A Letter to Angie

"A Letter to Angie"

Hey,

was thinking about

you again.
did you know that?
naw, why would you,
you’re way over

there
and I’m way over

here.

did you ever think

about me?
I mean,

uninstigated, uninitiated
 by me?
like,
 did you ever think
what’s rahul up to?
what’s he doing

these days?
what would it have

been like ...
 ... if you had called me back?

sometimes I wonder
if you’re the one
that got away.
but no
you never wanted to

be gotten
in the first place.
at least that’s how

it felt.

was I wrong?
could it be
that somehow
you lost my number?
trapped in your

phone
snatched by an

enemy
of cupid?
could it be
that you cursed

yourself
for not writing my

number down?
I doubt it
alas
cupid shot his

arrow
as the window
was just closing.
its tail was

clipped
its effectiveness

halved

but why was cupid’s
mark on me
so clean?
why did I become
besotted
with your eyes,

your smile
your strength
your story

the middle child
amongst five 

older brother
a success
 intellectually
a failure
 relationally
lacking love for

his mother
and what she has

done for him.

older sister
a user, abuser.
is she as beautiful

as you?
how could she be
 while lacking your strength
 your steel
 your resolve.
a leech
siphoning off the

last
your mother has to

give. 

but you,
you’re nothing like

them.
you refused to be.
you saw her

sacrifice –
the toll it had

taken
and instead of
drawing from that

well
you chose to plant

your own.
college,

self-financed
clothes,

self-financed
car, apartment,

insurance,
an “x” followed by

an A-n-g-i-e.

ambitious
to say the least.
to go it alone
in a world
where followers
are the norm. 

and so here I lie
wondering
what it might have

been like.
my 1^st

girlfriend
mature, independent
with a sense of

humor.

not just fruit
I wanted to pluck
more like a crop
I wanted to harvest
with you.

together we could

have
nourished its soil
enriched its grain 

made it flourish. 

but did you know my

motives?
the way I felt?
no, of course you

didn’t. 

I was too clumsy
to hold your hand
too scared
to show affection. 

so please accept

this.
an ode to what
could have been.
to taking chances
and casting aside
one’s pride. 

angie, I liked you
 
there. it’s done.     

~rahul

Your Friend

7/10/08





"Your Friend"




She got a nose job

She got a boob job

She got liposuction

She got butt implants (i'm serious)



She's also got a son

She's also got a prostitute for a mother

She's also got a cousin who cares about her



She has you as a friend

She has you to bitch to

She has you to bitch about



She looks in the mirror for satisfaction

She looks in the mirror for suffering

She looks in the mirror for so long



She sees ugliness

She sees beauty

She sees too many things



What do you see in her?

What do you think about her?

What do you tell her?



Do you care about her?

Do you love her?

Do you despise her?



Or do you ignore her?

Or do you gossip about her?

Or do you write her off as a failure?



What does that say about you?

What does that say about your beliefs?

What does that say about your soul?



Let's go back to her son for a second.

Let's go back to his role in all of this.

Let's go back to her reason for having him.



It was to lash out at his father.

It was to nail down the son of a bitch.

It was to teach that ho he was dating who really has him snatched up.



That's called spite.

That's called stupidity.

That's called suffering.



But all those things are in the past.

But it's who she is.

But it's really a matter of who she's going to become.



And so what are you going to do about it?

And so what are you going to do to help her son?

And so what are you going to do to help yourself?



Does she affect you?

Does she bother you?

Does she inflict harm upon you?



She has swindled you, no?

She has lied to you, no?

She has been a bad friend to you, no?



OK.

OK.

OK.



Enough! Ask her what she wants for her son!



Fuck me and I fuck you.



That's how she views the world!

That's what she's teaching her son!

That's the world she believes in!



What do you believe in? Do you believe your world exists without her? Do you think God blesses you simply because you're not her? Fool! You are blessed to not be in her shoes, but not by God. By fate, by sheer luck. God blesses those who take life's blessings and shares them with those less fortunate.



Is that so hard for you to do? Is it so hard to get her to think about her son, her seed, her soul? Let's script it out:



1. Do you love your son?

Yes, of course!

2. What do you want for him?

To take care of me!

3. Selfish bitch, be serious. What do you want for him?

----

4. You want him to grow up thinking life sucks? Life is just what our surroundings make of us?

I don't know.

