i smell your scent,
like mangoes
i tasted them,
unripe & sour.
But I like it.

Beneath the swaying trees
Where rivers flow silently,
a tale unfolds, as old as the sun.
In God's own country,
where hearts are kind- a partial truth
A mystery lingers in the collective mind.
Of the plethora of wealth that flows in
from lands afar middle east and west.
Yet, some say, the bowl is still empty
With a need for pleading on the loose!!
who are responsible?
With nothing Right and Left to ruins
sightless of lotus bloom
Is it the rulers, with vision unclear
Or silent voices, we struggle to hear?
Where are the famed heaps of wealth?
Of the land, now with begging bowl
it pains on labels, harsh and unkind.
On this land of beauty and endless charm !!
Let the ample fields where spices grow
Make the state, grow and glow
Weaving a story of hope, new and bold
where the future can unfold…
to rise above and find its calm.
for resilience to shine on every face !!

Cosmic dancer adorned with ash
Being the beginning and the End
the form of father and mother
You, my Lord, my Universe !!
Of Creator, preserver and destroyer
My mind always falls for the destroyer
of thoughts and deeds wild and weird.
The destroyer of dreadfulness around
With tangled locks and Ganges in flow
Wearing Crescent moon’s golden glow
Serpents twining around neck
Meditating in still, profoundly deep
From third eye, wisdom's fire does leap !!
With trident in hand,  drums that  beat
your fierce form, often misunderstood
Yet in your benevolence, lies the world's fate!!
Mahadev! Your grace is my ultimate state.
Every breath of mine is a gift from you
And every breath sings your praise and fame
You are the timeless one, beyond all ages!!

There’s  always a fire
With no flames
When a soul draws near—
A spark that flicker softly,
Yet burning strong and clear.
It kindles warmth within,
Even when in frostbit
A quiet glow, unwavering,
Soft, yet full of light.
A silent force, magnetic,
Unseen but ever true, genuine
Calling out, unspoken,
In a language meant for two.
Compassion like gravity,
A gentle, steady hold,
An endless bond, a quiet flame
That never fades or folds.

a faded blue and white flannel shirt
long black hair like midnight
and almond shaped eyes

her name was Grace
and she was beautiful

i had long hair
and we sat cross legged
on the grass in the park
smoked a joint

i was 19
the philosopher poet, wise,
and misunderstood

then we walked and talked along the beach
until sunrise

she had to catch the bus at 7 a.m.
back to where it didn't matter

at the bus station we held each other
and kissed

and she was the flower that blooms
once in a lifetime
the tail of the comet passing through the night

grace, what you are will never be again.

I have a couple of ‘research for credit’ classes this semester and I’m spending a lot of time with my TAs. Teaching Assistants (grad students) are essentially approachable professors with longer office hours, faster response times and a willingness to spend a little time walking me through options, so I understand the material and don’t charge-off in some crazy direction. I have a flawless record of wasting time on the wrong things at the wrong times, so I never feel silly or dumb asking questions.
AM I having fun yet? Yeah, I am.

A bell dings. Let the fighters enter the ring.
There’s a gathering of things, then we rush for the wings.
Students are bolting from classes, like riders out of rodeo shoots.
Focused faces, off to the races, phones appear from a hundred places.

Outside, a cool, brisk breeze moves paper-mâché clouds, across the blue-dome sky.
Squirrels freeze from their thieving, and watch this sudden, noisy invasion of their world.  
There’s a bee-like buzz of conversations, from ahead, behind and in doppler passing.
“Question six - was that right - what are you wearing to the thing tonight?”

My tummy growls for some lunch time relief - a plea for a snack - or coffee’s appeasement.
I glance at my watch, there’s no time. I leave the path for the grass;
I have an immediate class! Why are people so slow?
I get heinous looks - it’s grass people - kiss my *** people.

I squeeze sideways in the crush to enter the Kline Biology Tower, atop science hill.
In the hallway I find Lisa, we share the next class. “Do you have a granola bar?” I ask.
“I’ve got two,” she brags, fishing one out, as we drop our bookbags.
As I moan with pleasure, she chuckles at the relief on my face.
The TA announces, ”You should have papers, pass ‘em, please.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Home by Luke Chiang
No Other Plans by Sunny Levine

You build me with
turquoise and
the mountains of Taos.
Cerulean blue
serenity in my soul.
My heart chases
after you.
Even your chisel
helped me
grow through
the pain.
You
are the
grand artist,
The Supreme
sculpter.