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Paul Hansford Sep 2018
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die.  Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.  
Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them.

Here then is what I might call  
                                                My Reverse Bucket List

Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere
   Barcelona, Spain
   Venice, Italy
   Oxford, England
   Jerusalem, Israel
   Luxor, Egypt
   Varanasi, India
   Hiroshima, Japan
   Pompeii, Italy

Other locations
   Galápagos islands, Ecuador
   Great Barrier Reef, Australia
   North Woolwich, London

Churches
   St Paul's Cathedral, London
   Sagrada Familia, Barcelona
   Coventry Cathedral
   Córdoba Cathedral, Spain
   Blue Mosque, Istanbul

Other structures
   Taj Mahal, Agra
   Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland
   Royal Festival Hall, London
   London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time).  Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.
   Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)
   Bayeux Tapestry 
   "Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England
   "Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil

Events
   Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife
   St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)
   Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997
   Oberammergau passion play, 2010
   Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
I haven't added explanatory notes, but a lot of them are easy enough to look up, and if you message me about any mysterious items, I'll answer as best I can. There are poems in my stream connected with some things on the list, though not all are obvious.
Ksjpari Nov 2017
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Colours curdling, water washing every *****;
Out of us evil ever going and playing on
Land of character cherished by coloured lawn.
What a scene to see! Gracious glory gone
If you miss this mesmerizing festival upon
A folly. Foolish will be called such a conn.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon

Holy played in school is highly pleasing crayon,
For Kinar, Aayushi, Kunal. Aryan or John.
Monorhyme has one colour, holi many micron.
Mital, Mitesh, Vaikhu, SIddhu, Saurabh are don.
This day even principal thinks to prevent throne
And join joy with teachers - see anxiety thrown.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon

Songs, screams; dance, D.J.; homage and hymn on;
This day with Holika heavy burdens and sins thrown.
Cruel Hiranyakashyapa was killed; glory was won.
Kunal, Arpita, Sandeep, Amit and Shreyas on lawn
Play water and colours with cool Pari’s scone
In Jalgaon, Agra, Kanpur, Karanja, Surat or Bonn.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
This poem is in alliteration. There are alliteration examples in each line. At the same time I am following Monorhyme.
Mitch Prax Oct 2019
Agra-
city of love-
but without you,
it’s like separating
the Taj Mahal
from this
lovely
land
Àŧùl Sep 2013
I have known this much talked about search for true love for over 10 years and I am aged 22 years now. There was this unforgiving loneliness till I was 17 years of age given that I am the only child of my parents who lives with them in a lonely campus of a research institute away from the small city.

A tumultuous relationship filled with resentment to the brim about my parents keeping me their only 'issue' was brought to the hilt and I was weary of being their arguably most beloved 'machine' who was supposed to live sticking to the 'guidelines' laid by them as the ideal only son.

We aren't from a landlord's family and have limited resources, so I was supposed to suffice in my parents' love and affection, studying at a fairly consistent dedication to bring forth the results worthwhile landing me a good job.

But who has been able to control a Romeo-in-the-making?

Answer: Nobody!

But my Juliet wasn't yet on the horizon till age 17, when I mistakenly took my first girlfriend who was my classmate till class 7, to be my last love. Period. Then for the first time I was introduced to the idea of 'love' by this sweet girl whom I dub "G3" over 11 months elder to me. I had proposed her, but it was not a pre-emptive proposal.

Our period of courtship had started over Orkut which was the most popular social website at that time. It was just friendship initially until I had unsuccessfully proposed two bimbets other than my first girlfriend. One of those two unsuccessful attempts was with her best-friend-once-upon-a-time.

I had told her about them both, she had even tried apparently helping me propose her best friend when I had told her that I had even written a song for my childhood crush over the years I had been away from my old school.

Her first reaction was, "I would die for having such a boyfriend! Wish it was I for whom the song was composed."

Then when I proposed my childhood crush, G1, I couldn't even mention about the song and she rejected my proposal. Period. I was distraught, I was broken & I was amazed at how easily she could've undermined my liking for her from the past 7 years.

To take my attention off the disappointment posed by my first rejection. I proposed a different girl, G2, non-seriously, knowing that another rejection was lurking behind the curtains of time.

