Suppose There Is No Armageddon


A poem by Madhuri


Suppose there is no Armageddon
Making the poor sky weep and redden –
Suppose things go on getting better
Like merry winsome springy weather –
Everybody marries, (though none feel tethered)
Everybody else; producing thus a fragrant brew
Chocolate-based, with cream of moo.

Suppose the quakes of earth subside
Save as amusement, for the ride
Tectonic plates stay in the cupboard
Unused for dinner –
And so stays cool and un-fried, the sinner.

Suppose that no tsunamis bite
Wings off beaches, sandy-bright
Suppose the jostled tipping seas
Quiet down like kids when faced with peas
And hurricanes pass by the door
Uninclined to veer their roar.

Suppose sin dies – and churches shut up
Becoming places where we sup
And drink from a silent loving-cup
And afterwards create a din
By dancing wild – is that a sin?

Suppose the air pollution peels
Back to show Ezekiel’s wheel
Like a sparkler for the world’s 3rd eye
And all the smog-stuff, by and by
Drifts off to some far otherwhere
Tucked behind a star out there
Like a straying wisp of hair
And if you look you’ll think it is
Some other constellation’s biz.

Suppose schools teach us to go out
Without our clothes all roundabout –
And how to love ourselves, and others
Sisters mothers fathers brothers
Neighbors friends and cats and dogs
Maybe even feral hogs –
Suppose that dancing in the halls
Is taught, along with dismantling
The walls.

Suppose the fresh and grass-green day
Smiles on children as they play
And cafeterias serve grains
Grown organically on the plains
Colorful vegetables and fruits,
And sumptuous salads, too, to boot!

Suppose no Thunder’s standing nigh.
Suppose doom-nuts fell out the sky
And slunk to burrows underground
And forgot the rest of us to hound.
Suppose they just all shut right up
About God’s whip raised up to whup –
About the flames and all that crap –
Suppose they all just took a nap.

Suppose things blossom friendlily
And we come out of our house to see
And clasp so soft a neighbor’s hand
And walk the sprouting rain-fed land
Thus thwarting all obesity.
Suppose the heart-attacks of fate
Had been out drinking rather late
And just didn’t feel like rising
With the sun, all self-despising –
Suppose they joined the strokes and lumps
And swam to some celestial dump.

Suppose we whispered in each others’ ear
All the things we’d longed to hear
Of love and care and sweetness bare
And shivering thrills like cats’ stretchings
On a chair.
Suppose all things a heart could need
Were spoken in this simple deed
And friends did hug
And enemies too
Since all are just like me and you.

Suppose no World’s Ending tries our trust
And strangles us to foretold dust –
Suppose it just keeps getting better
Like receiving a snail-mailed loving letter
All plump with words like flavor-cells
Like peace will sit with Tibetan bells.
Suppose the world goes on and on
Circling from dusk ‘til dawn
Circling back from end to start.
Suppose the world’s a beating heart
No stranger has the right to blame.
Suppose this heart is like a flame
Renewed with vigor like a spring
From fire to water, called to sing
And sing it does, in lilt and purl
A stream, a wave, a tender curl
Of blue upon the space backdrop.
What is the need for it to stop?

Suppose the dino-tread swung nigh
From its hatch-land in the sky
Then elected just to snort on by
Meandering out to cause some grief
Aborting novas, like a thief

Or s’pose those dinosaurs with teeth so great
Arrive to scourge us rather late.
They’ve paused to eat
Some other meat
And postponed the appointed hour.
And when they come, like rumbling towers
They’re already full, and can be paid off
With a song, and a colorful
Dessert of flowers.

Suppose the sea-monster, from the lake
Does not his awful bludgeon take
His tail a club, a tank, a rake –
But leaves wet footprints on the road
Like dinner-plate-sized plopping toads
And climbs the hill
And crests the view
On his way to me and you
And stops – bethinks himself again
Why mess with messy massing men?
I’ll turn back to my soothing home
And leave you milling twigs alone.

grasses in summer

Suppose all those who tell the tale
Of Armageddon’s bitter hail
Use their breath to plump the sails
Of a joy-barque, to drift the lake
Where lovers do their ladies take.

Suppose instead of godly angst
We fervently do all give thanks
For all our limbs and all our eyes
And tears of love all undisguised
And for avocadoes, prunes, and seeds
Of sunflowers big as dinosaurs’ feed –
For all the carrots, all the fruits
And sexy velvet winter suits
And scarves and hats and opera coats –
Rock-operas where lovers leap the moats.

