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He was ready when they came to take him
stepped out to the day as in a dream
and with a face unmourningly serene
entered the waiting palanquin!

How quickly passed his seventy years
he felt having spent not a year even
now on a ride on the bearers’ shoulders
his lips moved in prayer to heaven!

His heart was not weighed with grief
but a resignation deep and tranquil
there comes a day one has to leave
preordained by kind God’s will!

That way he had wanted it to be
when death came to knock on the door
would hear him say I am ready
won’t keep you waiting a moment more.


Through the hush when rang last bell
and to the wind his breath was free
echoed through the mourners’ wail
the untamed refrain *I am ready.
Maharaja Nandakumar was hanged on false charges by Warren Hastings. It was a ****** and not execution of justice. Hastings was later impeached by the British Parliament for this crime.
This poem is an adaptation from the eye witness account of Nandakumar’s last moments before his execution on August 5, 1775, recorded by Alexander Macrabie, the then Sheriff of Calcutta.
Nandakumar remained composed through the ordeal up to the gallows.
 Feb 2015 David
Kelly Rose
Humor

She is often told
she has no sense of humor

But really....
It wasn't that she
did not enjoy the absurd
Or laugh

The problem is
she's just not funny

So strange...
you would think
humor and funny
are one and the same

Obviously not...
She sees the humor in that

Do you think funny people -
those who gift others with laughter
have a sense of humor?

Often
their fun-ni-ness
comes out of pain

Do you think they see the absurd?*

2/27/2015
krs
 Feb 2015 David
ryn
Freedom Pages
 Feb 2015 David
ryn
When gentle breezes turn into gale,
     remember that you will prevail.

       You may tear at these pages daily,
in search of peace and tranquillity.
   Planting hope and scattering wishes,
    Spilling blood in smears and blemishes...
       Flying out of the dark on
     wings of birds.
       Bridging the rippling void through
           severed words.

                Seeking...
             Reaching...
               Imploring...
            Writing...


     Be not wary of eyes that speak.
  Be not afraid of mouths that leak.

Know that our scribbles are only
   sacred to us.
       Emotions and thoughts we
           bind and truss.

  What we put forth, we owe it to ourselves...
     Bits of us we've kept hidden in the
darkest rooms; atop the highest shelves.

You...
      are wielder of your mighty pen.
You...
      determine how far or long your
         words would span.

   Your words... They're precious gold.
Many or little; be them new or old.

So let drip your ink with little reservation...
  Let us grow from strength to strength
     as life teaches its lessons.

   Rise up and live on in these here pages,
     For here exist only
         freedom;
               not cages.
Dedicated to writers here who are always apprehensive about posting or think very little of their writes.

Know that your words are gold. And the rest of us as readers are lucky enough be granted access into your mind, heart and life.

Keep the faith. Keep writing. Keep posting...
.
 Feb 2015 David
Sally A Bayan
It could start with dagger looks, other times, a hug,
I'm glad they've never  been too smug,
Could be a warm tap on the shoulder
A glance would suffice to the ones older,
When little ones keep uttering, "I'm sorry."
A smile erases all their fears and worries,
Mere presence connects
In their own way, they are friends.

Afternoons find their skirts and straps sliding down
Socks and shoes are twisted, almost awry
Blouses and pony tails are in disarray
They are tired, hungry, kinda hard to sway
Sometimes it is a hard choice
Between McDonald's, or KFC
Depends on the voices
Or on the joint's proximity,
They wrestle between fries and burgers
End up with home-made fried chicken for dinner.

On weekdays, morning to afternoon
House to school, and back are the only destinations
No detours or unnecessary trips
Some think it might be too strict
But rules are a must,
Yet...one must be fair and just.

It is said, ages are just numbers, and
Sixty-six is a long way, several tiers down to
Seventeen
Fourteen
Ten,
Eight, and
Last but not least: Six!

But these five girls and I..we are next of kin,
Yet, warmth and trust bind us, like friends deep within
Some girls, they are...sharing with me the latest trends
Their faces take me to places, a journey without end
Their faces show traces...a sneer, a grin, done in style!
A lost front tooth hinders not a generous smile.
It takes a soft "Hi!" Or a light kiss,
A warm breath, a whisper, telling me I am missed
A head buried on my lap
A poker face...pouting lips that could flap.
Sometimes, it takes just a glance
We connect with mere presence!
We...are the colorful pages
In this book called
Daily Existence.

Sally

Copyright February 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
*I've seen them through their highs and lows,
good and bad moments...but, whatever happens,
always, at day's end, there is contentment
i am showered with goodnight hugs and kisses...*
 Feb 2015 David
r
winter blue lament
 Feb 2015 David
r
play me an air
   a bluebird lament
something meant for the breathing
  to remember

  all i want to hear
is a soft melody
  sad as the winter
still on the wind

     let your bow waltz
on the strings of my heart
     let the sound
  of your fiddle
set sail

play me an air
   like the bluebird did
     while i dance
  with the snow
in my hair.
r ~ 2/25/15
 Feb 2015 David
Kelly Rose
A pearlish grey morn
Flowers soaking
up the rain
Wishing it was
as easy
To nourish one's soul
While, shivering from
the wet chill
2/26/2015
krs
 Feb 2015 David
eunsung aka Silas
all i could do was complain,
my mind only saw the negative.
even my compliments,
had an air of criticism.

today, I can stop whingeing  
and get on with my life.
Little by little,
I can be fully present to my life.
So much to be grateful,
even when life seems so hard.

I am so grateful that I am alive,
and that I survived my own attempts at embracing death.

I still whinge now and then,
but I no longer live there.
What ails us from knowledge
the flaw of being wised
is having less and less
things to be surprised!

Why bamboo groves creak
occurs ghost light
puppets can speak
stars fall at night!

How sun paints a rainbow
moths can make silk
summer sky is aglow
with whitely flowing milk!

Seems such a loss
death of ignorance
by effect and cause
hardly making sense!
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