P O E T R Y G A L L E R Y
GOD IS ON THE LAM
God is traveling incognito under and assumed name.
He carries a foreign passport. They say he has changed His religion.
His appearance has changed. Not even His family knows Him.
Some claim to have sighted him in Turkey, others in France.
He has been reported in Los Alamos,
Uluru, Rishikesh and Burundi.
Israel is on the alert. Mecca is impatient. Hollywood needs stars.
Some want him to fulfill their sexual fantasies.
They have heard that God is a great lover.
Some want God for His money,
For they have been told He possesses great wealth.
Some want God
Because they have heard He has influence in high places.
Some want God just to hang on to.
They consider Him lucky.
Others want to try Him
For crimes they say He has committed.
There are people who say
That God has taken up a new life as a dealer in Las Vegas,
A waitress in Wisconsin, a dealer in New York.
Theories abound. Everyone is guessing.
One thing I know:
This God shall never be taken alive.
WHO
Who knows where we come from.
Who knows where we go.
Who is always with us.
This I know.
Who is in the sunshine.
Who is in the rain.
Who designs our fortunes.
Who complains.
Who is in the mountains.
Who is in the sea.
Who's in everybody,
Just like me.
Of all the whos before us
And whos yet still to be,
The best is ever with us,
Fast and free.
LAWN SLAVES
Come and see my lawn today!
See it straight and narrow.
Take a little off the top,
Sprinkler, wheel, and barrow.
Forest Hill, you beckon us.
Your lawns are wide and willing.
I see the graves of all your slaves
Still yawning for fulfilling.
Who could ever picture such
Abject enormity?
A monument to summers spent
In crass conformity.
A SONG TO THEE
Most holy of the holy,
Profound of the profound,
In the echo of thy beauty,
A thousand worlds resound,
The music of the universe
Transfixes heaven's gaze,
While the tempo of our bodies
Continues to amaze.
Thou, conductor of the whole,
Though ensconced beneath my brain ,
Imperious thy majesty
And noble is thy reign.
Thou art the one to whom we swear,
Much broken, much maligned,
Some lucky lieges seeking deep,
Thy inner kingdom find.
I put no faith in altars
Or images of stone.
Thy humble beat holds no conceit.
I come to thee alone.
Thou art the holder of the whole,
While we but think a part.
I dedicate this life to thee,
My Friend, my God, my Heart.
All poems are the copyrighted property of Guru Fatha Singh Khalsa 2014
To broadcast or duplicate any of them, please first contact me.
gurufathasingh@gmail.com
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