Dusty Rainbows
(Tone, deep voice half singing)

There's a rainbow
that's fallen to the ground
It's dusty,
it's dirty,
its tattered and torn
Hey brother, could it be yours?
You could wash it and dust it
Maybe a child will find it
when playing marbles
Or hooky from school.
There's a rainbow that's dusty,
on the side of the road,
if you find it, will you leave it behind?
maybe you need it.
A rainbow's a good thing to have.
There's a rainbow leading up
like a staircase to the stars
It's got cobwebs
so you can tell
that the angels have stopped coming home.
“You've been a bad boy
too often”, they say.
There's a rainbow
that's fallen to the ground.
Here take it. Don't lose it again.

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Poetry: Joyous

Today a happy wind rose up…
( 12 Jan, 03, Sunday Morning, written by the wind, translated by me. Tarun Cherian)

Today a happy wind rose up and shook my hair as if I were a tree and all my leaves whispered and branches swayed and my sap rose delicious to my crown then slowly like the scent of my sex spread like a skirt falling on the surprised man walking beneath.

Today a happy wind rose up, like the ones that blew in childhood, the ones that stirred the still galleon, that the less gifted see is paper boat, in the pond to action, dizzying round, though the sailors don't object being intrepid adventurers all, the dark armoured beetle – the pirate king, the red stone – little john, the rainbowed yellow wing – the friendly wizard, the blood-brown dried leaf, the sail.

Today a happy wind rose up and leaf danced in circles holding hands and giggling, leaping our dancer bodies lithe about the heavy feet of a man, woman that suddenly change to match our feet and join the circle for awhile.

Today a happy wind rose up and all my fears, my hates, my campaigns, my next meditation student, my sadness like dried grass, all lifted and breathed a little deeper, then rose up and scattered out of the window of my being and I did not run after them, but let them go…

Today a happy wind rose up and stirred the dulled surface of the pond of my mind, my dog is sniffing at, and suddenly I see it is no pond, but lake rippling, shivering, calming, joying, turning into puddle merely not to scare my child-heart feet, attached to near 40 shouldered years, from splashing through.

Today a happy wind rose up, perhaps it came from your side of the globe, or maybe a higher place, even higher than the cloud, no matter, with lifted heart and these words like dried leaf tumbling in the giddy wind, I send it your way, send it on.

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3 gunnysacks of sun for sale.

Blowing the sun
into tiny sackfuls.
Pollen on my skin.
i open the petals
of my mind.
i walk through purple fields
the colour of beaten gold.
Life's a puzzle.
It don't make sense.
It don't make sense.
It don't make sense.
Well, i don't mind.