S’pose the fiery end just evaporates-
It lost its agenda, with the dates –
And, instead
You get up on the right side of the bed
And don your slippers, and inhale
And sing some song you love so well –
Roll Over Beethoven, or the like –
Then go on your jet motorbike
And stop to watch the grapes grow ripe.

Suppose divinolution helps us go
Out of grim and into grow
Helps us love our neighbors though
They’re harder to love than a murder of crows!
And even that old so-and-so
Across the street gives off a glow.

Suppose we find
That we’re divine
And not deludists –
Just, sort of, Nudist-Buddhists –
Without the past’s nose interfering,
Without the priestly pulpit peering.
Suppose love and God and earth are one
Every devil, every crumb –
Every ant and each eyelash
Part of the Source’s ready cash –
Suppose that time is not a line
But all at once
And with a bump
We find we’re HERE –
Have never left
And therefore we are not bereft.

Suppose there is no Armageddon.
Suppose instead there is a weddin’
And we all go and kiss the bride
And all the grooms are us, inside –
And eat we delicacies, washed down
With all of the champagne in town.

Suppose the festive trees make fruit
For every eye and every tooth –
Pears, apples, mangoes (pears of gold)
Pomegranates like jewels of old,
Kiwis, bananas, oranges round
Persimmons squishy pound on pound –
Ten different sorts upon a tree –
Like tourmalines the hues range free –
That is just the tree for me!

Supposing people we think odd
Were in fact rubbing toes with God
Or rubbing toes with his elbows –
Assuming God is just within –
So that’s our in-laws, and our kin –
We’ve rather been ashamed to see –
Nestled up with you and me.
Does this inspire horror in
Your inner flotsam-jetsam bin?
Well, hold a mirror to your light
And see the things inside held tight
You’ve projected onto those you know.
Then breathe them in –
And let them go.

Suppose that babies, born these days
Grew up just to twirl and praise
Their lot in life, and decorate
With cleverness their family’s fate!

Suppose that people’s eyes were coaxed
To gaze upon a heavenly host
Within their own hearts beating near.
Suppose we cast away all fear
And strode to boogey in the road
While coyotes romped,
And hopping toads.

Suppose we were allowed to gaze
Right upon the shining face
Of our own hara inside out
Suppose we also were allowed
Naked breasts with stained-glass love
Shining on us, like a pulpit
But so bereft of rhetoric.
Suppose by firelight we dined
Fluorescents cast away to pine
In loneliness beneath the sea
On a planet far
(Discovery of which is still to be.)

Suppose at night we looked at stars
Instead of idiots on TV.
Suppose that wild beasts from far
Sidled near
And gave their confidence in our ear.
Suppose the swaying hips of girls
Daily chanced to turn and twirl
Delighting everybody’s eye –
And joy our breakfast
Creative our lunch
Dinner held with gems – a bunch –
Decorating womankind
Everywhere that folks do dine.
Nobody’s poor, so none do hold
The peace of another’s
Precious soul.

Suppose all landscapes come to be
Compendiums of sheer pleasantry.
Without the gas stations
Convenience stores
And myriad types of ocular sores.
Suppose our vehicles were powered by
Puffs of air, transporting us
Along grass roads upon the gusts –
Flowers bend below the passing
But are not harmed – there is no gassing.
No more asphalt, no more grime
No more race to catch up time
Singing comes between the trees
Someone’s happy – is it me?

Suppose lines dissolve from off the map
And wanderers receive no crap
No passports thicken up their bags
(And no-one smokes, so no packs of fags -)
And anyone who likes can roam
And be welcomed by others in their homes.
Suppose the beautiful planet wide
Was all our playground; none collide
Over details of a barrier’s route.
Wouldn’t that just be a hoot?

Suppose the bearded ranters bow
Lay down their signs
Forget just how
They came to be so mad at life
They want destruction for a wife.
Perhaps instead of brood, they dance
Tattered robes all happenstance
Arms akimbo in the air
Placards thrown, shut tight the stare

And then they rest their sweaty backs
And have a weep for all the cracks
They’d forced in others’ nights and days
And then lie back, and silent go
Like insect-life on tippytoe
Studying up on facts within –
And slowly shake, and wake up then.

Suppose old farts of every stripe
Generals, Presidents, the like –
Get down from podiums, and debate
Quite personally with those they hate –
The other grubby-aura’d fiends –
And then, close-held within a room
The two, or six, or ten, who doom
We humbler mortals with a word –
Have to duke it out, the t–ds
Fist-to-fist – no guns allowed –
Just old men battling, not too loud
For one by one they will succumb
To others’ muscles, pinched or fat
As fleshy flying fists do flap
And gazing at their foolish foes
Each one will see himself – oh woe!

