Poetry

Poems and articles about poems by me.

Poem: Time To Come

Poem

I have been in these woods for years now
as I have watched you graze and grow.

Thousand nights, I have spent
creating this spear so vicious…
It’s potency higher than death!

No, I will not to kill and prey you
I will to make you crawl towards me, so I can smell and embrace you

Yes. I have watched you mate and grow,
but that doesn’t concerns me at all
for…in front of my desires,
those events are too small!

You will come to me…by your own will
and lay down in front of me as I feel better than God!

Your smell intoxicates me,
My music is intoxicating you
It’s time to crawl to me now
this is where you belong
My presence is metamorphosing you!

(Edited)

From my book Paranoia.

Poem: Stareway to Heaven

Poem

A drizzle,
Under a metallic roof.
Surrounded by,
leaves dancing to an unadulterated tune
Real ones!
Cool breeze…literally
Not contaminated by globules of global fetish
bulbs…too far away.

What else does one need?
While you’re there
Just while you stare
you are not,
A desiring clockwork.

From my book Paranoia

Poem: Thus Spake Spit

Poem

A small light in these dark caves,
for now enough to save from extinction.
Slowly…igniting and turning into a dragon’s breath
I come from there,
the thought of where itself will frighten you of thinking
forever.

The fires will burn and burn…
drift and drift…
on it’s way
burning the heavens itself –
The same heavens
you lust for,
and kneel down or bend over for!

See, you are constructed with codes of geometric perfection
I have been spit due to lack of inclination
if you are an atheist
then I am God
if you contempt on barks
then I am a Dog.
You ascended into the mountains
I descended into the caves,
for you heavens are dearer
for me darkness is nearer.

Soon…when your mountains and heavens have burned
and turned
into thick dark clouds overhead
then…
when you finally see what I see
and shiver at the sight of raw darkness
I Will be your God
and show you that light
and watch as you learn to levitate and rise beyond
and smile at death forever
bless you!

(Edited)

From my book Paranoia


 

Poem: Sky and Clouds

It was a sunny morning
and so you planned to bask all day
when a lusty cloud came
from who knows where
and made it dark:
Now you shiver in pain.

You write these words
They go talk with gods
The gods get it
and make it sunny again!

Though the cloud seemed gone
You see it in the horizon
The damage has been done!

You have to be a Rshi:
Compose mantras and chant them full time.
And you have to plough your field
Chant and plough
Chant and plough.

You can see some clouds out there
But the sky is clean up here
You can’t un-see the clouds now
Chant and plough
Chant and plough.

It is night
but it’s too bright.
You want that cloud now
So you write different words
They go talk with same gods
The gods get it
and bring the cloud back again!

and the next morning…
you repeat it again.

The gods are greedy
The gods are crazy
They want sweeter words
They want them all the time
They want to play
They play with you all the time
But you don’t mind
Because you need a clear sky in the day
and some clouds in the night.
You are greedy
You are crazy.

You go through all this
to keep them near
To eventually reach beyond
them and there.


 

Poem: Me and Them

It’s evening and you sit here with your laptop in your room
while the world rushes home closing their desktops at work.
You’ve always been this way. You realize.
You and the world have always been this way.

When you were a kid,
while they learnt real politics outside with their imaginary guns
You learnt imagination inside because you couldn’t understand the politics of the world!

When you grew up,
while they played kings and slaves in streets, classrooms and playgrounds
You played god and designed and destroyed sportsgrounds and movie-sets inside your head.

But you were not as strong or stylish as you present yourself here
You were weak, bleak and you were scared of their breath
Not because they spat fire. But because they stank!
But you couldn’t ignore them because your horizon was still a virgin
And so you sat with them and even tried to impress them!
Even their bad breath you thought was a norm
So you stopped brushing too…
You were not at all as strong or stylish as you present yourself here.

It’s always been this way.

And then when you reached an age where boys made girls cry
You yourself cried in a classroom.
And then you were stared-at, kicked, teased, yelled-at:
By insecure blokes who saw nothing when they looked at themselves in the mirror.
You didn’t understand then that their expression towards you
was their expression towards themselves
You couldn’t understand that because you didn’t play with them outside.
And now they look at their watches at work, nervously waiting for the time they get to go back home
while you get to sit here calmly in your room writing magical words like these that turns them into whatever pleases your mood.

