Fight to the end of the tunnel


A drop created a ripple

and disappeared.

A boy created trouble

and disappeared.

A hustler made his money double,

still disappeared.

The pelican, albatross and seagull,

all disappear.

A poem gave a moral that was subtle,

and it disappeared.









One flew over the school building


I had this thought at the age of 12, probably for the first time. Sitting in class and awaiting an ass whopping at lunch break for something stupid I had done the day earlier. I was getting a little worried and I started dreaming off as I always do, usually a number of positive scenarios of how it could turn out.
This time I wished I was a bird; I could fly away. I imagined flying over my school and I could see myself in class with my hand supporting my chin, my large school building and its rooftop, my playground, the whole compound. Flew even higher and I could see the whole neighborhood. So many people in movement, on and about hurrying mindlessly, meeting deadlines, keeping time. Big and busy world. My problem felt small.
I was back in class and the bell rang. I went out, the kids came and rounded me up and screamed some stuff and it never escalated to a fight because, I was calm and probably didn’t react the way they wanted. It worked out well. Sixteen years have passed now and….
I’m gliding through some blue skies over my office building right now.



All the world’s an audience. American TV and music more than merely players. The language took over the world and left it with a United State of mind, thought and culture.

I started reciting my ABC’s in 1990 with Sesame Street. Then enrolled for higher education from Cartoon Network and Disney. Finally to graduate with a Hollywood and  Mtv degree. By 99 I was dragging around my baggy pants, memorizing rap songs, idolizing And1 Street-ball.

The new millenium came, I survived y2k and Afroman could’ve been the greatest rapper but he didn’t, coz he got high. There were a lot of songs and movies about pot. Everybody I bumped into was smoking it. And anybody who smoked it, talked about it. It felt like the whole world was promoting it after a while. So as far as I perceived, it was a natural God given herb, with no known side effects. And my ever motivated curiosity for all things bad, got me learning the art of rolling from school. Oh, It was good, I loved it. Heightened sense of taste, sight, hearing and touch. Out of the world conversations, amateur meditation sessions with Buddhist prayers and chants playing in the back. It was non violent fun. Why would anyone, not smoke this, I’d think?

I was in control. It wasn’t addictive. I could quit anytime I wanted. I’d successfully quit plenty of times, actually. By 2013 there were plenty more drugs in the house. It’s wasn’t fun till you have had some rum, smoked some some and was in a state you felt deaf, mute and dumb. Who is an addict anyway? Not me, noway!

W.H.O says Drug addiction is the  periodic intoxication produced by the repeated consumption of a drug. An overpowering desire to continue taking the drug and to obtain it by any means, sometimes physical dependence on the effects of the drug. Addict is anyone who has been so far addicted to the use of habit-forming drugs as to have lost the power of self-control with reference to his addiction.”

Nobody can deny the low that follows a high! I remember myself as an extroverted kid who loved to make people laugh. And now I had third stage introvertism with all the symptoms of paranoia. I felt like I was only myself when I was high and couldn’t react to a situation the way I wanted, if I wasn’t. Little changes, I never realised slowly led to a big change in my personality. I distanced a lot of important factors in my life. Procrastinated everything, except getting high.

I guess being a weedaholic in a country it is illegal in, will lead you to being a little paranoid. Smoking it discreetly is like being a helium balloon attached to a string. The length of the string depends on the length of the arm of the law. Unlike D.C, Colorado or Amsterdam there are no dispensaries dispensing modified strands of weed with fancy names in India. Scoring weed is usually a gamble of many factors, majority naively smoke in the adulterated dry schwag commonly available that comes with gunny sack threads and seeds enough to make it look like a Christmas tree.

What really surprises me though is how nobody mentions about the depression associated with it, the chest burns and infections, breathlessness from the tar accumulating in your lungs and clogging up your windpipe. Or how a joint releases the same amount of toxic carcinogens like the cigarette. The number of times you walk out of the door and walk back in because you burned up your short term memory. Clearly, the pain from habitual intoxication vastly outweighs the pleasure.

My blessing was that,  I was introduced to God from childhood. So, no matter what chemical was distorting my reality, the thought of God was always at the back of my mind. I continued smoking weed because in no way did it feel wrong. Along the road I started meditating on his word again and seeking a closer relationship with God, because only wisdom could cure me.

After a couple of months,(stick with me here now, I’m trying to describe in words that which is beyond) the answer came to me while I was fast asleep as I usually am. A heavenly moment. I saw a blue glowing light in the corner of my room I was laying in. The moment I saw it, time seized and my mind felt absolutely clear. I felt relaxed, serene and terrified at the same time. I remember smiling, as this form started moving towards me and  waking up immediately in panic, sweating and looking around the room to see what I saw in my dream. I was sitting up in my bed with one thought, one realisation, and one conviction I wish to hold onto till I die.

“I will never allow my pure conscience to be polluted or altered with any substance.”

Left with total disregard to all other forms of consciousness. This profound experience and moment I witnessed  gave me a perception that convinced my mind to quit, without ever getting the slightest urge to relapse.

Marijuana is a medicinal help and treatment for a lot of people with chronic pain, cancer and so forth. I get it and support it. But to the recreational users, I feel there is only so high you can go though. A limited high. Smoke a joint after another and you’re still as high as you were before. Stop overgloryfying it, stop creating a dependence on it. The irony of  me having to quote this “Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, None but ourselves can free our minds.” I don’t know man. I’m writing this for the kid burning his lungs out searching for conscious awakening at the bottom of the bong. It’s not there dude. This article is for the few who might’ve been in a similar path as I and is seeking an answer. Maybe, somewhere between the lines you relate to a truth. Maybe somewhere it evokes the same feeling in you as I’ve felt. Maybe this helps you realise, maybe you find this ridiculous.

Everyone is on a different trip. And if you’re headed where I’m headed take this exit.

Proverbs 4:5-7Get wisdom, get understanding: forget it not; neither decline from the words of my mouth. Forsake her not, and she shall preserve thee: love her, and she shall keep thee. Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.”            

James 3:17 “But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy.

Jazz cat


I walk up to her through the crowd,
Players all around,
Her past and her last all surround.
I have known her, I see her now,
I know how this game came about.
I’ve been cashing in from the same bank account.
I flame it up and call her out,
I got that look and she’s got that doubt.
She knows better than to trust a hound.
She’s a sinner and she ain’t proud.
She still had to put her pawns up, so I shoot her Queen down.

Rum & Lottery



Rum and lottery everyday
and night if I’m paid.
Numb lips and face,
Mouth salivate.
Charred lungs and chest pain.
Bruised, burnt and loose skin.
Dogs, mice and pitiful eyes been,
staring at me when I’m sleeping.
Two notes for dignity,
Sins to hold sanity.
Null the pain for me.
One million if the nine was a three.