Rest In Peace

I wish I could throw away my thoughts
In a rubbish bin once and for all,
Unconcerned that they won’t come back,
Buried along with an eternity of
Plastic bottles, styrofoam, cellphones, lightbulbs and ziplock bags.
But like them, they won’t go away.
Perhaps I could try and recycle them like broken glass
Or put them in the waste,
Broken dreams being composted
That won’t become the anxiety of my son’s son,
Or my child’s career.
And me when I die
Let my body rot away inside a grave
My mind scattered,
My soul divided
With the choices I made,
That will make parents ask why
Their three year old became the way she is,
Or remark how he’s just like her mother’s mom,
Or reminds him of great uncle John.
In my life I want to create nothing that will last,
No karma for the future,
And no haunting where someone might claim,
He did this.

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Gayatri

Good morning, mother.
Hello to your rays oozing their way through three layers of shirts
On this cold autumn morning.
Greetings, from your trillionth son to walk upon this trillionth earth,
Whose voice shouts across the void of his own mind.
And so I write to you one scratch following another.
There was a tale about a frog who helped a scorpion
To cross a river only to be stung halfway there,
Because it was my nature said the scorpion.
And while we let ourselves get stung
By orange men in business suits
And pimply students dressed the same.
Like our brown, black and orange robed brothers,
They are our very selves.
So homage to the whales singing across the sea
And homage to the sun’s warm rays
And the cold winds from antarctica.
Homage to the scorpion and the orange man
Homage to all that is dark and all that is light
As you let each one of us, your very selves,
Find our voice.

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So, my friend

Who are you?
At the end of life when your tears and smiles
And sins and kindnesses are about to leave
Forever,
Will you ask who told you?
Did you choose to be a wife weeping
For a dead husband in Iraq?
Who told you to count taxes
And become a company clerk?
Or the person that avoids eating shark fin soup?
What made you decide on a career in gold?
Or become a doctor taking care of the old?
How is your mind today with the choices it’s made?
Was it your mother that whispered
To become a lawyer’s aid?
Or that status and money should be your bestest friends?
How did you know that wrinkles were bad
And having no kids would make you sad?
Who chained your mind?
The mind that knows nothing other than what it is,
Here and now.
If you can’t say how the choice was made then you are lost
Inside a mind that has sold your soul for the cheapest cost
That came along.
So my friend, wake up and be free.

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