I’M NO JESUS AND OTHER SELECTED POEMS TANKA AND HAIKU

by

RAM KRISHNA SINGH

Translated into Crimean Tatar by: TANER MURAT

2014

I Am No Jesusand other selected poems, tanka, and haikuby ram krishna singhtranslated into crimean tatar by taner muratillustrated by alsou shikhova ildarovnaram kírisna sink’níñ

Men Isa tuwulmansaylangan manzumeler, tankalar, kaykuwlartaner murat’nîñ kîrîm tatarğaga terğúmesíndealsuw sikova ildarovna’nîñ resímlemesínde

I Am No Jesus – Men Isa tuwulmanA project developed by Nazar LookAttitude and Culture Journal of Crimean Tatars in Romaniawww.nazar-look.com

Publishers:

Editura StudIsIasi, Sos. Stefan cel Mare, nr.5edicenter@yahoo.com

Descrierea CIP a Bibliotecii Naionale a României�SINGH, RAM KRISHNAI Am No Jesus - Men Isa tuwulman / Colecie lirică in ediie bilingvă, � �engleză si tătarăcrimeană / Ram Krishna Singh. Vatra Dornei : StudIS, 2014

Copyright © 2014Toate drepturile asupra acestei ediii sunt rezervate autorului�

Dedicated to

TANER MURAT

Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface

I. Selected Poems1. Dying Sun2. Shadow3. Poetic Disturbance4. In Doesn’t Rain5. Allergies6. Who Cares?7. Merkaba8. New Year9. Gleam of Light10. Avalanche11. I Can Live12. Heresy13. Clay Dreams14. Sangam15. Waiting16. Return to Wholeness17. None Talk18. Stranger19. Indifference20. I Too Descend21. Valley of Self22. Solitude23. Body: A Bliss24. On Her Birthday25. From the Window26. I am No Jesus27. I Can’t Hide Fears28. I Do Not Write …29. Invitation30. Eyeless Jagannath

II. Tanka 1 - 30III. Haiku

Acknowledgements

The poet and the publisher are grateful to the editors of the following journals and ezines that carried some of the poems, tanka and haiku presented here:

The World Poets Quarterly (P.R. China), Chairman Poetics (R.O.China), Sarasvati (UK), Ko (Japan), Magnapoets (Canada), Prophetic Voices (USA), Time Haiku (UK), Lynx (USA), Mainichi Daily News (Japan), Poetcrit (India), Poetry World (India), Syndic Literary Journal (USA), Research (India), Cyber Literature (India), Voice of Kolkata (India), Bridge-in-Making (Kolkata), Nazar Look (Romania), asahi haiku network (Japan), Akita International Haiku Network (Japan), Modern English Tanka (USA), The Tanka Journal (Japan), Create4U(The Netherlands), Micropress NZ (New Zealand), Micropress Yates (Australia), Still (London), and World Haiku Review .

Some poems have also appeared in the following anthologies and collections:

Busy Bee Book of Contemporary Indian English Poetry (eds. P.Raja and Rita Nath Keshari).Pondicherry: Busy Bee Books, 2007;

The Art of Haiku: 2000 (ed. Gerald English). Cheshire: New Hope International, 2000;

Fire Pearls 2 (ed. M. Kei). Maryland: Keibooks, 2013;

Create4U: In the Beginning, Vol.I (ed. Geert Sterenborg). Omnibooks.org, 2009;

Contemporary Poets (ed. M.S. Venkata Ramaiah). Bangalore: Bizz Buzz, 2012;

The Dance of the Peacock:Anthology of English Poetry from India (ed. Vivekanand Jha). Canada: Hidden Brook Press, 2013;

Poetry World: Annual Anthology (ed. S. Krishnan). Chennai: Poetry World, 2013;

Metric Conversions: Poetry of Our Time (comp. and translated into Crimean Tatar by Taner Murat). Iasi: Editura StudIS, 2013;

Sense and Silence: Collected Poems (R.K. Dingh). Jaipur: Yking Books, 2010);

Sexless Solitude and Other Poems (R.K. Singh). Bareilly: Prakash Book Depot, 2009; and

New and Selected Poems Tanka and Haiku (Ram Krishna Singh). New Delhi: Authors Press, 2012.

Preface

Life is too real to be believed, yet we must keep dreaming and try to live with a resonance of what we think while we touch various levels of reality—political, social, personal, or spiritual—and be ourselves.

