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MORE POEMS BY DR ROMESH

2013 Dr Romesh Senewiratne-Alagaratnam

Photo by Zoe Senewiratne-Genova (aged 2)

CONTENTS

1. Exit Strategy..3 2. When Refugee Camps become Death Camps10 3. Suddenly12 4. The Schizo Plot..16 5. Not so Aryan, after all20 6. The King of Crooks..27 7. Mostly mad, except for the breeze34 8. Not quite as crazy..41 9. Waiting for the Change..45 10. Zoe46 11. The Miners Protest.48 12. Winstons Guilt51 13. Imagi..54 14. If AIDS is man-made55 15. Empires69 16. The timely death of Postmodernism..71 17. The Outrageous Mr Cheney.74 18. In God They Trust77 19. Ravings of an Idealist.78 20. If Time is Important.79 21. Living for the Future80 22. Crows.82 23. 2B or not 2B that is the question...84 24. Associations..86 25. Tigers.88 26. Afghanistan90 27. Psychiatry92

EXIT STRATEGY

Exit strategy? What exit strategy? Theyre there to stay. Thats what they planned; We now have the proof And the craps hit the roof.

Chalabi was their entrance strategy, Later Minister for Oil And thats not all, Though the soldiers seem to think Thats all Iraq is good for; Forget the Dawn of Civilisation, Its the New Crusade thats afoot, Where soldiers wield the boot And police wield their truncheons All in the name of Freedom And Democracy.

I rack and I ran Says the President

Are part of an Axis of Evil He rants and he raves With the White God on his side.

So terrorism grows As fast as the secret embassy Bigger than the Vatican And quite as paranoid With missiles well-protected And walls metres thick. With thousands of employees But none of them Iraqi The mission was accomplished But the carnage continues.

The Mission was accomplished For the mission was to build a complex A military base, incognito. They got the land for free A gift from the puppet government And little talk of Abu Ghraib Of hard and harder torture.

We know sleep deprivation

Can drive a person mad And madness causes suffering And madness is like hell. No, madness is hell.

And when they chain your ankles And inject you with their poisons, When they place pointed black hoods To cover your eyes and nose and mouth; When they dress you in nappies And taunt you with crude insults; When they break down your door And hold a gun against your head; When they bomb your children And call it collateral damage; When they hide their crimes With euphemisms, Like illegal combatants Needing robust responses And soft torture Or strong measures We know that criminals Have taken control Of the biggest arsenal of the World -

The great Arsenal of Democracy As Roosevelt urged his people.

I say it again and Ive said it before Were living and breathing in the Third World War.

But it seems like no-ones awake; They just go through the motions They ignore this huge war And they cause no commotion.

The wars being fought on many fronts, you see Economic and psychological war comes for free. In fact, the economies grow in the terms they use At the university courses that teach us to think In narrower terms than is healthy, I feel. But emotions are dulled as the TV turns on And were all tuned in and we cant do without The visual drugging that fills up our brains And we recycle water but it so seldom rains.

And the war includes killing and starving and fear And its terror we see and it entertains the ear And we cringe at the horror but watch, just the same

Mesmerized by the violence, we see too much blood And the flood has consumed the consumer with debt While the sorrow, it grows like a cancer Fed by poverty and phobias, no one is exempt From the war tax which taxes our senses and wallets.

But most of all, it is conscience that died A sad, cruel death as the rich grew in power And spent our inheritance on bombs, guns and bullets.

So what can we do, we children of war? So we write what we heard and say what we saw? Do sit there in silence and paint, write or draw? Or do we shout from the rooftops and the top of tall trees That the killing must stop and the torture must cease?

Do we curl in a ball or fall to our knees Or can we change things around if we start to say please? Is that all we need? Could it be that simple? Respect and courtesy, I do believe its worth giving it a try.

Stop calling people wrong-doers or axes of evil

Start trying to understand difference Not just in skin color, though thats a start; Start listening to conscience straight from the heart. Stop fighting for unity against enemies And the enemy will disappear. And so will our fear.

Or so I suppose Though the Hot War it grows With every news story Preaching the glory Of men and machines That kill children and dreams. Of peaceful harmony Across oceans and seas Of cures from disease And infirmities.

Some say its too late To them I say wait! What once was thought great Is now burdened with hate, And we all know their fate Empires degenerate

And we all see the bait We all are the bait.

But the worm it has turned And the hard fist is burned, By the truth and the light And the truths left not right, While we stare at the screens And take up the fight 30.9.06

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WHEN REFUGEE CAMPS BECOME DEATH CAMPS

Have Refugee Camps ever been anything else? Think of the Boer War, Or the bombing of the Red Cross ambulances: Seemed almost like the bombers were using the cross as target practice, the man said. Do we need the almost?

Or the herding of the fearful and poor Fleeing wars that the White man orchestrates And the Black man dies in. The Lions against the Tigers The Hawks against the Doves And North versus the South The Left against the Right Everyone must fight. Hearing against sight.

The right hand blind to the left hands actions And the right side it is mute So like the brain, with signals crossed over.

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And madness reigns supreme As it always has done If power brings delusions of grandeur And power feeds corruption If the wicked rise to the top Of a wicked system; Will it ever stop?

If euphemisms reign supreme And everyone is keen to make the economy grow The slaves will be called workers And the tired will be called lazy And aggression will be called defense And lies will be called truth; Torture termed treatment For the truth is too uncouth.

When asylums become hot and cold prisons And refugees still seek asylum Not a safe place even for rats and mice And the cockroaches that crawl the cracked walls; When prison camps are built in the name of freedom And the people inside are numbers.

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Then, hidden from the public eye They soon become death camps.

SUDDENLY

Suddenly I turned around And they were standing there With rubber gloves, blue in color. Blue uniforms And eyes that matched. Youre coming with us, said the Boys in Blue They forgot to add you crazy black bastard. Instead, they called me by a poor approximation of my name Ray-mishis that your name? Ray-mishyoure coming with us Have you been taking your medicine, Ray-Mish?

