Thursday, December 3, 2015

Poetry By Sudeep Adhikari

Sudeep Adhikari is from Kathmandu, Nepal.

I went to a gig in a ghetto

I saw a couple of shoegazers, punks, 
a death-obsessed ambient rocker
wearing a Reese's tee-shirt on his gig; 
an industrial metal-head 
who was recovering
from his cocaine-addiction, 
and a poor noise-instrumentalist
from Deutschland
wearing a tattered coat
and standing by the side
of his depressed van, smoking
a cigarette and
still trembling 
from yesterday's hangover.

This all happened 
in the middle of a Ghetto
where on a foggy day
shards and shrapnel of graffiti
can make you miss your mother. 

In the ghetto, 
you are never alone
there is an incessant 
noise of fear and loneliness 
that smells like piss, weed
half-burnt cigarillos and beer combined. 

A gig in a ghetto 
is essentially an existential ambush. 

Sudeep Adhikari

Multiplicity Nothingness

Glitch and gravity, both 
bend the space
time-warp my already 
whacked-out reflexes 
I make the Möbius strip
and a couple of more paradoxes 
out of my psyche;
God must be a geometer 
as Kepler has thought once.

a sonic excess of noise 
or the rhizomatic fuzz 
inside the root of a pepal tree; 
life oozes out of 
every impossibilities 
in a path
nor straight, neither curvilinear
fractal, probably. 

Have you ever tried 
to make nothingness
deep-dream in Google?
to get countless virtual raves, 
multiverses, cat-eyes 
for the laser-light
and few psychedelic 
shinto temples. 

matter and mind 
weave an irreducible
psychoid whole 
related and plural
undivided, yet many 
The Tao of psychophysics. 

All my life, I haunted
for the single truth 
and ended up finding 
many whores, 
some sleepless rivers that flow 
straight from a beer-factory, 
few deathless trees that refuse 
not to dance for a second 
and some coked-out gods 
who like to party
wearing a blood-soaked skull 
for a cap. 

I am not a sell-out
but I find no difference either. 

Time Nothingness

A silent day
keeps on folding  onto itself
a cosmic embrace it creates,
and sleeps with its own solitude.
White efflorescence
colorless noise, aches with a rage
of an apocalyptic dread
kisses every contour
of my cosmos within.

The discordance of a cacophonic calm
the noise of gaps and blanks
waves of unthings
it engulfs and emits
spans the ether
of an inconscient chasm.

A poem it is today
a self-composed ode
dancing on its own tunes
along with myriad shades.
 Sheer becoming without a soul
a non-objectal field  
a relentless spin without an axis
a cosmogenesis sans protean gods.

Vapors of irrational as they go punk 
outshine the revelry
of the most promiscuous science
a somnambulist walk
through its desolate woods
and silver cities with misty-eyed times
where hanging on its blue
satellites of vertigos and dreams.

Sound Nothingness

Eldorado of sounds and 
dancing souls
mottled frequencies
melt with an
unconstructed ease
create a river
of sweetest of chimes
and reflect the rainbow
on its bosom
of your treasured noise.

Sonic revelations
actualize themselves
to an orgasmic verge
and I silently eavesdrop
on the party of gods.

My soul-ether
your space and time
silver incandescence
mercurial whirls
and your surreptitious
slow motion shit
between those
ivory towers of doom
with a rhythm
undisclosed yet.

Mists of inconscience
as they try to blind
you gravitate
to your lonesome best
within the pearl
of my singular self.

A cosmic crescendo
a solitary breath
a joyous terminus
of my multitude
that I have 
hitherto dreamt. 

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