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Shreekant Dhuri Mar 2018
Here I sit, in my sorry cell
Waiting to face the gallows
A scapegoat for all their sins
Those devils with their polished halos.

Blasphemy and hurt sentiments
Such accusations I took in sport
I couldn’t help, but grin, and think
'Man, what a kangaroo court!'

The priests, the politicians and the vox populi
Allied, for once, in taking offence
Demand my blood (and worse, my tongue)!
To force my kin into silence.

I take the stand; I’m ordered to take an oath
'The truth is all that I’ve been telling', I say in my defence
'Guilty', decides that jury of parrots
As the judge signs the papers for my death sentence

The gaolers arrive at my cell
The executioner offers me a dying wish
I ask for a chance to tell one last joke
Before they put me to bed with the fish.

So, the world tunes in to hear
This joker’s dying farce
With that, I begin my end
'A priest, a politician and a jester walk into a bar...'
Robin Williams: Jonathon Winters taught me that the world is open for play, that everything and everybody is mockable in a wonderful way.
Shreekant Dhuri Mar 2018
​Anger, the seductress
Lips as red as sin
A swirl of flames fall to her shoulders
In curls of scarlet ribbons

Envy, with her scowls
And eyes of darkest green
Insecure in her olive skin
Ever the angsty teen

Fear, the wallflower
Mousy and so pale
Delicate hands atremble
Half-hidden under her veil.

Joy, her golden locks,
Dripping into her eyes
A daisy twirling in the meadow
Full of sunshine and surprise.

Melancholy, with her lovers
Countless as the stars
An enchantress leaving behind her
A trail of broken hearts.
To quote Edgar Allan Poe: 'And so being young and dipped in folly I fell in love with melancholy.'
Shreekant Dhuri Mar 2018
I gave him birth
I raised him
He loves me truest
The mother says

I grew up with him
I cared for him
He loves me best
The sister says

I married him
I'd give my life for him
He loves me greatest
The wife says

He enters and asks
Where are you, love?
His little girl runs and hugs him
He has eyes only for her
For those who cherish the many important women in their lives: mother, sister, wife and daughter.
Shreekant Dhuri Jan 2017
There's a serenity in all of the chaos.
A calm within the roar of the waves.
A frozen heart beating inside an inferno.
A shadow beneath the illuminance of rays.

There's a thundering silence in all the noise.
A dulcet tranquil in the eye of the storm.
A faint scrawl on the blank of a page.
A feeling of home in the strangeness of a dorm.

There's a hint of truth in every artistic lie.
A foreshadowing of the future hidden in the past.
A glimmer of a tear in every moment of joy.
A sense of triumph even in finishing last.

There's a bitter tinge in the heavenly delish of sweet.
A lasting perfume of life on the stone of a grave.
A trace of youth in the smile of the old.
A sparkle of freedom in the eyes of a slave.

There's a ripple of bravery in the tremble of fear.
A fuzzy warmth in the embrace of the rain.
A hope of luxury in the dreams of the penniless.
A shade of humility in the swaggering of the vain.

There's a subtlety of violence in the acts of the kind.
An implicit sacrifice behind every advance.
A whisper of melody in the harmony of a human soul.
A flickering doubt in the faith of a religious stance.

There are butterflies fluttering in the orchard.
Dear narcissus in full bloom.
Take a moment to glimpse the beauty.
For its fleeting, they will be gone too soon.
The world is a harmony of such beautiful juxtapositions and contradictions. We must take a few moments from time to time out of our busy lives to appreciate it.
Shreekant Dhuri Dec 2016
The battle is over
Vanquished is the foe
Yet why triumph trusts
So bitter, so hollow?

In the eye of my mind
Each enemy was a villain.
Yet when I saw it true.
Were no monsters, just men.

Men, much like us,
Trying to do what's right.
Our perceptions at odds
Mirroring the sides of the fight.

Warring for Lords
Who use us as pawns
Is glory so great, risking
The sight of another dawn?

T'was not the war
But the pillage that came after
Fashioned my doubt of men
Heeding the devil on their shoulder.

Noble causes forgotten
Once reaping the spoils of war
The blood of innocents staining
Mens' honors and their swords.

The crowds cheer our names,
Place on our heads, Hero's crowns.
I paste a smile on my face.
It's my heart that wears a frown.
The poem is a reflection on the monstrosities of war.
Shreekant Dhuri Apr 2016
'Tis a tale, a sorry tale
Of a man, never took the leap
Of a man, free yet caged
A lion amongst the sheep.

A man of great ability,
Of unrealized potential
Confined and clipped by limits
The herd had deemed essential.

A man, a brilliant man,
Stripped of glory and his claws.
Left forlorn and wounded
By the sheep and their laws.

A man, a greater man
Led by the lesser to believe
He owed them much and more
And everything, without reprieve.

A man, a most herculean man
Could have the world, his to keep.
Alas had he only remembered
He was a lion, not a sheep.
The poem isn't just for prodigies rather it's for everyone - all of us, as individuals, possess the potential to do something truly extraordinary; to achieve it we must not fall prey to mob mentality.
Shreekant Dhuri Apr 2016
Was a man who believed
To read was to pray
The sound, the smell, the touch
Of books, truly made his day.

"I'll collect books," he thought
"To read to my hearts content."
And so he did, filling chests
In pursuit of his intent.

He bought and he brought
He stocked and he stored.
Reading forgotten, collecting
Meant so much more.

"Books so countless
Their stacks so tall
I would not live," he'd say
"To read them all!"

It's funny how fate works
The man's wish came true.
But not quite so fantastic
As the dreams he drew.

The books he collected
In his bibliophilic lust,
The termites left him naught
But some dunes of dust.
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