Please leave, I began to say Spray him, shouted a voice from the dark I closed my eyes Tight;

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I had been sprayed before With capsicum spray.

I recognized the smell immediately The ghastly smell of formaline, Of cadavers in the dissecting room Of dead snakes preserved in jars. Theyd sprayed the stuff in my eyes! My eyes, they burned like hell Aaargh! I shouted as I fumbled for the door.

I ran out into the dark It was all dark Aargh! Aaargh! FUCK, that burns, I managed to shout.

The coppers ran out as well. They needed fresh air too. Theyd already called for backup, though When I crashed through the door. It was made of reinforced glass.

The hole my elbow made was neat and clean I broke the shards away and climbed into the flat

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Dangling my useless left arm. Help me, help me! I pleaded, hoping someone was there. The computer was on in the empty flat I pleaded at the silent screen. Help me, Paola! I hoped in vain.

I hid in the cupboard, but the smell of my own blood Disturbed me. I saw the flashlights shine into the room Hes in here! Hes hiding behind a big mirror! I adjusted the small mirror I was holding To confuse the cops.

I had a moments madness And the madness it had me No laughing matter But soon to be in stitches After collapsing on the floor Seeing stars And screaming in pain.

Suddenly they were there All around me

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Ten guys in the dark. They were shouting I was bleeding Someone screamed Get on the Floor! I didnt have time to obey They gave no warning.

I screamed in pain Like I have never felt before The searing pain in my arm Was dwarfed by total body pain. I didnt know what was happening I thought I was being killed.

I found out later theyre called TASERS TASER guns, theyre called; Nasty fucking things. Ive still got the scars.

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THE SCHIZO PLOT

They told me I am mad I said that I am not They called me lots of names And they gave me lots of shots. My personality was disturbed, they said Before I got unwell Schizoaffective disorder was favoured But they settled for schizophrenia.

My opinion was irrelevant In fact, the fact that I disagreed With cruel labelling Just strengthened their conviction That I must be truly ill And in dire need of the poison pill.

You may think me dramatic Taking poetic license at worst But when a drug makes you sick Its a poison, I say,

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And I say it with years of experience Of stiffness and tiredness Of impotence and pain Of rashes and gashes Not a thing did I gain By the spectrum of drugs they insisted I take Over 10 years of drugging Whenever they could lay their grasping hands On me.

They were sure of their treatment Each step of the way Diagnoses may change But the drugs are the same. So they treat paranoia with threats, drugs and locks And sometimes resort to electrical shocks And they label the young for the things they have read And they label the old and drug them till theyre dead And they label the babies as black or as white As ugly and stupid or pretty and bright And they label their jobs and wear them like ties Blind to the drug propaganda and lies Blind in their minds and blank in their eyes.

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They stare for understanding and look to those Who profess knowledge that they find in secret jars In a bar, or a lodge or a club for the boys And they arm all the armies with shiny new toys And they pray to the One God with many names and faces And they kill their own souls and expunge all the traces Of humanity and kindness and genuine concern.

And they label the saviours and the saints are well punished Till they accept their crosses and they take all their pills.

A chemical imbalance or genetic factors we are told The same things are blamed for a multitude of ills.

But no mention is made of the crap on TV That shapes our beliefs and brings up our kids; No mention is made of the stress of the pain Of being told that ones lame in the brain That one has a sick mind And a bad personality That ones soul is diseased And the future is bleak When you open your mouth With no words left to speak.

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They called me paranoid To be cured with threats and locks When I said schizophrenia Is just a cruel label To keep the status quo And the howling dogs at bay; To silence the dissenters And pathologise what they say; A plot to keep the rich elevated And the poor in their place; And that what passes for psychiatry Is an international disgrace.

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NOT SO ARYAN AFTER ALL With little calves I ran along Panting like a dog Neither a lion nor a tiger And not a pussy cat or a kotiya.

The Veddah in my mind Was darting like a snake, A cobra, a naga.

The naga-yaksha mask Looked down on me I looked up at it, and counted. I noticed for the first time That one of the cobras was smiling.

Then soaring like an eagle Fishing, not for compliments But all the fish in the sea; And my heart was leaping like a frog My finger sleeping like a log The peace train trundling slowly on

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While forests burn like so much fuel And ravagers called companies Steal more than they can see And most can comprehend As the north invades and the south evades As the north has far more bombs.

And the people cry for mercy And the desert cries for rain And some they pray and some they curse But the drought it just gets worse and worse.

And every drop is precious Water, that is, not blood And every drop of oil is valued And theyre selling body parts for vanity And profits for the macabre.

And the race wars on And religion too, as always And the left wing has gone pear-shaped And the right has gone bananas So the plane wont fly this time Not straight for the stars

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But straight into decline.

And The States are in denial The economy is fine, the talking head insisted Though the sole superpower fell Off the fiscal cliff.

And was it Wall Street, where all the Kings horses And all the Kings men Were playing the high stakes And the sweepstakes?

A fine line between Offence and defense these days When peacekeepers are ordered by warmongers. They ride around in tanks Occasionally to stop and smile And hand out sweets to kids. Ordered to win back hearts and minds And win them for the West.

The West thats north and south and east And up and down as well Both foul and fell.

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They own the skies and seas they say And even outer space Theyd say they own the sun and moon If given half a chance.

But Lady Luck fallen in with the Old Man of the Sea And the Old Man of the Internet he gets his kicks for free And the oceans deep and the seas are wild And the waves crash on the shore And the stocks may rise before they fall When the dollar floats on oceans of oil The slick just grows and the yuppies get slicker And the lawyers charge like wounded bulls The doctors take their pills and just get sicker While politics is just new rules.

The bankers wheel and deal used cars And carcasses still alive The holes get bigger and mountains smaller As metals mined become machines Machines to kill and some to maim Machines to get there faster While no one knows where or why they rush And speed on to disaster.

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But me, I found myself at last Between parents of warring races Maybe Dravidian is my soul Maybe my soul is ancient But someones been pulling my leg And those of my ancestors too Aboriginal to the land of Lanka Or Ilankai if you please Or Taprobane, its still the same As Thambapanni or Ceylon Some prefer Sri Lanka Or even Serendib, as the Arabs called it Some just call it home.

