Kabir

Dear Kabir, Your poem, Brother I’ve seen some, greatly interests me. You start by addressing the reader as “Brother”. Is this a literal or metaphorical' If it is in fact metaphorical, what are you trying to portray' I interpreted this as the human race as one universal family. In Buddhism, a religion that largely influenced your works, all living beings, man or animal, are one soul living on our earth. Understanding this, we all are brothers of this world. You go on to say that you’ve seen some “amazing sights”, including a lion watching over pasturing cows, a mother born after her son was, and a guru prostrate prostrated before his disciples. Although you were primarily influenced by old Brahmanic Hinduism, Hindu and Buddhist Tantrism, I interpreted this as having Christian connotations. You say you have seen a lion watching over the cows; immediately I thought of “and the lamb will lie down with the lion”, a common Bible quotation from the book Isaiah. This quotation is commonly thought to be symbolic of the peace that will encompass the entire earth when Jesus will reign as king over the earth. It also connects with a common theme of Buddhism: that all living creatures are part of one soul. No matter how ferocious the lion is and no matter how weak the cow is the two can always lie together in the same pasture. Additionally, you state that you saw a son delivered before his mother. Is this a reference to Jesus Christ, son of Mary' In Christianity, Jesus was in fact delivered before his mother, Mary, because Jesus is God himself. Also, if there was heavy Christian symbolism in this poem, why did you decide to remark on it if you were primarily influenced by eastern religions' I again interpret Christian symbolism in your next line: A guru prostrated before his disciple. This sparks the image of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet, rather than having his disciples’ wash his feet. You later say you have seen a fish spawning on treetops and a cat carrying a dog and a buffalo going out to graze sitting on a horse. I do not understand these references. I do know that Buddhism highlights nature and its power. Are you doing likewise here' In saying that fish can spawn or treetops, are you stressing the utter power of nature' When I read this poem, the first thought the came to my mind was a circle, or a circle of life. I came to the understanding that the mighty will always come back to the lowly, that the vain will always meet the humbled. Your ideas support this spherical idea: the mighty lion sits with the meek cow, the elderly mother was born before her young child, the famous guru was at the feet of his lowly disciples, the modest fish spawned on the high treetops, and the beautiful tree top lay in the earth while the poor roots fly in the air. I have also noticed that all the starts of your sentences are capitalized. Is this because every idea deserves praise, just as everything in our universe does' The idea that all great things will be lowered, or whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted, is a fascinating idea that you have masterly portrayed. My last question is in regards to the last sentence. You ask the reader to figure “it” out. Firstly, what is the “it”' Is it the key to succeeding in our universe or our lives themselves' Are we supposed to figure out how to live our lives by understanding your words' Does this mean that we should humble ourselves so that we can be exalted and lifted high' Are you trying to say that we mustn’t be vain or our world will crumble around us' If this is so, it is a fascinating idea that you have challenged us to undertake by telling us to “figure it out”. Figure it out, he said. The cactus and the flower leaves are of the devil, willing and pleading the demise of our human race. The spikes of the cactus are unwilling to let us live on, we must die slowly at their piercing, dead from blood loss, with no other way to die but to live by this death. We as a human race are defined by death. We live, in essence, to die. How can we be birthed in the eyes of God, just for him to watch us wither' We live, so that we can die. We live to be rubble on the earth, ash on the ashtrays, and bodies in the sea. We hurt our mothers’ vaginas, to fall as soldiers. God is pain and pain is the world. This world is built upon pain. We never feel sympathy until others feel pain. We never console unless pain is in the equation. We are a breed that lives, nay thrives, off of pain. Pain of ourselves, pain of friends, hell, even pain of enemies excites us. The human race has one massive boner for pain, pulsating and veiny for the pussy that is pain. We want to fuck pain; pain is Lucy McNamara and we want to pork the shit out of pain. It quenches our thirst and feeds our desires. It is our food for thought, our food for masturbation. We want