5. That's the problem, you don't know because you haven't thought about it. You're too busy trying to shape yourself on the outside. That doesn't change shit on the inside, except probably make it easier for you to hide out in your own skin.



Maybe not the best start. But something is better than nothing, no?

You

9/27/06

"You"

This is a poem about you.
Who?
You, that's who.
Me? Yeah, you, and you, and you.
It's about your fears.
It's about your dream.
It's about your needs.
Let's start last
  sdrowkcab krow dna
    is that alright with you?
Good.
Your needs. Oops, that's a typo. Because you only
need one thing.
  To be true to yourself and no one else.
  To love yourself (in other words).
  Can you do that? Wait! don't answer it.
  Silly you, always being hasty...
Your dream. Oops, that's another typo.
  See, dreams are limitless, you can have
  as many as you want. Dream you're a dancer,
  a movie star, a teacher, a revolutionary.
  You might dream of being a parent.
  Now that's taking a shortcut to infinity.
  Remember, your child needs
  their own dream, not yours! Besides, a
  dream deferred is really no dream at all.
  I would hate to be the parent whose child
  says to them, "You can't tell me to dream,
  because you have no dream of your own!"
  Ouch.
Your fears. No typo here. Your parents, your
  peers, your future, your failure, your loneliness,
  your love, your loss, your security, your
  success, your potential...
    the unknown.
  do your fear it?
    I don't.
  liar, yes you do, of course you do!
  You're human; you're me.
  I've got to admit; I like writing to you.
It gives me hope, joy, pleasure. It makes me
feel wonderful about myself, makes me feel
good about who I am.
Do you feel good about yourself? Do you
feel special? One-of-a-kind? It's okay if
you don't.
Sometimes, I feel that way too.
That's the funny thing about you
and me. Or should I say
  "I and you."
Sometimes they try to confuse us. They don't
want you to know me. To know that
you and I are more alike than different.
Could you and I be one?
  U and I.
  Why?
  Oh, you. You, you, you. It's always
about you. Never me.
See, negativity. Easy,
isn't it? To separate you from me.
    Let's let them do that. Well, not
    LET'S let them do it, you and I
 should try to stop them, but let's leave all
that dividing business to them.
  Let's get back to focusing on you.
  On me.
  On me focusing on you. God, let's see.
  God, is that we?
  God, now you see.
  God is you.
  God is me.
  rejoice in this simplicity.

Please Read!

Please Read! Urgent Action Needed!



Varshney Accepts Pre-Paid Offer from Tracfone (NYSE: AMX)

By The Associated Press



Sunday, 22 September, 2002



WESTWOOD
(AP) -- In a recent move that many say would shift the balance of game
once and for all in favor of the up and coming South Asian, Rahul
Varshney has acquired a pre-paid cellular phone plan from Tracfone, an
America Movil affiliate. Unbeknownst to most, America Movil is Latin
America's largest mobile phone provider at 27 million wireless
subscribers in 10 countries.



A few analysts on Wall Street are
skeptical of the move and think it may be of little more use than "to
let Mummy and Papa know where he's at at all times." Bupinder Singh, a
long time follower of mobile moves on the Nasdaq, thinks that Mr.
Varshney, "is just a 'wannabe' playboy that thinks having a cell phone
is all that's missing from his 'killer-Cali' lifestyle."



"He needs to understand that the big shakers on Sunset, they don't... well they don't look to kindly on Nokia 5100 users."



Apparently,
the Nokia 5100 is Tracfone's only digital model. Many share Mr. Singh's
sympathies and have duly expressed their worries. What makes the
situation all the more alarming is that even close friends of Mr.
Varshney have expressed their doubts. "Have you seen the size of this
thing! Honestly, I would be embarrassed to ask for a girl's number and
then whip out this monstrosity. It's almost like he's over-compensating
for something." Our source chose not to reveal his name because, as he
put it, "If Rahul found out I was making claims about his [size] he'd
probably hunt me down and fart on me or something."



But many
others think it's a positive move and definitely a step in the right
direction. "Do you know how many numbers of girls Rahul has stored in
my cell phone? Do you have any idea?" When pressed further the male
held up two fingers. "Well, actually, one was his sister's phone
number, but still, it's annoying!"