My feet now stand a continent away And were born in yet another But my ghost it wanders there in Lanka Wondering about the past About the butterflies and forests The monkeys and the birds The dragon flies and rubies And the gentlest of words: Shri.

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It thinks about the cruel joke That the French aristocrat Buffon created: Race divisions And a hierarchy developed By misanthropic anthropologists Who all wore beards and wigs And starched white collars And spectacles to help Intensify their tunnel vision.

As the family we call humanity Was set in perpetual competition Race against race and nation against nation And few fight as much as the United Nations.

They told me and tell all the children today That the Singhala race is not like the Tamils. No, they are Aryan and the Tamils Dravidian And I, like a fool, swallowed it whole; Until I thought for myself And looked at a mirror As I considered the history And read her story between the lines And thought to myself

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And said to my father I thought to myself And will say to my mother: Dravidian? My blessed soul! Aryan? My foot! Veddah? I wander.

12.11.06

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THE KING OF CROOKS

The king of crooks edited the book Few dared to disagree He glorified himself again For twice his usual fee.

The king of crooks called the consumer Lots of nasty names The sad consumer looked at his feet And swallowed his pride

When he got home We swallowed the tablets as prescribed.

The king of crooks has skills A master of hypnosis; The poor man must have lost his head And scored another diagnosis. This time convinced hed help the weak By leaving all his wealth

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To the charity the king has made To further mental health

The drug lords smiled and rubbed their hands A genie then appeared The genius dissected, sliced and trained to turn the wheel With nose unto the grindstone and chin up to his noose

The cowboys in their khaki suits Speak with deliberate pauses Trained in elocution to execute their lines. The training is extended to executing laws And executing people; some call it murder Others call it justice Some call it assassination

Some call it murder Some call it war Others call it mass-murder In the guise of war

And the military has its medicos These men are hard as stone They patch young boys up quickly

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And send them back to die All in Freedoms name And, of course, the Great Game

The Great Game known as Empire How can we doubt their intention When Grand Masters talk of New World Orders And claim to be the bosses of The Sole Superpower

But if power is wisdom, not missiles If power is love, not bombs These silly men and women (few) Are seriously deluded:

When the superpower runs out of energy As power always dissipates When unity of purpose Falls to prejudice and hate

As the Medicos and Scientists In the Great Land of the Free Study faulty genes and failing states Not the slow death of democracy

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As the Medicos and Scientists In the Great Home of the Brave Talk of overpopulation That the risks they face are grave

And the hallowed institutions That I once worshipped myself Have now degenerated into Corporate factories Churning out graduates like sausages All trained to obey

And the dark cloud of ignorance Has no silver lining Because everyone is afraid To look even at the sun

You will go blind they say They stress a moment is too much But for millennia lovers have admired The sun move through the sky Wear sunglasses we are ordered by the docs And I myself, a doctor, used to wear them like a fool

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My eyes were once directed At those of the king of crooks I confronted him with Sara About a claim about abuse He had me locked up later Said I was paranoid I was afraid of him for years But now Im just annoyed

The king of crooks he has a look You very rarely find He doesnt wear spectacles And he looks you in the eye But the words he speaks are poison And the greatest freedom he enjoys Is with the truth and power The power of his size A big man is the king of crooks He tries to intimidate But there I think Ill leave it I darent elaborate But

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He says that he has written Books that dont exist And makes claims on Medicare For services hardly therapeutic Gets paid by the drug companies For using his prestige

He doesnt play favorites Hell promote any drug As long as he can promote himself, too Hes got the law sewn up as well Advises ministers Reports for those who want to sue And those defending, too but

The king of crooks is a king, but only in my mind and his Maybe there is worse corruption I havent seen to find

Perhaps you are wondering Who is the king of crooks? Well, you can look him up hes in the book!

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In factdont worry Hell probably find you?

Not him, himselfyou understand His machine Its called the Mental Health Foundation When it enters your mind protect yourself

Schizophrenia and depression are not Caused by chemical imbalances And 1 in 5 people do not have a mental illness But this is what they say Again and again, so it sticks in the brain

You may have heard these claims already Im sure, if not, you will one day When you do, youll know the king of crooks has had his say.

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MOSTLY MAD, EXCEPT FOR THE BREEZE

19.4.2009

I wasnt born mad Or maybe I was Couldnt really say I was of touch with reality Didnt really know Reality exists Just the pleasure Of warmth in my mothers arms;

It wasnt long before I learned Her delusions, And hers were shaped By her parents as well As doctors and teachers And peers and priests; Not to mention my father And his odd, violent beliefs

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By the time I was talking Id heard many words Some words were useful And some were less so I memorised the books Of the Old Testament Just their names And I learned that The Devil Is the one to blame.

I learned that God loved me As long as I stayed Good and obedient To him who I prayed Would guide and protect me When temptation called Usually in the delectable form Of chocolate and nude girls

By now I was older And realised that Not all of our teachers Knew all the facts

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And the fact of the matter Is a long tale to tell Some think that Im mad still And I do as well Im mad about things That were done in the past Im mad about things in the present Though less so, its true The worlds getting better At least thats my guess But the fact of the matter Is its still in a mess

Now, the poems I write Sometimes have rhymes They sometimes have images Just some of the time But each word has shape And meaning as well A new fonts an artwork And I didnt make them

My education, as a doctor, it seems Did little to cure my madness

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And even caused some I didnt learn to appreciate The writers art and skill I didnt learn to listen To the stories they could tell And would, if I would listen And see things from their view Maybe I was blind and deaf And my education made me Close my eyes and close my ears To ignore the facts That failed to fit Into preconceptions I learned at school and uni too I learned from friends and family From comic books and cartoons

I learned to laugh At the wrong things Horrid things Happening to others A cruel sense of humour Sometimes gets too much Too repulsive, too grotesque

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But our morbid fascination Makes us turn our head Towards the danger To just have a peek To be horrified and aghast

Comforted that the Boys in Blue The blue of the sky and depression, too They take only the drugs prescribed And lose their jobs if caught with reefer At least face disciplinary action

Then, if they spill the beans and boast About the bong they had with toast In the morning before heading to office For boredom is the coppers lot

Except for those who get to fight Real action, like TV cops with guns ablaze Shooting baddies like a good cop should But if by chance they become sad At how corrupt the system is The system has the remedy: Beyond Blue sent us a magnet

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To put on our fridge to warn us That depression is a common disease A chemical imbalance diagnosed with ease By those trained in marking questionnaires Analysing statistics and coming up With answers for the populace After all, what is population But a collection of statistics?

