Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Cedric May 2019
I have come of age to vote,
Yet missed the day to register.
I have come of age to be wise,
Yet missed the day to remember.

I love my country dearly,
I live in it and am bound to it!
Yet a finger I couldn’t raise,
To those who deserve disgrace!

If not for my wicked heart,
Struck by apathy and antipathy,
I would have remembered,
The cries of my own country.

I lament the fact that I’m AWOL,
During the day of difference.
What can I do to redeem myself?
If my heart knows not itself?

My heart and head stand neutral!
With right or wrong just equal!
And there is no greater evil than me,
Who watches hearts bleed out.

There is no greater evil than I,
That see blue, red, yellow, and white,
Become pure in their sad colors.
A non-voter who laments to himself!

Become pure blue due to suffocation.
Become pure red due to old wounds.
Become pure yellow due to disease.
Become pure white as death visits.

Oh, dear Philippines my motherland.
I see, speak, and do evil on your body.
I ask the Lord for forgiveness and grace,
As the church rot from inside the gates.

My love for you is conditional!
I was born in your womb, motherland!
I serve you as I live on shame!
Yet my heart is grasped by ignorance!

Let my coming of age speak,
Let youth cry out in agony.
As I wait for my next chance,
To rid myself of this apathy.
I missed my chance to register and vote. I know not of the political affairs of my country and I am ignorant of politics as I hate it and want no part of it. Voting seems like an adult thing to do, and I am just nineteen. But as a citizen I must do my part and redeem my ignorance.
Vaibhav Jan 2019
To protect us from north, south, east and west,
For our safety, who are never at rest.
They stand straight, against  the sun's heat,
Whether there's rain, dew or sleet.

For the whole country, they brush aside their own pain,
And participate in a war, where there's nothing to gain.
With incomparable courage they set out each day,
Without the fear of becoming Death's prey.

On their bodies and hearts lie many-a-scar,
With none to heal them as loved ones are too far.
But on the battlefield, they're filled with rage,
Their bravery and strength never die with age.

They stay far away from too many
a friend,
Never knowing when their strife will end.
Continuing to smile without any blemish  of sorrow,
They know that their life can end the next morrow.

The embodiment of vigour is a soldier,
With strong willpower and a heart much bolder.
They're quite familiar with death and blood,
With endurance and responsibility their hearts flood.

Even at the last moment, they
choose to be brave,
And continue their fight to the grave.
To them, their toys are the guns,
For the time they're away from their daughters  and sons.

They stand still even in the winds and the dust,
For the time they're alive and the time till they rust.
Their heads up high will never bend,
Their bravery and patriotism will never descend.

But we civilians never appreciate their efforts,
Not knowing how much the pain of separation hurts.
We hardly know how it feels when a close one dies,
Sorrows all around, homes filled with cries.

For us, they readily lay down their life,
And sacrifice their love for children and their wife.
Where we sleep without a sound at night,
They struggle on with the fight.

They keep fighting till their last breath,
Serve the nation till their death.
And when they come back in a tricoloured coffin,
We forget to salute their valor ever so often
Sher Shah Suri Oct 2018
We are bequeathed on the nation,
And the nation bequeathed to us.
Have pride they said,
For it is the only one in the universe.

Culture! Culture! Cried the painter,
Oldest of the old.
A single stroke, a blazing hue,
He drew as he was told.

The nation in all its feminine divinity,
A trident and a halo.
He drew as he had drawn before,
With a saffron brush.

The mural stood in all its glory,
Under the warrior’s watch.
Till a bullet pierced his spine,
And he died while yet on his watch.

Again the painter with his saffron brush was called,
To paint over the blood stained wall.
As the warrior looked on,
Remembering his fallen comrade,
Humming the age old serenade.

We are bequeathed on the nation,
And the nation bequeathed to us.
Have pride they said,
For it is the only one in the universe.
ATILA Oct 2018
My country is aesthetic
Shown by elegant hibiscus
Glittering by its own
Growing with majestic delight of cliffs
Due to country's ups - downs
Yet still resting faith on this land
To be the best place for future hibiscus
So that Malaysia will forever unique
This is solely what I cherish.
Happy labor day
family, friends and picnics.
childhood memories
Brian McDonagh Aug 2018
The people,
The land,
The waters,
The opportunity,
The selflessness,
The confidence,
The change,
The error,
The sights,
The air
Can form any terrain's person and pride
Into something magnificent county-wide!
From my poetry journal.
Falguni Sudan Jul 2018
Be patriotic,
Patriotic be
Everyone,
You and me.
Heigh **.! Shout thou.!
For thy land's song, for thy land's fair renown.

That man shall be as dark as Erebus,
whose ***** ne'er growled to return,
'That was my land, my dear native it was'
the one: ne'er hath this said, ne'er hath this sung

Such a man, through angel's marks,
would go down and deeper at the eventual phase;
Regardless of what he receives o'er there;
A tainted metal and deservedly disgrace

Be patriotic,
Patriotic be
Everyone,
You and me.
Heigh **.! Shout thou.!
For thy land's song, for thy land's fair renown.

He'll hath high titles and seamless wealth,
selfish wishes shall ask;
Despite those medals, rewards and honours he will trip,
faltering and facing the blast

Thou don't be the one,
work for thy fair mother's renown,
incessant be,
or doubly die, with a fading pronoun

To the vile dust from whence thee sprung,
Unnamed, unhonour'd and unsung
You'll receive what you doth give,
To your mother, nature and kin

Be patriotic,
Patriotic be
Everyone,
You and me.
Heigh **.! Shout thou.!
For thy land's song, for thy land's fair renown.
I love my country, you should too.
For any queries, please comment down below
Ind May 2018
We perpetuate heartbreak culture,
teaching girls the man who holds her loves her despite the bruises,
or it was her fault; she looked older.
We fetishes shoulders,
prize youth from the young in return for pre-chewed gum,
swallowing down the same tired ideals from those who still wield them like flags,
waving their patriotism on poles of bone before a throne of medieval *******.
They chant mantras with beer stained breath about how 'our' country 'bested' the rest,
but what about the brutality?
The blood split on foreign soil in return for prehistoric oil?
Our land is deemed pure so long as the violence on our hands never reaches our shores,
but the ocean is red and staining our sands.

How can you have pride in a country who's sole identity is based off having the worlds largest navy?
Congratulations. You bombed your way through countless continents, collecting cultures to gather dust on pedestals and alters
We sin on Sundays, drink till we're ****** then wave at the seven deadly's (they don't apply to us here).
We teach preschoolers nationalism before they can walk,
indoctrinate our children before they can talk.
George killed the dragon.
Hood gave to the poor.
we all jumped on the bandwagon before we realised the princess had no choice and the rich still ruled.
There was no voice in the tale for those whose wail could be ignored.

What about those without lines in the script?
Those kicked to the curb, then kicked from it?
Our pavements have no room for nonconformists,
they're tailored to for same mind, same mindless wanderer,
squandering on the lasted polyesters even though that mouth on the street hasn't eaten in over a week.
'God save the Queen' from the vermin;
the homeless have been tossed out of the trash.
Why help them when you could save your cash by turning a blind?
After all, out of sight, out of mind.
Welcome to England, we hope you like what you find
Because we’re not changing it.
Next page