I could have been at the conference in Mexico today, had I had the money for it. But then did I really ever want to be in a gathering of psychiatrists who would be congratulating themselves about how variously they have fooled the world into believing they have a cure for the suffering of millions of people worldwide, which comes through medicines?
No loss, if I am not there for the World Association of Cultural Psychiatry Conference- they are not the arbitrators of justice that people need to change a fundamentally erroneous world order where senselessly humans have desecrated the human and global ecology, and ravaged the consciousness of the world irreversibly. To expect these salesmen or educated faces of the pharma industry to bring any goodness to the world is an idiotic idea to say the least. One need never go and be in a forum of psychiatry ever. But the poetry and ideas can go, should go.
Here are my poems, that will be part of the exhibition. One already appeared in the journal issue which I posted in the previous post. These are the others…all written during my illness years. I chose these at random from among the hundreds I have in my repertoire, for no particular reason- possibly as shades of my moods.
A March on the Road of the life and the path unknown
22nd September 1999
A march on the road of life, and the path unknown
The road rugged, the road rough’n a rude road-
Mostly a companionless road, I traverse
Unexpected corners’n blouders make it feel impossible
To take another step
In anger welling…wishing the heart would stop
Or p’raps a friend, companion, wayfarer around the next turn;
Kicking pebbles, circumventing potholes
Occasionally falling, but never really so-
The road leads the way, and the path unknown’n
I press on regardless.
22 June 2008
Thine bonds with life dissolved, from the tree
Leaving the world, in such celebration
Such feasting, and such song
Rotting mangoes- what an elegant departure you make.
The winds rustle their ceaseless lyres
Big, red ants clamour atop you in hungry, grateful glee
O you of the high, high branches, now in peaceful repose
On just another stone staircase, this farm where I walk by close.
‘N yes, I still, see you in your infancy, youth and fervor
Dance’n sway, from the unreachable branches high
I see you in peaceful poise
As life deposits you mid ants, falling leaves’n an occasional kick from a careworn passer-by
At least you did not on another
Dinner plate land
Or in another cake, jam or pudding lose your way
O now fermenting, teeming with big ants, pulp of sweetness-
As you go-
I see you so-
Grand, silent and useful
Not a cold corpse stiffening,
But a mound of celebration, aroma’n a celebration of life all over again.
In now reclaiming
My lost forgotten selves-
For how colourless, stale, fragmented have I become,
Perhaps, I will someday become Me-
That drop, from the sea torn apart
Forgetting the sea
The belongingness, diversity
Colouring itself variously
In its daily deadness, monotony;
Having forgotten its essence
Its multicolored hues, and nuances
Only remembering to consume, recreate and procreate
As if that alone, were my destiny-
Nay, not me, not me.
So now, reclaiming.