Blue collar, white collar and those wearing wigs The suits and the men in uniform too Theres women as well, but the men call the shots When it comes to shooting We all know men are best Better at punching and kicking, its clear From the snippets the media barons allow To enter our brains and shape our beliefs In addition to those the advertisers sell So what is reality? And who, then, decides Is it you, is it me Is it every man for himself? And every woman and every child Looking for truth, and looking for teachers?

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Who are we to put up our hands? Calling ourselves doctors and teachers Who teach all the lies weve been told We dutifully repeat For that is our duty As we all know The duty to teach each to know Who to trust and obey The principals and professors The bishops and judges The kings and the queens And their expert advisors

I can feel reality starting To blow through my window: I think its called a fresh breeze.

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NOT QUITE AS CRAZY

Mad is not the same as crazy But both are cool these days, my daughter tells me And she keeps up with the slang of the youth

About time crazy got cool, Because crazys great But mad is not as good

Madness is not the same As the state of being mad I say with the conviction Certification can bring

Officially mad, or mentally ill Brings punishments paraded As treatments and cures For brain-damaged souls as I have been Declared to be;

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People disorganised with lateral thought Wandering off the topic decided By others with a surer grip On reality And diplomas to prove it;

Its all in the certificate, you see The wrong certification And youre no longer free To live out your life As an ant in the hive A worker or soldier Or maybe a queen If your genes are OK You might be the cream That floats to the top Of the bottle of milk That completes our tea And the slaves remain slaves For such was decreed By the dons with degrees And the lawyers in silk

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Yes theyre all certified With permission to work And to shirk is a crime And time is a prison Governed by clocks And now the clocks are ticking With atomic accuracy With the slaves running faster Fuelled with speed To keep them on task Concentrating hard On hard work in hard times The economys collapsing They tell us, but then The President assures us Hes starting to see Light at the end of the tunnel of gloom Confidence is returning and, someday soon Well all be rejoicing As we head to the moon

The moon, far too barren To pollute and destroy With no life to start with

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How can we go wrong?

The slaves running faster They have run off the track Theyve run up huge bills On their Mastercards and mobile phones Theyve sold off their future For a dream of a house And a shiny new car To impress their neighbours

But stop, they cry, you must be a fool To work in this way is the norm and the rule The rule of the law and society too Youre not a dole bludger, are you?

So the sad and the lonely engage In their race to find love in their Place of confinement In air-conditioned comfort Set to the ideal temperature For maximum production Of what is produced Whatever that is, whatever its use

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WAITING FOR THE CHANGE

How long will it take? Ive been waiting so long Always thinking it was around the corner Waiting for the revolution that wouldnt be televised Ive been waiting, waiting and watching Waiting for the revolution The peaceful revolution To appear on the screen.

And when the cathode rays died At the hard silicon hands of the new technology I turned my attention to cyberspace Still waiting, watching and waiting For some Internet insurrection, For the war machine to crumble, heralding the end Of the Cold War, or whatever they call it these days. How long will it take for good sense to prevail? Another day? A week? A month?

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ZOE

I loved your ears when they were hairy Maybe they reminded me of my own.

But now that theyre smooth, And delight in smooth sounds, Theyre irresistible.

I loved your mouth when you smiled Hearing my voice Again, after you were born.

But now that you laugh, With those two little teeth My heart sings.

I loved your eyes When they wandered around Gazing at nothing in particular

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But now youve acquired a frown Of intent And penetrating eyes That see through my defences Into my soul I am in awe of you.

Photo by Romesh Senewiratne-Alagaratnam

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THE MINERS PROTEST

They plot in their boardrooms with lawyers and crooks And chartered accountants to cook the books The bosses, the big men, they steal the big bucks While the poor go to jail, because they cannot pay fines Debts they must pay to the bosses who play With the lives of mere millions who live day to day

Eking a living from scraps that might fall From the carved, ornate tables on which the rich feast With caviar and wine; The ruling class dines Planning creative ways To whitewash their crimes.

As we watch the red and black lines rise and fall And a man on the box explains it all The economy will recover, this black line here says The reds under the beds, they say, are now dead.

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The man with the sombre, striped tie And conservative clothes, as proof he wont lie Looked his imaginary audience right in the eye And told them what he was paid to say: If the corporate tax goes ahead Well all pay the price And that wont be nice. The boom will go bust Our economy bite the dust If we save our resources for future generations Thats the end of our Big, Lucky Nation.

Well starve and our children will curse our decision To ask for more tax from the mining corporations.

Well lose our prosperity, the TV man warned, Itll frighten investors, already alarmed.

But me, I dont buy it, I dont buy all this stuff What I have seen is more than enough If these men and companies Can afford to advertise Then all that they say

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Must be based on more lies

As far as Im concerned Weve all had enough Enough propaganda to last me a lifetime

So Im leaving the TV off and Refusing the bait Of endless car bargains And naked girls for my phone And insurance policies To protect me from crime And to spare my children The expense of my funeral

While the real criminals Employ the best ad men To tell us how dedicated they are To saving the planet, and saving us dough While spreading their wiles And their wares near and far.

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WINSTONS GUILT

Winston felt guilty. Deep inside, he felt guilty. And he was.

He could find away to justify Many of his sins. He regarded these as Errors of judgement, at worst. Sacrificing young Australian men On the beaches of Turkey, He could defend as a Bold Strategy, Even if it was unsuccessful, in hindsight.

