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This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "कविता" published in  bharat-darshan  ( Sep. -Oct., 2018 )
Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2nRwOB9
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Poetry is the outflow of someone's heart
For someone, it's only black fever
For some, it's only a form of business
For someone, this is only seasonal fever

It's just an entertainment for someone
For someone it's like a toothpaste
A good instrument use to giggle
Listening it makes their teeth brighter

To show off the that stunning brightness
They spread crooked and mysterious smiles
Show of their shining-sparkling teeth
Then they lash out their greedy tongue

Poetry is an old newspaper for someone
It’s a mound of waste and unusable junk items
Poetry is just an advertisement for someone
Only an excellent medium to sell their goods

Poem is dark black alphabets for some
Only equivalent to a big fat black buffalo
From which it is impossible to get milk
But it's easy to get hurt by it's horns

Poem is a deep sympathy for some
For some its acute pain of the heart
Aroused from the core of their heart
It's someone's love for someone else

Poem is overflowing care for someone
It is swirling cloudy dust over someone
Poem is just a time-pass for someone
For someone it is complete nonsense

Poetry is effrontery in someone's pride
For someone it's amnesty for all
For some it's Saafi by Hamdard^
Which purifies and cleans the blood well

Poetry is a meditation for someone
For someone it’s a form of worship
Poetry is name of someone's beloved daughter^^
Poem is the name of someone's beautiful wife^^

Poem is means of livelihood for someone
It happen to be the basis of his life
For someone it is simply a big loan
Which is much difficult to repay in time

Poem is a tribute to the heroes
It a wreath to the brave martyrs
It's a collection of songs for musicians
It's prayer of devotees with folded hands

Sometimes poetry makes us happy
Sometimes it causes us to weep
It often caresses readers with love
Sometimes it even consoles them

Poetry sometimes make us laugh
Sometimes it forces to think
At times it reveals the flaws beneath
By removing the outer cover shell

Poetry sometimes surprises us too much
Sometimes misleads to pseudo-intellectualism
Sometimes it poses a challenge before us
Sometimes it emerges as a song from the soul

Sometimes it portrays the beauty of actress
It tends to dissolves sweet juice in the ears
And sometimes it pours molten lead in it
In such situation it pushes back all courtesy

Sometimes it transforms rulers into heroes
And sometimes it makes a politicians zero
Sometimes it becomes the words of panegyrist
Then it behaves like a butter ball for them

Poetry sometimes honours someone
Sometimes it even trick so many of us
Poetry even makes fun of somebody
Sometimes it entertains someone's heart

By the way, poetry is a blunt weapon
But it's has a different hitting power
Which is the real inner power of poet
It's also his covering blanket and strength

Only poetry gives him the required courage
It completely protects his existence
It always teaches him the lesson to -
Keep on fighting against the gunpowder

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^ Saafi - A Unani Medicine made by a company named Hamdard, used to clean or purify the blood

^^ Name of .....  - Kavita (translation of the word Poem in hindi) is a common name given to females in India.
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My thoughts on what a Poetry is......
Elinor Dec 2018
I hate what I'm writing
what if my brain is ******* me over
what if finally it's learnt from the others and packed it'd bags on me
what if my brain joins with the forces much greater than us
that I talk about
and together they plot their treason.
My thoughts are loaded gunpowder and my body
comprised of brick and cement
is the parliament building.
Maybe this poem is me
catching the rebels redhanded.
Maybe it's too late.
What if this is it,
the demise of my inner government,
the seats given to the opposition,
the monarchy going up in flames
(it certainly feels like burning)
I beg,
have me hung drawn and quartered
and feed my limbs to the birds.
And then,
from deep within the innards of a birds *****,
my last request is to
at the very least
make my severed head look pretty
I'm going through a thing
Cat Lynn Aug 2018
There is no rain to bring relief to our sweating bodies...
only the reign of arrows... and their offering of stabbing pain

There are no stars to put on a display of dances and twinkles...
only the rotating show of the thrown daggers

There is not a river to reflect the beauty of life...
Only the blade of the sword... that reflects my possible death

There are no clouds in the sky to soften my spirit
only the low cumulus smoke of gunpowder and ash

There is no sun to shed its bright flame upon us
On the flickers and flashes of light of ignited bullets

There is no difference between night and day... they are the same...
Only the difference is who the enemy is.. and who is the Savior...

The grass no longer grows full and abundant in luxurious green
It is constantly trampled and stepped on... leaving it withered and tan...

