There is a tremendous
upheaval within me
It is a desire to be
enjoyed and enjoy
My pasts, my actions-
There is a tremendous
attachment within me
To the faulty and the
unheard of,
Disciplined and
momentary luxuries are no more
Counted against my
sins and secrets-
It is a joy that
beholds us all,
My youthful innocence
and musings
On the innermost
recesses of my being;
Where does my heart
lie and what does it stand to gain-
To produce that which
I lack again and again
That which will need
me the most;
I am a man, an animal
in its most animalistic state.
To say I am a
cannibal would be wrong
But there are
certainties in others which I enjoy,
A new look, a fresh
feeling, a great act.
That which I value
the most is love
Toward the deity that
created this thought
For it could only
have been me and nobody else,
So where would this
deity go if not
Straight back in its
shell
In its shell lies an
amusing song
Taken from places
unknown and mystical
Where sadhu-babas
throng to wrong
Those who have been
strong;
A musing that I enjoy
is also strong
For supple is the
opposite of wrong
And as a man I once
thought I could do no wrong.
I sit in a room where
no wind blows
But my skin has
weathered a storm
Of madness,
incompatibility and sin
But I wash it all off
with a song.
Where my shell is so
strong
And I can do no
wrong.
Wealth and prosperity
comes to us all
For a light on the
beaten path
Where eagles have
soared
Centuries past
However it is rare to
find in an animal’s song
It has to be
victorious and kept free
To roam around and
sniff out
This self-defeating
charm
I am happy if happy I
can be at all
Without this poison
that unmakes us all
I lay waste to many
pieces of a song
That flow like a
river of blood
Through my veins into
the heart of my big estate
Beyond the walls of
which I do not taste or tempt-
Anyone else’s fate
Wrong is he who tries
to be
And tries not to see
Anyone else’s shoes
For pain and
repentance are crude
And privileged is he
who can write as his heart desires
Most of which are co-conspirators
of fame, name and gain
And dire this
mystical desire of breaking free
Of this witty
shellfish which most of the time
Makes no sense of
itself
But goes on beating
its own name
Against the fires
that burn us all
In one maddening
moment of torment
Rushing into its
torrent
Proven too chaotic is
a soul of markets
Or a market of souls
Where glasses are
sold and milkshakes made
For little sleepy
babes
To form their gentle
caress
Against my skin
That weathers a storm
Today, tomorrow and
again
To grow
TOSHAM