Anjali (aka Sanskritti Politi) - Shane Bordoli скачать в хорошем качестве

Anjali (aka Sanskritti Politi) - Shane Bordoli

Music by the wonderful Nancy Crane. Words and naration by me. This is the opening poem from my new book The Best Looking Kid in the Assylum. Out now in paperback and Kindle on Amazon. https://shanebordoli.wixsite.com/shan... The footage was taken from a video on old village life in Southern India uploaded by wvarchiesandhistory. ANJALI aka Sanskritti Politti In the beginning was the Word, and in India, the word was spelt wrong, in English anyway, especially on signs and menus. As I sit by the holy Ganges and ponder this and eternal questions such as how many others are sat like me from the Himalayan peaks to vast shining ocean, and listening to The Fall? With its constant f􏰂ux which has remained much the same for thousands of years, India pulls on my heart-strewn sleeve. As I head home in a battered auto rickshaw, Sadhus in their holey orange garb look across to the river from their tiny lean-tos by the side of the cacophonous road, while giant bulls chow down on rubbish piles beside them. It would be reductive to show you unless you could pull this sunset light into the back holes of your eyes. II. The eco Clean India campaign here is liable to become a cleanse India one. The road from freedom in ’47 so recently paved with right-wing Hindu corporatism now has the sinkholes of . . . well, we will leave that matter there. Firm handshake wankers abound, throwing out the spiritual baby with the traditional bathwater. And God has given religion a bad name. It takes Johnny Foreigner here to see this clearly with his best Wurzle Gummage thinking head on. And I see Aunt Sally has a tear in her eye. III. Don’t get me wrong (or my visa revoked), every day not spent in India is a day wasted. Some of the holiest saints have come to Rishikesh over the millennia. It’s fertile ground for the highest potentials of being human. Rishikesh, like the world, is a re􏰂ection of your mind. And vice versa. If you look with your heart, you can become aware of the pungency of truth and beauty rising amongst the early morning mists that roam the valley as the Ganges snakes her way through town. Nowadays, though, yoga is mainly just a fucking business here. The mist is rapidly becoming smog. Buddha must be spinning in his grave, and the gurus have dollars in their eyes. IV. Anjali (8 years old) sells 􏰂fowers for a living by the riverside and we sometimes watch fairy-tale cartoons together on my phone. But once upon a time is now, and It's a mirror, mirror on the wall situation the world is in. And you're not Snow fucking White, that’s for sure, nor any of the seven emojis. But we can still be the Prince if we wake the fuck up and put on the sunglasses. It's a Grimm fairy-tale we live in, but even they all lived happily ever after. And Anjali has blue skies in her eyes. Footnote As for me, I’m just trying to be a conduit of Love, in my humble little way. Meanwhile, I ride the black dog, and like a cork, you can only hold me under- water so long. Thankfully my dreams are pretty fucking far from having pennies on their eyes. Ciao for now. Shane Rishikesh Jan 2020