Chaver and Urumi

1

Chaver:

Devoted to Death, the Chaver lives on
Vendetta, not health, keeps him duty bound
The word ‘amok’ is his by right.

Running

Cutting, slashing, slaying to keep his oath
To a dead corpse, whom he failed to protect
His suzerain’s murder must be avenged
Mother says, ‘Goodbye, die on Honour’s bed’
Devoted to Death, oathbound to die for revenge
The Chaver must dance with urumi, sword and spear
For the dead lord he swore to forever protect.

2

Urumi:

Thousand years of war, two hundred of peace
Gone are the ancient arts of dancing steel
But the blood still boils for battle; (they) join the Air Force
Wielding their new sword whip from inside a cockpit
Becoming one with the weapon. Spinning faster, stronger, higher.

Note: the word ‘amok’ is literally derived from one of the Chaver’s titles… unless they stole it from the Malaysians more than a thousand years ago. One particularly notorious vendetta went on for eight hundred years. The suicide squads were sent to fight the enemy king every eight years at a festival. They turned it into a grand show of violence, which was very well organised. It brought lots of tourists. I’ve written a poem about it, called Mamankam. Those were bloody times, the thousand years after Cheranadu was annihilated… Near constant state of warfare. The Kerala kingdoms’ administrative structures revolved around war, which is pretty weird and interesting to study. Also interesting are the shrinking demographics of the warrior clans, until duelling was banned.

Haunting

In Darkest night, Cultists frolic outside:

“Oh great and green spaghetti monster, give us your power.”
Entreating primordial entity for dark shower
The chants may vary, language exotic, but not the core
The dance and trance, sanguine worship, black robed fancy dress whores
Some sing to Cthulu from greed, some from despair, some from fear
Some from a need for recognition, to mark they’ve been here
Like a dog trying to mark his territory, they piss
And it stinks of chimeras, made from the deep, dark Abyss
The one ‘Who is like God?’ stands stalwart in defence.

In Deepest Night, I cower inside:

In my house that is not my home, there is dark night
In my house that is not my home, there is moonlight

The distorted spirits still dance for war, raging
Long faced monkey donkey, giant man pig, duck goat
Vile energies given form by bad men and women.

The angel continues his war waging
I watch the demons turn to motes
A few die, good riddance!

Still too many
Demons lurking
In house-not-home
Michael
Fights on
Until battle is done
Until the Spirit War is won

Hail Michael, as brilliant as the Sun, and thank you for constant intercession.

Note: Cthulu, in this poem, represents promises of power of any kind (not necessarily ‘occult’), in exchange for the empathetic traits that make us human.

Also, some places just give off bad vibes. Okay for a visit, not nice to stay in.

I had intended to write a light, comedic piece when I began this one, two nights ago

Three Shamanic Thieves Journey into the Underworld

A trio, shamans all, they walk in step
A somnambulant drawl, they speak with sleep
One single tell showing their trespassed depth
Wan faced, gaunt, ragged, torn, the trio creep

Through the Realm of the Dead… Disguises keep
They make it past the borders of a town
Looking for the house of Judge of the Reaped
The passers-by stare at the three and frown

One shaman starts to panic, turns around
His companions steady him with a smile
They quicken their pace, their feet centre bound
Where Judge of the Underworld hears trial

The land transforms, suddenly much less vile
They walk on past homes with trellised gardens
Posh suburban homes, green lawns by the mile
Not what they expected, these big mansions

Destination reached at long last, ‘Sanctum’
Much smaller than neighbours. Two storeys tall
They open door with stolen key, and ‘Umff!’
A cat greets them, peeking from behind wall

The two older shamans play feline ball
Only the young one remains focused on mission
The two relieve themselves in the toilet
While the young one searches for object of vision

Time’s short, young Walker thinks, though he’d like to relax–
Journey was hard, but Judge will soon be back
The lure won’t hold him for much longer, can’t be lax–
Young One finds object of search at long last

A tap that was right there, near the front door, he laughs
Young One summons a magical object
An empty Coca Cola bottle, he chant-crafts
And fills it with the clear waters of Death

The Judge has so much, he won’t miss this little bit
The Young One tells himself to assuage guilt
He rallies his companions and they make their escape
Returning again to the other side of the dreamscape

(The Judge watches the thieves enter and leave from atop an adjoining balcony
He decides to let them return to the living)

Image:
https://goo.gl/images/UepQQh

Dream Paralysis

Tonight I am fire, I am wind, I am storm
Tonight I am the calm middle, swirling, whirling
Where is the i? Nearby, playing music of dawn
Accompanying a chorus of millions: souls
Singing their spirits from head to toes… I invoke
Hit the choke, for a gasoline epiphany

You dare claim ownership? You dare claim Empire?
Subjecting Nature, disrespecting natural order?
Polluting without purpose, enslaving, denigrating
A gentle breeze blows now, it will grow intense, no pretense
For wind spirits are simple beings, straight shooters in this war

Come back to this in three generations, come and ponder
How the earth rolled in waves, how the sky was covered in cloud
How the ash dole was made, the storms of dust Vulcan endowed
And remember, your bodies do not own the Land, the Land owns your bodies

(Wake now, wake, wake, wake up, I must wake up, will I wake up? Awaken Fool!

