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Syndic Literary Journal

A Medley of Short Poems

ByDhanbad Poet Ram Krishna Singh

Narration By Roger Netzer



I am no Jesus
but I can feel the pains
of crucifixion

as a common man
suffer all what he suffered–
play the same refrains

at times cry and pray
hope for better days ahead
despite lack of love

diminishing strength
failures, ennui and blames
for sins I didn’t author

I am no Jesus
but I can smell the poison
and smoke in the air

feel for humankind
like him carry the cross
and relive my dreams

I am no Jesus
but I can feel the pains
of crucifixion



I don’t know which psalms to sing

or which church to go to feel

the flame within for a while

sit or lie still with

faith weather the restlessness

brewing breath by breath

I don’t know the god

or goddess or the mantra

to chant when fear overtakes

my being and makes me suffer

plateaus of nightmares

paralyzing spirit to live

and be the promised fulfillment

I see no savior come

to rescue me when mired

I seek freedom from myself:

my ordeals are mine alone

in the valley of self

I must learn to clear the clouds

soaring high or low



The coiled divine

renews eternity

in the body’s cells

fed on sensuous sweetness

and moment’s littleness

for years fleshly reign

seemed spirit’s radiance

in the deep pit

now suddenly sparks the itch

for heaven’s nude delight



I don’t know where I lived

in my former existence

but the hell I’ve breathed

for four decades here

couldn’t adapt my soul:

I remain a stranger

to them and to the cold walls

that put out the candle lights

in my roofless sky



The body is precious

a vehicle for awakening

treat it with care, said Buddha

I love its stillness

beauty and sanctity

here and now

sink into its calm

to hear the whispers in all

its ebbs and flows

erect, penetrate

the edge of life and loss

return to wholeness



Don’t question the lips

that wilt the tongue

licking wetness in the mouth

the mystery of delight

prophecy of the birth

by salty swallowing

make new parables

with face mask surviving

one more gospel



I feel the yellow leaves with the day’s silence in their stare

the ghetto uncovers what they try to conceal–

feeling stuck, a little ‘off’, or foggy

in the sameness of everyday celebrating

no sex, no travel, no drinks, no books but black smoke

dust and emptiness of years they’re unsure about

here each one sounds too profound, perching for new life

between the parentheses ending up

a kite snapped and strayed into a bush



Crushed heads of serpents coil along the road

green glitter of stream strikes my vision

I walk and fear the growing ripples in urinal


The painted paper-god and Christ on the cross

stand on the dawn-coloured wall of my bedroom

watch sex, prayers and restlessness each night


Apple, snake and three-fifth of me

in bed manipulates man

inside selfish rubbles


Once your body was the sitar waiting for my touch

the sweet fragrance of your hair still lingers

but the cigarette that was mine is now ash


The smile you weave splits the sun

I lose my direction in clouds darkening

the white of the lake moon kissed


Here she goes in the long light

and swiftly a shadow moves with her


What if my nights are poisoned by evil spirits

they can’t corrupt my bare truth in one life


The fire broke out to retaliate

they fight with lightning


 Where will I reach running with gluey feet on gashed earth

a relentless sun licks leftover of a dying day


 Not to kiss my feet they rush

waves vie with waves to reach the shore


 The dance of rain is good for a short

but the fall of sky is too much


 Keep my cracked tongue tightly closed

lest the diseased mind is known








Compiled/Published by LeRoy Chatfield
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