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The Wordsmith Jan 2016
I have travelled long and far,
My feet are sore, and my bones weary,
My eyes may see, but I am blind,
My heart may beat, but my soul is dreary,
My back aches from the weight on my shoulders,
My gun isn't as light as it used to be,
My flag isn't as pure as it should be,
I am not as I should be.
I crawl through the darkness of midday,
Plagued by the voices and what they used to say:
Strong man, young man, be the soldier of fortune,
Strong man, young man, sing the songs of your nation's tune,
Strong man, young man, come back with stories to tell,
Strong man, young man, go my boy, and show them hell,
Strong man, young man, hold up your shoulders,
Strong man, young man, go now, and be a soldier.

I have lost my mind in the madness,
I have lost my heart in the sadness,
Ghosts and family haunt my every waking moment,
The pleasure of life is now no more than blood filled torment,
I have seen the face of the Devil in the bowels of hell,
I have kissed Death, and I have lived to tell,
So listen to my stories, oh yea plagued and unfulfilled,
Bath with me in the blood of the men I have killed,
Blow your trumpets and your drums to the music of war,
I held up my shoulders, and now they are no more,
But I survived.
So sing your songs and chant your praises, but I don't need them,
You sold my soul.
Mother, I'm coming home.
The musings of a soldier returning home from war.
Ananya Nagar Nov 2015
मेज़
पर पड़ी ...
टूटी हुई सेठी की कलम
वो आधी बिखरी श्याही की दवात
कुछ पन्ने ईंट से दबे
कुछ फडफडाते- छटपटाते
मेरी तरह
कुछ फडफडाते- छटपटाते
मेरी तरह
रुके है अब भी
आँखों में आंसू
और अधरों पे शब्दों की तरह
एक अधूरी कविता
पूरी करनी है
पर लालटेन आखिरी सांसें ले रही है
मेरी तरह

चाभी का एक पुराना छल्ला
लटका था सिरहाने
कुछ चाभियाँ
शायद कोई राज़ खोले

एक टूटी ऐनक
जो टिकी रहती थी कानो के सिरहाने

कुछ टूटे पैसे बिखरे
शायद मेरे टूटे बिखरे
सपने खरीदे
मरने से पहले मुझमे साहस आया
लौ ने भी साथ निभाया
कलम थामा

लिखा क्या
??
बस "माँ"
....
A Poem for all the mothers in the world
Ananya Nagar Nov 2015
I didn’t cry when you left
Neither did I say anything to anyone
I just kept quiet for a few days

But, I've observed everything
And suffered even more

That blue shirt,
Which you often used to wear
Is ironed and arranged
in the wooden closet

Your specs are still kept
on the television..
And the umbrella ..
waiting for the rainy season..

In The last rains
We were soaked and drenched
I did not touch your umbrella ..
I know,
That you do not like
If  your things are misplaced

I’ve told the cobbler
To mend your old shoe
Your watch is repaired
With a battery brand new

Taylor has stitched your pants
With a lining inside
And
Your bed is done
And mom waiting by its side.

Dad ....
I know
You will be tired by the journey
But this time,
Please stand still
And Rest for some time
I will take off your shoes
And massage your legs
To make you de-stress
Whatever you’ll say
I'll do it all
Just stand still
And be there

You know what dad ...
The last time you left ..
You left us shocked...

Ananya
An English translation to the previous poem.
Ananya Nagar Nov 2015
तुम्हारे जाने पे मैं रोया नहीं
न मैंने किसी से कुछ भी कहा
मैं बस कुछ दिन चुप रहा

पर देखा मैंने सब कुछ
और उससे भी ज़्यादा मैंने सहा

वो नीली कमीज जो तुम
अक्सर पहनते थे
वो आज भी प्रेस कर के
करीने से रखी है अलमारी में मैंने।  

तुम्हारी ऐनक टी वी के ऊपर
और छाता खूँटी पे टंगा है.. .

पिछली बारिश में
हम भीगे बहुत पर तुम्हारा
छाता नहीं छुआ..
याद है मुझको की
तुमको नहीं पसंद
तुम्हारी चीज़ें कोई इधर उधर रखे। .

