The grim reaper
Is most likely
An accountant
Glasses and
Business wear
it shuffles us away
Like numbers
Erased from a page
All so professional
No need for haunting
No time for reminiscing
You were here
Now you are not
So away with you.

THE ARTIST'S SOLILOQUY*

I reproduce the world
in pictures
man in himself
in life
and in the universe
this eternal inter-play
is the sanctum
of all my works

I am a visionary
(a humble one
but no less sensitive)
I cry more than I laugh
as the world is the place
where mankind's tears fall
without end
due to man's own making

the heart desires
what it should not
for things
that don't sanctify
but man is weak
and morally falls
too easily
and drowns
in the nameless sea

nature weeps
for the callousness and greed
of man
who has her beauty defiled
and marred

progress
what progress?
it's just the breeding-ground
of greed and indifference

bulldozers knock
down the trees
chemicals pollute the seas
grasslands and fields
are sacrificed for construction
land has turned into concrete--***** and ugly

as I paint
my heart
is heavy-laden
and I ask
over and over again
what has happened to man?

Honey laced sweet words
Sugar slippery coated and glaced
Decorated and wrapped in the best
Casted and moulded in the proper set

Used with finesse and matching tone
Years of practice was behind the scene
heartfelt happiness or the showy sympathy
Correct timing with beautiful delivery

Empty words and deaf ears
Fooling culture of exchanging pleasantry
Brutal honesty always hit hard
Society rejects the black sheep from all

Lesson to learn in life
What wins is diplomacy and lies


Manisha

People like that I speak plain.
They don’t like when poets are vain.
Hope they love this little refrain.
Think I’ll do it, again and again.

Flowery language isn’t always for me,
I keep my verses wandering free.
Simple words do hold the key,
So a sapling becomes a tree.

Paul Butters

Call it “Faith” or call it “Hope”,
Whatever it is, it helps us cope.
Scientist say we live then die:
Death brings Nothing, no reason Why.
We’re made of matter which doesn’t last,
So soon we’ll be a thing of the past.

Religions offer an afterlife,
With just reward for all our strife.
We hope there will be more than this:
A spiritual world, even heavenly bliss.

We pray those boffins are all wrong,
That God (or Whoever) will summon us with his gong.
Physical reality really *****,
Even if you’ve lots of bucks.
Our common prayer I can’t conceal:
That simply put,
THIS isn’t REAL.

Paul Butters