"Life is 10 percent what happens to me and 90 percent of how I react to it." ~ Charles Swindoll
Earth is a template by God created,
wherein I am caught in crosswinds of fate,
praying to powers that be that I may remain elated,
even if soporific soothsayers sorrowfully state that is too late.
"Life is 10 percent what happens to me and 90 percent of how I react to it",
is the telepathic wisdom that one morn did suddenly so dawn on me,
that living in the here and now, if but to God’s will I do submit,
my consciousness is magically untied from mind’s tree.
Likening earth life to be somewhat like a lucid dream,
wherein I am both the actor on stage and director backstage,
enacting my ordained role, I dance with joy atop love’s moonbeam,
to the jibes and taunts of myriad shape shifting forms taking no umbrage.
In silence I invoked bliss magnetism, which now in my heart strums.
I know I am not decaying organic body-mind, I am not this,
so with seeking ended, I am nonchalant to outcomes.
“Made in God’s image, I am love, light and bliss.”
With inscrutable imprecision and ominousness
The night faded into a Dracula’s delicious twilight
Blood moon promised never materialized
Soothsayers recognized the beginning of a prophecy
They dared not discuss it, even among themselves
Enemies lurk in trees, shadows ditches and shallow pools
During a twilight like this, it is best to cease magic
The witches were silent, lamenting in lonely corners
RamaRajya, Mahatma Gandhi’s non-violent utopia of mutual tolerance, has no place for bigots who lynch and leech the Weak.
Lynch my body
Pinch my soul
Punch my pride
Drench my blood
Staunch be your henchmen
Bunch of bigoted hooligans
Flinch us they from progress
Wrench us they from justice
Exhaust every trick in your bag
Pull every arrow off your quiver
Bribe your cheerleaders forever
Swing your dagger far and deeper
Behold! Destiny’s Wheel will one day turn
In your own inferno shall you burn
Hate will then find no buyers
Fade shall every Fake Soothsayers
Rama’s Rajya will then re-assign
Love and equality will re-reign
Unity and Diversity will re-align
Tolerance will do India define
***
(From the anthology, Mantra of the Oppressed, available on Amazon.)
of the world lingers
soothsayers
forsooth
dawns keep dumping out light
despite the ever coming
the end
gets further away
it runs away
from every prediction
a million alternative ends
transform
become new beginnings
all the doomsday dealers
and all the disbelievers
look for loopholes
preppers take vacations
sometime later
it all stops
no one is left to notice
Early light washes over me
and love is an ocean.
I look out the window
as squirrels and sparrows
hop across the yard and play—
it could be spring
it could be fall.
I think of my friend—
I’ll love her forever.
When we’re together
I’m lost in time
and prophets and soothsayers
don’t even know what time is.
When my friend and I stand near
each other in an aisle of the grocery store
our talk of nothingness
finds greater meaning.
And although years
before we met have passed
our hearts are young.
A running sea
chokes the throat of a cave
then runs away
letting it breathe again.
Starfish light-up
under a luminescent
and radioactive surf,
then are pushed into sandbars
to dry-up and die.
Beach balls are swept ashore,
bleached fingerbones
lift them over the surf,
plastic bottles pile up
with ghost lips
still attached to them.
Soothsayers think we don't know
what's coming,
but we do.
There are few things cannot be fused today.
Even the impossible, there always is a way.
Whenever two things, we need them to meet.
We find a way, even if it’s a miraculous feat.
Something that humans are yet to achieve.
Is a phenomenon that’s very hard to believe.
There is a wide chasm that so many dread.
It’s the gulf between the living and the dead.
Clairvoyants and soothsayers all have tried.
None really have contacted those that died.
Have some really seen ghosts and a spirit?
Did they actually get up close and near it?
Have they returned from Heaven back to earth,
Or souls roaming this planet round its girth?
Spirits not yet, been to Heaven they wait
Searching this world in vain for Heaven's Gate?
It’s not a bridge that He wants us to build.
So we could visit Heaven whenever we willed.
So apart from us seeing a ghost or phantasm.
Heaven to earth is an Unbridgeable Chasm.