Then maybe they will creep to do
Service to those they used to screw
And clatter the plates
Upon the grates
Of the huge efficient dishwashing machines
Each village sports –
They’re within all means.

Suppose there is no sudden blast
Obliterating all the past
Destroying worlds within an hour
While self-important prophets flower
Chests expanded as they glower
Pointing fingers in the gloom
While God up in his livingroom
Shifts his bottom on his chair
Causing mayhem more to flare –
Or is it Devil who’s supposed
To turn the rest of us to toast?
I have forgotten – all I know
Is those who want it have to go
Towards it with their chin jut out
Welcoming Apocalyptic clout
So they can stand and be the ones
Who did forsee the fearsome tons
Of molten ore come crashing down
On each village, city, town.
To hell, you grim bombastic creeps –
For that’s where you already sleep.

Suppose all zealots chance to take
A look at how their nostrils shake
When they ‘re chanting out their hate.
Suppose that they then feel the hand
Of something soft and sweetly grand
Touch upon their heart of stone –
And each in his own way atone
And most of all they find a way
To shut their mouths up every day
And instead, just hold and hold
The love of others in their fold.

Then what remains within all lands
Is – do your thing, as best you can –
The job you love, or two or three
Or sit there just beneath that tree
And watch the water in the lake
And maybe a cooling dip do take.

Suppose the stranger on the bus
Strokes your hair back with no fuss
Suppose one look is all it needs
To say a world; you’ll be received
Suppose we all, for goodness’ sakes
Are cuddled as much as we can take!

Suppose the trees speak,
And the sky
And little pebbles lying by
And foxes, trout, and thistledown
Tell their hearts
With scarce a sound.

Suppose our ears were big enough
To listen to this tender stuff
To magnify the lens of gold
Vibrant in our aural fold

So that sight and sound and taste
Mingle without any haste
And we a kettledrum are made
To resonate with thrum and fade.

Suppose there is no Judgment Day.
Suppose that what was meant by that
Is – this moment, where you’re at
If you close your eyes and see,
Are you off, did you lose the key
To your own heart?
Then you are judged
Not by moralistic sludge
But in the light of present breath
You’ve taken warp and left the weft.

Just shift a very small degree
Back to center, and you’ll see
The whole day sets itself to rights
You’ll not feel to start a fight
You’ll gaze about you with a shine
And hug the next near person fine.

Suppose that Judgment is right now
And Judgment is not exactly how
I would describe it. No indeed
There’s none to say you’ve grown a weed –
Just feel yourself, and if you’re off –
Right now, this moment, do not scoff –
This moment is just all there is
To renegotiate your biz.
Close your eyes – that helps a lot –
And settle leftwards just a jot
And here you are! Just you and you
Breathing like stitches as they sew
The cloth of life up to itself.
And when you return, you are an elf
Scampering on an emerald isle.
When you awake, you are a child
Shining-eyed and quick of hug
You are as shiny as a bug
As dreamy-smooth as chocolate milk
As happy as a robe of silk.

For Armageddon doesn’t know
The queenly reign of soul awake
Residing at our very core –
All else is just a crashing bore.
Armageddon’s got a stake
In scaring children, which includes
Every chick and every dude,
Every elder, every prince
Armageddon’s to convince
Us to behave in such-and-such a way.
Your deep inside must have a say
On this subject –for it knows
How lyrical the real breeze blows.
It guides you if you listen up
Respecting your own personal lineup
Of lines and leys and dancey tunes.
Of silent gaps and humming runes.

Armageddon’s our own fists
Raised to contemplate our wrists
With a razor standing by.
To kill our own dear selves – but why?
Flush that thought,
And face the way
Death will come, but not a Day
Assigned to all and everyone –
Death is something that we face
Imbuing all our life with grace –
We have our time,
Or times, you see
Punctuated by eternity
So we can freshen up our face
Like withdrawing to the restroom for a pee,
With girlfriends
To rest away from our patient men.

Meanwhile, what’s the hurry, Y’ all
You just want the end
Of the masquerade ball –
So pull on up your mask yourself!
Right now, and gaze upon your plight
This very selfsame glowing night –
And if you give yourself a fright
Well, there are waste bins in the void
Wherein to dump your adenoids
Mucus, and all your other gack.
For nothing does this cosmos lack!

The book is available to be purchased directly from the author:
madhurijewel (at) yahoo (dot) com

MadhuriPoem by Madhuri from her book ‘A Colourful Dessert of Flowers’
Illustrations by Madhuri
More articles, reviews and poems by the same author on Osho News

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