You’ve always been this way the world and you
First, the world throws shit at you and then you throw the world into shit.
And now the world plays king-king down there at Troy
While you play god-god up here at Mount Olympus!


 

Poem: Kush Galli

Composed at some point in 2016. This is about an alley near my home named Kush Galli where I frequently went to smoke.   

Never knew when this passage became a rest-path
A path of contemplation, solution.

You stood there, never knew from when
and lighted one cigarette after another
conquering one thought by another
While you always gazed around in reluctance.

It has become a house now,
yet always trying to illustrate a reason to make it home.

Sometimes,
You get there after a long while,
assuming you have got a license.
Other times,
You try to hide there, yet go there to hide.

Oft,
you act as a passer-by smoker
Yet, a ring of smoke you leave over…

If smokes could carry thoughts and desires
then may be,
someone can smell it
and inhale what I had to exhale…


 

 

 

10 Pieces Of Poetry That Broke My Mental Frontiers

what is poetry

Poems: Power of words to those who like to both think and feel.

Poetry, if done and read right, can thrust your mind (states, perception, beliefs, etc.) into previously unvisited zones at such breakneck speed that in no time you find yourself changed beyond even your own recognition.

This is largely because of the concise nature of the art: Mental States, Environment, Perceptions, Opinions, Worldviews, beliefs, knowledge, etc. compressed into a few words with analogies and non-linearity. They are like mighty bombs that can decimate any walls, bridges, boundaries and frontiers — If done and read right!

I say all this because I have had a strong and healthy relationship with poetry. Myself having published two books of them.

They have changed me, shaped me, destroyed me, designed me. They have helped me come out of many misery and sufferings. They have shown me many beauties and feelings. They have helped me break shackles and relationships. They have helped me build relationships. They have helped me explore, experiment. They have opened many closed doors. They have closed many open doors. They have broken emotional and mental frontiers allowing me to feel and see things I never would have even imagined existed.

Here are 10 pieces/sentences/lines/stanzas of poetry that have broken my mind’s frontiers.

Lunatic: Laxmi Prasad Devkota

Madan Puraskar Pustakalaya, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

You’re clever, quick with words,
your exact equations are right forever and ever.
But in my arithmetic, take one from one-and there’s still one left.
You get along with five senses, I with a sixth.
You have a brain, friend, I have a heart.
A rose is just a rose to you-to me it’s Helen and Padmini.
You are forceful prose, I liquid verse.

This extract from a famous poem by Nepali poet Laxmi Prasad Devkota I read more than a dozen years ago, fueled me with so much rebellious energy that I still move with the same stock.

To break any frontiers, you need energy. You need constant energy and force. These few words did it for me. This is mental poetry at its best and finest.

Alone: Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov’d — I lov’d alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view —

This poem connected me with myself.

I started seeing differences between me and others. I started seeing things in me I had never seen. I started accepting myself like never before. I started exploring my desires. I began the process of knowing myself. I ceased to be afraid. I was finally proud of who I was. I developed self-respect. I developed strength. I discovered myself.

1: Sad Toys, Takuboku Ishikawa

By Unknown author — http://www.echna.ne.jp/~takuboku/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2713139

When I breathe,
This sound in my chest
Lonelier than the winter wind

Japanese poet Takuboku Ishikawa died of tuberculosis. This particular poem expresses a lot. It grabs you by your outward looking head and rotates it enough so that you can look at yourself. Here and now.

There were bright glowing stars in my frontier, but after I read this…the direction of my frontier changed and I saw black holes.

the wine of forever: Charles Bukowski

the writing of some
men
is like a vast bridge
that carries you
over
the many things
that claw and tear.

I could have chosen a lot of Bukowski verses but I chose this particular stanza from this particular poem because with it I accepted that there were and are people in this world whom you can trust. In my case, those were people who wrote words. Although I consumed a lot of words in my lifetime, at one point I was stuck with mistrust and paranoia towards everything. This one helped me break that wall.

Also, Bukowski’s writing has carried me not only over things that claw and tear but also over many things that pinch and sting.

A Question: Robert Frost

voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.

I was taking life too seriously when I stumbled upon this poem. This helped me tone down the seriousness and smile at the absurdity of existence.

Worldly Wisdom: Friedrich Nietzsche

Do not stay in the field!
Nor climb out of sight.
The best view of the world
is from a medium height.

