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FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS*
  
May countless lights
Show delightful sights:
May there be no threats
Of ****** fights,
No clouds of smoke,  
No smell of sulphur,
No noise of gunfire,
No scenes of ruined homes
And orphans' cries
And parents' heart-rending wails,
No sorrow that dims the light
In anyone's eyes.
May the light of knowledge and wisdom
Illumine the path to happiness:
May the light of joy and love
Sparkle in everyone's eyes
In every humble home.
May our fervent prayer -
Lead mankind from darkness to Light'
"Tamasoma Jyothirgamaya."
May all nations together strive
To pave the way to harmony and peace.
                  
M.G.N.Murthy
Hyderabad, India
FE,STIVAL OF LIGHTS (Deepaavali) is celebrated all over India on 30 October 2016.  
*A line from the ancient Vedic prayer.(Sanskrit)..."Lead us from darkness to Light".
LEARN FROM THE OWL!
Many of us think of the owl
As a foolish, ugly fowl:
It can neither strut like a peacock,
Flaunting colourful plumes,
Nor, like the shy nightingale,
Sweetly sing, every spring:
But the sages of ancient Greece,
Seeing  the night bird's virtues rare,
Said nothing foul about the owl,
Admired its bright round eyes,
Sharp and keen, able to see its way
And fly in the darkness of night:
Eyes, quite strange, looking not sideways,
But always straight and always right
And quickly turn its agile neck
And see all things happening
Behind its back as  well as front!
In all directions ,the owl can see
But, from different angles do we ever see?
Boastful humans, full of pride,
Who speak ill of the humble owl
Can scarcely match the skilful owl,
And a poet who loved this little bird, wrote -
"A wise old owl sat on an oak,
The more he saw, the less he spoke,
  The less he spoke the more he heard,
   Why can't we be, like the wise old bird!?"
                  *** M.G.Narasimha Murthy,
Hyderabad, India.
A moral tale
KING OF THE BOXING RING*
        
Muhammad Ali, the renowned boxing star,
Thrilled the world with his terrific fights;
Fearsome moves, nimble feet and fiery fists,
Memorable in his own well-known words,
Could "float like a butterfly and sting like a bee",
Cruhed his mighty rivals with awesome ease.
Honoured and loved as a great humanist,
More than titles, he valued respect and equality
And fought against racism and injustice.
Stripped of his title and thrown into jail,
Bravely opposed the Vietnam war,
Refused to join the army and drop bombs
On unknown people who were not his foes.
When ill-treated for the colour of his skin,
Threw his Olympic medal into the Ohio stream,
Roused the conscience of his fellowmen.
Ali, the great pugilist, king of the boxing ring,
Shines in the galaxy with Mandela and Dr. King.
                      ***.   M.G.Narasimha Murthy
Hyderabad, India.
* This poem is a tribute to the great American  boxer
and heavy-weight champion Muhammad Ali who
passed  away on 3 June 2016.   M.G.N.Murthy.
Heartbreak Motel Apr 2016
I want to live inside a black and white TV.
Magazine and Studebaker Commander.
Country houses and housewifes.
Jewels and red wine.

Roses shall fade, as well as my beauty, but my anger is eternal.

You knows what we say about past? That it's better where it is.
I beg you, take me there. But if you can't...
As Judy Garland said,
"This is the end of romance, I'll go my way by myself, love is only a dance"
O.P
Jellyfish Feb 2016
I miss you so much, I'm always longing your touch.
17th Dec 2015
y seguíamos con los ojos cerrados
sintiendo la fría brisa de diciembre
las luces a medianoche
recordándome que no estás aquí
que no estás acariciando mi cabello
y seguíamos faltándonos el respeto
por no estar juntos
por ser como somos y no permitirnos estar juntos

“es cuestión de ocasión”
dondequiera y como sea
no te dejaré ni por un segundo
pensar que la noche muere
que la luna brilla
y nosotros no estamos juntos
mirando las mismas estrellas
preguntándonos de dónde vino esto

estarás siempre
serás parte de mi
incluso estando lejos
estarás cerca de mí
dedicated to my sweetest, Ben.
får du kolde fødder? sikke et varmt hjerte

   indvendig blæst, hul

             rusker bladende af træerne,
                 efterladt på gaderne

          tomme, snørklede blodårer leder til et støvet midtpunkt; centrum
     forladt, drænet for mennesker, for energi
                  overgangen til vinter, livsløst, koldt, nøgne træer

          cementen med mærker fra alle fodgængere; alle dem, du omgås
  sætter præg på dig

          som en krakeleret glasrude, der kun
               mangler ét prik
      for at brase sammen
               så alle omkring vinduet kan skære sig på fragmenterne, mindes
dit sammenbrud
      din modtagelighed
skrøbelig

årstiden reflekterer dit kollaps
     min næsetip fryser og jeg mindes din konstant kolde tilstand

          at gå gennem en kold og ensom gade
             november kommer, dernæst de koldeste måneder

     må hellere skaffe en vinterjakke
og håbe på forår
#l
latterligt,
        let
                        leende, lur mig
  legende
larm

lukkede øjne
      lodret, levende

                                     løgner!, lup

larve, lukket

     luft, luk nu
        
                                 lolland? lutlandia

  lovgivning,
lærkesang

                levning; lev
#l
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