![]() For some wild reason a controlled burn is what The Gourds would love on their dying day ( I love the ‘Superstition’ drumbeat in this one), to Mary Gauthier on the other hand burning fields bring only soot, sorrow and dirty laundry. Kills lots of pests, puts nutrition back into the soil, rejuvenates. In fact, it used to be – and in some parts of the world still is – simply an agricultural technique. * a veena is a stringed musical instrument.Conflagration should not automatically lead to lamentation. Now everybody’s got to go, got to be, got to get somewhere One day I’m looking over my shoulder at the past Read a poem a day, call in well sometimes and Tell your kid a story, hold your lover tight See your life as a gift from the great unknown Roll down your window, turn off your phone Or you could be the one who takes the long way home ![]() Somehow she forgot about what got her thereĪccidents and inspiration lead you to your destination One day she’s looking over her shoulder at the past Now there’s a gardener for the flowers, a cook for the meals,Ī maid for the laundry, an accountant for the billsĪ walker for the dog and a trainer when she feels the need to lose an inch She punched a hole in the ceiling years ago and she hasn’t pulled back since Now you could be this woman, she’s the CEO How did he forget about what got him there When everybody had to go, had to be, had to get somewhere One day he’s looking over his shoulder at the past Nothing wrong with that, coming home each night to his cul-de-sac of dreams Their perfect children, their perfect life Now he’s got a picture in his head of the perfect wife, He’ll retire at thirty to his big-ass house next to the putting green You could be this man, he’s got it all worked out I felt he found my letters and read each one out loudĪnd then he looked right through me as if I wasn’t there Translated from Gujarati into Prakrit by either Anand Gandhi or Chandrasen. Then translated into English, possibly by Gandhi himself. But it survives in the Gujarati (language) oral traditions. Note: This is originally a verse of now extinct Charvaka traditions and the poet is unknown. May my true self be liberated from the cycle of life and death. I pray, may my karma of ignorance be shed. The truth is multi-faceted, and there are many ways to reach it. The smallest of creatures have a life-force just like mine. I take responsibilities for my actions and their consequences. Neither a preserver, nor an owner of this universe. ![]() There are no celestial beings I know of, there is no God. It’s just another day and nothing’s any good I have already paid for all my future sins I feel like I am the king of sorrow, yeah I wonder if this grief will ever let me go I want to cook you a soup that warms your soulīut nothing would change, nothing would change at all Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?Īnd all of these remnants of joy and disaster “Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.” I’d hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded Only yesterday was the time of our lives. ![]() Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.” “Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead, I had hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvitedīut I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it. Guess she gave you things I didn’t give to you.Īin’t like you to hold back or hide from the light. That you found a girl and you’re married now. ![]()
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