Complicated
by Tony Haynes

I wish I could
Tell you that I’ve
Simplified my life

Solidified my faith
Over hot coals

Surprisingly this resonates
Completely day & night
As I thought it would down in my soul
Round & round I go and yes I hate it
You make everything so complicated

Tony Haynes has been a songwriter, music publisher, record producer & author. “Send A Little Love,” his first song, was recorded by the Spinners in 1981. Since then, his songs have been recorded on over 200 albums, selling in excess of 70 million copies worldwide. These songs have earned him 60 gold and multi-platinum awards, as well as several ASCAP Awards. You can visit him online at www.myspace.com/tonyhaynes

MUSIC IN MY HEART
by Satis Shroff



As the Breisgau-train dashes in the Black Forest,

Between Elztal and Freiburg,

I am with my thoughts in South Asia.



I hear the melodious cry of the vendors:

"Pan, bidi, cigarette,"

Interspersed with "garam chai! Garam chai!"

The sound of sambosas bubbling in vegetable oil,

The rat-ta-tat of onions, garlic and salad

Being rhythmically chopped in the kitchen,

Mingled with the ritual songs of the Hindus.

The voices of uncles, aunts, cousins

Debating, discussing, gesticulating, grimacing,

Uttering palatal, guttural,

Lingual and sub-lingual words

In Nepali, English, Newari, Hindi and Sindhi.



I head for Swayambhu,

The hill of the Self-Existent One.

Om mane pame hum stirs in the air,

As a lama passes by.

I"m greeted by cries of Rhesus monkeys,

Pigeons, mynahs, crows,

And the cracks of automatic guns of the Royal Army.



There's a brodelndes Miteinander,

Different sounds, natural sounds,

Musical sounds.

I hear Papa listening to classical ragas.

We, his sons and daughters,

Dancing the twist, rock n' roll, jive to Cool Britania,

The afternoon programme of the BBC.

Catchy Bollywood wechsel rhythms,

Sung by Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle,

Rafi, Mukesh and Kishor Kumar.

In the evenings after Radio Nepal"s External Service,

Radio Colombo"s light Anglo-American melodies:

Dean Martin's drunken schmaltz,

Billy Fury, Cliff Richards, Rickey Nelson,

And Sir Swivel-hip, Elvis Presley

Wailing "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog."



Out in the streets the songs of the beggars,

"Amai, paisa deo,

Babai khanu chaina,"

Overwhelmed by the cacophony

Of the obligatory marriage brass-band,

Wearing shocking green and red uniforms.

A tourist wired for sound walks by,

With a tortured smile on his face,

An acoustic agitation for an i-Pod listener,

Who prefers his own canned music.



From a side street you discern the tune

Of "Rajamati kumati" rendered by a group

Of Jyapoo traditional musicians,

After a hard day's work,

In the wet paddy fields of Kathmandu.

Near the Mahabaoudha temple you see

Young Sherpas, Thakalis, Tamangs, Newars

Listening, hip-hopping and break-dancing

To their imported ghetto-blasters:

Michel Jackson's catchy tunes,

Eminem, 2 Pac, Madonna, 50 Cents.



Everyone hears music, everyone makes music,

With or without music instruments,

Humming the latest Bollywood tunes,

Drumming on the tables, wooden walls,

Boxes, crates, thalis, saucers and pans.

Everyones engaged in singing and dancing.

The older people chanting bhajans and vedic songs,

Buddhist monks reciting from the sutras in sonorous voices,

When someone dies in the neighbourhood.

Entire nights of prayers for the departed soul.



The whole world is full of music,

Making it, feasting on it,

Satis Shroff is a poet from Freiburg, Germany.

End of Freedom
( . . . )
By Gu Xie


The sky void of seawater
Will have no flowing gorgeousness
The earth without green
Will no longer have in spring
Spiritual memory
Hands turn from time’s dusk into
Night out of themselves
The empty distance of night
Hence will have no need to multiply
The outcomes of successive cities

Birds in the mind rest on
Lungs blackened by smoke
Like few beautiful speckles
Smiling perplexedly
Among crowds
All life is in the abyss
Untiringly imagining a future road
Our world
Is a fleecy snowscape

The depth of heart
Is wrapped with machinery, and
Some rotten sunlight
Excitement is a sort of common way of naissance
Because of this abstract honesty
We’ve once chosen
The prospective moan after death

Truth far
off does not know
Its own connotation
Just as no one knows, whose self
He himself actually is
The continent at the century end cherishes
Too many extravagant myths
And wishes outside emotions
All beginnings at the century end, become
A fatal response of tolerating comfort

In your reckless merriment
I have to show to God
A sensation of health with only one still surviving
In my display of that simple and unadorned heaviness
The passion
Fostered by life, is also
Quietly coming to an end



Gu Xie, member of Chinese Writers Association, born in Shanghai in 1960s, started his literary creation at the age of 14. After graduation, he worked successively as a road builder, warehouse keeper, journalist, literary editor, editorial director and chief editor. He is the author of six collections of solo poetry: Selected Poetry of Gu Xie, Tai Ji,( the Supreme Ultimate), State Symphony, Steps of Guangzhou, Pudong Symphony and etc with over twenty long poems published. Gu Xie has won many poetry awards like Guangdong Government Literary Award for Poetry in 1996, Guangzhou Government Literature and Art Award for Poetry in 2002, Guangdong Government Literature and Art Award for Broadcast & Television Poetry in 2004. His poems have appeared in various well-known large-scale literary magazines.