Last Updated On 07/07/2006

Hail Kind & Brave Reader,

The facts are:

Name: Sashi

Passions: Poetry. You may attempt to decipher the others by scanning through my scribbles.

Key purpose of Buoy:A Poetry Archive (see the Big Book of Poetry) for myself, and yes, my (mostly) incohate writing.

Copyright Issues: Most poems have been copied from elsewhere(books, web etc) for personal use. You may do the same from here except for the gems written by me. I will haunt your ass if you steal those.

Email: walkonwater78 at yahoo dot com for comments, queries, flames, offers of an island paradise etc. Good poems are always welcome. Being a quasi Buddhist, sorry, I can't SAVE you for Jesus. You will have to work out your own salvation. The email address is an inside joke.

Enjoy the show.

Thank you.

PS: Here is the customary mugshot. If you must need more dirt, visual or otherwise, on me, here is ze Friendster-thingy

a very miraculous thing just happened: my beerbottle flipped over backwards and landed on its bottom on the floor, and I have set it upon the table to foam down, but the photos were not so lucky today and there is a small slit along the leather of my left shoe, but it's all very simple: we cannot acquire too much: there are laws we know nothing of, all manner of nudges set us to burning or freezing; what sets the blackbird in the cat's mouth is not for us to say, or why some men are jailed like pet squirrels while others nuzzle in enormous breasts through endless nights - this is the task and the terror, and we are not taught why. still, it's lucky the bottle landed straightside up, and although I have one of wine and one of whiskey, this foretells, somehow, a good night, and perhaps tomorrow my nose will be longer: new shoes, less rain, more poems.

I am modern. And educated. And reasonable. And I believe in Jesus Christ, son of the living God. When they tell me He was born of a virgin, I say, well, it's unusual, of course, but in the arms of God, anything is possible... When they tell me that a bright new star appeared in the eastern sky, shining over His manger, I say, well, I know it's not customary to improvise stars like that, but remember, we set up searchlights now, just to open a used-car lot, and after all, this is the Son of God, isn't it?... They tell me He cast out demons, and I say, well, you have to understand the peculiar idiom of a given historical time... They tell me His voice could calm a tempest, and I reflect on all the unexplained phenomena of our physical world... They tell me His touch cured blindness, made the lame walk, the lepers clean, and brought corpses back to life - and I'm reminded of the psychic component of so much modern medicine... They tell me He fed five thousand with five loaves and two fishes, that He walked on the surface of the sea, that He rose from the dead - and I relish the poetic truth of those venerable symbols.

In the backward villages of Asia, the gods have as many limbs as spiders, and take on monstrous forms as quickly as a cloud. The natives, shrouded in their age-old ignorance and superstition, believe the most bizarre tales about them, despite the best efforts of our enlightened missionaries.