It seems then that the
bottom line is that this cell phone has been activated, but with the
minutes being as expensive as they are (150 additional minutes for a
current retail value of $49.99), Mr. Varshney plans on making very
limited use of his phone.



"It's really like a pager to me. I
mean, I can still make my [illegally] free calls from campus, and it's
not like my friends won't still have their cell phones. Shit, you
thought this meant the end of me bumming minutes off my friends? Hell
no!"



Mr. Varshney's arrogance and forthrightness have come as
a shock to even his closest friends. A few chose to speak out on the
condition of anonymity. "You mean this whole time, this whole time, he
was just friends with me because of my minutes? Because of my unlimited
mobile to mobile? I've told him some of my deepest and darkest
secrets," professed Varshney's fellow co-worker.



Strange, because Mr. Varshney is currently unemployed.



Nonetheless,
this real, but implausible, character went on, "I really thought he was
listening. I really thought he cared. Now I know that to him, I was
nothing more than a trick-ass whore, and to me he was nothing more than
my two-cent pimp." The next interviewee put it more bluntly, "That man
has lead us on a wild goose chase... And I don't even like eggs!"



In
their bewilderment, the sole consolation they took was that they would
be able to call Mr. Varshney on his new number in an attempt at
retribution. "To all those that have ever felt the ire of Mr.
Varshney's wrath, or the placated nature of his placatedness, tell him
directly, at his new number, 408-315-7022," proclaimed an especially
bitter woman.



And what was Mr. Varshney's response to all of
this? "Fuck 'em. If they checked the details of this plan, they'd know
that voicemail is free as long as I check it from a land line." Mr.
Varshney seemed to be quite content

with this knowledge, to the point where he made a somewhat silly grin.



He then asked for his finger to be pulled.

10/24/06

"The Dream Enabler"

The Dream Enabler

am I.

Dream Enabler? Sustainer?

Facilitator?

Without free love

Without justice

Without dignity and respect...

there can be no dreams,

Only dreams of dreams.

Visions of visions.

None acted out.

Lacking conclusion.

Without reality.

The dream enabler

dreams of dreams

envisions visions

sees no end to his own...

But that is his (her) fate.

To enable dreams for the rest.

A selfless act?

Hardly.

A claim.

That all dreams pursued

lay credit to his work.

That all dreams pursued

"would not be possible..."

without the support of

the hard work of

the immeasurable sacrifice of

he/she who enables a world

of selfish pursuit.

A pursuit unparalleled by those incapable of dreaming.

The dream enabler

annoints every dream,

blesses it with his (her)

approval.

And ironically,

This pursuit of the dream by the dreamer

at the expense of

everything and

everyone else

is not selfish in the least.

But is simply -- the confirmation

the validation

of love.

This is a selfless act.

A paradox reasoned out only

by those, understandable only

by those who share

or lay ground to

this most righteous of paths.

Every South Asian dreamer

has ties to a movement.

Of self-rule, of independence,

of a dream enabler,

named Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.

Mahatma.

"The great one."

Surely but a figure-head.

Without fault?

Of course not.

Without malice, malcontent, misanthropy.

Surely.

Love everlasting, immeasurable,

Infinite?

Made finite by our shortcomings.

By the shortcomings of some

to dream, to enable dreams.

Cesar Chavez

the muse.

Malcolm X.

militant in his mission.

misguideded?

Even he came upon a message.

A message from God.

Distorted by two

illegitimate nations:

a disciple of one,

citizen of the other.

Given clarity by

the nation of mankind.

True Islam.

Unified by a dream.

And so there have been

an everlasting line of dream enablers.

The prophets, the pioneers...

the possessors of Spirit.

But I would like to lay claim

and title

to the present day

dream enabler.

The organizer

The American labor organizer.

I can account only

for what I know.

In Africa

In India

In Europe and the rest of Asia,

who enables dreams?

I don't know.

But here

there is no doubt

no debate

no disqualifying round.

The organizer ("American," "labor," these qualifyers, by now, hopefully, understood)

stands alone.

Selfish

Selfless

Subordinate

to the dreams of mankind.

Author's note: The following is a poem dedicated to my wife and the love we are growing together. Discovering love is discovering ourselves, a process as scientific as it is spiritual.