While Nietzsche’s entire bibliography is a string of dynamite that knocks down frontiers after frontiers, this particular poem from The Gay Science gave me the perspective of perspective. I may look at all the frontiers I can and analyze them, get drown in them — yet is my view of the frontier itself proper?

Where’s the poet: John Keats

Where’s the Poet? show him! show him,
Muses nine! that I may know him.
’Tis the man who with a man
Is an equal, be he King,
Or poorest of the beggar-clan
Or any other wonderous thing
A man may be ‘twixt ape and Plato;
’Tis the man who with a bird,
Wren or Eagle, finds his way to
All its instincts; he hath heard
The Lion’s roaring, and can tell
What his horny throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger’s yell
Come articulate and presseth
Or his ear like mother-tongue.

I had written a Medium story about this a little while back:

What Is A Poet? — According To John Keats

A Poet is a complete Human!

fradesh.medium.com

This poem is crucial for me because I like poetry. Reading, Listening, Writing, Spoken, whatever. But, my mind likes confusion.

While I yearned to consume/compose poetry and be a poet, my mind told me that poets were things of the past, waste of a life and things of no impact and substance. Be a king. Kings are the best. Be a businessman. They are the best. Be a pilot. Be a minister, etc. I listened to my mind for a long time. Not completely! Else I wouldn’t have discovered this particular poem.

I could finally see myself reading and writing compressed words and be proud of it.

The Best Time Of The Day: Raymond Carver

Cool summer nights.
Windows open.
Lamps burning.
Fruit in the bowl.
And your head on my shoulder.
These the happiest moments in the day.

Next to the early morning hours,
of course. And the time
just before lunch.
And the afternoon, and
early evening hours.
But I do love

these summer nights.
Even more, I think,
than those other times.
The work finished for the day.
And no one who can reach us now.
Or ever.

I discovered Carver when I had too many things going on inside my head and too many desires flowing inside my chest. I was emotionally and mentally confused. At my mental frontier, there was this big fucking question-mark laughing at me all the time. My personal life was disastrous. I was always anxious. I wanted to read everything, watch everything, be everywhere, be everything. Of course, this made me explore a lot of poetry too!

And I discovered Carver and this poem.

This poem demolished the question mark and showed me through tremendous magnification the real thing worth aspiring for.

Tune: Calming Wind And Waves: Su Shi

Listen not to the rain beating against the trees.
Why don’t you slowly walk and chant with ease?
Better than saddled horse I like sandals and cane.
Oh, I would fain, in a straw cloak, spend my life in mist and rain.
(From Selected Poems and Pictures of the Song Dynasty)

The desire for power and ways to get powerful were the furthest my thoughts were managing to reach at one phase of my life. This particular verse from the 11th century Chinese poet erased the boundary in one sweep, opening a brand new horizon in front of my eyes where I saw things more important than power. I spent hours basking in this poem.

Courage: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

CARELESSLY over the plain away,
Where by the boldest man no path
Cut before thee thou canst discern,
Make for thyself a path!

A decade ago, this particular stanza filled me with courage to go take risks, do something new, become something new, become myself, explore myself, design myself — become whatever I am and do whatever I do today!


Read it on Medium:

https://fradesh.medium.com/10-pieces-of-poetry-that-broke-my-mental-frontiers-84e565f7dda1

Subscribe to me on Medium: https://fradesh.medium.com/subscribe. 


 

 

Ten Haikus — Part 3


 

Ten Haikus — Part 2

You can read or hear them on Medium: https://fradesh.medium.com/ten-haikus-part-2-1e836e80ea01

Poem: I am You

what is poetry

They walk, they talk, they strife

Their own glory is their drive

They bounce about the earth shitting the next meal

Like gnats around my table sniffing the leftover deal

They’ve got no plan they merely want to survive

That’s in fact their only drive!

 

I walk, I talk, I strife

My own glory is my drive

I bounce about the earth observing the deal

Like gnats I see around my leftover meal

I’ve got a plan and that’s to thrive

I am one of them

and that’s all I can drive!

 

Poem: Tiger and a Mouse

Poem: Tiger and Mouse

He has two forms:
Inner and Outer
Alone and with other.

While alone, he is vicious
Like a hungry tiger!

Someone comes and he transforms
Into a mouse!

Poem: Me and my sky

Poem me and my sky

Oh!