Genuine poetry happens as an event to be truthful, clear, courageous, and honest to oneself; to be open about things one often tries to conceal. Poetry provides an opportunity for expressing ones intimate moments with the same passion as while talking about the interwoven outer realities.

I also view it as the expression of cosmic, organic, erotic life, creating its own forms, expressing itself and, in being expressed, finds its voice.

My experience convinces me that we are not limited by what we are, but we are limited by what we are not. Poetry becomes a means to overcome this limitation, and thus, allows us not only to know ourselves but also to expand on what we are.

This means we should remain open to healthy revisions that we can make to our way of thinking, and incorporate new perspectives into our outlook. In other words, we should not let our own rigidity destroy our potential, but rather we should evince a forward-looking, tolerant, and open mindset if we wish to create future.

I don’t know if my poetry fits in what I think at the moment, but poetry does help us traverse the boundaries of hesitation to see the joy of fulfillment.

I am grateful to my poet friend Taner Murat for not only readily agreeing to translate this collection into Crimean Tatar but also to publish it to support intercultural creativity .

--R.K. SINGH

SELECTED POEMS

1. DYING SUN

How does it matterI remember or forgetthe nights or lightsthat stand still

in the dense fognothing visiblenor audible

the thundering planestouch the ground:

it’s all gameof guess and vagueeveryone

everythingeven the tickof the clock

this freezing hourredolent of crumbling echoes

I can’t divine visionor loom up certaintyto mock folliesof dying sun

2. SHADOW

Last eveningI saw a flower bloomtoday it’s faded

but my fearlurking like a shadowever present

I can’t erase:emptying the mindeasier said than done

3. POETIC DISTURBANCE

There’s more to view in a dew dropthan what lies in my backyard--years of muck and mucking about—burial too difficult

in sunlight images shinelike crystal ball reveal my mindin poetic disturbanceleaking lust and blood on dried grass

4. IT DOESN’T RAIN

It’s lightningevery eveningin the skybut it doesn’t rain

I keep postponingmy journey

whether the train is lateor I miss itit doesn’t matter

I look belowthe chasm is widelike the lightningbut it doesn’t rain

5. ALLERGIES

The barber seesa potential customerin me but I pass

the tense facesafter the long walk sunshinea fag in the car

short carnival:neatly hide faded vests dryingin the balcony

helter skelterafternoon windy rainallergies again

6. WHO CARES?

Death hides in the bodybut who sees? it’s obscure

living on the edgeseeking space into swamp

they all talk about the sunswelling in the sky

and close eyes to the spiderspinning waves on the ceiling

all alone, but who cares?suspicion and distance

like lovers they pretendto leave, yet stay longer

dishing out luxuriesshowing off generosity

on the heart’s fancy tablewaiting to welcome the guest

7. MERKABA

They say my birth was a heavenly event:here I am suffering third-rate villainsthat erect walls to stop the chariotsfrom Merkaba: the angels fume but who caresheaven is a mirage in human zoo

8. NEW YEAR

The dates on calendar questionall my undone acts

and memories that haunt or fadein nightly nakedness

stumbling toward the next day’s sunwithout celebration

at 63 January jeersmy degenerating sex

a still itch: mantra and mirrorquiet god and drying petals

9. GLEAM OF LIGHT

Late August:clouded midnight, sneezingrestless in bed

all negative vibeswell up the mind

jackals yell outsideI read Hsu Chichengfor a gleam of light

10. AVALANCHE

Time’s wrinkling fingerstrivialize the sun and snowin a crooked land

I see history crippledwith midnight dyspnoeathe green umbrella

hosts disaster:the avalanche waits on its shoulderthe wound opens

11. I CAN LIVE

I’ve outlivedthe winter’s allergiesand depressing rainsin a human zoo

I can livemy retirement toowithout pension and medicare:

the wheelchair doesn’t frightenI can live

uncared and unknownsurvive broken homethe numbness of the armsthe pain in the neck

and inflation too

12. HERESY

My shrinking bodyeven if I donatewhat’s there for research:

devil in the spineabusing tongue in sleepor bleeding anus

defy all prayerson bed or in temple—the same heresy

oozing and stinkingonanist excursiondead or alive

13. CLAY DREAMS

They make my face ugly in my own sight

what shall I see in the mirror?