Rejection 2 successfully diverted my mind away from the mess created. Anyways, I did have a girlfriend for myself. After all, people love guys who sing melodiously and can play guitar apart from having decent appearance, and believe me- I used to look this chocolatey young guy until I was 19 years of age.

The girl who later went on to have the place vacated by my first crush was her same best-friend-once-upon-a-time 'G3'. She went on varied lengths in narrating her own break-up story with the guy she was with. I got a second-hand  piece as my first girlfriend. It was no issues, at least till she was bickering about how he had broken her 'heart-of-a-self-proclaimed-princess' and we started having arguments and serious tiffs over what had been happening in her life.

We broke-up. I had enough of the hardships brought by myself upon her. She had taken to crying harshly over phone. I resented myself. I failed to identify that it was not true love indeed but only a mirage of the idea.

I next concentrated in studies and this time I prevailed over the hurdles offered by examinations and a second girlfriend, 'G4', who refused to openly accept she was going about with me was attracted to me. She'd go see the Taj Mahal at Agra and the Hawa Mahal at Jaipur with me apart from spending the night in the same hotel room but would still reckon me with my pending reappear supplementary exams and wouldn't openly accept a failure as her man. I was frustrated by her autocratic behaviour and opted for a different girl, 'G5'.

G5 was the prettiest of my first 3 GF's as far as looks were considered. We romanced around Delhi's historical places and malls; holding hands around cinemas and Old Fort walls in New Delhi. But still I was as ****** as I was when I was born.

May 7, 2010 was a scorching hot day with the sun ablaze overhead and me going on the busiest highway of India. I was going back to my home and met with a serious road accident en route that kicked me out of my senses into a frozen comatose state.

I somehow survived the life-threatening coma and was moving around in 52 long weeks, limping heavily all thanks to my parents and the kind physiotherapist. Thanks to a poor memory, I initially performed extremely below average at college.

Then I was all prepared to attack at all future examinations and nothing could stop me. I breezed past another girl 'G6', this was my last failure. She was confused between me and a different guy. Neither me nor any other guy with a high self-prestige would entertain the idea of being weighed as an option. I again moved on.

Then comes the continuing story of my true love. True love is the one that lasts forever successfully. She is incidentally my 7th chance upon the love pathway and last. I am sure this is her- my soul-mate.

She is my gateway to the 7th heaven, I find her presence in every aspect of my life. She is 6 years and 9 months younger to me and her descent in my life has been the best thing in my life. I celebrate and rejoice each day in her presence. Our tastes are so similar that we feel merely our X- & Y-chromosomes are different.

We patiently wait for time to last till the day till we perish after blessing our grandchildren. We live 250 kilometres away from each other and have only known each other through voices and photos. We are yet to meet. Till then I wait for the day my master degree gets over and she gets into a medical college.

Now I will end this post by saying that there's no end of love and no beginning of it - you just have to wait, identify and hold on to your truest love.
http://www.relationshiptalk.net/in-search-of-the-truest-love-3677.html

Self-Note (Not to be forgotten): This was the last time you wrote about your past. But what's passed is past now and is meant to be forgotten. I really hope she reads the second-last paragraph duly and gives it due thought. 143 Creeps!
Àŧùl Dec 2016
I have been to places for love,
Travelling I have been in love,
And learning I have from love.

I went from movies to homes,
To palaces & even to fortresses,
'Atul' learnt to love from travel.

I visited ancient places in love,
The sweet feeling togetherness,
Atypical Life I have lived along.

I used to go to Ambala years ago,
The sweet loving girl used to wait,
Along her I visited movies & kissed.

I went to Jaipur & even Agra next,
The sweetest for us both was Jaipur,
Agra was where I gifted my virginity.

I kissed at the Old Fort at New Delhi,
The kiss at fort gave me goosebumps,
Attic was where the seductress kissed.

I kissed inside her home in the sitting,
That night was dead as she kissed me,
Above the sleeping King was the kiss.
Not proud to have kissed multiple girls.
But yes, I did learn loving via travelling.
I got back my memory and I am not happy about it.
I regret losing my virginity to someone who is history and kissing them who moved on.
But yes, travelling taught me how to love and who to love.

