POETRY!

Sikkim

Peace circulates through the air

Like oxygen, inhaled into the lungs.

“OM,”reverberates through the chamber

While the temple is filled with enchantments

Of compassion, of purification, of enlightened thoughts.

Dressed in white, gold, and maroon robes

Come the monks: heads shaved, barefoot, and glowing

From the face; their eyes are lamps of hope.

The morning breeze enters the single door

Tantalizing my brain with words of the mountains:

Renewal is the cold alpine air that enters me

And my soul is open, to the judgement of all.

My mind is split in half, clear as the nearby lake.

I stand on my high place, a peak above the clouds

Making it possible for my mind to see all

And nothing, at once.

The children pour in with the breeze,

Chanting mantras of the Bodhisatva

Their voices are like tranquility to the ears.

I look up from my thoughts and find the Buddha staring at me,

Into me without piercing my fragile shell.

Instead, reflecting me, my essence, my whole.

I am in a trance.

Gold, red, blue radiate the rising sun

Thread sparkles, like a Himalayan moon in the midnight stream.

I enter the stream and peace washes over me.

The trance ends with the voices

The golden idol rising to the South, a face relieved of mortal toils

Sitting cross legged like the rest of us, one of us.

Friend-

A walk through the park,

With a friend,

The river flows quite swiftly,

And the ice sits on the bank,

Like a deer on the road.

The drive to Neverland,

Filled with elk and deer and fox

Creeping along the road like a mailbox

And the mail man comes in

With a package addressed to your friend

But without haste

The walk continues like a race

Words spit out like the horses from the gate

Talking about Arabians, Palominos, and Mustangs

Like the car parked across the way

This friend makes a turn

Into the hidden hollows

The pace is increasing as my heart begins to beat

Like the heart of a newborn child

The Cheshire cat appears with a smile of innocence

But we don’t stop to chat

We are on a mission to follow

The way to the flat

A flat like a book

A flat like an apartment

A flat like a meadow with dew drops on the grass

The sun shines down through the lollypops and candy canes

We have entered a land where nothing is bitter

Where everything looks soft

And the air is even fragile

And here is where we sit and rest

A life of compliance is not the way to go

You must make your own path

Filled with creeks and bends and purple ladies

This is the conversation we have in the park

Departure

The cars blazed by and the clouds began to form,

As the day became shorter,

And my departure quickly approached.

I savored the sights passing by:

The river, the sunset, the dirtied streets.

My heart began to sink down, as if it were weighed down,

By the longing to go back to the house.

A tear escaped my left eye as I saw the ramp approaching.

I could still taste the turmeric, the cardamon, the mustard seeds,

Present after a savory meal of bindi masala, sambhar, and rice

Dishes I never could have dreamt about a year ago.

But all the while, our car was speeding along

On the way up the ramp, or maybe a stairway to hell

To a place that was far away from my home

A land of conformists and ignorant minds

By bird I would fly over the seas

Leaving behind this place, this place I love

A little nation I like to call Hindustan.

A place that is home to Tibetan refugees,

Home to Asian Elephants and annoying monkeys,

Home to Terrorists and Peace activists.

A diverse land that I now call home

But this home was quickly disappearing into the past

As the door to the car opened fast

Apprehensive, like a frightened child,

I exited the car, head down, bag in hand

While the whole country crowded around me

Or was it just my family?

Now it was time at last

Hugs were given and received

And tears fell like rain during monsoon

I turned and gave one last look back

at my home I was leaving and then

It was gone

Real-

I’m a real boy

A real nose, a real hand, a real life

Unlike Michael Jackson

I have real dreams and ambitions

To get into college, to start a family, to travel the world

But in this world of real ideas,

Real objects, real people

I find fake things everywhere

Walking through the airport

A girl is talking on the phone

“Daddy I need a new pair of shoes,

Mommy I want a new dog”

Well darling, life isn’t about that.

Life is about soaring

Soaring through the world

Checking out the sites and trying new things

Life is about having a life

A life filled with happiness and sorrow

Excitement and boredom

Relationships and loneliness

Real problems and real objectives

The ups and downs of this roller coaster

The twists and loops

Even the screaming and shouting

Come together to form a story

The story of a childhood actress turned porn star,

The story of the Asian genius, who has no friends,

And the story of the immigrants’ son,

Born to a low class family, but who builds his life

To the dreams he had as a kid

The story of life is subject to change.

It can be turned around in different directions

A twist can be thrown in,

And the ending can be happy or tragic

But it is up to you who you want to be:

A real boy or a fake image

Ode to El Sol

You creep in the corners

Of the far away countries

Watching us hour by hour

Until it is time to move on

You are like a lost soul

Warm hearted yet confused

Wandering the skies whether

You are welcome or not

The glow of your shape

Radiates my body

Damaging our skin with

Your ultraviolet rays

But us ignorant humans

Soak them in for hours

Oh sun, warming sun

Please stay out for another hour

I run to follow you

Through the alleys and cars

In search of the light that

So elegantly creeps

But suddenly you are gone

Like the light switch was flipped

And my happiness is gone

Away with your continuous path