Amit Singh, poet
1.
House means home to some,
to some it means home,
to others it means
the returning to something
The spirit has a house,
but, it is not a house that
we return to,
but, we leave it
whenever we get a chance
The returning to the spirit happens
not to a house,
but to the great expanse of life
You leave home to come back to
that which is not home,
but the wide expanse of
a greater recognition,
a greater contentment
that is not you,
but my universe
too
But, when we return to whatever we are
destined to
it is never going to be a house
A power in you sometimes recognizes that freedom is
never within four walls,
in fact, freedom has no wall,
but,
in the end,
a wall is needed
to believe in that which is
painted on it
What was painted on the walls of
my house
where I grew up
It is possible what was painted
was not meant to be there
It wasn’t meant to be there
because
nothing is ever meant to be anywhere
It just sprouts,
like hands out of
mysterious spaces,
doors out of
raindrops,
people
out of
falling houses
My dreams in a countryside,
were fractured by memories
of
a further countryside
in a far distant land
where I had a house
waiting for me
2.
House means home to some,
but,
to me,
growing up
it meant the empty graveyard
next to my house
House is a feeling,
a circumstance,
a deprivation,
a necessity,
a choice,
a lack of choice
When you have freedom within
you travel
outwards
towards the flame
The flame is magic,
it burns where,
unknown
the house feeds it
that which is never its own
I have memories
buried in some stealthy space,
somewhere across the alley
where buried along with all those people
were those
who had shared only fleeting moments of time,
and had yet
to fall asleep
in their vestigial corner
If life corrupts you,
then,
death does a great job
uncorrupting you
I have taken a chance
I am truly speaking from the other side
Skeletons look great hanging in
cupboards
Some cupboards are walled over,
never to be opened,
and some
were never closed
it seems like
I have passion,
but,
in the end,
the eggs have to be mixed with the bacon
to create a meal
for the spirit
But, in the end,
who cares,
who cares,
who cares,
who cares
3.
House is not a place
Home is neither a place or a thing
A country is not a land
My border is not my border
My flesh is not my flesh,
it is a place
for that to happen
which a million years ago
almost happened,
almost happened,
almost happened,
almost happened
A darkness is not something
that gives somebody home
unless it is the dark of sleep
Whoever quilted darkness into my life
also quilted the same sleep
that corrects my life
I am power yes,
but,
beyond this country
the distant lands
call me equally
I have figured out one way
of leaping over walls
Instead of designing a journey
I let the journey design me
But, before I jump into the journey,
I have to put clean clothes,
cleanse myself with perfumes,
and perform a magic
that,
inherently
seeks suffering
How can I be new,
unless,
I have been struck by lightening
The power that is darkness is
only revealed
when a bolt reaches from the far skies
to the little bowl of water
that is housed
in my heart
4.
Running from a house
is only a feeling
Running from anywhere is
a feeling only
A person who is brave will
constantly seek suffering
to keep the jaws of aliveness
ticking and fuming
A brain that believes in magic
will create apparitions out of nothing
in order to become the divine calling
of a nightingale
I remain housed in a space
that never forgives
In fact, forgiveness is never in the cards
when you talk about home
A little space can be called a home,
the spirit calls
the darkness to itself
I am free,
yet bound
There is triviality among the masses
It is because the masses do not wish
to commit treason against
the commandments
A little joke runs the circle
that god has
committed adultery,
but,
who am I to blame anybody
A picture can be drawn in a frame,
the house leaks color
when it faces the god’s vengeance
But, I,
forsaken by the same one
that gave me birth
know that
salvation can be returned to
5.
There is no power greater than
the power to belong
I do not belong,
but,
I know,
that not belonging is
a ruse,
an imagination of sorts,
a dying man’s journey
to the last magical space left
I have no answers for you,
but,
if you dig in the foundation
of my house,
you will find
that,
you will find that,
there is a hidden space that
I have hidden from myself
I thought
that if I left an empty space
somewhere below the foundation,
I could bring a great treasure home
and hide it there
But, after my travels, when I returned,
I discovered that
I had left myself
everywhere
with no treasure to
bring home
6.
House maybe mine,
maybe yours,
ownership will pass through seasons
and through excrements
and through the
recognition of falling
and rising
and falling again
What holds us together is
our falling towards
a common space,
our recognition that
that space is the house
that we seek continually
Whatever keeps us away from
that central space
also,
also,
also,
keeps us away
from annihilation
But, annihilation could be
in the end
the final commandment after
which the gods and humans
become the same thing,
and the tiny words
roaming the little country
proving fertilizer
and air to
the house beneath
become the great heroes
of our tomorrows
B.
Further poems - 1 to 5
1.
House is shoes scrambled
house is shoes scrambled
I know it
I know it
it is shoes that carry you far
from house
it is shoes that
bring you back
a door secretly opens
in the soul of your feet
and takes you back
to your
spirit
I am drunk on love
what was the alcohol
content
of what you gave me
your lips are sealed
mine are parted
all sense departed
i return to my corner
and find
that the picture hanging there
has no frame
and the body below it
has lost all
framing
no references
no logic
only that
uprooted self
hugging itself
by the door step
shoes i say
is house scrambled
2.
FUTURE
other
another
bother
straight on
feeling
is not what it means
to give you
your whiskey
on the rocks
i live in this country
i call it home
but,
does it call me
home
anyway,
children born in foreign lands
are sometimes more familiar than
ones
born
in
native lands
across oceans
sometimes
boats travel in
opposite directions
why does the front go backwards,
and the back
go straight
into the future
3.
DISCOVERY
remain empty
o friend,
it is not friendship
that fills you
but the idea of it
a friend is an idea
he or she is home,
an idea of home
when i return empty handed
to my house,
i notice
that my house
meets me in the middle
to discuss
the whole matter
it has found something in the drawer
that i thought
i had left in my dream
there is no getting away from
what your house
will find about you
4.
Death is my house
connect,
withdraw, connect, withdraw
life is about that
my diaphragm moves
the house of my breath
while i dose into
an afternoon sleep
a coffee addict knows
that when sleep arrives
it arrives in a buzz
of exclamation
now, yes,
a dream of horses will become
a dream of emptiness
i live,
yet,
in my dreams,
death is my house
5.
House with no doors
a tortured self
connects with
another tortured self
sometimes a mirror image is
just a mirror image
sometimes a mirror image
is that forest
which hid your secrets
when you had nothing to hide
i hid a great cache of art,
but,
when i returned
all i found was
empty canvasses,
colors and brushes,
and an old,
mystical jug of water
that cleaned my senses
before it attacked the
acrylic laden brushes
what do you think
i painted
in the end
a house
with a window
and no doors
C.
(The beginnings of a novel)
42 steps above Wistaria
What you call home is not home. When I came from India, I did not have a home. In that transition from home to home, I did not realize that home would be such a thing to discover that I could spend the next 18 years to look for it. Where did I find it. 42 steps above Wistaria Drive.
No, in the end, it was nothing more than finding a house with a good floor plan and a little view.
What is a little view anyway.
To some a little view is out a window, or on a porch overlooking a gash in the forest, or, a powerful image of a lake below a stream, and a fountain in the driveway.
All it needed for me was the possibility of looking within myself without needing to know why I was doing that.
Life seems like following from having agenda to a place you have given up all agenda.