Sunday, January 10, 2016

Sudeep Adhikari- Three Poems

Sudeep Adhikari, from Kathmandu Nepal, considers poetry to be an impersonal act, largely deriving its content from unconscious psychic undergrounds. His works have recently been featured in Verse-Virtual, Arlington Literary Journal and Zombie Logic Review. 

A Mountain is Never Quiet

The mountain is never quiet
it celebrates the solitude of noise
the ancient murmurs of life, death
and all the in-betweens
alternately overlapping
in the colors of quartz and sandstones
a mountain breathes the carbons of long bygones
and we breath her oxygen in return.

I remember that parable by D.T. Suzuki
"when I began to study zen, mountains are mountains;
when I thought I understand zen, mountains were not mountains;
but when I understand zen, mountains were again mountains"
But in my case, "mountains were me"
a noise mistaken
by society for silence.

I know you don't believe me
if I say mountains do speak
but if you can feel wearing
her canopy of junipers and pines;
a moment before, a piece of rock on her peak
touching the sky, the next moment
gravitates with all its might to the abyss
that "Plong !", if you can hear
and on a fine day, when she loses herself
to thousands of roaring landslides
you will know.

 watching the mountain,
all I can be is
a naked impossibility of death and silence.

Nothingness is Fractal

The garden of lovelorn mist
flowers the airy spaceships
made of stainless steel
and a pocketful of silver, 
mixed with few multiverses
of cobalt blue.

I saw UFOs
of weird shapes
hanging on the ether
like the wild wet berries
with the dimension
somewhere between 2 and 3,

Elysium waitress
will you serve me today
the zen of gravity,
a diet coke
and a river for a serpent ?
when my head
is 1,000 non-thoughts
above the me-level.

Silence, sky, white-noise
the pregnant space
of formless many,
and their million shades
of dynamics and dance;
So is my soul
always tripping and pimping
on organized chaos,
strange attractors 
and few Jupitars
of butterfly-effect.

Cloud Nothingness

Solitary, stoic
silent and stoned
a god stands tall
with his fractal emptiness;
green, saffron and vermillion red
melting on his mighty chest
while the sleep-walking witch
sways in aqueous ecstasy
her silty mist of lust and love
pervades the effulgent infinity 
of absence
supreme and shy.

And I watch those flying saucers
of luminescent gold-fire
quietly babysitting the sons of silver silence;
I am the Schrödinger's cat
dead and alive
aware and amored
countless, yet one

I am the Godhead reinvented within 
a punk Buddha 
shitfaced in your cosmic disco;
A spectral shape of decay and dust
a psycho-sonic ripple
crafted out of your ocean noise.

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