there is no beautyor holiness leftin the naked nation:

the streams flow darkand the hinges of doors moanpolitics of corruption

I weep for its namesand the faces they defacewith clay dreams

14. SANGAM

The crack in the skyis not the rosy cleavageto rape the body

nor is the beast any freeto escape the bloody riverthat reflects stony wrathin doggy position

they all expect their rewardfor burying the noiseof sunny free wheelingin frozen passion

turn beggars they allsearch warmth with ash-smeared sadhusat road side tea stallwhistle and wash off sins

in sangam muddledwith privileged few soar highbut I’m glad I crawl on earthmy roots don’t wave in the air

15. WAITING

I’ve lived 23,000 daysawaiting a day that could becomegod’s day in eden earth or within

or even my grandson’s smileon his first day in mother’s arms

now I sit an empty boaton a still riverand shake with quail dreams

16. RETURN TO WHOLENESS

The body is preciousa vehicle for awakeningtreat it with care, said Buddha

I love its stillnessbeauty and sanctityhere and now

sink into its calmto hear the whispers in allits ebbs and flows

erect, penetratethe edge of life and lossreturn to wholeness

17. NONE TALK

Flowers don’t bloomin tribute tobuilders’ apathy

the trees are dying:they too know they’ll be felledor the heat will kill

the concrete risescalamity too will risenone talk the ruins they bring

18. STRANGER

I don’t know where I livedin my former existencebut the hell I’ve breathedfor three decades herecouldn’t adapt my soul:I remain a strangerto them and to the cold wallsthat put out the candle lightsin my roofless house

19. INDIFFERENCE?

Being goodcouldn’t make me knowany better

I was harmlessthey sold my nameand became what I couldn’t

in the middle of day lightI vanished like facesfrom voters’ list

with no differenceto who winsor who loses

20. I TOO DESCEND

Some fresh bones, and designer’s dressdistorted hopes, cataract visionhardly any better the face of the body

and if there is a soul, the soul hears

the map guides the mind’s midnightbut the destination is different

deception is courage

they know the end of journeyand get down when the train stops

I too descend

21. VALLEY OF SELF

I don’t know which psalms to singor which church to go to feelthe flame within for a while

sit or lie still with faith weather the restlessnessbrewing breath by breath

I don’t know the godor goddess or the mantrato chant when fear overtakesmy being and makes me suffer

plateaus of nightmaresparalyzing spirit to liveand be the promised fulfillment

I see no savior come to rescue me when mired I seek freedom from myself:

my ordeals are mine alonein the valley of selfI must learn to clear the cloudssoaring high or low

