A tramp alright
I am, young man,
But come, hear me out…
I’m one and One
At once, it’s clear
Of that there is no doubt
Let’s look at each
Here face to face
Pick the truths we live by
For my matted locks
Are a world apart
From your Olay face refined.
Truth be told
It’s crutches you hold –
Cheque books, cash cards
iPhones
And the web worldwide
Your palace – in – fief
The Saville suit
And girls crashing
For your tick
Or mere pass by
Or the staff starched
And groomed to serve
A brat that feels
His Highness big
A lord of own pig sty
Then, that chauffer yonder
Who defers to you
Regards you too
As a helpless fool
Who owns the shining cadillac.
Truth be told
These are the crutches you hold –
For proof, young man
If you were to lose
One by one
Your freedom to choose
And your propups
To celebrityhood.
Gone would be the wealth
The authority you meant
The fount of power
Contacts you held
That raised you aloft
The being you felt
Now crippled
Indeed helpless
Redefined strange
Timid, deranged
Unsure
Insecure
Without the dough
To shave or procure
Or someone to call
Recognise and assure
At war
On all fronts
Near and far…
What be your truth ?
Now, in you
Yet lies the proof
No, you are not reduced
To the form you see
Of I amused
But you can
Now step up to view
This agitated mix
Churned within
That road to calm
Gains bit by bit
Of rest and balm
And the journey long
Long, too long
To mind quelled
At quiet ease
Unsupported peace
And freedom to be
In truth
As is.
* * *
I know that look
You now cast
On the tramp same
From minutes past
Yes, I live the truth
You’ve visualised
At that road’s end
When men surmise
The unreality
Of all these forms
Looks that’re worth
Less than a corn
And the reality
Of Self within
Buried deep and lost
To rationalising
On profits booked
And more beyond
Our powers would yield
For expanding fief
To that belief
The idea we have
Of ourself, feel
The poise made up
Of clout we wield
Our charms that work
To reflections
That influence us, to us
Spurring commands
Impressive summons
To delegate or bestow
On women we favour
And men
Who supplicate.
And this is the truth
I remember the fruit
Of this self on props
You’ve been thus far
Like a Sphinx
That’s blatant zilch
A real tower
Of illusory belief
Conditioned idea
In truth, you know
That deserts us
Without its supports
In our bank accounts
Cash cards, phones
Our palace – in – fief
Our suits Saville
The staff we buy
Links worldwide
And our caddy –
* * *
Come now, then
It’s time you looked
For the Self that is
Still yours, with you
Ever was and will
Into which
Our roots go
And which is
Not a thought
Not an idea
Nor belief
Nor the power
To execute
Or possess all this
That bind us to it
Nor of summons
We use to beckon
The slave
Who makes us save
Those thoughts
Of ourself
The ego we make
And inscrutably etch
That personality
To which we attach
And are carried away
To its world of dreams
Then real
With an identity
That compares
And feels
And competes
With the other
Fictitious elves.
Anon, then
To the Self
That is
Which is instead
A nought complete
Homogeneous
Sans time, space
Term or concept
Want or breath
The void absolute
‘Thout fiction and dreams
All cause and effect
Phenomenal
Without Psyche
And psychosomatics
Or this physiology
And stir brainy.
It’s there
Here untouched
And are we
Untainted, unfudged
And real
As real can be
Wherever we are
Howsoever we see
In suit Saville
Or our skin
In life and death
Beings all
Small and big
Low or uncouth
High or beneath
It is the One
We cannot corrupt
The ground very
On which we erupt
Form and dream
Fashion our scream
And cause the mess
Unending distress
Of a mirage full
Of self – interest
Placing the few
Called fortunate
On top
Of teeming dregs
In burning ignorance.
It’s the One we are
And we seek to serve
By living the truth
And bring to fore
The verve of freedom
Embed in each
The moral heritage
Our access to peace
And ethics plain
In fraternity
As this tramp
Now before you
Holds the truth
For you to see
But will disappear soon
With earth for support
Body divine
Not a speck more
Than drapes of sky
Seeming the one
Walking away
And being the One
Immanent
While you, looking on
Will sense
The oneness
The unity we have
In existence
But that notion
Cosmic beauty
Wouldn’t be knowledge yet
Till you detach
Consciously
Your identity
From its legs …
* * *
Aye, young man
It is the truth
But let me not
Withhold you
It’s you, my friend
That’s in contrast
Fixed unsure
Having a blast
Unsettled certain
As you now know
Without manicure
With money in store
Without bodyguards
Paid minds for pard
Without designer dress
With limo to press…
Watch it, watch it
The eyes on you
Now no longer stop
At your dirty stubble
They all pass
As if you were
Nothing, just trash
It’s simple
And plain to see
Mere matters of fact
Now bite your Mac
Keep it as is
The knowledge you’ve kissed
Will work within
And change you
Till you find
Habits aligned
No longer hard
To sense the One
Without the ‘I’
And its shards.