How many nights have I spent

In my roof staring at the sky above

Listening to Steve Roach

Living little beauties alone.

 

Oh!

How many mornings have I walked

Trying to spot that red guy

and that yellow guy and so many guys

Relatable to me and my life.

 

Oh!

How sad I get today

Knowing someone

Is trying to conquer my guys…

Wish he dies

Before he

His greed realize

And my guys,

Become for him and his likes

mere toys!

Continue reading…

Poem: Beer and Poetry

beer and poetry

You drink beer

and while it lasts:

The whole world seems manageable

It’s same with poetry

You write or read one

and while it lasts:

The whole world seems perceivable

and manageable!

When you mix both:

well,

the whole world gets malleable!!!

What else need I say?

What else need you do?

Drink  and poem.

Laxmi Prasad Devkota
What was Devkota all about?

In Nepal, it is difficult to find an intellectual unstained by Hindu/Buddhist or some sort of political ideology. This tendency might be a global phenomenon, yet, in Nepal, it stretches to a nauseating degree, so much so that you can correctly guess an intellectual’s entire idea-set by merely knowing his/hers religious/political inclination. The person I am writing about today is Laxmi Prasad Devkota.

He struggled with both those elements and yet managed to live and create in a way that included and transcended them.

You can’t predict him, you can’t guess him and you get both annoyed and exalted by his spontaneity and randomness: in other words, by his poetic genius.

There’s a lot of myth surrounding the man.

Stories of him giving away his coat to the poor; writing lengthy poems in cigarette packs; struggling immensely with money; being sent to Ranchi (a city in India known for mental treatment) — are abound. It was in this context that he was called a geographical mistake by a Brit whose name I cannot recall.

Yet some had enough sense to recognize him and call him a Nepali Mahakavi (Great Poet). But apart from that, his works and ideas aren’t popular in a folk sense and his presence is mostly limited within dull school-books.

Yes, such is the society of Nepal and such was the man born here: ahead of his time, inappropriately in space!

He mostly wrote poems (epic, short, metered, unmetered) spanning from Nepali Shakuntala to Prometheus. His seminal work Munamadan is still considered to be the greatest work of Nepali Literature. It is a tragedy about a man who leaves his wife and mother to go to Lhasa for a better financial life.

He wrote songs. He also wrote a lot of short stories and a novel.

His essays are brilliant and it is in this context that I would like to introduce his ideas to people who aren’t familiar with him.

A few years ago I published a collection of poetry in English named PARANOIA:

When I reached to the final stages the work — set to publish — I had the idea of using my work as a medium to interpret a couple of Nepali writers — in English. I translated certain lines I liked from Devkota’s essay collection and placed it in.

The translations include his thoughts on a wide array of things: creativity, art, science, philosophy, spirituality, education, life, god, etc.

I now want to quit this rambling of mine and insert those translations/interpretations so that you can judge and hopefully enjoy his ideas on your own.

Heart

Truth shines through feelings…

In the heart lies the luminosity of God.

Feelings or emotions are primary

Desiring and thinking come later.

Beast

Eyes identify

Brain understands

Ears listen

Heart feels.

To be devoid of these four is the sign of being a beast.

Depth

Difficulty doesn’t imply depth.

Difficulty doesn’t mean Art,

Incomprehensibility doesn’t have any value.

Schools are:

Industries

To manufacture machines.

Education system

And the soul desires a thing,

education provides something else.

All I’ve learned till B.A

in three years

I believe,

I can put into little children’s minds better,

reciting stories…

Folly

That we usually call Education

is making man stupid.

Creation Love Art

And love is the chief element of creation

Whilst Art is the chief action of love

Curiosity

I yearn to see:

What lies there in the heart!

Natural curiosity!

Sinner

I want to bow my head

As if the all pervading God is scolding me.

I know that I am a sinner.

Art

The beautifully illustrated Truth is Art

Which springeth from the creative imagination.

The truth lies in our life

and unless it comes from the formlessness to the form:

we do not realize it.

Civilization

Civilization hasn’t yet started.

We haven’t learned to respect life.

Real progress will start

The day our sentiment of brotherhood gets firm

Vairagya

As long as we aspire to become great in this world

or hold feelings to do things

and show our pride,

Vairagya is impossible.

Doubt

To doubt is better,

as it helps understand,

assists searching.