तुम्हारा जूता मोची से सिल्वा कर
ठिकाने पे रख दिया है
घडी में भी सेल पड़वा दिए हैं। ।

बगल के टेलर को कुर्ते में
अस्तर लगाने को
और
माँ को तुम्हारा बिस्तर लगाने को कह दिया है।  

पापा ....
पता है मुझको
की तुम थक कर आओगे
पर इस बार
तुम कुछ ठहर जाना
आराम करना
मैं जूते उतार दूंगा
और पाँव भी दबा दूंगा  
जो तुम कहोगे
वो सब करूँगा मैं
बस तुम ठहर जाना

पता है पापा …
पिछली बार बड़े अचानक
चले गए थे ।


अनन्य नागर
पुणे
I wrote this poem for my dad recently. He was a singer and music director and passed away in early 2012 after fighting Prostate Cancer for an year.
Cori MacNaughton Oct 2015
Seeking the words with which to convey
all of things that I've wanted to say
high on a mountain or out on the beach
wrestling as they remain just out of reach
Another lost poem found, this one written on 18 January 2013.
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2015
.
We trod in steps without spark,
A careful journey one remakes,
With days of dreams' surrender,
O love— is but a promised land.

In our youth precious time reigns
And greetings are met with sorrow,
Maidens and lads, each entertains
Graces above us, Venus and Apollo,

Gods on high, who told us stories,
Of the cloud nursery, of mountains
Keep and comings of celestial glory,
Not of gentle caress to windy hands,

Of shy indifferences, the trials of lot,
Nor the endless engulf, still desires,
In this land of lost, unmoving gusts,
Go those who shuffle— souls entire.
uzzi obinna Oct 2015
I wrote a song for the world,
reminding it of it's god.
A song for the young and old,
a song for the timid and bold;

a no ordinary song,
one that makes men belong,
a letter straight from hell,
having no truth to tell;

it could revive you
and could confuse you,
keeping you bond for years,
and bringing you close to tears;

Deep inside i am scared
of the visions in my head.
Of a world that has gone wrong
all because of one song;

Parents gone astray,
friends mock and betray,
pastors cheat and fornicate,
leaders lie and dictate;

i've given men what they want,
a path to where they will be burnt;
and though they cry, they will remain,
in a lifetime of discord and pain.
Wren Djinn Rain Oct 2015
This whole line of life stinks
because I had to tell a lie
to keep the peace between
my children.
This city knows no sun.
From the rain, there's nowhere to run.
I love windows now more
than ever.

Hold me, walls, I can count that you're stable
the mistakes I distribute on the daily straight
from my pockets, I feel sure and safely better
disconnected. The actions I bring in tether and
tow absolutely have no bearing on whether
you're standing tall. No. My children won't
be all aboard this orchestra. Complete erasure
is the one remaining measure to take. I won't
deliver their fate. I won't deliver their fate.
Paul Rousseau Oct 2015
We've taken you from your home. Lush in line, your twins and elders, taken.
You lost connection to the Nexus, put on display with porous candied paper messengers and the consumers of blood, perched from the ceiling by invisible lineage.
We have taken you. We're sorry. We lament. We trade small goods to take you, but its easy.
We take the tools too. The serration, the sadism, newspaper mat lobotomy.
We lament. We are sorry.
We lament and cut sad faces. We cut the undead that spawn from the soil and ****** your innards into the hot room. We are sorry. We too spawn from soil. You feel you've lost connection to the Nexus- with the stringy appendages of chilled gore.
We've taken your insides and given you a new face.
We are sorry.
Kudos to Brian Oliu, who inspired this...thing.
Homunculus Sep 2015
Today's lesson's theme is political repression, through
Media deception, how men behind the curtain,
Treat the truth with an aggression, displacing crucial issues, by
Societal regression, material fixation, obsession with ***, and
Through years of inspection, I've learned to detest them,
My mind reels in anguish, I battle my depression, 'cause
When I look around, do you know what I see?
A bunch of petty *******, that makes no sense to me, and
I can't help but feel, that it's not meant to be, see
These many different reasons, why I'm stressed mentally?
Cause if we'd all get together, and behave sensibly, then
We'd throw these crooked bankers in the penitentiary, but
Instead, it's L.B. he was down on the block, the
Cops stopped him and found a crack rock in his sock,
Now he's locked upstate on a 5 year bid, though
His crime can't hold a candle to what Wall Street did
Wait... did I say 'did'? I did?... I meant does
Modify the tense to present; that's an is, not was
'Cause those ******* empty suits stay all day on a buzz, from
Champagne, *******, and the high class ******, then
In board room meetings, while behind closed doors,
They all gamble on the future of entire generations,
Make austerity and poverty, with wage stagnation, and
Stack private prison profits, selling mass incarceration,
Take steps at every turn to undermine our population,
These are ravings from a psyche with a short supply of patience.
I'm a little bit curious, why you aren't furious, and
Sometimes, I wonder, as they pillage and they plunder,
Where we're all gonna live when the world's torn asunder, and
I wait for the day the giant wakes from its slumber, and
The voice of the people, shakes the earth like thunder, to
Shatter shackled chains, and alleviate the pain, but
I guess my final question must be: do I wait in vain?
yup
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