Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Babaji you are great
You meditate
I meditate
My mind
Still agitates
Life is an art of living
You're on high pedestal of wisdom
Peerless is your stardom
Online lessons and videos
Life transformation of humans
Everyone should spend five days of their life
Before they die
One day in jail
One day in school
One day with farmer
One day in hospital
One day in mental hospital
Wonderful way to transform their life
Compassion and compassion
No more prejudice
No more tendency of condemnation
I take you very seriously
I want to transform my life
To begin with
A day in jail
Talk to criminals
Transformation to avail
Who would allow me entry
I would be stopped by the sentry
Illegal and underhand methods
I refrain
I believe in right to equality
Everyone should get equal opportunity
Government should make
a policy decision
Transformation is in the interest of the nation
A day in jail be made compulsory
For making some suggestions
I reviewed the current statistics
There are 1350 jails in my country
With a capacity for 405000 inmates
Average capacity 300 inmates
Population is 1350 millions
Per jail transformation candidates one million
It's a gigantic task
My breath in isn't out
Pranayama save my life
In all probability
Government won't make such a decision
Babaji start some agitation
Staunch follower I am
Transformation is birth right of everyone!
Inspired by a video of a holy master. Best transformation would come spending one day in jail with innocent criminal like Mukhtar Ansari and talking to him! Equally good would be spend a day with rapists and talk to them. You would develop compassion to know how no woman offered voluntarily to satisfy their lust and they had to commit it of necessity! Even meeting those who took lives of their daughters and sons for honour wouldn't be bad! You would be amazingly transformed by listening to these poor criminals! Compassion and compassion! No more prejudice! No more tendency to condemn!
Man Mar 11
say what you want of me
i'm true to myself
and how i feel
tell me i need to be better
cause you're right
that i should do more
i should
that i could be more
i could
"what do you want though?"
enough cheddar to see myself fed
i'm no dairy farmer
but cream has filled my head
and now i'm sinking
cause the light man
is now heavier than lead
A small man with a big smell
when his seldom washed clothes were drying after rain.
Stubble chin, fish eye, loose lip
but always ready for0 the tankard's rim,                                    
especially if you were buying.

One of the dark ones, relics of the Bronze Age,
whose ancestors had thrown their seed,
thin grain upon the small and bitter acres that he worked.

Only the rocks grow well in the fields of the grey hills!

At first I thought him diminished,
crushed by the land itself,
it's possession a cancer devouring
and defeat an old coat lashed round his middle with wire.

But drunk once, on a market day,
lowing and jammed like stalled beasts
into the FARMERS bar, he stumbled,
hugged me close to steady himself
and roared out loud to the heedless herd,
with arm outstretched, ******* to the world,
"****** you boys! I am still here!

Nobody heard but me,
whose ear was riven by that yell
and sprayed with rich spittle.

True though, despite the braggadocio of beer,
with the grain of him deep and compacted
like the rocks he fought, he did endure.
here's a memory of a man i knew for a while when living and working in the far west of Cornwall
गेहूँ       के   दाने    क्या   होते,
हल   हलधर  के परिचय देते,
देते    परिचय  रक्त   बहा  है ,
क्या हलधर का वक्त रहा है।

मौसम   कितना  सख्त रहा है ,
और हलधर कब पस्त रहा है,
स्वेदों के  कितने मोती बिखरे,
धार    कुदालों   के  हैं निखरे।

खेतों    ने  कई   वार  सहें  हैं,
छप्पड़  कितनी  बार ढ़हें  हैं,
धुंध   थपेड़ों   से   लड़   जाते ,
ढ़ह ढ़ह कर पर ये गढ़ जाते।

हार   नहीं   जीवन  से  माने ,
रार   यहीं   मरण   से   ठाने,
नहीं अपेक्षण भिक्षण का है,
हर डग पग पे रण हीं माँगे।

हलधर  दाने   सब  लड़ते हैं,
मौसम  पे  डटकर अढ़ते हैं,
जीर्ण  देह दाने भी क्षीण पर,
मिट्टी   में   जीवन   गढ़तें हैं।

बिखर  धरा पर जब उग  जाते ,
दाने     दुःख    सारे     हर जाते,
जब    दानों    से   उगते   मोती,
हलधर   के  सीने   की ज्योति।

शुष्क होठ की प्यास  बुझाते ,
हलधर    में    विश्वास  जगाते,
मरु   भूमि   के  तरुवर  जैसे,
गेहूँ       के     दाने    हैं   होते।

अजय अमिताभ सुमन
Nidhi Jaiswal Jul 2020
When he move
Like cloud in the blue sky.

His tears are raining like acid rain.

Who wants to ruin everyone.

Because a divine soul became like ghost.

The **** of nature made him like this.

He was a hardworking farmer.

Used to work day and night,
to get two breads.

But the wrath of nature,
snatched him family from him.

Living with this broken heart,
committing suicide as a burden.

Today his move like cloud in the blue sky,
his tears are raining like rain,
he screaming loudly in the blue sky,
The spirit has aroused in him now,
divine soul became like ghost.

This poem is based on true story of a farmer
In today's time most of the farmer committed suicide
Due to natural changing that's crop destroyed.
Thanks for reading.
Poetoftheway Jul 2020
brown skin farmer girl (this changeling poem)


we are I’ve decided

alike and unlike.

I know, an epiphany.

we are both brown skinned,

the sun has wrested my skin

buried it in dark loamy,

soiled brown side by side,

now alike.

your hair is long(er)

now, mine too.

a cascading mountain ranging,

edging south from your Columbia,

to my  Columbia

over my ears, down my neck,

which like yours, dreams knightly

of being loved by endless kisses,

a prince(ss) charmant


we could not be

more different,

than how god us designed.

but here’s the rub,

people change,

they dream of becoming,

reinventing the original design,

and this explains

not the why, but the how,

how this poet came to write

this changeling poem


and you think we could not be more different and
more alike, and you would be rightly correct.
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2019
The rooster crows when the day begins
He yells "****-a-doodle-doo!"
Awakening not just the farm animals
But the farmer and his tired wife too
Day 13: Write a short poem a child would like
Mark Toney Oct 2019
A farmer who was looking for change
Produced limericks that were free-range
He achieved great success
His limericks were best
And gluten-free -isn't that strange?
11/3/2018 - Poetry form: Limerick - I'm cooking up some poetry2go including free-range limericks, antibiotic free and gluten-free. Isn't that strange? - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
Mark Toney Oct 2019
Quacky little bird sound
When you hear it coming duck!
If farmer Ted is after you
You're running out of luck

Totin' shotgun and bird shot,
Son, he's aiming not to please
He's sneaking close behind you bird
You better hold your sneeze

Cuz your feathers are a tickler
Your bill is orange and bright
While the farmer is a stickler
He will sup on bird tonight

Lord love a duck!
Of him you mustn't run a fowl
Pain from your freshly plucked feathers
Will be enough to make you howl!
7/17/2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - This is the first poem in my new e-book "Bird Beaks & Bee's Knees", a collection of bird-brained poems that attempt to answer the following question:  What can you do when you're as busy as a bee and life bugs you to the point where you cry fowl?  And there you go, barking at the geese, ducks and swans, swatting carpenter bees with your tennis racket and drowning ants with your water hose as if that will help.  The Woodpecker Gazette calls it "A silly, idiotic and unintelligent must-read." So as not to run afoul of the grammar police, please understand that my poetic license is up to date, misspelled words are intentional and the use of puns is clearly authorized. Why in the world would I use puns? To make it more punny, of course! Ok, I'll stop now. Maybe...
Next page