Bombing German cities and their inhabitants to rubble was necessary to create terror Among the survivors. Creating terror, according to the men of science,

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is a cost-effective way to win the war.

We will fight them in the trenches he bellowed Though not to taken literally, Churchill not feeling free To use the Royal we. We meant the soldier we still call Diggers, Who dug the trenches they were ordered to dig As their own graves and those of the Enemy. The enemy as defined, described and denounced By Churchill, master propagandist for the Royalist elite. Trained in the best schools for the high office Of war correspondent to hush up, or drown out, The troublesome reports of British atrocities In distant South Africa, Winston had lived up To his promise To defend the Masonic Ideals of Truth, Charity and Brotherly Love.

But still he felt guilty And he was plagued by the Black Dog, too. Both his guilt and those damned black dogs Caused what his doctor called depression.

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Churchill saw things differently. He had a mind that turned As that of an aristocrat might, Towards puns. He knew the black dog that was causing his depression His name was Mohandas Gandhi, and those damn Indians Were calling this upstart black lawyer, Mahatma. Meanwhile I get told Ive got depression That Im some kind of lunatic or neurotic. No, thought Winston, its this little black dog Gandhi, whos bringing me down.

Winston hoped only those well-educated would understand The pun, when he used the phrase naked Fakir to describe The troublesome South African who was leading the Newest Indian Revolt against enlightened Colonial Rule.

He hoped his friends would laugh at his wit. He liked when people laughed at his cleverness Rather than his appearance.

27.4.2010

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IMAGI

In the strange, distant land of Imagi Where the fool is always welcome There dwells a wonderful, mythical beast With no horns, and no tail, no legs or feet.

This beast is famed through the country Not for his visage, which may be stern or gleeful Not for his odd appearance, nor his amorphous form Which may be grotesque or angelic, Depending on circumstance and whim.

The wild beast that lurks In the deep forest valleys Hidden away in the blackness of silence Sometimes rises like the Phoenix To soar through Imagis dark skies

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The beast transforms instantly By act of will To a vision sublime and delicate As imagination can be.

IF AIDS IS MAN-MADE

When I was a boy I heard about a crime A terrible crime by a wicked man Called Hitler

I heard that Hitler had a party This was an evil party with bad men It was called the NAZI party

Years later I read that NAZI Stood for National Socialist I had thought myself a Socialist With pride I was proud of my nation too The Nation of Australia

I was not so proud

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Of the treatment Of the original people Of the Southern Lands I was not so proud Of the stealing of children And the black boys in prison

It was only recently That I heard about the crimes Committed in the name Of eugenics Of the wicked doctrine Exported by England That took root in Germany And shaped the twisted minds Of Hitler and his cronies That took root in Australia In all the universities

It was only recently That I read about Operation Paperclip And the MK Programs And Operation Hope

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And operations For body-part stealing And the horrors Perpetrated by hypocrites

Who built picket fences Around gas chambers To hide genocide With so many euphemisms

And today the media talks of ethnic cleansing And multiculturalism Where the white man makes the rules The media talks of overpopulation And the need for desperate measures Should contraception fail

The people who hear the voices In the wilderness of their minds Ask questions of the wind And only the mynahs answer

The truth so often offends And yet it must be spoken

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The truth so often denigrated But the facts they must be written

So we turn to metaphor and allegory To soften the blows of cold reality Will gentleness prevail In the face of brutality?

It's not the brutes I fear But the indifference of the masses Their indifference to the suffering Of those who are not kith or kin But indifference is easy When people are an abstraction Reduced to numbers By statisticians and epidemiologists Reduced to consumers By advertisers and economists

For now the corporate machines rule And the slaves pay their mortgages And they tax the roads and soon the air We guzzle in our anxiety When we could be planting trees and herbs

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And guarding our planet against desecration And desertification

How much wiser to bring back the soldiers To plant the grasses the parched earth needs To plant the reeds that will purify the water To plant the trees that will give us oxygen To plant the herbs and flowers That bring us health and wealth To plant the seeds of generosity To strangers

When they come to our land in boats as they do From time to time, when they hear of the beauty Of the Southern Continent and the people who live here People honest and sincere and more down to earth Than many who are far from the Antipodes

But the shame that I feel when I see how they're treated That they sent in the army to smash down doors And they cause suicide in the young boys who act Like their fathers with instinct to express their needs To walk, to run to freedom

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When I was a boy I thought the Allies beat Hitler I did not suspect that they once all were friends I knew little of substance of the Old Boy Network And less of the wars over religion and influence When I was a boy I was sucked in by propaganda It was only recently I started to emerge

With a new view of the world Where the Allies are the villains Of a cold cruel war against the poorest of nations With the poorest of people Under the harshest of tyrants Supported by hardware From Western weapons makers Or those from the rulers Of the Eastern Bloc and China Supported by software from the richest of men Who opened the Gates to the digital age Whose billions are poured into treatments For AIDS

If AIDS is man-made everything changes The sole superpower becomes the evil empire

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And its sycophantic followers have made A pact with the devil

If it is not Then I have been deluded For many years as I slowly collected Evidence that the virus was engineered From animal infections Tested on animals and homosexuals And released through infected vaccines

Into the defenceless and long-oppressed people Of the Congo Into young women and children in Africa and Brazil Into the youth of the Caribbean and New Guinea Into babies in the Pacific Islands

They accused Saddam Hussein Of chemical and biological warfare But we know now that they provided The expertise The so-called Coalition of the Willing To Ignore Hans Blix and The United Nations

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The Coalition of the Willing to Provoke Civil War The Coalition of the Willing to plunder Iraq's oil The Coalition of the Willing to stand by while Mr Cheney and his mates indulge In a naked grab for power

Building a secret embassy Bigger than the Vatican In the Heart of Baghdad The heart of Mesopotamia The cradle of civilisation Reduced to shells and oil wells

As they plundered the museum With its priceless ancient treasures I asked myself Is this civilization? Is this culture? Is this not barbaric? Is this not brutal?

