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May the American poets, at Hello Poetry enjoy reading the following lyrical poem.  

The Ragged Old Flag
Written by Johnny Cash

I walked through a county courthouse square
On a park bench, an old man was sittin' there.
I said, "Your old court house is kinda run down,
He said, "Naw, it'll do for our little town".
I said, "Your old flag pole is leaned a little bit,
And that's a ragged old flag you got hangin' on it".
He said, "Have a seat", and I sat down,
"Is this the first time you've been to our little town"
I said, "I think it is"
He said "I don't like to brag, but we're kinda proud of that ragged old flag"

You see, we got a little hole in that flag there
When Washington took it across the Delaware.
And It got powder burned the night Francis Scott Key sat watching it
Writing "Say Can You See"
It got a bad rip in New Orleans, with Packingham & Jackson
Tugging at it's seams.
And it almost fell at the Alamo
Beside the Texas flag,
But she waved on though.
She got cut with a sword at Chancellorsville,
And she got cut again at Shiloh Hill.
There was Robert E. Lee and Beauregard and Bragg,
And the south wind blew ******* that ragged old flag

On Flanders Field in World War I
She got a big hole from a Bertha Gun
She turned blood red in World War II
She hung limp, and low, a time or two
She was in Korea, Vietnam, she went where she was sent
By her Uncle Sam
She waved from our ships upon the briny foam
And now they've about quit wavin' back here at home
In her own good land here She's been abused
She's been burned, dishonored, denied an' refused
And the government for which she stands
Has scandalized throughout out the land
And she's getting thread bare, and she's wearin' thin
But she's in good shape, for the shape she's in
Cause she's been through the fire before
And I believe she can take a whole lot more

So we raise her up every morning
And we take her down every night,
We don't let her touch the ground,
And we fold her up right.
On a second thought
I do like to brag
'Cause I'm mighty proud of that ragged old flag
Lightning and thunder
herald the strong arm of nature
awaken me to Earth.
Rains soak soil
and now I walk in the garden
green, pink, and magenta life surrounds me
its aroma suffuses my lungs
my beath makes us one -
this magnificent living orb and I.
  Jul 2021 Sarita Aditya Verma
Benzene
ART
Creating art
is like letting your soul breathe
that once choked by doubt
that came to life after one verse .
"Art is just the image of your  soul"

Maybe that's why when I looked at you
your eyes looked like meteors showers
and your iris like moon ,
body barely holds
millions of shattered galaxies
beauty is in the shattered soul
which balancing its sanity .

Sometimes you looked  like a saddest yet beautiful piece of art
which lie at the corner of museum
having a thousand  of tales to tell
yet no soul to listen
maybe they know they won't able to bear it
perhaps it's meant to be that
not everyone is an artist
who can feel your soul .
.
.
" Not everyone can understand you because not everyone is an Artist "
find a soul and fall in love with it . which is ageless and Shapeless.
You
as a soft breeze,
a hushed whisper,
a cool mist,
you came quietly
and slipped
into my thoughts

I skimmed through the sunlit
alley of a dream world
and whirled in an uneasy sensuality.

now
the embryo of love
in me
has matured into a full grown fetus
kicking at the crust of my womb
giving
the tremor
of a
forbidden
E
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S
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A
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Y
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