Paper machinations
steam blase
A lineage of a story
gives blurry eyed account
Velvet accorance
the seats are tweed
Whilst those bewailed on newspaper lined bench's
steal sleep
Tramps in grey silhouette
chew on dead cigars
Sequenced starlets
cruise soothsayers in Marylebone
Dancers kick their manniquet stance
worship the jaws of night
turn grey in disown
I reached a point in life where I was so disillusioned,
in my head there was nothing but chaos and confusion
I had trunkloads of trouble
piled up like rubble,
and suitcases stuffed with so much sorrow,
I couldn't see my way to tomorrow
My emotional baggage was overflowing with bad news
Shall we say I had issues?
My luggage was filled to the brim with lies and deception,
and I knew I had to do some serious introspection
Up til then, I had no inkling
of how far down I was sinking
And it was a good bet
I would have to change my mindset
I saw a few soothsayers
and came across a few nay-sayers
Then I came clean with my woes
and apologized to all my foes
Eventually, I was shown
a peace I'd never known
With time, I stood the test
and I LOST MY EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE SWITCHING PLANES OF CONSCIOUSNESS
Every evening, I could witness, in my childhood,
Beggars, going from home to home, for daily food;
Fear filtered into my heart, as though from fountains,
I could see, within me, many terror mountains...!
Visits of soothsayers, snake charmers, and vendors,
Magic, jugglery, witchcraft, and comic blenders;
Each one was considered a guest and was well-homed,
Each, as though members, wherever they wanted, roamed...!
Foreign visitors, often those with skins milk-white,
Made my heart pump very fast, increasing my fright;
Men sent on the query of a vivacious kind,
Set blaze, like volcanoes, firing fears in my mind...!
All these, yet, I feel now, had shot up like mushrooms,
Age and experience swept these away like brooms;
Xenophobia is a phase of growth, I learn,
Some humans, yet, in this urn, eternally burn...!!!
28 April 2023
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
The volcano leveled
then a great wind blew the rest away.
Early humans came late.
They had callused soles and rough hands
they knew how to dig,
run and hide.
When the flood came
they were at ease feasting on stringy meat and bones
in the makeshift camps of their tribes.
The locust eating priests
declared it was everyone's fault
but theirs.
Contrite, and greatly diminished in number
they began to scratch the history of the world
on random stones.
Volcanos grew testy again
smoke and fiery fumes scorched the sky.
They packed up their meager possessions
and trekked. The tribes did not stop walking
until they found a lost scripture in the dust.
Some called the find a bible
written by soothsayers
yet unborn,
but in truth
it was yet another mystical footprint
to follow -
a sign to track
out of this inexplicable land
that kept blowing away
on the shifting sands
of bad times.
A running sea
chokes the throat of a cave
then runs away
letting it breathe again.
Starfish light up
under a luminescent surf
then are pushed into sandbars
to dry-up and die.
Beach balls are swept ashore
severed hands still gripping tightly.
The image is ghastly
and mainly untrue
unless the hands
are a warning for you.
Everything is crowding the dead
into shallow living places
and vice versa.
Prophets walk barefoot
predicting the endless tumbling nature
of wave-burnished pebbles;
soothsayers think we don't know
what's coming
but we do.
light breaks through clouds
stillness of late morning
a time for passage
lines of a possible
verse stir
reflections of gods
reflections of nothingness
reflections of old love
stars hide
above sunlight
a new planet found
it’s still forming
astronomers
ask questions of life
and its origins
and soothsayers
still ask
why we live and die
waters stippled
reflections
a time of passage
a pond in the park
where ducks
and canadian geese
gather and play
limbs and leaves dance
in a breeze
a mother takes delight
the moment
her toddler son
slides down a slide
a man sits proud
on a bench
loses himself
on a day off
from work
a time of passage
when summer waits
to bleed into fall
The soothsayer turned over the death card.
The old guy who claimed he did not believe nearly died.
Clutched his heart, began having palpitations.
It does not mean a human death, she told him.
It means the death of one concept, to give life to another.
You mean like the death of a job, so I can have a better one?
Exactly.
He stopped clutching his heart.
But it was too late.
His wife now knew that he did believe in soothsayers and tarot cards.
She snickered, because she always suspected this.
She is a constant in the cosmos
Unknown in a physical way
However, her presence is felt
By empaths, prophets, and soothsayers
The witches are incredibly aware
Feeling her subtle influences
She guides the winds and the seas
Nature knows her as cosmos woman
She has a spiritual glow
That dazzles the elements
They applaud her efforts
Feeling her power, admiring her strength
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