Standing On My Head Poetry

I died for the first time when I was seven
An ambulance hit me and I went to heaven

The next 14 days and 14 nights I spent playing for hours
Among wild bagulnik* and saranka* flowers

My skull was cracked open, I was slowly dying
In Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia my mother was crying

Doctor Boris Rachkov had performed trepanation
That ended short my distant vacation

Saved by a piece of bone from a child who was killed
By another speeding automobile

The next time I died I was thirty seven
I didn't go to hell nor did I go to heaven

Shaman from Huautla gave me a potion
To satisfy curiosity and test the devotion

I emptied the drink and closed my eyes
I knew, from that bed I would never arise

I took the last breath, I was so afraid
I asked Olden Gods to come to my aid

Stop useless fighting the message was sent
Relax and enjoy that precious moment

At this very instant, despite my fright
I broke right through to the other side

From my precious body I was so detached -
Like a head of cabbage on a cabbage patch

A plenty of other heads were on the ground
Blissfully unaware of what happens around

A giant of giants, a sight to behold
A mighty Purusha as Rig Vedas foretold

As huge as a mountain of entangled legs and arms
He collected the harvest from his heavenly farms

If artist would try to paint such a sight
He shall splotch his canvas in crimson red and bright white

Purusha brilliant, Sun rays are his breath
Who knows him conquers death

The Lord of immortality sent me back
With a little present that others lack

And just to make sure and add more lifetimes
I went ahead and died a few more times

(03-04-09)