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Chandra S Nov 2019
A crushed Shah Jahan said:
When you behold the memorial,
a sight so masterly, yet sorrowful;
you will inevitably admit
an aching little bisecting wish
that adorns your yearning lips....
And from the world's lid,
the luminaries too
would sob and drip.


He could well have been talking
about my beloved's words ; utterly breathtaking
that a sigh poignantly quivers
in my dithering being.

Her words meander.
It is no wonder:
for all of us saunter
in thought and speech
one time or the other.

At times her words are poised and easy.....,
wonderfully jolly, sensationally starry:
They shimmer like the four minarets (1)
on the full moon night;

Then they taper from the dome
and stop halfway between the tomb
and the solemn reflecting pool:
They are calmer, sober,
and you know,
a little factual;
...what they call discriminating
intellectual, rational......

Soon the words leave charbagh (2)
and hit the red sandstone walls (3)
crenellated with flawless wisdom;
spotlessly beautiful
like the lifeless marble
that proudly commemorates
Mr. Shah Jahan's love
in grim, cold blooded grace.

We talk about
riders and scruples,
kith and kin,
restraints and constraints,
fidelity and modesty.......
....and I can not help
but to sadly agree
to the placid logic
in our impeccable scripts.


Logic is a wonderful remedy
for the radical and foolhardy
but for every cure,
there is a spin-off.
Deep somewhere,
a delicate,
two-cent sentiment
collapses into atrophy
another part of me
becomes a
meek monument
of disposable history.


(1) The four minarets of the Taj Mahal

(2) The garden that starts from the end of the main gateway and ends near the squared base of the mausoleum is an integral part of the Taj Mahal structure.

(3) The building material used is brick-in-lime mortar veneered with red sandstone and marble and inlay work of precious/semi precious stones. The mosque and the guest house in the Taj Mahal complex are built of red sandstone in contrast to the marble tomb in the center.
Inspired by: The typical victory of logic and rationality over emotion and sentiment. A parallel is drawn between the irrefutable beauty, yet the apathy of logic and the Tajmahal, which is elegant and yet a symbol of sorrow and loss.
Cedric Sep 2019
I cry blood-soaked tears,
My soul writhes in agony,
As my arms touch you.
I am merely a human,
A spectrum of emotion.

To whom shall I owe-
My own rationality?
My experience?
To feel and even not feel,
I own my conscience, my name.
A two-fold tanka (5-7-5-7-7) that showcases “cor et anima” or the heart and soul. Touches upon the subject of emotion, rationality, and conscience.
Eleni Dec 2018
She told herself, "Irrationality does no harm."
Emotions have intelligence in their own ways.
Binaries can be a place where stupidity lies.

Being sad, is neither good or bad.
Allowing herself to cry is a way of freedom.

And when the North winds blow-
Cold enough to freeze happiness in iced capsules-
She shall surrender.

Let her burn her bones and neurons
In the hearth of her own heart.
And the shards, wounding with mad thoughts.
Stark Dec 2018
Flickering lights
Scrolling past image after image
Of loss, suffering
While i lay back on my bed
My life is mirage of the chaos outside

Papers strewn about my desk
An internal struggle for innovation
Ignorant of what lays beyond the cold, glass windows
A hand cast over my eyes
Shielding them from what is too painful to see

As the numbness washes over me
i stare at the ceiling
Stressing over what to do with my life
No purpose, no hope

A feeling of uselessness

Maybe i should just die
A self-centered voice cries out
No one would care
No one would notice

but what would happen?
i question

is it really better--
to live without a hint of the future to come
or to die knowing the outcome?

the idea flew away
gone away like the rain

Yet the blinds remain closed
To the outside world
Only the strobe effect of artificial lights fill the room

Shut into a enclosed space
Where only i stay
Poring over words
Their beauty
Their pain

Once, we were unable to look at a violent image
Without regurgitating
Now i can see something like that and compartmentalize it
Trap it in a box, never to be seen again
No more tears fall from my once-swollen lids
As i’ve moved on from the emotional
Towards an unforeseeable future
a few years ago, many things took a wrong turn in my life. it was like murray's law that "all that can go wrong, will go wrong." i've been dealt better cards since then, but it still has an impact on me--it left me feeling dehumanized. i feel like the dehumanization of our population is very real today, so i wrote this poem based on my feelings from that single year and applied it to center around dehumanization.
Derrick Jones Nov 2018
Jesus didn’t have no acid
But someone must have been tripping
When they talked about his walk across lake placid
I may not be able to rise from the dead
But I will use my head
And every type of fungus I am fed
To be a warrior for peace
Powered by the energy of psychedelic release
To fight violence with loving silence
To end hate by helping people meditate
To spread rationality, a logical morality
To people of every nationality
So we can peacefully share the same piece of reality
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at
Thanks for reading!
A man, who never believed in Gods,
Refused to acknowledge the supremacy of the imperialist British Lords,
Challenged imperialist world empire with stubbornness,
Wished to build a peaceful superpower country, with farsightedness.