Is this part of the Brutal Solution Urged by the degenerate descendant of Charles

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Darwin who taught us so much About the importance of earthworms and barnacles And our relationship with nature?

It propelled my quest for knowledge When I read Sir Charles' urging For a 'tremendous solution' 'more brutal than nature' To combat the 'threat' Of overpopulation

This was in 1959 Twenty years before the epidemic Decimated the population Of sub-Saharan Africa

I read that this man helped develop the Bomb Not the population bomb but the atomic one Yet he argued that warfare was not brutal enough To control the hordes that threatened to engulf His kith and kin in 40 more years His audience at Caltech it shared his grim fears

Yes Charles Galton Darwin spoke of the need

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To control the needy and control their numbers To protect the rich few from the masses surrounding Hungry masses infected with dark skin

This man was named after His illustrious grandfather Feathering his bed with the plumage of fame Transforming his wisdom to a stale game of bridge Holding the cards where the diamonds beat the clubs Forgetting the whips as the spades wield the clubs And the diamonds are red like the hearts that still beat But so little concern for the blood diamonds' price Of the sad tale of greed decimating Gondwana Exploiting the poor and enslaving their children

Who inherit the debts of their troubled ancestors Men and women who trusted the World Bank Nave to the Machiavellian machinations of money Who turned in desperation to the United Nations Prostrated themselves to the IMF

International Money doled out from a fund To be paid back with interest to cripple the nations The so-called Third World now engulfed in more war

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The Third World War began when the Second had ended

When I was a boy I was told of a war This war was in a land populated by 'gooks' These 'gooks' they featured in American war comics The heroes they shot at and killed these here 'gooks'

These comics they were Cold War propaganda Demonising the poor and oppressed of Vietnam But I in my blindness sided with the killers I in my blindness was led by the blinders

Now in middle age I recall youthful folly I smile at my foolish attempts to be jolly I speak to myself and hear voices of the dead The dead can be heard these days With increasing clarity Not talking about madness But recorded music

The right side forgets what the left side has done And the right wing flew off and hawks have collided The left is bereft of hope of salvation Political dissent interpreted as insanity

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Need I mention Orica or Metal Storm? Need I mention magnates exporting explosives And cyanide around the world Simultaneously sitting on Boards Controlling mental health research and funds? Need I mention the chain of bakeries Whose boss sells machine guns? Need I mention the chains With which fathers bind their sons?

When I was a boy there were two superpowers They battled to rule with one proclaimed winner Some supposed that the arms race would end When the Cold War was over But little hope of that when arms dealers make the rules Little hope of that when war-mongers run the schools

And now fears resurfaced as they split yet more atoms And invite terrified people terrified by their shadows To phone up on hotlines to call in the squads Of men armed with Tasers and capsicum spray Of women commanded by men with moustaches And there's talk of an arms race

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With Russia emboldened By alliance with what's called the Sole Superpower Emboldened to resume the maddest of trades

As the KGB rules The CIA pontificates As the CIA rules The KGB collaborates

And what of the victims In destitute nations? What of the rest Of the disunited nations? If Mutually Assured Destruction was mad But adhered to for decades Surely it is a sign of sanity To be pronounced as deluded by such people

When I was a boy we were fooled by the foolish When I was a boy we were ruled by rogues When I was a boy we were party to horrors The horror of turning a blind eye to the poor

When I was a boy one could never be sure

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About what in the past had happened And what not About who were the friends of the earth Never knowing which lie to believe

The lies of the Church or the lies of the State The propaganda of communism or the Counter-propaganda of capitalism As the rich got richer and the poor remained penniless As the trickle-down-effect was revealed as a ruse And debt cancellation a poor excuse For justice in a world where rape and pillage Have been rewarded by honours and hero worship And countries named after the rapists and pillagers

When I was a boy corporations were ruling Though they rule still, feel the tide Now it's turning.

Romesh Senewiratne 27.9.07

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EMPIRES

Empires come and empires go And some go on and on. The students pay The masters play On words, while holding the cards.

Diplomas and degrees, Rungs on the ladder And promises of opportunity To play your role as a cog In the great machine Our fathers inherited From theirs;

Be they conquerors or conquered The conners or the conned The conjurers and the confused The conformers and the condemned

All take their places When the world is a stage For the grand dance of egos And parading of purchases

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But now in the gloom Of the fallout of the boom As stockmarkets collapse From the burden of debt and dollar The emperor still wears silk suits Silk tie and starched collar While the rabble divided Into left wing and right Cry foul with their foul-mouths In parliaments perpetual night Pledging more millions to bail out the banks After pledging too many to roll out the tanks

While over the ocean Not pacific these days The fight for the presidency Looms closer still Watched by the hypnotized masses With too much time to kill And every newspaper tells us more lies Though long ago now, we had more than our fill Of Cold War propaganda and heroes of empire Of damn Winston Churchill and General Monash Of Roosevelt and Truman and General Macarthur Of this king and that king and good queens and bad If I wasnt so angry perhaps Id be sad.

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THE TIMELY DEATH OF POSTMODERNISM

It was obvious In retrospect Where the philosophers would come unstuck Or get stuck In discourse or datcourse, When this course and that course Are consumed By apocalyptic thinking;

Seems to me the Apocalypse is receding And St Johns dark angels are looking More beautiful every day,

Not riding horses and chasing foxes or rabbits Not breeding bloodhounds And uglier dogs for the hunt;

The guys who declared themselves Modern Werent even modern for their time Loving square concrete And endless surveillance; Fighting their wars Between left wing and right

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Fighting their wars And loving the fight

With reinforced concrete They protected their bunkers And told the whole world That this is True Beauty From squares, cubes, rectangles And Platonic solids They constructed a modern capitalist state From hammers and sickles And the blood of the masses The communist moderns saw A similar fate

But we could just look And wonder What all these guys were seeing And wondering What the hell they were talking about When they said we are now in a post-Modern Age A new age of reason or a new reason to rage? Doesnt modern move forward When we turn a new page? Is the future more modern Or is time in a cage?

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I guess I dont get it And I will not go on But it seems to me That postmodernism is an oxymoron.