Impossible, you say
When it all begins
My friend, with One
And returns
To same Being
Quite like
This singularity
At a black hole
Which beyond
Our limited view
Crunches big
And recycles
The matter back
To our logic …
It’s of habits, dear
We’ve internalised
We find it hard
To see the One
The substratum
To things all
We visualise.
We’re One
Let’s just say
Nothing apart
From One that holds
This vagabond
And yourself
In suit, with fief
Bulging wallet
The tall mansion
On lands, your pride
Resources common
Cars you ride
In exclusivity…
To women who fall
For your looks groomed
Over intent cruel
Until you de-identify
And disown all
Setting them free
To be happy or not
For your own lark state
In liberation.
* * *
There, my dear
Feel not deflate
Slighted least
Less priviledged
You’re the boss
One and same
As I am
Un-owned, unpledged
As high or low
As crucified
With wants and flows
As confused
And as clear
Why we each
Without fear
Ought to love
The Self that owns
Being each
And help ourself
To touch and teach
And help with just
What we have …
More and enough.
Which, I admit
Is hard to do
Till the ‘I’ is lit
By the One
In our perception
Showing it up
As reactive bundle
Of ideas formed
Of future and past
Desires now
Reflecting impact
Instating power
On how we relate
To beings, objects
In environment
We thus experience
Value and judge
In unclear depths
Want and urge
Motions and will
Subconscious
Emote or think
Outside in
But stumble seldom
To the heart pure
And never
To the seer sure
Peering over
The knowledge valid
In intellect …
Instead, we are crazy
It seems
Set on pleasure
Sex and senses
A gratuity continued
In addiction
Not to wonder
Experience and learn
But for the craft
At power to own
Possess and collect
Not to be free
Be well, do good
But to indulge
In willfulness
Heady caprice
Intoxicated whim
The horrible substitute
For liberty.
We are, my dear
Solitary entities
Unexamined
With obvious finitude
And indelible fear
Fighting to survive
Grabbing to secure
Competing, comparing
Rolling emotionally
With morals uncared
Street smart ethics
Breaches money does fix
From our tower high
Stairs to heaven
Well nigh . . .
Until we touch our real Self
And are absolutely purged
Of existential dreads
That ride
On inner processes
Rising inexorably
Of primal fears
Illusions vivid
Dreams amove
Of identity now tied
To this feeling now
The experience then
In the mental frame
Anchored in memory
Rooted
To beings related
Objects specific
That mean the world
Wide and huge
Translating mundanes
In pleasure and pain
Shading the Self
From ourself
With fruits we believe
Are important, nay
Vital, nay
Essential to us.
* * *
Hear All, Mister
Missus and Mademoiselle !
We could be happy
Twenty – four seven
Ever adequate and complete
And survive without becoming
A survivalist
Possess, without owning
Own, without possessing
Let’s dump this make believe
Of gaining immortality
Through progeny
Money, power
Godly profits
And house angelic
Through friends or family
Any or all things in life
Of me, I, mine
Coiled up deep …
Let’s dump superstitions
Masquerading as truths
Beliefs subscribed repeated
And habits internalised
Which are but dreams
Just imagined
And capitalised !
* * *
The One, deep blue
Wrote for me on the rock
That I accommodate Fate
And Time’s shocks
And choose
As I will
Through future rumble
Ever emerged
Ever in and apart
From surreal past
Beyond bodies gross
All forms within, subtle
And that causal
I primeaval
Made of what
I know not
From where
I’m past care
Or why
I no longer spy…
It’s just the One
I am, life infusing
The same in all
Guise multiple
Big and small
Wax and wane
In appearances
That rise and set
On this heart
Mind and intellect
Which I watch
At peace
While the ghosts act
In this wondrousness
Of Existence
Swaying
Between the two banks
Of matter and consciousness …
But they all tire
And return
To my embrace
To my serenity
As you look on
And still think
Of this apparition
As the tramp
Participating
In the jamboree !
* * * * * *
Reblogged this on verum intus, fulsi vacuus and commented:
I am reminded of Albert Camus’ choice of Death as his subject for the first novel he worked on, wrote and revised but did not publish. Instead, we had ” The Stranger.”
I am musing on the same subject and will, perhaps, be able to pen it down in a form that you may appreciate … The work on Kalinjar Fort is still in the making; there are too connections in time and space, events and people, to include.
In the meanwhile, I am re-blogging Thus Spake Shiva, The Tramp … for those who missed or gave it a miss the last time.