Poems by Ram Krishna Singh

Poems by Ram Krishna Singh
I am no Jesus
but I can feel the pains
of crucifixion
as a common man
suffer all what he suffered–
play the same refrains
at times cry and pray
hope for better days ahead
despite lack of love
diminishing strength
failures, ennui and blames
for sins I didn’t author
I am no Jesus
but I can smell the poison
and smoke in the air
feel for humankind
like him carry the cross
and relive my dreams
I am no Jesus
but I can feel the pains
of crucifixion
I don’t know which psalms to sing
or which church to go to feel
the flame within for a while
sit or lie still with
faith weather the restlessness
brewing breath by breath
I don’t know the god
or goddess or the mantra
to chant when fear overtakes
my being and makes me suffer
plateaus of nightmares
paralyzing spirit to live
and be the promised fulfillment
I see no savior come
to rescue me when mired
I seek freedom from myself:
my ordeals are mine alone
in the valley of self
I must learn to clear the clouds
soaring high or low
The coiled divine
renews eternity
in the body’s cells
fed on sensuous sweetness
and moment’s littleness
for years fleshly reign
seemed spirit’s radiance
in the deep pit
now suddenly sparks the itch
for heaven’s nude delight
I don’t know where I lived
in my former existence
but the hell I’ve breathed
for four decades here
couldn’t adapt my soul:
I remain a stranger
to them and to the cold walls
that put out the candle lights
in my roofless sky
The body is precious
a vehicle for awakening
treat it with care, said Buddha
I love its stillness
beauty and sanctity
here and now
sink into its calm
to hear the whispers in all
its ebbs and flows
erect, penetrate
the edge of life and loss
return to wholeness
Don’t question the lips
that wilt the tongue
licking wetness in the mouth
the mystery of delight
prophecy of the birth
by salty swallowing
make new parables
with face mask surviving
one more gospel
I feel the yellow leaves with the day’s silence in their stare
the ghetto uncovers what they try to conceal–
feeling stuck, a little ‘off’, or foggy
in the sameness of everyday celebrating
no sex, no travel, no drinks, no books but black smoke
dust and emptiness of years they’re unsure about
here each one sounds too profound, perching for new life
between the parentheses ending up
a kite snapped and strayed into a bush
Crushed heads of serpents coil along the road
green glitter of stream strikes my vision
I walk and fear the growing ripples in urinal
The painted paper-god and Christ on the cross
stand on the dawn-coloured wall of my bedroom
watch sex, prayers and restlessness each night
Apple, snake and three-fifth of me
in bed manipulates man
inside selfish rubbles
Once your body was the sitar waiting for my touch
the sweet fragrance of your hair still lingers
but the cigarette that was mine is now ash
The smile you weave splits the sun
I lose my direction in clouds darkening
the white of the lake moon kissed
Here she goes in the long light
and swiftly a shadow moves with her
What if my nights are poisoned by evil spirits
they can’t corrupt my bare truth in one life
The fire broke out to retaliate
they fight with lightning
Where will I reach running with gluey feet on gashed earth
a relentless sun licks leftover of a dying day
Not to kiss my feet they rush
waves vie with waves to reach the shore
The dance of rain is good for a short
but the fall of sky is too much
Keep my cracked tongue tightly closed
lest the diseased mind is known

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