Kirpal Gordon

Nanak emerged from his three-day meditation and said that in the eyes of love’s Beloved there
are no nations.  As to ojas from bindu, he sang the One sees only the One, neither Muslim nor Hindu.  Like when Jesus walked he was neither goyim nor Jew, nor did only the Chinese learn a thing or two from ol’ Lao Tzu.  As for doctrines of power that divide us, the Buddha was silent but still held a flower. 

Face arrest at the Laws of Hubert’s piccolo or meet the street in Mandingo’s mamayo guyambo, meaning give that Pinocchio ubermensch mumbo jumbo a rest when blood tests reveal a single human ancestry’s address.  Dream of the land our one race is from & lay out on that played-out Jim Crow we have overcome & get with the drum. 

If Lincoln was thinkin’ his death inopportune, listen to Whitman singin’ When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d.  Freedom never dies but returns in spring renewed in generations ancient to the future a la Afro Blue.  Cuando el grupo encontre, entonces tocamos gran clave.  Trace it back through the DNA, we’re from the Click People tribe of the Kalahari. 

How can you tell me the dead don’t dance to Mongo Santamaria, mija, when these roots of ritmo won’t quit me walkin’ through afternoon breezes gone to sneezes to wonder if radioactive diseases come out in the wash with polluted skies over easy, my head so bashed in queasy even my puja stash can’t deliver me from so lay out on the hate play & radiate the love in rainbow hues like Coltrane’s modal krewe.