-fields of life.
I cannot touch life.
In halls of infinity
I just get close to it
in storms of pen.
It won’t read me there.
It’s just about the lie
we value poets today.
Do you?
I can’t tell you how much
I spend on this.
It’s my life’s blood.
I work around everything to write.
I eat and I sleep
carrying muse.
I’m about the end of it,
how I begin each day.
I don’t think Shakespeare knew a better idiot
than I feel grasping you.
I’m sorry please.
I will arrive there one day,
where a poem’s just a piece of paper
I’ve handled meaning on,
and I don’t handle meaning in terms of readers.
I’m gettin’ there.
I can see it now.
What do we do with the orange crush?
You’re gonna sneak up on my meaning as I write.
You think it’s about lollipops.
I’m just tryin’ to grasp myself today
a writer of poems
on Earth’s starward prow,
in her meaning lists,
and where I find the Sun.
I gobble down the stars,
lick up the scraps.
Do you know muse?
I am so entertained.
It’s an amusement park,
and to think this is for all mankind?
Wow, we watch TV with it,
put it in our pipe and smoke it no.
Did that just happen to me?
I’ve heard a line of muse,
saw a vision,
and the sign said poetry.
And we grasp Earth in our specialness
and want to tell the world.
It’s not ready for it yet,
and you can’t get there yet,
show your muse.
Don’t throw it away.
It’s got vision’s long hold on it.
It will mature brightly.
You’re not showin’ it to people.
You’re just listening muse.
It’s got a lot to show for it.
You’re gettin’ bigger kid,
lookin’ at the world some
a God vision growing.
You think you’re a pilot of the world?
Oh please we’ve all been there,
considering ourselves.
We can grow so much bigger in our thoughts.
We can get bigger than ourselves.
We can surely get there.
Do you know how far this is?
I don’t think you can touch it with ego.
It’s on the other side of the universe.
A change of consciousness gets you there,
and that’s where we measure our days,
not in muse.
A change of consciousness ahead,
that’s where we measure muse.
Is it happening to us?
Is it real?
Is it there yet?
Do you see the lightning?
Oh wow better poetry
can I Lord please write?
Where I am today:
I don’t think anybody hears me.
You silly fool,
write
measured pace.
Run it through the ringer of my life
and be bold,
casual and free.
Newman,
we’ve got that ticket.
Caught a moment off Gods
to the camera
you’re the human being.
Focus any of my material?
Put it on that lawn,
Lucille Balls.
We’re negotiating shelter.
What principles create him greater need?
He’s blarin’ at yah
sorry about the needful.
There’s time to look at it.
I’m sorry I say so much
that brings out your life.
Are you crazy?
You give the essential details;
there is no need to give them.
He needs to got
put in the hold.
You’re listenin’ to him.
Open it up
Americans,
because Americans with a policy
—okay let’s go under—
with a policy to grow anything.
The only way I talk to you is throwin’ you out. [line heard sung, voice of Dolly Parton]
You wanna sit your own ass
on the opposite side
of going off the bridge.
Yep, that outta do it,
environmental change.
Call your father
Christmas.
I can’t call anybody.
I’m not allowed to write.
It’s because you never get read.
They’re gonna come,
the people who read newspapers.
I just want to look at the must angle.
We need these right now,
these poems called freedom,
how you pronounce it,
how it’s acting.
And I have a lovely single for you today,
another poem,
good story,
man's help.
And for poem’s sake,
the runner,
Beavis and Beauty—
I’m underpinnings;
I’m the laugh of the party;
I’m in there a broad measure of healing.
Let’s leave it up to another empty poem
to give us some ground rules.
Harm's End 