…
My world has gone to dust, cut to shreds by debris of War… but soul endures.

Many roads to take for the body, only one path for the soul: forwards or backwards)

The Lament of Quetzalcoatl

Feathered Serpent and Fire Dog swim through aether
First the garden, Aes Sidhe within, surreal laughter
Their journey begins, the Hero Twins, Venus eyed
Journey through unknown skies. But Fire Dog goes stray,
Leaves Feathered Serpent alone, too fearful of death (to take another step)

“Come back my twin, your brother misses your days
What is Death, but another great and wondrous maze?
What is my wind without your thunder and lightning?
Come back Fire Dog, you’ve got some real bad timing.
The Nahuatl are gone, we are finally free
Come Xolotl, run again with your brother Quetzalcoatl.”

(I’m going on a break from writing for at least a week. I hope you all take care. Bye bye!)

(I should really call him water dog, but it seems wrong. Xolotl’s fear of death reference explained in the creation story. My knowledge of Meso American mythology is slight, but I really wanted to write this. This myth seems to be related to the Mayan Hero Twins, a journey of night and day, death and resurrection. The Navajo have something similar, the twins of the Changing Woman.)

War: A desire for more cows

Gavishti, desire for wealth
Nutritious milk
Good for your health
And Survival

Gavishti, most dire for man
Cattle raiding
Murder making
Soul denial

Gavishti, cow or money
Symbol’s the same
For when untamed
Lose what’s vital

Gavishti, know your desire
Share the outpouring
Quit that mouth watering
Balance desire with charity
No need for these bloody cattle raids

Note to the movie ‘Arrival’s’ writers, the Sanskrit word for war is Yuddha, gavishti is cattle raid. Perhaps you were trying to make a point, that wars had turned into cattle raids? But when were they ever anything more? Or perhaps, you meant the root of ‘war’ arises from the word for cattle raid, an evolution of culture and propaganda transforms it into yuddha? It took a while to work out that one little line in the movie… Quite deep! I suspect the word Yuddha comes from the Egyptian heiroglyph for arm… Or perhaps they share a common origin, from some other culture… I’m looking at you, proto Elamites!!! This heiroglyph is today’s letter ‘i’

Creation of Art

Does the artist create his art, I now wonder
Must he insist, animate canvas with his one answer?
Perhaps there is something moving his brush
Can it be? A depiction of more than just his mush?

Does he feed on some invisible fruit?
Depicting the songs of Parnassus’ choral muse?
Constructing the groves of spirit, and streams of truth?
Does his art belong to himself, or to the entire world?

Interpretations vary, the artist is baffled
But he must make up an answer, appear unruffled
(For his hand –or umm, mouth– holds the brush)

Image: https://goo.gl/images/16dGhn

Ouranos’ Madness

You try to grab my left arm, I stretch forth my right
Ego clouds my judgement, misunderstanding can’t subside
I reveal my worst nightmare, the one that woke me screaming
Varuna’s new form, Ouranos by dim sunlight

Fringe astrophysics, magnetic shields of great might:
Decreasing; while Cosmic rays increasing, a new season
Man (civilization) makes his own bed to lie on, but I can’t stay quiet
That wouldn’t be right, to go down without a just fight

I am powerless, and perhaps delusional
Paying credence to mere nightmares, those fanciful mind scares
Still… ‘what if?’ Should I hoard my dreams and frightful sleeping things?
Safer to give warning, I’ve nothing to lose, I’ve grown used to these red ears

Twenty First Century Labyrinth (Trapped in our own formation)

Identities most fragile, form a Chakravyuh Maze of fear and greed, of humanity’s own making
Lies are many, boasts belittle…

Abhimanyu!

Breaker of this formation,

gone away sailing…

Drauni not caught in the maze, he’s outside dreaming
Saw he a vision terrifying, Varuna
Ocean in new guise, nine storms on his face masking
Revealed by the dimming of once golden Surya
A change of Galactic seasons, Earth unshielded

It was then that he woke, ego not yet yielded
Saw the Chakravyuh, brother turned against brother
In their effort to be free, with paper armour
And those motionless chariots of apathy
“The maze can shift,” he shouts in vain, “move together.”
He watches helplessly as the bad season draws nearer.

Wiki: multi-tiered defensive formation that looks like a blooming lotus (पद्मpadma) or disc (चक्र chakra) when viewed from above.

Note: I use Drauni here to represent a certain type of person… One who has been alienated from society and its manifold identities. He’s the outcast, the rebel, the dreamer, who has seen both sides but still has a long way to go on his journey of enlightenment. Paper armor symbolising property documents, which I had to put in after witnessing some racist idiots on a YouTube thread.

To Grandmaster Will

(Hail) Eternal Bard. Your works never cease to amaze
Harrys galore, and a methodical madman
Mars peddling soothsayers, PUCK! Rhythm ablaze
Venetian merchants, passionate Moors, CALIBAN!
Storm King, do-be-dos ’bout nothing, A hunchback drake

I could never hope to match, my beat’s in a can
My vocabulary a pittance, my characters cardboard
But I can read and hoard, and sail your fjord(if those troupes ever come here again) making your world my own.