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Àŧùl Aug 2019
Kashmir is not just beautiful
It was also free of violence,
Not too far back in history,
That did occur just 7 to 8 centuries ago.

Then they poured out of Central Asia,
Hordes getting bigger with each wave,
Eliminate they did the original people.

In 1320, it was Zulju raiding Kashmir,
Then Rinchana, a Tibetan Büđđhïst refugee, he took over.

Rinchana had Shah Mir as his Minister,
Shah Mir persuaded Rinchana to Islam.

After Rinchana, his son was set to be the ruler,
However, Shah Mir killed this lawful successor.

In 1339, Shah Mir became the first Muslim ruler of Kashmiri lands,
Initially, they did not dare harm the original Hïnđū inhabitants.
Then it was just Muslim kings for few centuries and slowly the Hïnđū heaven slipped into Muslim hands.

Now we know what is the ground reality,
The demography became Islamized over centuries,
All arts and crafts stand dwarfed by violence,
What they aim is an Islamic State, an Islamic Earth.
Islamization in Kashmir took place during 13th to 15th century and led to the eventual decline of the Kashmir Shaivism in Kashmir.

My HP Poem #1758
©Atul Kaushal
Toward Material Trappings

Gold and silver upholds
     true value capitalist money tree
Thrown down upon gaunt
     lit alter of Midas,
     treasured as current sea

Countless denominations
     cashiered legal tender to grant
Rich Midas, who straddles
     diamond compound,
     billed as sacred Kant

Tickles with dollar signs
    motley foolish crue scrambling
    towards drawbridge gate
Pedestrians malingering
     hungry thirst
     for wealth of nations to satiate

Inexorable appetite
     for wanton money to amass
Fuels reverence
     all that glitters even brass

Whence madding crowd
     behaviour cruel and crass
Deplorable if perceived
     from one-way looking glass

Fool hardiness to revere
     what beast called money,
     lucre, and green back
Can buy - sweeping across
     World Wide Web
     scarring globe on fast track

Toward accumulating
     high excess lavish life harried style
parade with pomp
     and swiftly tailored circumstances while

Ninety nine percent
     of less wealthy live hand to mouth
Envying those billeted
     behind sealed mansions
     east, west, north and south

Except this dollar less chap,
     who could not give a rat’s ****
For ka-ching melodic sound
    twenty four seven that does swoosh

In burlap sack clothes
     and bank accounts preferring
     to slog and push
Along boulevard of broken dreams
     that resembles nothing but mush

Yet preference prevails
     foregoing attachment
     to government sanctioned loot
Freeing mind and body trying

     to cherish voluntary simplicity,
     which does suit
This quest for knowledge seeking writer,
     who disparages
     tooting his own horn

Nor imposing personal philosophy
     that gives reason exuberantly to exhale
Versus vacuity and purposelessness
     sans, blind faith toward Holy Grail
Goading most people to persevere
     for millions of bucks over hill and dale

Despite owning next to nothing,
     yet detaching psychological
     bond that doth choke
Ability to experience unfettered psyche
     likened to oxen iron bound yoke!
S R Mats Mar 2015
The unfortunate things take our Lives.
They storm the castle walls of Living,
And run like hordes throughout Life.
We, at times, are too lazy to Fight.
RW Dennen Sep 2014
Around the eighties the Mumers New Year Parade in Philly
lost a bit of its tradition. It originally was made for
the average working family. But around this period
people were charged to watch them do their famous strut
and extra displays of course only at City Hall.
And so let us begin my poetic story...


Standin' among the crowd,
watchin' blue police-van-bleeders
being escorted; wearin' city-steel-wrist-braclets

And now struttin' my way,
psychopathic eclipsers
of physical freedom
seekin' potential comatose heads
to tap

And squads of finger thrusters
of back pockets for targets,
dart in and out of crowds,
quickly countin' their *****
in dark unseen places

Feet freeze
as sounds travel,
" Oh dem golden slippers"
soundin' like cheap tin toy Kazoos
and toy glockenspiels

The wind kisses
my **** end blue
as a flyin' Budweiser
kisses my right foot wet

Man made pop art
reflects the times
at the times
at Broad and Spruce
of cigarette butts,
chocolate wrappers,
and crushed beer cans
climaxin' montage
of the mountain- ****** eighties

Boozers and blue
sweet puffers
wearin' smiles
outside
and within most inner thoughts
puff-buffed away from some reality
step in cadence to their
own music within themselves

And wailin' children
havin'
more sense
than adults
become early sacrifices
to the fruit of Bacchus

The marching high strutters of "Big Bird",
they strain and struggle under the weight
of heavy hernia suits;
with feathers and sparklers,
their instruments wrestle as steamy air puffs shoot forward
from their nostrils
like  red-devil-painted-dragon faces
in the bitter cold air
warmly protected by their attire and *****,
they stop seemingly for eternity,
in the suspended purgatorial
halts
one after another,
only waitin'
for the grandstand reserved section
around City Hall
Yet we wait and pray together
that perhaps like in the older days
we will get a sneak of
a nostalgic, spontaneous,
free dance-strut
that never comes

Attached, yet unattached
and cryin' inside;
always on guard
for flyin' and drunkin' fists
or flyin' articles
of all sizes
Seein'  through
the facades of we must act
like ha! ha! ha!
I cry inwardly
with anger
doin' the rat-tat-tat
of no more nonsense
of my inner-self
Strivin' and movin' to flee Freddie Kruger's bladed fingers
I sting all over,
my teeth clinch with anger,
darkness intensified
The crowd becomes uglier,
blackness
engulfs
black souls
Vehement, crazy,
hordes and hordes of frustration bellows
outward
The call of Nietzche,
The ouch under my skin

This damnable real parade
not shown in Liberace-livin'-Color

No commercial breaks of luxury cars
that drive livin' manikins
Livin' manikins that wear dial under their arms
while smilin' the brand of Crest toothpaste
but instead,
a street drunk with
broken ugly teeth
as he begs for quarters
and blows his odorous breath
beyond description

And City Hall payin'-grandstanders
with tv cameras
bein' in the spirit of "Disneyland"
presents
the overly organized narcissistic prostituted
elegance of forever, floatin', bouncy,
dancy, prancy,
skippin' to the tune
of  mom's Apple pie,
a small slice of my reality

And the applaudin' money makin'
TV grandstanders
of goody goody
look mom I can do the swan dance
while holdin' multiple
colored sparklers
wrapped in feathers
But why must I
see through the eyes of a Godless Nietzsche,
**** it!!

— The End —