Nirmal Singh, 27 lutego 2012
As there is life
Desire there is to thrive
Man with sharp knives
Slaughters beasts
Cooked in fire,fried with cheese
Eaten piece by piece
It's a fright to be killed
For the stomach to be filled
The chopping board red in blood
Combine all houses it's a flood
It took a long time to grow
A fry it swam to and fro
Just got hooked, the beautiful fish
Only for just a quick short dish
Eating all meat, red and white
Man thinks he has the right
To know the source of suffering, wars and fights
Listen to the screams of the slaughter house at night.
Nirmal Singh, 27 lutego 2012
A little power makes pride
Not nice
One out of a million have siddhis
Creating stumbling blocks
Lengthening vastly the spiritual path
Egotistical greed creeps in
From intentional cultivation of powers
Swaying away from the Path
Miracles by the Buddha,Christ and other sages
Had a purpose,were spontaneous
Never performed with selfish motives
Never to create a sensation
Then again there is black magic
Looking like genuine siddhi
Enlightenment is entirely different
The fool spent twenty years
Alone in a cave
Succeeded
Produced fire from his mouth
Idiot
I can strike a match without fear
Produce fire in a second.
Nirmal Singh, 27 lutego 2012
My cage hung up not too high
No rain to play my feathers dry
A few grains with water in a cup
No snakes are there to wake me up
Bars and stripes all around
My cage so bare no trees found
I live among men in a crowd
Can't see mountains can't see clouds
A short flight and back to my feet
The raw nature I never meet
I was free like the clouds over the plain
Now the wind blows by as I wait in vain
So many stars I see so few
The lights switched on my dream still due
I long for the forest forever and ever
Like the fish in the tank remembering the river
Could I teach my master a man so old
To blow off the sand to get the gold
Nirmal Singh, 2 stycznia 2012
The sun is down
Little light remains
To a flower I smile
For whom do you maintain?
For whom do you fade?
Again and again
Nirmal Singh, 2 stycznia 2012
My flesh I would cut up
To patch up your skeleton
I want you to wake up
To see me cry once, then return
I'm still here year after year
Love to sleep in the graveyard here
Right or wrong one thing is clear
I still shed tears for you my dear.
Nirmal Singh, 1 listopada 2011
Our coming would have its going
Our in-breath, its out-breath
Our mornings would have their evenings
Our birth, a certificate of death.
Nirmal Singh, 28 października 2011
Fallen has your soft voice from the sky
Pinning me down by and by
I can't dance to your sweet chime
I've no rhythm no such rhyme
What laws should I hold on to
Can't cut the ropes I'm clinging to
I won't blabber about my fate
My love is yours forget the stake
The Ceremonial Laws of Whipping Gods
Can't bar me from you my sweet dear
Though I have sharp educated swords
Losing you is my only fear
My stream of life begins to sing
To corners of my heart the rhythm you bring
Giving me a new experience every time
I set my eyes on your face so fine
Push me not down the steep slope
I'm not giving up on your wink of hope
Like iron to magnet you I'll follow
Be it at peak or at hollow
Nirmal Singh, 27 października 2011
I'm happy that my parents died
They bloated me with such great pride
Mind essence, how do I write?
No fearing,no craving ,nothing to hide
Freedom from them should be the guide
With the joy of their death I never cried
I'm not in sorrow
Nor will I be tomorrow
Nothing is the matter
As life without them would be better
Their death is not at all a bother
Now wisdom and merit can join together
My path will be without any flutter
As Anger was my father
Attachment my mother.
Nirmal Singh, 26 października 2011
On my deathbed I lay,
The sculptor of my life,
I had stood in the way of nature,
To pump up my pile.
My attitudes I grew,
Looting from day to day,
My mantra was 'O Money',
Stabbing everyone in my way.
I strutted on the knife's edge,
Misused the scriptural sayings,
My attachment caused bondage,
Which withdrew my internal savings.
I had looked for a guru,
To give me some guiding,
What good is a guru?
My ego started talking.
Could I light up my money?
To brighten the corridor,
That runs after death,
To the other shore.
Though highly evolved technologically,
I missed the resources within,
I'm rich in inner poverty,
Yamantaka has begun to grin.
Nirmal Singh, 25 października 2011
The voice of silence is supreme
Beyond all levels of consciousness
All methods of communication
We should jack up listening
Stop opposing
Stop arguing with sagas
Just enjoy their presence
Silence will give us everything
Everything the world can never give
Be like a corpse without pride
A sea without tide
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