HP Poem #1331
©Atul Kaushal
Maggie Emmett Mar 2016
In the seventies
we brought back silks and saris
hot with colours
that shocked the nights
Punjabi embroidery
on cheesecloth kaftans
mirror glittered skirts
that were spun with light
Kashmiri shawls
and Afghani dancing dresses
arms full of bracelets
silver and brass
enameled and etched
and singing with ***
rings of Ivory, sapphire and jet
necklaces of jade and threaded apple seeds
rain forest timber bowls
white marble boxes from Agra
with precious inlay stones
our little Taj Mahals
we wandered the globe
like a magical village
of lovers and
and came back
with backpacks of dreaming
and hope.


© M.L.Emmett
Amrita Dutta Dec 2013
Back in those days
when I was young and strong.
Pristine, Noble,
as pure as you'd long.
White as a dove,
handsome as a king.
I'm a token of love,
far greater than a ring.
My making contained
both good and bad.
My maker being
a hot headed lad.
Blood as blue
as the skies and seas,
I stood along the riverside
enjoying the occasional breeze.
My history is both
wonderful and morbid.
My beauty-spoken of,
I'm known by each kid.
Lovers cherish me,
write songs of my presence.
create tales of their own,
activate every sense.

And now when I speak,
when I look at my current state
I'm sad, deeply sorry
at my distressing fate.
Handcrafted marble
whiter than milk.
Quality as such,
smoother than silk.
Today has eroded,
decayed and died.
It matters not
how much I've cried.
For it all falls on deaf ears
while factory noises expose my fears.
My white is no more,
I'm a deepening gray.
I see pity in the eyes
where once admiration lay.
The pride of India,
its biggest glory.
The life of Agra,
this is my story.
Being the crown of the nation,
the jewel of its eye.
A wonder of the world,
I feel like a lie.
For what I am today
isn't me at all.
I've lived at great heights
survived a great fall.

It is my request
sincere and deep.
Give me no reason
to further weep.
Awaken. Arise.
the time is here.
Preserve your glory,
keep the pride near.
I am none other,
than your beloved Taj Mahal.
this is my story,
one I ought to tell.
Now my life
is in your hands.
the choice is yours
as are the lands.
Choose wisely,
The devils or me?
Perish with them
or rejoice with me?
judy smith Jul 2016
Born to a Bengali father and Dutch mother, American fashion designer Rachel Roy, whose client list includes the likes of Michelle Obama and Penelope Cruz, is proud of her Indian heritage, and says India has influenced her work in many ways, especially the colours and prints in her designs.

“My father is Indian and I’ve been very fortunate to travel to India several times. This is my second trip in the last few years and I am bringing my daughter Ava again. She joined me on my last trip where we visited New Delhi, Agra, and Goa,” Roy told IANS during her recent visit to India to judge the 2016/17 International Woolmark Prize India, Pakistan and Middle East regional final held in Mumbai.

“It’s always an emotional experience for me as I’m quite proud of my Indian heritage and also quite passionate about philanthropic causes I’m involved in, including Children’s Hope India and World of Children,” added the designer in an email interview.

The Rachel Roy brand debuted in 2004 and for over a decade. She has built her ready-to-wear and accessories business into a globally recognised brand with categories including jewellery and home products.

Talking about India has influenced her designs, Roy said: “It has influenced so many parts of my life from design to beauty to accessories. I have a love of colour and print… And that was definitely influenced by my Indian side of the family. I remember my aunts putting on kohl on their eyes and loving the ritual and process — it felt really special for me to watch them,” she said.

“Fashion for me is very reflective of culture, a large part of that starts on the streets. When I travel, I make it a point to spend a great deal of time people-watching – seeing what people are wearing as they are in the throws of their life. It’s inspiration to me as I sit and pull together inspiration for collections,” she added.

It’s not just the country that fascinates her, but also the creations of some Indian designers.

“I always love what Bibhu (Mohapatra) and Waris (Ahluwalia) do and have been watching people like Manish Malhotra, Payal Singhal and Priyanka Lama. India holds a special place in my heart, so I look for growth and success of designers and businesses with roots to the country,” said Roy, who added that she would love to expand into India when the time is right.

“Everyone is so welcoming when I spend time here that it would be amazing to be able to establish a longer term relationship,” added the designer, who also has Kate Hudson, Kim Kardashian and Sharon Stone as clients.

In addition to running her successful brand, Roy is a sought after speaker on topics ranging from entrepreneurship to philanthropy and has shared her story and experiences at forums ranging from the White House to the Fortune Next Generation conference along with other various women’s empowerment summits.