Question is everything, answer is maturity.

Dare

It is cowardice to not move forward in opportunity.

We cannot live in a life devoid of danger.

What Science does not

Science cannot satisfy man’s curiosity

and he searches for glimpses

beyond the Sciences

through the magic of emotional and imaginative world,

where man feels self-satisfied as if he is near the truth.

What Art not

The works done by mathematical formulas,

even though are the works of brain,

do not deserve to be called Art.

Painting is Art, Photography is not.

Where Art springs

When the creative imagination sees new dreams

Rising from imitation

And maneuvers its works in its own manner,

Art springs.

Let’s get small

There is fun in being small

We can see others’ significance dance around.

There is pleasure in the peacefulness of ego;

We can see others’ pretense.

Subtle Conscience

The energy to manufacture Art

Doesn’t come from the mere superficial darshan of objects

nor does it comes from mere intellect and knowledge;

It comes from those subtle consciences,

Which find emotional caressing from divine experience

rising above bestial eyes.

The beast merely looks and remains satisfied,

but man tries to touch the heart of everything.

Teacher and teaching

Science cannot locate everything

and our psychological studies end

within the darkness of the intellect.

This is why no teacher can teach.

Creativity

In the divine talent of the Creator

The word was born

And we,

studying this creation

attain clear messages of

Divine Conscience,

Divine Truth,

Divine Beauty and

Divine knowledge.

In the creative imagination of God,

Totality works and provides beautiful

lines and colors and forms

to the Truth of God.

We realize the ‘beautiful’ through the sensing of Truth

and where there is no Truth there isn’t beauty.

This Self-Illustrating form of God

manifests in artistic creativity such that

truth becoming beautiful descends to the outer forms of the senses.

Imaginative Truth

For me,

practicality is limited and

philosophy, intellect is blind.

I enjoy imaginative truth the most

and through it find the glimpses of God

Gambling

I enjoy gambling,

As I find ample opportunities there

To engage my mind and study.

Why is God silent?

It is the consequence of the

Western Civilization that,

God doesn’t speak in

Wind and Water.

Shadows

I speak with the shadows

For me,

The optical world is merely

The manifestation of the inside

And all solid objects are liquid.

The Poet

In the heart of the poet

The rocks speak

And the leaves have tongue.

Cadavers

Those who say,

The world doesn’t speak

Are Deaf

Those who say,

There isn’t life in the hills and the trees and the stars

Are cadavers.

Human Beings

If anything

Elucidates the affinity

Between man and God

It is Human-Heart and Imagination

In Art

Man seeks to

Show

His identification with the unknown

And in the world of the known

Seeks for the kingdom of the unknown

True Study

For studying the life of any culture

There’s nothing more enlightening

Then the Arts of that culture.

Near

We feel we’ve reached near to the Creator

When that eye in our inner world opens

Which

Can bring to form the unavailable and the irregular

And fill it with colours.

Imagination

A small spark of

The fundamental creative dream energy of God

In humans:

Is Imagination.

Man

He tries to create

Embrace nature

Runs after fresh magic to improve the world

Listens to the call of the unknown,

Ascending beyond sights and sounds

Seeks for the inner sparks and sounds

He turns forms into sounds and words into pictures

He dislikes boundaries

He wants to fly and pluck

Peek from darkness and

Steal the fire from heaven.

Work and Art

In a simple table,

The work of carpentry is done

Not Art.

But,

If a carpenter

Creates a table as if a beautiful dream

Art it becomes.

Dreams

We call those creations Art

Which are within the boundaries of truth and beauty

If they’ve got the natural affect

For the heart of life.

Empty dreams aren’t Art

As long as they don’t get published.

Truth and Beauty

Beauty arises from the prodigious consciousness of truth

As if truth,

Melting into life

Descends to the forms alive.

Poem: Where’s Your Hand?

a hand asking question of a poem

Sound of the electric woodsaw fills the southern air

as cars, buses and motorbikes rule the street out there.

To rhyme and be poetic – why do I care?

 

Lick your self fabricated spicy desire

and seek a cure for the tongue on fire!

 

God had a fall, her arm dropped down below

Man, being man used it to wipe his rear hole.

 

Now I am transcending, now I am willing

To design a mask to withstand the stink

and a thing to check the pulse of those machines,

I am using this quintessential style of thinking!