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THE OUTRAGEOUS MISTER CHENEY

They say he speaks English And I was born in that land But the words he pronounces I dont understand Its not just his smirk Or the crooked race he ran Its not that Im blind Or Anti-American; Its the fact he was boss of Halliburton And this damn company been given control Of the wealth of Iraq, and Afghanistan And now the magnates of the gas and the guns Have their greedy eyes fixed on the oil in Iran.

Now everyone knows hes the brains behind Bush And the son of the CIA boss was a lush Till he found his salvation in the White Bible Belt Where they kept their black slaves to pick cotton, in chains

Well, so I have read, and I think it no lie And that Cheney is not quite a regular guy

I recently watched a documentary Watched Powell, and Rumsfeld and Paul Wolfowitz And George Bush and Cheney were all photographed

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In elegant prayer in slick black-and-white I guess the PR girl organised the angles And the right wing provided the archbishop and archangels But Cheney is different - though he kneels down to pray When his oversized gut doesnt get in the way Sometimes I wonder What does this man say To his small spark of conscience In confused shades of grey?

To those who for reasons I quite understand Decide to leave politics to others, like me It may not be clear why this sounds like a rant Against the legally elected Vice-President But to those more conversant with the Third World War And the fact that we find ourselves faced with new laws As if were not already burdened enough The laws are described as robust and tough

The truth of the matter is in Guantanamo His name is Dave Hicks and we should bring him home Maybe he chose to support those who do hate Cheney and Bush and the United States But I have to say, I know this for a fact He hasnt killed nearly as many As either of these cats

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No I think it fair, after five years in hell That Hicks, and the other illegal combatants as well Decide, with the world, if their place should be taken But the thousand worst criminals in warmongering nations

It is wise to remember those men at Nuremburg Bespectacled, middle-aged men of good breeding Remaining defiant that they had done no wrong It was all in the name of the True Fatherland The killing and maiming and theft and much worse Some criminals were tried for the great Nazi curse But others were given their place in the sun To help the good Allies to win the Cold War;

The men in Nuremberg who hanged gave the orders It was not the foot-soldiers who faced the worst charges With power to order the killing of others The men who kill thousands they hide in their bunkers They order the bombs and retreat to their mansions These days they watch themselves on TV And their minders congratulate them For the wind that they pass And they fly in the sky and always First Class.

30.1.07

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THE GOD THEY TRUST

In God We Trust, say American coins But is it the god of coins or the god of love? Is it the god of war or the god of peace? Is it the god of delusion or the many gods of truth? Is it the god of the sky or the goddess of earth? Or the god of belief, without searching for proof? Is the lord god, or the lard guard?

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RAVINGS OF AN IDEALIST

It may seem hard to believe But I can see a peaceful world When empires and bombs Have been forgotten And people dance and sing.

It may take time But I can see a joyful world When guns and mines have been confined And those who sold them have resigned Themselves to harmony.

It may not be that this comes true It may not be, but I can dream. It may well be that what ensues Is something even more surprising.

It may not end in nuclear war Or rising seas as ice caps melt; It may well be that planting trees Averts the looming catastrophe.

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IF TIME IS IMPORTANT

If time is important Why is it I waste So much time feeling stressed By such needless haste?

If time is important Why is it I say Things that I will Or may regret some day?

If time is important How can I forget The things I have done That I now regret?

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LIVING IN THE FUTURE

I think therefore I am Living in the future I think therefore I am Making a mistake

I think maybe I should Take a bit more time Revisiting the past To enjoy a rhyme

A song that others wrote A poem giving inspiration Reviewing my own Without creative desperation

I think therefore I am Was fine for old Descartes But now the thinkers gone Though his memory lingers on

My sad old piano lessons Haunt me to this day Repetition, perfect time With nothing more to say

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But then I got obsessed With climbing every rung Like every member of my family The wasp of ambition stung;

The academic ladder Letters and degrees The hierarchy unfamiliar To those on bended knees To strange guys in universities With grants that always grow Professors and the politicians Can teach only what they know

Like everyone else, I guess Not all my life is a mess Like everyone else, I hope Sometimes I digress

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CROWS

I woke to the sound of crows this morning, like others, recently. I have found a home at last, a home for me in the territory of the crows.

Caaw, caaw, he says. Caaw, says his friend. Caaw, caaw, caaaaw, he answers. Am I hearing Morse, like Sara suggested?

Or am I hearing a song of birds with such intelligence and so little melody? Not like the currawongs, not like the butcherbirds. No, these sing like birds.

But the crow has no time for idle beauty. No time for foolish harmony

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when life is a feast of slugs and snails and all things revolting.

The crows will be leading the revolution they always do; giving us direction as they fly wherever it is they fly.

When the crow flies as crows do into the setting sun I wonder Where do they go after they delight my garden?

Here, in the territory of crows.

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2B OR NOT 2B THATS THE QUESTION

Thought Id do some serious work editing my thesis. Editing the old hard copy of The Politics of Schizophrenia.

Ambivalence a common feature, Ive read of this terrible mental malady.

I looked for a pencil I have so many HB, B, 2B, 4B, even 6B maybe even an H but thats too hard too hard to erase, if rubbing out is needed.

No, I needed my favourite 2B. But, horror of horrors, it was blunt. So were all the others. Only the HB was sharp. Thats because I rarely use it.

I could have sharpened the 2B, of course;

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I have three pencil sharpeners. The choice is difficult since there are other options: I could use a scalpel blade.

Now rusted, being many years since I worked in general practice, I still have a few dozen. Though blunter than when pristine they still work, maybe not for skin or tendon, but certainly for sharpening a pencil.

Yes, that seems the best option.

So now I must decide. The long thin one, or the large, broad blade? Perhaps the little one, if I can be bothered fitting it on to the handle.

No, Ill go for the big one. Its a bit rusty, but it did work OK the last time I had to make this difficult decision.

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ASSOCIATIONS

In the association Of association-related disease I am only found As a case to be studied A nut case with abnormal associations.

Perhaps a poet?