Pursuits in both these dimensions require the same underlying qualities -- persistence and determination. The journey means hacking through the thickets until we discover what was always there -- the truth.
How can we appreciate this journey if we've never experienced the struggle to get there? Yet our consumer society, uniquely American, preaches instant gratification, that nothing should be beyond our reach and that everything should be within our grasp. With this insatiable appetite for material satisfaction, we become addicted, and our soul loses its taste for life and inevitably starves.



My hope is to reverse that trend, both through my career (that of a labor organizer for the Service Employees International Union) and through my other passions, poetry being one of them. Fortunately, I'm part of a movement of millions (my rough estimate) all dedicated to love of humankind, and so I'm

in a unique position as a poet -- I write as I live. This poem is one of my roughest, and at times, felt like an unfinished sculpture, full of jagged edges and dull finishes. But then I looked more closely, and I focused and concentrated, and I smiled. This poem wasn't meant to be enjoyed by those that could only see the surface level beauty in things; this poem wasn't meant for those that required the finished product assembled at no cost to them; this poem wasn't meant for those unwilling to create and dream and transform.



It was meant for those willing to finish the sculpture. And enable the beauty that their eye beheld.

› To Cynthia 

Heart Burst



What am I scared to write about today?



Let me whisper it into the wind

Let me yell it into a cave

Let me be silent





and reflect

upon love



its meaning and depth

love almost -- no no --

absolutely is

paradoxical

and in this way

empirical

universal

eternal

as say, the wave-particle duality

of physics.



Now I'm rambling



B          r         e         a         t         h         e



An action

and an emotion

One

tangible

demonstrable

physical



The other

ephemeral, simply,



a feeling



Can one exist without the other?

Action

without

emotion?



Can you care and not show it?

What is the worth of such a thought?



B          r         e         a         t         h         e



to know

and not

act

is to not know

(--an old friend from ucla quoting confucius incorrectly?)



My fear lays down its last shield --

the idlings of a rambler.

And love makes its final thrust

vanquishing my fear

allowing my heart to burst

in ecstasy

For I can now tell you one of the

secrets

of existence

of love.

And one last rambling if you please.



Love uttered and revered by

two beings profoundly strange to

one another is an expression

of the infinite of existence.



Love is

Love is



pushing someone to their full potential.

okay

maybe not so profound?

but ponder...

how effective can we be?

how righteous?

how justified?



When we ourselves put up a wall.

Surrounded by barbed wire.

Enclosed by a ditch,

full of crocodiles of cunning,

Who callously

cut down

your calling me out.



Not to hate on me.

Not to berate me (well perhaps, ok, so

why not if I'm at fault?)



But to break me

of my bad habits

my weaknesses. My inability to realize

my strengths until you

laid a bridge

from my potential

to my actual

and as I cross

I see that

that chasm

I so feared

that divide I so dreaded

was a mere figment

of an imagination

run wild with ego

and disdain

regret and

rejection.



And so in retrospect

we realize

the bridge unnecessary

a mere feather

in our cap

the security blanket

when stick your head

out

it's a mild 72 with

plenty of sunshine

and a pleasant breeze



B          r         e         a         t         h         e



So that is love

the ability to push

and be pushed

Because otherwise

you are perfect



and what wisdom could you

glean from your significant other?

But okay,

if you are so wise?

the owl of her/his eye?

Oh wise one

will away his/her worries!

will away her/his fears!

will away his/her anxieties!



Oh word?



You can't simply will them away?

perhaps unwise you were

to unconscionably

utter

such arrogant

ideas with

undertones

of untowardness.



Take heed and

don't lose respect for the

one that loves you.

For without that person,

That soul . . .

who are you?



An individual alone.

attached to no one

the collectivity of mankind

reduced to a theory

with no practical application

to you.



So now I have shouted

into a megaphone.

So no I have lit the pyres

from the highest peaks.

So now I have affirmed

my very existence.

And luck you, by golly,

to be reading this

and

thereby

connected to

me.



Of course

lucky me

to be able to

share this with

you.



So go love and be loved.

Be one with humankind.

Be the wave

and the particle.

The emotion

and the action.



B          r         e         a         t         h         e





Put down your shield.

Let your fear leave your body.

And absorb the spear of love as it invades your veins and encompasses your soul.



Let

your

heart

burst.