Also a member of the Council of Fashion Designers of America, Roy was one of the few judges at the regional round of 2016/17 International Woolmark Prize. She says supporting young talent is important for her.

“Design, like so many other disciplines, is about communicating your point of view and using your voice. Your voice strengthens and changes as you progress in your career and life, and I think it’s critical to help young designers find their voice,” she said.

Roy also says that funding has always been a struggle for those starting out as capital is needed to take a business to a new level.

“Fashion is a business, it is important to understand that from the very beginning. Designers are really taking control of the business side of things from Alexander **** and Christopher Bailey being both the CEOs of their businesses and running the design side as well,” she said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne
Àŧùl Dec 2016
I** thank you for moving out of my life.

Nowhere else is my own happiness,
Or rather it is my self-satisfaction,
Winning the 7 Minutes of pleasure.

Greatness I see in me after she departed,
Red-faced she seemed purple with shame,
Equipped with a pump I see myself,
A pump of self-satisfaction and relief,
Tasked I am with my own happiness,
Looks interesting this lonely pursuit,
Yet I know that I can be easily happy.

Advancing alone on the road of love,
Demands of my own body I listen to,
Minding not that I require a female,
If I wanted to make strong kids, 'coz
Ravishing my body has always been,
Even before I ever requested you to stay.

Maybe you can get a better husband,
Yet I am going to be really very satisfied.

This is the life I have always been loving,
Hindsight is never going to be pleasing,
I am so aware of this fact I have known,
Checked fully is that one best gift to self,
Kingly is this feeling of self-satisfaction.

Enjoy information I do in my life alone,
Just like before you or the others came,
And I now realise that before all I came,
Chiseled is my muscly pump after pumping,
Up & down, round & round, up & down,
Laid before I did in Agra like a clown,
Awesome is the feeling self-satisfied,
Tremendous is my relief each time,
Ever happier I have been pumping.
Thanks to all the creepy boys and girls for abandoning my ship when it was sinking.

I rediscovered my capabilities and capacities due to their not staying here.

A 2° acrostic poem. Somewhat mature.

HP Poem #1335
©Atul Kaushal
brandon nagley Jul 2015
i

In the astrology set agora
Wherein mine agra doth rest
The backwoods to her cache
Is a peaceful gentle nest.

ii

She's a cad of angelic estancia
I espy her espirit fandango
Her lace strand's floweth wildly
Fantasia of mine melody, extra terrestrial fangled.

iii

Mine Gage I handeth her, to not leaveth her side
An agala we shalt maketh romance, whilst gaiety is in her eyes
A Jardiniere to hold her tears, when Jasper's do cometh around
Jarrah to fill ourn kava diligence, diluvial amare is it's sound.

iv

No blunder head's to separate us
Just Bluebell's blush
To admire mine belle of a lamb
Her bema shalt be raised, when its me who is her man.

v

Ourn belvedere casa, ourn terrace to overlook
This is ourn story, not a tale of fools and crook's
The cover of ourn book, shalt we be entwined
Right inside the pages, of every lonesome lover's mind.


®Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Elsa angelica dedication
Estancia in Spanish means- a landed estate
Gaiety means- happiness
Japers- means mockers...
Bema means platform
Belle- is a young beauty or her admired beauty by all....
Àŧùl Jan 2017
I'm fabled not to be a ******,
Accused of being a *******.
But I don't have any memory,
Neither of getting under nor of getting on top.

I'm fabled not to be a ******,
Flouted of losing it in Agra.
But I don't have any memory,
Neither of getting inside a hotel nor to the bed.

I'm fabled not to be a ******,
Sentenced not being chaste.
But I don't have any memory,
Neither of getting loved in bed nor of making it.

So I guess that I am as good as a ******.
At least mentally.
I had met with an accident after which I lost selectively few parts of my memory and the girl who accuses me of having bedded her, she has already gotten married and is now busy in casting a blame upon me.

But yes, I agree that there couldn't be a place more romantic than Agra, the city of the Taj Mahal, to lose one's virginity.

In India, the chastity of both boys and girls matters equally for marriage.

My HP Poem #1384
©Atul Kaushal
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Native Agra,
Mi amour' I've not yet met,
For thou this soul is agnate to thy aura!!!

The garden of eve awaits me,
Makes me,
To seeketh thy own splendid marble's men call eyes!!!

