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This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "कविता" published in  bharat-darshan  ( Sep. -Oct., 2018 )
Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2nRwOB9
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Poetry is the outflow of someone's heart
For someone, it's only black fever
For some, it's only a form of business
For someone, this is only seasonal fever

It's just an entertainment for someone
For someone it's like a toothpaste
A good instrument use to giggle
Listening it makes their teeth brighter

To show off the that stunning brightness
They spread crooked and mysterious smiles
Show of their shining-sparkling teeth
Then they lash out their greedy tongue

Poetry is an old newspaper for someone
It’s a mound of waste and unusable junk items
Poetry is just an advertisement for someone
Only an excellent medium to sell their goods

Poem is dark black alphabets for some
Only equivalent to a big fat black buffalo
From which it is impossible to get milk
But it's easy to get hurt by it's horns

Poem is a deep sympathy for some
For some its acute pain of the heart
Aroused from the core of their heart
It's someone's love for someone else

Poem is overflowing care for someone
It is swirling cloudy dust over someone
Poem is just a time-pass for someone
For someone it is complete nonsense

Poetry is effrontery in someone's pride
For someone it's amnesty for all
For some it's Saafi by Hamdard^
Which purifies and cleans the blood well

Poetry is a meditation for someone
For someone it’s a form of worship
Poetry is name of someone's beloved daughter^^
Poem is the name of someone's beautiful wife^^

Poem is means of livelihood for someone
It happen to be the basis of his life
For someone it is simply a big loan
Which is much difficult to repay in time

Poem is a tribute to the heroes
It a wreath to the brave martyrs
It's a collection of songs for musicians
It's prayer of devotees with folded hands

Sometimes poetry makes us happy
Sometimes it causes us to weep
It often caresses readers with love
Sometimes it even consoles them

Poetry sometimes make us laugh
Sometimes it forces to think
At times it reveals the flaws beneath
By removing the outer cover shell

Poetry sometimes surprises us too much
Sometimes misleads to pseudo-intellectualism
Sometimes it poses a challenge before us
Sometimes it emerges as a song from the soul

Sometimes it portrays the beauty of actress
It tends to dissolves sweet juice in the ears
And sometimes it pours molten lead in it
In such situation it pushes back all courtesy

Sometimes it transforms rulers into heroes
And sometimes it makes a politicians zero
Sometimes it becomes the words of panegyrist
Then it behaves like a butter ball for them

Poetry sometimes honours someone
Sometimes it even trick so many of us
Poetry even makes fun of somebody
Sometimes it entertains someone's heart

By the way, poetry is a blunt weapon
But it's has a different hitting power
Which is the real inner power of poet
It's also his covering blanket and strength

Only poetry gives him the required courage
It completely protects his existence
It always teaches him the lesson to -
Keep on fighting against the gunpowder

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^ Saafi - A Unani Medicine made by a company named Hamdard, used to clean or purify the blood

^^ Name of .....  - Kavita (translation of the word Poem in hindi) is a common name given to females in India.
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My thoughts on what a Poetry is......
Hg Aug 22
.

             kn
                 iv
                    es
              ­        are
                         not
             w e a p o n s
                    t h e y ‘ r e
                         p o i n t s
                                 o f  r e
                                         f l e
                                              c t
                                                  i o
                                                       n
©Hg
Nigdaw Aug 20
A whisper
Caressing, touching
More than any flesh could touch.

A web, spun
Of the finest silk
Beautiful, but easily broken.

A gem
Shining bright, if only
It could be brought into the light.

A weapon
Atomic words
Mushrooming to cover a bright day

Then, fallout.
mila splawska Jul 17
and in those 23 seconds
i could not breath or think or speak
astounded with my inability to be
ok without you
i’m suspended in time
trying to change reality
you left me
and i have no more words for you
except to say
i imagined fashioning my pain into some sort of weapon
but only for those 23 seconds
and then i recalled that
i still love you
and i could never hurt you
oh but how i want to
دema Jun 19
steps to mend
a broken heart:

1. take a good look at your heart,
assess the damage
2. pick up every piece, dust off the pain
3. call a cab, rent a storage room for the unrequited memories
4. let the clock twirl its magic a couple times
5. undress what hurts, damp what you escape from facing
6. hold the weapon that fractured you and bathe in its every fraction
7. collect every fragment left in you, there is strength in unity
8. remember that self love is the only way to win this battle
9. crash in your favourite sheets, put your heart to sleep
10. take your shot at life, assess all of the possibilities
The bag contained something that was dangerous
What was in the bag?
Was it a time bomb?
Was it a cocked pistol?
Was it a spiked baseball bat?
Was it an unstable mortar shell?
Was it a leaking bottle of acid?
Was it a nerve gas dispenser?
Was it a small stabbing sword?
Was it a brass knuckle duster?
Was it a karate instruction book?
Was it a piece of Plutonium?
No it was a small puppy with sharp teeth!
>>>>                                    

                                       x
                                      x x
                                    x x x
                                 x x x x x                        
                      ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
   ­        ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::­::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;::::::::::::::::::::­:::::
Never can it move::::like thunder or lightning
it goes slow, but sure:::::treading its own path
brave, strong and patient:::in facing its ordeals
they don't want to sting:::unless when needed
they want to be left alone::::but, alert:::::::ready
to protect and defend itself:::::with less action
when trapped or driven up a dead end:::::it is
more composed::::::it knows when to explode
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::­::::::::::::::::::::::
:::a scorpion, can quickly paralyze its victim:::
::::::::::::::::::::with its own venom::::::::::::::::::::::::;
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::­:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;;
:::::::::::::::::­::::::::::::::::it is said,::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;;
human beings have innate venoms or weapons
i don't know if i have one:::or what it could do
i only know, i can hardly harm anyone::::::::but
like any other creature::;;:::i will defend myself
::::::;;;;;;:when my safety is compromised::::::::;;
    :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::­::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
      :::::::::::::::::::: i am a scorpio ::::::::::::::::::::
          ::::::::::::::::what about you?:::::::::::::
               what could be your venom?
                 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
                    ­ :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
                        :::­::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
                                x x x x x
                                    x x x
                                     x x
                                       x
                        



  Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 23, 2017
(just an old poem, guys...
just scribbling, while at the backyard, watching crawlers fighting)
Percy owned a big sword as tall as him and sharp as Hell
It was big and black and perfectly crafted
Just like something else closer to home
Forged in the depths of Hell by the best artisans
Now Percy owned the sword and he was boss
King of the block who nobody ****** with
He chopped off heads left and right
And lopped off ***** front and back
He gave neighbourhood defence a new meaning
His sword provided safety to all his buddies
Nobody sold drugs or stole cars
After meeting Percy and his tool
There was something about it
It was the length and blackness of it
Two attributes associated with something else
For even a BBC was limited in power and ******
When compared to Satan's own sword
Now in the care of humble Percy
Or was it the other way round?
Sword and man as one...
Fọlá Apr 14
The birthplace of weapons.
The backbone of wars.
No sound but the throes of steel.
In fires that burn, unending.

Shaped by the beating of the blacksmith.
Each stroke, manifesting his will.
To forge the weapon of prophecy;
The sword to lead us to victory.
Bathed in the blood of its enemies.
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