22. SOLITUDE

I don’t seek the stone bowlBuddha used while here:She dwells on moon beams

I can see her smilingwith wind-chiseled breastin sexless solitude

her light is not pricedbut gifted to enlightenthe silver-linings

23. BODY: A BLISS

“To see you nakedis to recall the Earth”says Garcia Lorca

it’s no sin to lovestrip naked in bed, kitchenor prayer room

the bodies don’t shineall the time nor passionwildly overflows

but when we have timewe must remember partsarouse dead flesh

rub raw with desirepeeling wet layers through lightsound, senses and taste

play the seasons:the thirst is ever newand blissful too

to recreate the body, a templeand a prayer

24. ON HER BIRTHDAY

I want the best of life for yourbut you too must understandwhat I can’t do

you must be patient and dowhat you can—I can’t create the fruits

I may create spacefor you to stand but I can’t become the legs

you must run the raceon your own and bewhat you dream

the redness of marsand the whiteness of moonmerge in you

you have worlds to conquerand miles to go, my dear

you must rear the gooseand have the gold each day

25. FROM THE WINDOW

Tall houses appearto grow like trees from the planeslowly rising high

people turn tinywith cars water birds and beastsin the summer flame

nervously worriedwatch the moving mass of cloudsfrom the window

eternal patternsnature’s wonder on the edgea streak of orange

thousands of lightstwinkle in colors like stars—seat belt fastened

26. I AM NO JESUS

I am no Jesus

but I can feel the painsof crucifixion

as a common mansuffer all what he suffered—play the same refrains—

at times cry and prayhope for better days aheaddespite lack of love

diminishing strengthfailures, ennui and blamesfor sins I didn’t author

I am no Jesusbut I can smell the poisonand smoke in the air

feel for humankindlike him carry the crossand relive my dreams

I am no Jesusbut I can feel the painof crucifixion

27. I CAN’T HIDE FEARS

I couldn’t make my bedroom churchreading psalms and Lord’s prayers

the light of my lamp andthe portion of my cup couldn’t

lift my soul mired in passionsand silence of the morning

the confessions couldn’t removemy anguish of ages

nor the tears and cries strengthenfaith hope and love – the rock

slips the grip for enemieswithin don’t halt my body

glues to the ground seekingdarkness of the womb and joys

ever restless the child doesn’tgrow and the father fails

in verses I can’t hide fearsmy face I despise, can’t find

freedom from the chemicalssprayed in the air and the smog

oppressing my breath, the sunfails to keep the covenant

28. I DO NOT WRITE …

I do not write the sun, storm, or sea

but re-create myself and othersin verses turn time or pluck some starsto find my ways through masked trencheswitness to my sinking into mudthat curves the memories into biasdisgrace dust, sky, wind, all relationswindow of emotions I must chainto breathe a pure breath without passionand discover essence of beautyspring a move toward self harmonyperfection and peace, prelude to nudeenlightenment to carve life in full

29. INVITATION

While we were talking aboutlove, marriage, and migraineshe kept fiddling with

her reticule—openingputting her pen in and outand shutting again

30. EYELESS JAGANNATH

I can’t understand their mystic heaven or thrillshoused in awareness

time’s intricaciesor sources of plastic mistthrough mythical depths

the wings of my thought are too short to climb God’s heightor blue deeps of peace

I stand on the edgeof earth’s physicality waiting on the brink

with shadowy linesand curves to image march ofeyeless Jagannath

if nobody seesthe collapse of processionand the dark precinct

don’t blame the poets:there is too much emptinessand gloom to ignore

TANKA

1

Awake in dream timehe looks for the candle—love’s invitationlighting up in the darkand sings the body’s song

2

Watching the waveswith him she makes an anglein contemplation:green weed and white foam breakon then beach with falling mood

3

Short nights and long dayssleep loss rustles a frictionechoing in bedthe cycle of cravingsover and over again

4

Awaiting the wavethat will wash away empty hoursand endless longingin the dead silence at seaI pull down chunks of sky

5

Unknowablethe soul’s pursuit hiddenby its own works:the spirit’s thirst, the strifethe restless silence, too much

6

On the prayer matthe hands raised in vajrasancouldn’t contact God—the prayer was too long andthe winter night still longer

7

The mirror swallowedmy footprints on the shoreI couldn’t blame the wavesthe geese kept flying over the headthe shadows kept moving afar

8

Little candles failto illumine the deityor golden domein the valley darkness reignsand god too awaits light

9

Waiting for the remainsof the sacrifice vultureson the temple treestink with humans and goddesson the river’s bank

10

The lane to templethrough foul drain, dust and mud:black back of Saturnin a locked enclosurea harassed devotee

11

Unable to cleanthe cobweb of years he eatsthe Passover mealbut forgets to wash the feet:now drinks Good Friday prayers

12

From head to feetshrouded in habilimentof burqaha slogan-shouting Indianin God’s abode in Kaba

13

Naked children crowdas I pass through the alleysbetween smelly slums:dogs bark to alert them tothe presence of a stranger

14

Their minds hallowed in the borrowed sunjoyous in hatecelebrates emptinessof the pimp’s asshole

15

The mind createswithdrawn to its own pleasuresa green thoughtbehind the banyan tree behind the flickering lust

16

Age seems to stopfor a while in sex acta running horseerect and heavenly white as a lightning

17

Striving hard to feelthe image of spring againthe whole body bloomslove gently and silentlyrevives the final flame

18

Shaped like a birda drop of water landson her breast:my breath jumps to kiss itbefore her pelvic flick

19

Waving arms of treesconspire with overcast dayto drench againthe two of us look for shadeunder leaking umbrella

20

A mist coversthe valley of her bodyleaves memorieslike the shiver of cherryin dreamy January

21

She gives him the pushwhen he says sex starvingis a greater sinthan fasting for his long lifeor praying to the lingam

22

Browsing old haikuin the shade of a treehe munches the noonthrough a pouch of cashewbeery songs, and half-clad girls

23

Weaving no weba dark fishing spidermates in the creek and curls up hanging from the twatin one-shot deal

24

On the wallthe window grill’s shadow:midnight painoverwhelming touchesindifferent after-taste

