Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Varsha K Dec 2019
Dear democracy,
Are you really there?
Fighters fought for freedom
Now the youth, for their share.

You taught us to be free,
You taught us to put our opinion
But lately you seem like a mere word,
To be used by only a politician.
I live in India, and the recent protests are making me sick. Are we humans or just vote banks?
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
~
Precious Padma
You dearest aquatic flower
You grew in murky waters
Unblemished by its impurity
But come they did
To ****** your petals
And leave you a burning stem
Never can they take from you
The spirit of your plainsong
It continues to grow in your sisters
And in a time and season so near
They will sing your hymn
As one substantial voice
The changing winds will then
Lift it higher

~
On Thursday, December 5, 2019, a 23-year-old **** victim from Unnao, India was seized by five men, including the two people she had named in her previous complaint to the police, and beaten, stabbed and set on fire. Still ablaze, she walked nearly a mile, seeking help before finally calling the police herself. She later died in a New Delhi hospital, prompting protests of violence against women.
Sun rolls down
Weaves a multicoloured carpet
Fades away in the fringes
It’s dark

Towering
Amused
Being placed
At such a height
Overlooking the majestic Sarovar Dam
Musing at the distant past
Hands by the sides
Never forgotten
The Iron Man
For the world to see
Statue of unity
RVani Kalyani Nov 2019
ఆ అందమైన చందమామ
నేడు అమావాస్య చంద్రం అయ్యిందా?
మగాళ్ళలో మానవత్వం చచ్చి,
మరణ మృదంగం మోగిస్తుందా,
ఆటవిక సమాజపు అరాచకం ఎన్నాళ్ళు,
అభద్రత భావం తో బ్రతికేది ఇంకెన్నాళ్ళు?
అర్థ రాత్రి ఆడబిడ్డ ఆరుబయట నడిచేనా?
బాపూజీ కన్న కల సాకారం అయ్యేనా?
Mitch Prax Oct 2019
Agra-
city of love-
but without you,
it’s like separating
the Taj Mahal
from this
lovely
land
Dinesh Padisetti Sep 2019
For days I wandered
In the mountains green, white & brown
Drinking from cold water streams
Eating berries & watching slugs
Sharing my tent with people from strange lands
Walking steep trails & lighting camp fires
Waking with sun & gazing at snow mountains
Sadly I walk down from heaven
Back to humanity all alone
Wondering what I found in nature
That I couldn't find in people
hiba Sep 2019
born a sinner,
under crescent moons
and among chants of "talaq, talaq, talaq"
forced to hide behind a star studded veil to be preserved against blood thirsty eyes
glass bangles and silverware replaced the dolls in her hands and the fairyland of her dreams
led on a rose colored path, and into a gold painted cage marked marriage
greedy scars crafted by her lover marred the canvas of her body
only punctured fairy blue wings and dying embers of an electric soul remain
but she rises from the ashes,
sits on her velvet throne
and adorns the bejeweled crown
she reclaims the legacy of her goddess mothers,
durga and cleopatra
this time you don't get to see our strained faces,
this time you don't get to mock the dying fire of our eyes
because now,
we know our rights.
now we're armed with spears of knowledge.
we're the queens of our own kingdoms, unique in our reigns.
we were supposed to be treated like flowers, right?
but you threw us into the mud of your crimes
and we bloomed like lotuses,
reckless and vivacious.
we earned it all.              
                    - standing beside, not against
i wrote this when there was a lot of controversy regarding the triple talaq bill in india. amidst that socio-political turmoil, i wanted people to pause and think about women as human beings first, standing in solidarity ♥️
aviisevil Sep 2019
why do men die for other men ?
what compels them to give up their lives for the lives of their fellow men ?

is it love ? is it duty ? or is it just plain madness ? is it that bond of blood ? or a promise to be better ? or is it simply what being a human is ?


the same men capable of destroying a million lives in pursuit of their own ideology ? the same men who for the purpose of their own greed and need can ignore the very definitions of civility and liberty and justice.


can we still call them men ?