to masturbate to Lucy, want Lucy to masturbate us, and if pain is Lucy, we want pain to suck us the fuck off. We want pains cold lips encompassing our cocks. We need pain’s tight pussy encircling our dicks. We crave for pain’s supple hands supporting our fallace. We think with our dicks rather than thinking with our thoughts. Our cocks hold our brains, not our heads (get the pun'). Can are brains get boners' No, but our wangs can. We mustn’t trust this fucker that is God. He only brought us fucking apples, not pears. Pears hold the worms to death, not apples. Apples are mere stems, with fucking fruit on them. Pears are whole, beautiful and round, are whole as Eve’s naked body. The nipples perky, the breast white, beautiful as a summer’s night. The pussy pink, wet as rain, ready to be scornfully slain. I want your body, sexy and naughty, encompassing my hard cock; hard as thunder, hard as Zeus, hard as fucking rock. We need to fuck to live, or our sacks will settle on the ground. We must get that spermicidal lube and let our wieners have a little joy for once, like they don’t have a Groton. NYC where da punani at! Yeah, buddayyyyyyyyyyy! One love, kid, he said forever and ever, amen. It’s the thought that counts, my father said. Who the fuck cares what the gift is' It could be a dildo and a ribbon on a damn marble plate, and the Pope wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. But you gave him that dildo, you went out and bought it, and you gave it to him. That’s the importance—not the gift, but rather the thought. A shit with a dildo, is the shit. No shitttttt is shit. Think about our bandwagon son-of-a-bitch friends; there are no opinions, but only Meuths. The world is nothing with no shit and only Meuths. We must have personalities, have Daves, and Sams, and Caldwells; shotput, bitches! Nevermind, they are bitches. Furniture! Fucking couches, my god! Warm and supple, cant live without them bitchesssss. Grave digger, dig my couch (sweat, sweat, sweat). Zoom, zoom, obi one kanobi, where Samuel L. at' He better be in the house, or motherfucker’s gon’ die. Hopefully he’s not in the house because the sword’s actually so ready to kill tonight. Silver has seen blood, but needs more of it. Solubility between silver and blood is the answer my friend, the motherfucking answer. I said cheese is soluble in milk, but cheese is actually soluble in life. There is no solubility except that which creates friendship. And friendship is the key to living, and living in only accessible through breathing. We puff, we breathe, we puff, and we breathe again. Puff, breathe, breathe, puff, live, puff, live on, breathe, puffy puff puff, breatheeeeeeeee…puffington post, puffy mcpuffinstein. Pufff!!!!!!!!!! Exclamation written the fuck out. God damn all dem niggas! God damn! Mr. Hall’s watching me as I write this essay, too bad I’m not taking physics next year (:p). Equilibrium of my hairy ballsack, more like it. Why the fuck do you have a boner for me, Groton' Cause I’m pretty sure its obvious as shit that I’m flaccid as fucking banana peels for you. You’re ugly, you’re grimy as shit, and your plain old smelly—more so, though, you’re just plain pioneering. You consistently find ways to torture your little students, from pushing our unscathed faces into vats of molten lava, to burning our cocks off, making the world a place with 400 new eunuchs. I feel that lighter tickle my balls, which fire dance around my areolas. And to tell you the truth, Groton, it sucks; I need my balls and my nips to make it make it out there. Well, more so my balls than my nips, for as Mr. Goodrich puts it, surprise holiday is about as useful as male nipples; in other words, not useful at all! Weed! Weed is the substance to beauty, and beauty is unicorns; blood as lively as life, hair as blissful as Benjamins. Benjamins, one hundreds, fallin’ out my pockets like weed’s muchies. Its that fucking much, manigga, that fucking much. Hooking up, so much fun, do you mind if you munch on my testis, my hun' Hun, Atilla, dead 453, far more brave than either you and me. Livin life, livin to its fullest, but its soooo easy when you are the coolest. Cool as cool, cool as frozone, when they hear my name, Lucius Best, all the girls do moan. Speaking of cartoons, Betty Rubbles, hot as shit with her pussy on my stubble. 5 o’ clock, I mean, that 5 o’ clock shadow, Dr. Tyler, England, U.S. Canada, welcome to NATO. Take a seat, North Eastern Atlantic Treaty organization, Bsoton, hasheesh, welcome to North Station. Right about now is time I take my last bow. But let me make some thank you’s before I’m shown to the door now. Thank you to my friends, for the support and love. Thank you to my family, heaven sent from above. But most of all thank you to you, bud. The savior to the world, the savior to us all; now excuse me, I have to go smoke my last bowl.