25

Each nightpeace is taken awayby my father’s shrieksand our useless effortto calm down frayed worries

26

Professors bewareintellectual success lies in inventinglies to conceal common truthsand sound holier-than-thou

27

Not much fun—cold night, asthmatic coughand lonely Christmas:no quiet place withinno fresh start for the new year

28

No cakes or cookiesto celebrate my birthdaythis New Year evelunar eclipse and blue mooncheer the cup in foggy chill

29

Nothing new in tomorrow’s sun:year’s last daytoo passes off like each daynothing is amazing

30

I’m no riverflowing toward the sea:I must find my wayasking strangers in strange placessensing soul, using insight

HAIKU

crowded streetsmoving among the yearswretched faces

a sleeping snakecurled between the eggs—layers of leaves

a yellow spidercrouching in a cornerinvisible webs

lying listlesson withered creepera golden bird

a lone sparrowatop the naked branchviewing sunset

a frog bullied into the hedge:snake’s breakfast

on the roadan injured toad—onlookers

parents pelt stonesat the mating street dogs—

nosey children

potholes:spots of sunshinewobble

sudden downpournoisy trucks at midnightcrowded footbridge

sipping coffeeat a wayside stallcockroaches too

watching dogsfrolicking in the park—jaded couples

dusky backyardcrowded parrots’ shrieksautumn onset

chasing each otherin the by lanetwo birds

a teenagerglides past me on roller bladesher long hair flows

a toddler

trying to stand up by the pram—young mother watches

a girl between the railway tracksswings her pony tail

june heat wave:two long shadowswhisper in bush

from behind the grillbows to the setting sun a man in wheel chair

december duskfiry cleavage on roadsidebreathless coalfield

blue black fumesswirl around his head—floating hand

wheezing his wayto shiva’s hilly abodea young miner

smoggy mist—filling each collier’s housewith yama’s call

open cast mining

burning coal on the roadsidedying vultures

the wind husheda collier diedin the cage

tired pitmancarrying coal on bike—only meal

drivingwith burning eyes--abandoned mine

reechy morningdriving on express wayold empty dreams

morning’s thresholdone more glimpse from moving car—vanishing roses

a fading roselies with weeds between stones—valentine day

on her backwrites with hair a light poem—weight of love

making lovehands clasped and head hungprayer in bed

wet in sweatfrom her under armsperfume

she recognizesthe difference in my breath:drink in her absence

the morning dewstouch the hem of her skirt:flight of first love

where has the moon gone?I saw it two nights agouncertain grace

half-eatenfallen under the treethe last mango

midnight darknesswrapped in loneliness dreamy escape

moonlightwrapped in cloudy sheet—nudity

shadowy hope

and disappearing hair—63rd summer

driftingin the night’s silencemoon’s shadow

alone in the skythe sun standing still—friday doomed

patches of shadeunder a bare treewintry sun

with dewy weighttendrils of pea plants nutatebreezy silence

fingers feeldecaying firefliesin night lights

full moon eclipse—everything dark, unknownyet filled with light

locked in a cavethe goddessin dim light

incense sticks smoke

before the paper goddess—one more new year

mosque’s domelower than mobile towers—weaker god’s signal

on loud speakerprayers disturbthe night’s silence

drifting betweenmy eyes and the moonfloaters

reading tweetsmixed with porn teens:yoga pants

itchy rheumrunny nose all daymonsoon

half-hidden suncalls clouds to thicken:chanting mantra

a drop embeddedin the half-opened bud—winter morning

from the peepal

swirling rain drops—palms open

not alonein midnight misery—easter season

unexpected guestsa hell of formality:third day of Ramzan

icy fishlaced with bloodspices smell

Arab spring—tending death and rosesa short bloom

feeding spirit withlimbs of uncircumsized boysa Ugandan witch

wiping his faceunder the umbrellaan old man with books

watching his slidefrom the sixth floor—god in vain

evening skya pale moon behindlistless trees

lonely sunrise—a butterfly flutters rounda dead marigold

tattooed butterflyjumping over marigold—bare shoulders

seeking refugeon the wings of windscattered petals

locked betweenmy bed and quiltdecember chill

the morning sunfondling with tender fingersthe red roses

awake whole nightno angel cares to watch—frosty morning

returning home

to the swaying branches:new year’s wild rain

end of festival:I stop by her haikuon twitter.com

Copyright: R.K. Singh