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Paul Butters May 2016
It doesn’t really matter to me
How the universe came to be
Or whether God even exists.
I care nothing about kings and queens
Or anyone “in power”.

For I’m “The One”
Who leads this Life.
No-one else but me.
However impressive you are
You still are not Myself.

All that counts are the people and things I Love,
Even Like.
So if you’ve got nothing to offer me
Get on your bike.

No man is an island, so they say.
Yes, I’m not independent in every way.
But I’m an individual who is true to my soul.
To remain unbrainwashed is always my goal.

They try to make us run with the crowd,
Like sheep or lemmings led into the cloud.
It’s Media Hypnosis
Through that gleaming TV.
Only by being ourselves
Will we ever be Free.

Paul Butters
In THAT mood again!
  May 2016 Paul Butters
Àŧùl
He was so happy when I was born,
Now I am so happy as he reaches 60,
But I am a bit sad too for he'll get old,
Wiser he gets as he is more ancient,
Wrinkles suit him much better now,
And his face is the cutest paradox,
His childhood is always apparent.

वे बहुत ख़ुश थे जब मैं पैदा हुआ था,
अब मैं बहुत ख़ुश हूँ जब वे हो रहे हैं 60 के,
परंतु वे वृद्ध होंगे तो थोड़ा उदास भी हूँ,
प्रौढ़ावस्था में वे अधिक चतुर हो रहे हैं,
झुर्रियाँ अब बहुत बेहतर लगती हैं,
और उनका चेहरा सबसे प्यारा विरोधाभास है,
उनका बचपन हमेशा प्रत्यक्ष होता है।
My father's birthday is tomorrow on the 12th of May, 2016.

His government service now reaches superannuation and by the end of this month he retires from a highly successful career at ICAR - National Dairy Research Institute, Karnal.

My HP Poem #1070
©Atul Kaushal
  May 2016 Paul Butters
Rose
my words:
a parachute,
over your
Earth of
problems -
deflated and
tethered long
before landing
Paul Butters May 2016
People, you are pots of paint for my canvass.
With all your quirks and foibles,
And wonderful ways.
The world indeed is crowded
With many pots of paint:
Glorious views.

My brushes are all aquiver,
Inspired by everything.
From India to Iceland,
Russia to sunny Spain.
You folk, I love to paint you,
Though never your actual words.

The universe, a marvel,
Flying through the heavens.
Swirling spiral galaxies,
Pallets for my verse.

Paul Butters
Inspired by a conversation with Beth Squires.
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