Through his reading, kept himself on evolution,
Sowed in the hearts of Indian youth, the seeds of revolution,
Raising and threatening administrative tones,
Stood fearful and could only break his bones.

From, soviet World misunderstood,
Revolution a product of blood & bullet,
He approached and transformed revolution,
A product of inspiring pen and booklet.

Never limited himself to fight for boundaries of administrative right,
Expanded himself in the jail to throw away human plight,
Fought a death-nearing battle to regain the human right,
To finally set all things for his jail mates completely right.

Pen is mightier than sword,
His life bore testimony to prove that record,
When others attempted for freedom movement to nurture,
He dreamt and worked for building his country a beautiful future.

Born an ordinary Sikh man,
Misinterpreted a lunatic gunman,

Lived a life of comrades,
Hated in every step, caste, religious and gender retrogrades,
Wanted to save his country from blood-******* renegades,
Decided to break all the youth-distorting barricades,
And put his life to a mortgaging death trade.

Lived a life of an unselfish tree,
Decided to give his life to witness the country free,
Evolved his life, a chapter of sacrifice,
Offered overprice to fight the imposed injustice & cowardice.

His physical life remained short-lived and temporary,
Lived for the country to set an example for ideal revolutionary,
Beaten by humanimal imperialists, black and blue,
Opened the youths towards fight for freedom, on a new avenue.

Imperialist empire remained pathetically cruel,
His thoughts & phenomenon inspired a never ending fuel,
For the youths, to sacrifice themselves for liberation of the soil,
Through revolutionary paths, filled with constant sufferings and toil.

The world personified, revolution is,
Red, blood, blood and blood,
He defied and responded, revolution is,
Think, evolve, unite, and change, by the act of read, read, read and read.

He proclaimed a desperate need,
To get ourselves away from disturbing ****,
Sowed the fire of revolutionary seed,
Thus stated to read, read and read.

Imperialist empires killed people like blood-******* vampires,
He fought and responded, with the shot of a demonstrative gunfire,
When ordinary humans aimed to save their family,
Every millisecond, lived a life, personifying whole country his family.

Like a wood that offers light, and burns itself in fire,
Gave freedom a ray of light, submitted himself happily into the death wire,
For revolution, turned the court his Centre of propaganda,
Responded the ruthless imperialist, a warning memoranda.

On the imperialist death rope, he was killed
The batons he passed for the youths of next generations,
His final dream for India, still unfulfilled,
On the presence of present blood-******* politicians,

A baby that never cries on starvation,
A child that never starves for education,
A youth who never roams around to get dignified occupation,
Let’s at least work and fight towards, fulfilling this mission.
This poem is about the Indian revolutionary named Bhagat Singh. He was a Sikh youth born in India. He is wrongly misinterpreted with bullets and blood. But his approach towards freedom, worthiness of human life and knowledge, shows him distinct from violent loving extremists. He was not a terrorist. He was the most non-violent person, who valued human life than everything. The bomb he threw never had any harmful chemicals, it was thrown on an empty place of assembly to get the world to hear him. He killed a police, who deliberately lathi-charged and killed people involved in a peaceful protest. He sacrificed his life for Indian freedom movement. He was the highly-read and the best intellectual reader during his life short-lived (1907-1931). At the age of 24, the then imperialist British executed him by hanging him to death. His vision and clarity for India and his predictions are happening today. His vision and thoughts still ignite youths of India when we think of him. In short, he is an icon of the Indian youth and revolutionary.
Domtwo Mar 2018
Quanta la razionalità che mi sussurra
"Non hai idea di chi sia, ciò che hai visto era solo la superficie"

Quanta l'irrazionalità che mi sussurra
"In quella superficie ** visto per la prima volta"
E la logica e a la razionalità sono andate a puttane.
Bryan Oct 2017
We dream of the stars,
And once we reach them,
We long for home.
We long for others,
And when we meet them,
Wish to be alone.
We aspire to fame,
And once we're popular,
We don't want to be known.
Let's nail our feet to the ground.
Let our desires pull us up,
And once we're stretched thus, be grown.
Juniper Zed Jul 2017
Happiness is simply defined:
The absence of humanity's natural depression
That which binds all human life by rightful sorrow
For our disconnection with our mortal purpose
And our delusional yet rational will for the advent of tomorrow
No man, woman, or child deserves their next day
But the intangible emotion of God guides the way
So in that sense happiness isn't the absence of anything
Rather, our internal need to survive letting itself sing.
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