what is happening at this hour in this nation, a nation which is thousands of years old and in making; isn't different from what has happened in the past and unfortunately that is going to happen in the unsuspecting future.

people are turning to an ideology that not only imprisons the free bird in the sky, but also retaliates if it so chooses to lay on a different branch.

diversity isn't celebrated anymore, but rather is frowned upon by the masses, who believe that past holds no relevance over the future.

acceptance, and the very creed upon which the great men who came before us, and made us who we are today - their legacy and wisdom is being demolished, like cards in the winds; and just like the structures of the ancient, for they no longer are painted with the colours we are familiar with today.


sheep and wolves alike, are being chased by the blood hounds, cornering every whisper with words of the system, a system that has been diseased from the inside, infecting the very veins of this great nation that has stood the test of age and it's many a poisons for millennia and more.


bit by bit the great walls of knowledge and of the enlightened spirits are being razed down by a mere fool in different costumes, performing in a circus build upon the ashes of the innocent and the innocence of the communities that now long for blood.


the very nature of this great and grave divide, is unnatural, passed down by the same set of hands that once pulled the chains and carried with them - forcefully, a plight of millions, suppressed and then set aside fanatically, all in the name of a devotional creed.

lizards in boxes pretending to be voices of the free and humane, casting their spells on the fragile and a blind audience, numb by all the back and forth between the gods, and as always, only the peasant suffers.


how many more homes must vanish before we realise there's no magic in the disappearing of colours, and the despairing remains of the one's gone, painted across the streets in black and white, begging for somebody to give them their proper funeral.

it is men who take life, animals don't **** for their sins, they never have, for they don't know what it's like to be tamed by fire.

they'd rather burn, than become more like us.

maybe that tells it all, and maybe that is why, the devil may have horns and hoofs, but it never haunts and hunts the wild.


we are what we love, but we become who we hate, always - in the end, until something worse comes around to make things better.
for as long as there'll be men and the quest for freedom - empty pages shall be filled.
Àŧùl Aug 2019
They exploited our traditions,
Divided us on caste lines,
We never wanted those renditions,
They did the dreadful partitions.

The second one was on the map,
Immediate bloodshed had hap,
People woke up from a nap,
They woke up to a gap.

The repercussions’re not eternal,
Time healed the physical wounds,
They somehow got over with it,
Yeah, we moved on over it.

We can’t forget how Sindh was ours,
How the entire Kashmir was ours,
But that was before they came,
Pouring down the mountains like an evil scourge.
My HP Poem #1764
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Aug 2019
A swansong of the Indian Partition...
Kal humaare ghar ke diye bujhe rahenge,
Kal hum kuch rishton ke liye rote rahenge...

Tomorrow the lamps of our home will remain put out,
Tomorrow we shall keep crying for some relations...

Rishte un bantwaara hue kheton se,
Rishte un bhatakte hue jawaanon se...

Relations with those partitioned farmlands,
Relations with those misguided young men...

Rishte us chamakti Multani mitti se,
Rishte us damakti Pakhtunkhwi **** se...

Relations with the glistening soil of Multan,
Relations with the bright snow of Pakhtunkhwa...

Rishte Ganga ke us Bangali muhaane se,
Rishte Sindhu dariya aur samudr ke us mel se...

Relations with the Ganga's Bengali estuary,
Relations with the confluence of Indus and the Sea...

Rishte us Balouchi kapaas se,
Rishte udhde un kapdon se...

Relations with that Balouchi cotton,
Relations with those clothes torn away...

Rishte luti us izzat se,
Rishte mari us bahu se...

Relations with the disrobed honour,
Relations with the slain bride...

Rishte jo sajaaye the mandap mein,
Rishte jo likhaaye the jannat mein...

Relations decorated inside the temple,
Relations written in the paradise...


Tomorrow is the Independence Day of India.
An Independence attained at such high costs.
A nation divided by the illegal British occupiers on communal lines in a hotchpotch.

My HP Poem #1759
©Atul Kaushal
Next page