In the association of the mind Doctors reign supreme The masters of the unseen maladies The invisible chasm That divides the sane from the loons.

The sane, who keep to the point And dont stray from the matter-in-hand; The need for job security and national satisfaction The ability to focus without distraction

On the TV set that never puts thoughts in our heads And certainly never talks to us

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On the radio that does not affect us with radiation On the politicians who never deceive us Or bring us under their control.

To focus without distraction On lessons that bore the foolish and insane On programs that aim to educate, not manipulate On jobs that the crazy and lazy shun, In their sickness.

On accounts and balance sheets Sitcoms and circuses Football and golf Where real men live real lives Freed from the distractions Of abnormal associations Tangential thinking Flight of ideas Clear evidence, we hear Of the sickness all fear a sick mind.

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TIGERS

You guys give a noble beast a bad name You guys give a noble race a bad name You give a noble language a bad name You guys give a noble concept a bad name.

Liberation Tigers? Yes, the tigers need liberation From the likes of you.

Do tigers sacrifice the children Of other tigers to blow up their own Land and species? Do tigers give guns to children And force them to fight In foolish, destructive ways Against a foolish, destructive enemy?

Do tigers ruthlessly kill their competitors? Well, yes they do, on occasion But not for the reasons you guys do Not in the brutal ways you guys do.

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The tiger tears its prey With its own bloody claws You feed yourselves on the delectable Morsels dropped from the miserly pockets Of the rich professionals You claim some racial connection with; Men and women across the oceans Paying lip-service To the nations that have adopted them Provided refuge from the devastation They bring to their mother Land of their birth and of their ancestors.

I have no tears left To shed for you monsters They have been drained, All of them, On your victims. 25.3.09

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AFGHANISTAN

I smell a rat In this exercise: More troops for Afghanistan.

Its to do with opium poppies And the role of the Taliban.

Ive been thinking about heroin The horse I have never been shackled to Unlike a few friends and patients Some now dead, Like many in this far land Where, Im told, the world obtains Most of the opium that ends up as heroin

Well Ive been thinking back To long before I was born, this time Back to the mid-1800s Ive been thinking about the war in China That ended with the ceding to the British Of Hong Kong Yes, Ive been thinking about a book I once read

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About the crimes of Empire Now retreating from the history books

The Opium wars in the 1840s and The fact that it was British chemical companies And those of the Americans and French That controlled the opium trade.

Back in the days when the British owned India And Victoria was a grandiose young queen When the advisors who advised her Said it was not about drugs but about Free Trade;

So it was repeated in the media The newspapers of the day: Threatening the Chinese cities with destruction Was not for the purpose of exploitation With a deadly drug of addiction; No, it was all in the interests of economic morality.

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PSYCHIATRY

Psyche means soul, in Greek. Iatros means treatment, so psychiatry means treatment of the soul.

Logos means word, again, in Greek. So psychology means words about the soul, study of the soul.

Neuro means nerve hence neurology, is study of the nerves.

And neurosis? Psychosis? Well, osis means process. Not pathological process, just process. Except in a medical paradigm

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where all processes are pathologised.

Psychopathic? Even more horrible than psychotic or neurotic.

Then theres phren mind also meaning breath, like prana, also from Sanskrit roots, the linguists tell us.

Schizos split, in Greek combined with phren gives us schizophrenia, developed not long after the recognition that so-called phrenology was a racist pseudoscience.

So they split the brains The encephalos of monkeys and men, not to understand schizophrenia but to study the brain

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and treat epilepsy.

That was before psychologists became obsessed with statistics.

Sounds a bit mental, the Latin word for thinking mens.

The German academics said, back in the nineties the eighteen-nineties, they had the answers: classify these diseases with a combination of misused Greek and Latin prefixes and suffixes. Greek, the language of philosophy and science Latin, the language of religion and law.

So sanity became a legal matter, though sanus is Latin for health. Insanity became a defence while, as usual, all avoided talk of madness and heresy. Healing and healers discredited,

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Medical men were allowed to treat But not to heal; trained to medicate and operate but not cure.

Meanwhile the lunatics were locked up institutions, what were called asylums but were anything but safe places.

The Americans said it was crazy this has nothing to do with the moon its a serious matter of disorder caused by lack of blood flow or too much blood in the brain.

Damn the colonists, said the Yankee shrinks The British have nothing to teach us about healthy thinking; So they turned to Heidelberg instead. The Aussies agreed the pommies were mad always complaining about the weather. Yes, the Germans were

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far more enlightened; at least in the science of the mind.

The Grand Old Man of Mental Classification Professor Emil Kraepelin, draped in academic garb produced a model of mental illness they now promote as mental health. Manic depression, psychosis, neurosis and not to forget personality disorders.

Dementia praecox, Kraepelin said, could never be cured: A young man who thought he knew more than the establishment and preached revolution has an incurably sick mind. He should be locked up in chains And good sense whipped into him Until he recanted his heresy And learned to keep his mouth shut.

As for young women, they were best seen and not heard, like the children.

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Disobedient women and children, the new discipline of psychiatry made it clear, are suffering from the same incurable malady, one that surely affected the witches, wisely burned by prudent Inquisitors.

Some, like Kraepelin called it dementia praecox early onset dementia according to Greek roots. Eugen Bleuler, Kraepelins Swiss rival said a better term is schizophrenia. Others said you crazy old men are obsessed by control and empire building.

That was the thinking a century ago: the pathologisation of the public did not go unchallenged.

Some remembered the meaning of the old Latin roots. Some studied their Greek and looked further than Plato. Some saw the cold roots of Nazism growing in academia.

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Some saw that Galton was praising his own and lining his nest of vipers.

Hereditary genius in him and his kin cross-breeds and half-castes doomed to die, as they should, from diseases and sickness caused by degeneracy. Misceganation and other neologisms that grandiose Galton devised became the doctrines of anthropology and psychology and medicine, too.

Yes, the roots of psychiatry, the roots of their terms must be exposed to light, lest they spread like root-rot.

If they havent, already.

15.11.2009

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