There is no snow...no soft white snowflakes to give us a cold kiss
Only the bites of thrown, bitter, cold shattered pieces of glass

There are no vast variety of colors to adore... only two hues
Light and Darkness... So we can tell who is for us... and who is against us

    *

The weather... and landscape wasn't always this way...
It wasn't the Lord's intentions to have such a horrific display...

What? What did you ask? What is it like on the battlefield?
Well...sit down dear child... and I will tell you...
Another Poem Relating to this will come soon... Thanks for Reading <3
E McNamara Jun 2018
Your tongue must taste worse than gunpowder
Bitter and cold
Because of the words you speak
Bloodied and vengeful
Against everyone, including yourself
Hate, dark as fresh coffee
You live in a house that’s burning
Slowly to the ground
Your hostility, slicing those trying to save you.
My lips sizzle against your lonely ones
And my palms ripped, bleeding, from grabbing yours
I am the earth
That smothers your ignited hatred
we put out each others hurtful hatred
K Balachandran Nov 2017
her kiss sparks fire,
the gunpowder in him flares;
triggers quick fireworks.
Autumn Whipple Mar 2016
Once upon a time
Lived a boy drenched in reason and rhyme
He culled the fields
A plow he yields
With a smile as soft as soil

But he heard the call to better things
away to rocks and stones that sing
Buried down in dirt and dust
Yields a bite of metal's rust
A smile as sharp as flint

The hand of death touched his soil
But through that barrage he twisted and toiled
But as he pleaded an escape from the grip of black
He knew that it would pull him back
And a set as solid as stone

Back to farm and yield he traveled
To see he life had unraveled
His green fields of corn and roan
Was all dark, and filled with stone
The green boy shadow stained

The boy had twisted and shouted
That the shadow of death should let him out
But in his haste to escape
He forgot the trace of blood and the deeper scrape
That was gunpowder and blood

He forgot to ask
He forgot the tasks
That had given him a soil smile
And in that lost guile
He forgot to ask the hand that gripped him
To wash itself of the shadow
Of blood and gunpowder
I was reading a war novel. Sue Me.
It is the weakness of the flesh,
the sweetness of the sweat
on your skin
what will be the end of me.
.
Because no matter how strong
I am,
you make a quitter of me,
I quit my values and my mind.
.
And it is all worth it, for you,
for the taste of your body, of
your skin,
for the slickness of your lips.
.
Its the sensuality of your eyes
that ignites me entirely from
the inside,
its even hotter than lava.
.
You set my hands on fire
and I can't wait to see the red hot
scorch marks
that I will leave all over your body.
.
It's your tongue making its way
from my lips, to my shoulders and
to my ear,
that makes me fall on my knees.
.
And it is with your every breath
that my entire world goes away,
its shattered,
the pieces lie under your fingernails.
.
I'm left overexposed and alone
lying in bed naked dressed only
with regret,
because of this I have to remain silent.
.
You are fire and I am gunpowder,
you make me explode every time
you touch me,
and I know this is all wrong.
.
You will take me everywhere
from pleasure to agony,
from glory to ruin,
but I know we will meet again.
Ricky May 2015
Without you,
I was nothing but a tepid grey dust
I wanted nothing more than for the oxygen that I inhaled to be met with sultriness
It was in my nature
Almost how it was in your nature
To fulfill my desire to be kindled

With you,
Flames ignited the fuse
In the skies they saw the fireworks
You were the spark in disguise
You taught me just how fire works
Fame Leanne King Jun 2014
Smoke emitting from our lungs,
truth and lies dripping from our tongues
Again I will succumb,
strung out on a dream that may never become
Real

Jaws as blunt as guns,
But used to shield wounds that I never knew how to heal
Wary to feel too,
unresponsive or despondent
For the fear that I may never come back

But I'm unsure that I'd even want to,
continue to want you
And use you to conduce an excuse,
for what's wrong with me
Transfuse my confusion unto you,
Because really I don't want to face the truth

Austerity I'd have to spit out like a strong whiskey

So truly, what's the use in this abuse of romance?
Advancing on a mere chance that your soul might want to dance
With mine-
I feel cornered, confined,
But dare I cower ?
Or feel empowered to believe flowers can sprout from gunpowder?
Now we're years past a simple encounter, now or
Never is a little too late,
ground work
of slate and mistakes

...If only I could promise you that it will fade

— The End —