Darvish Khan Writes

the american book of the dead celebrates culture;
it is our holy text dedicated to the noble vulture.

this text is read to us each night to promote a clear mind;
it is a priceless guide to help us the right prescription find.

we would all be lost without the guidance of wise voices,
helping us to unerringly make the right choices.

the dying require soothing wisdom to dispel confusion,
and to rest in calm attention without delusion.

the highest duty of a mature and spiritual land,
is to place those with our deepest welfare in command.

preparing to die well is an american passion;
our advanced way of living is not a matter of fashion.

darvish stays up late into the long night listening in bed,
to the mercy of tv ads comforting the dying and dead.

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when the earth trembles, it’s not just an earthquake:
but some huge sleeping serpent beginning to wake.

the time of reckoning has come when buildings wobble:
what lies deep within is promising to make trouble!

now is the time to make friends with a fiery dragon;
and now the time for deadly fun to brilliantly begin.

how you think and act at the time of present death,
makes a difference with how you breathe your last breath.

the point is to always be prepared to happily die;
karma will be plowed back under to sprout and thrive.

life chases death just as much as death chases life:
karma slits your throat but you, then thirst for the knife!

darvish has carefully considered the power of snakes;
he would rather die first- and then with laughter shake!

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Eruch was the rock who said the Master dropped his body,
to live forever in our hearts and minds without threnody.

The Master lives by the breath that breathes his living name,
not by the lament that he has gone or quit his game.

The Master is here and now in the path of remembrance;
he is the lover now present in the rhythm of time’s dance.

It is the Master’s longing for us that inspires the heart,
to find with joy a presence we are ever loath to part.

The diamond love of the eternally living Perfect One,
lights our way with a thousand glances shining like the Sun.

Eruch had a perfect memory that was never sentimental;
the focus of his mind on the moment was monumental.

If there is one man who brings tears to Darvish’s eyes,
it is the lifelong servant of the Master who never dies!

note: Eruch = Eruch Jessawala, lifelong disciple of Avatar Meher Baba

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Brahma is god the creator but gets little satisfaction;
his devotees number so few it’s as if he lies in traction.

It seems that the act of conception is relatively passe:
the big bang may be cosmic but is barely more than risque.

The babies play on Vishnu’s lap who must preserve and protect them;
he answers all the whining of the universe with love’s sweet hymn.

In fact, God only takes birth as the compassionate one;
he endlessly renews love’s game as illusion’s great fun.

Shiva the destroyer brings the play to an end, but only
after millions and millions of lives as all and sundry.

Shiva and Brahma are both a very special one-pony trick:
to birth and destroy the ego mind is god-awfull slick!

Brahma is all spent and Shiva waits upon nature;
Darvish cries out to the beloved for kisses of rapture!

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We never lie so well but to preserve our thin honor;
We are never so earnest as when making a fast dollar.

Our freshest sincerity is out of a shiny tin can:
Vacuum packed spirit is a more durable scam!

The shelf life of our best ideas and emotions,
follows the market for authentic snake oil lotions.

The wild, wild west is with us on a runaway horse;
Screamin an’ hollerin is our state sponsored course.

God knows the devil loves to laugh through his dirty ass;
We wake up drunk to find out he’s been outclassed!

Jesus, this is a story more true than Jehosaphat,
who couldn’t jump over a fat snoring Democrat.

Darvish comes up short what to say about all this;
Sometimes the best way to relax is just take a long piss.

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The stars sing their way to man with a silent cry,
While the man full of song, singing, longs to die.

From beginning to end, our journey longs to find,
A voice that, longing with love, annihilates mind.

Our journey takes us from fine interstellar gas,
To the supernova of ego mind, by grace, at last.

Infinite bliss is not just some cosmic notion,
But results from the purest and rarest devotion.

The master is the one whose center is everywhere,
But whose circumference is to be found nowhere.

The friend is flesh and blood beyond time and space,
Whose body offers an infinite and timeless embrace.

Darvish borrows the rare voice of his loving wife,
And surrenders to the beloved his flickering life.

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krishna was married but loved his consort with a passion;
his love for her was so much more than the current fashion.

lovely radha was the divine lord’s supreme beloved;
she loved him with a love that all the others coveted!

krishna had many beautiful women called the gopis;
the godman is a divine rogue who courts his devotees!

his magic flute calls the rustic lover with god’s music;
the cowherds are not beguiled by the purely bucolic.

we have denied that eden was ever this wonderful,
and claim feminine nature degrades the spiritual!

the sun rises in the east but slumbers in the west;
dawn is like a virgin seduced by the day’s long quest.

darvish thinks of mira who married krishna as a doll;
she became a dancer and singer to one all in all!

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