Throughout the history of mankind, how many times
Have people seen the sun
Through the tree leaves
You believe in pain and love
But I don’t believe in pain and love
I walk a billion miles down the desert road, bare feet cracked with the hard tar
And bogging through the sand, dying with the sweat
Sucking out of me like vacuum
Left with skin that shrivels and rusts under the sun
Brown and burnt
Closed eyes see nothing but darkness
They’re small and full of salt
There’s the blue sky, and miles of golden earth
Beauty and deceit
But there’s nothing but movement
Pedal by pedal
You die as you fall to keep alive
Resting to believe that you can walk no longer
On your knees the hot breeze moves knotted hair
They say god is the sun and it makes everything golden
And god kills because of it
I don’t know if it’s pain or if it’s love
But I just believe in love
As I lie living or dying
The physical world, or subconsciousness?
Maybe when I’m bedridden one day I’ll remember the days when I could move and do whatever I wanted to do; go out in nature, be active, ride my bicycle through the off roads. Lay in the fields, be as naked as I could be
Let the air kiss and lick my salty skin; so full of sweat
Let my hair flow long with the winds
Immerse one’s self with the grass and the weeds; turning into something green
Let bugs crawl, sting, and pinch
All over goosebumps
Be one with it all
Unlock the love that you have in your gut and let it spread into everything and everyone
Kiss the trees
Whisper to the butterflies
Chuckle at the hares that hop on by
Feel your smooth skin
Here today, gone tomorrow
Look at the sky
Is a slice of green earth right here
He’s got long dreadlocks and blue-black patchy skin
He dances atop planets and creates cosmos with every turn
His dance is powerful and wild
He widens his eyes and sticks out his red tongue.
Shiva dances with passion amid the cosmos
He can erupt a volcano with the snap of a finger
He spreads the earth apart with a hand gesture
He can overflow a mountain and give water to the foothill villages with a twirl of his hair
The people of the forest scream and stomp their sticks to hail to the god of destruction
They paint their faces with mud and emulate a tiger’s growl.
The ancient Aryans ride into the South Asian subcontinent in their horse-pulling chariots. They bring agriculture, clothes, and script.
There’s a battle between the indigenous and the invaders. A thousand and thousand year conflict and war. The sun worshipers and the worshipers of earth. The dance of the drums and the burning spear of sharpened steel. The overtaking and development of land; the formation of rice paddies and the sinkholes that consume. The massacre of children and the killing of sages. Dagger to stone clubs. Gold, silver, and pearls over a bed of flowers.
The Aryan takeover.
A thousand year more, and a thousand things more taken. Names upheld, tasks given.
Sages take cannabis to go where there’s happiness. It meditates them out of this world into the universe.
Amid the cosmos, there’s a tribal face. Amid cosmos, Shiva stomps with power and grace.
The god of all beings. The lord of sacred things. Uninhibited, unbound, unrestraint, and free. Wild, with the mighty strength of a tiger constellation.
He hithers forward; the universe shaking with each agile step.
His skin; blue-black and patchy, and there’s a snake on his neck. He widens his eyes and opens his mouth; bright and red. There’s a roar and the world is dead.
The sage’s trance is broken and he opens his fearful eyes, breaking sweat.
Outside the window there’s a civilized world filled with concrete, heat wave, and the lonesome walking dead.