From thine Lip's to thy mind,
Thou brama of time,
For today thou hast given me a smile...

As that I dont see often!!!!

Enwrap me in thy garden..

I promise I shalt not wander far,
For you've enlarged mine heart,
As our two spirit's I feel
Burning on wings!!!!

Mayeth I feel thy sting?

Native of douce...
Jon Gilbert Nov 2015
I dream in colour.

My dreams are vivid,
       exciting,
              dramatic.
I travel to Agra;
I walk the Great Wall;
I eat baingan bharta.


I live in black-and-white.

My life is plain,
       ordinary,
              blah.
I travel to Starbucks;
I walk through Riverside Park;
I eat at McDonald's.
Àŧùl Nov 2016
The only time I had had *******,
I now remember fully each detail,
She had told me to get off prematurely.

The girl was on the defensive mode,
I perfectly remember how she fumbled,
She was nervous if I emptied my load.

The way she requested me next day,
I can remember it with bittersweet hue,
She said, "Don't marry anyone else."

The fate had wished something else,
I met with a really serious road accident,
She used to visit me then in the ICU.

The injured me was in a comatose state,
I was told that she often used to visit me,
She surprises me as a guardian angel.

The injured me could remember it not,
I was looked after by the dark angel how,
She wiped forehead sweat from fever hot.

The surgeon in charge of my treatment,
I was told by him as well of how she cared,
She used to summon him oftentimes.

The girl told my mother about both of us,
I was just her best friend she told my mom,
She named my ex- as my then girlfriend.

The girl asked me on phone desperately,
If I could remember about the Agra trip,
She was just disappointed with my reply.

The girl is now married to someone,
I had killed the relationship between us,
She knows not I remembered it not.

Perhaps I should accept it now,
I would have to be alone forever,
Now that I remember all of it.
HP Poem #1238
©Atul Kaushal
In hall-1, we first exchanged our gaze,
You on the first bench, I a row behind,
Speaking of ghosts, tales that amaze,
Unknowingly, da bond that soon we’d find.

Wish we’d met in da first year’s light,
But in semester five, our paths entwined,
Though time was short, it felt just right,
For deep connections don’t mind da bind.

Bewakoofiyan, we shared with glee,
In you, I found a friend so true,
Your mole, your confidence, all I see,
A fierce spirit, yet sensitive too.

Your loud voice, a speaker in disguise,
Bossy yet gentle, a paradox so true,
Your hmm… irritates me, but I realize,
In silence or chatter, I cherish you.

Like a mother, you cared with grace,
At farewell, your words still ring clear,
“iska dhyan rakhna, ye bore naa hoo, mai lekr
aai hu isse,” As if my joy you had designed.

Now, in different courses, we tread,
Still, our friendship holds its flame.

We’d align our clocks even in haste,
Just to meet for minutes, to laugh and sigh,
To ***** about courses, professor’s taste,
Stuck in this college, wondering why.

Though your taste, I often tease,
Saying, “There’s no accounting for taste ,’’
You’re my friend, who puts me at ease,
You’re a bee, flying high, untamed by herds.

And in winter’s chill, you came for me,
Waiting in fog, while I was delayed,
My lecture ran long, but there you’d be,
With warmth in your smile, never dismayed.

From Mathura to Agra, you’d roam,
And now, in different cities, we strive,
And no matter da distance, our bond redeems.
                                                        ­                             By :- KANISHK
IncholPoem Feb 2019
Take your truck
  on  a  highway
from  Delhi to Agra.



Free  coffee  and  tea
  would  be  provided
  by govt  officials.



On  a  Sunday  night
a  group  of  party  goers
id    show  the  hands
  to  the coming  trucks
to reach  near  Delhi  pub  house.



The traffic  police
  had  warned  them  not
  to  lift them.

5 years   ago
a party goers  van
had  been  accidented
  by  a  Southern truck  driver.


The  party  goers  were
coming  from
Delhi  to Lucknow !
Le calife a puni les gens de la montagne,
Ses soldats sont venus ! Allah les accompagne,
Car ils n'ont rien laissé de vivant derrière eux.
Maintenant, oh ! quel deuil dans ce champ désastreux !
Les os de tout un peuple y gisent dans les pierres.

Le vautour décharné, l'aigle aux rouges paupières
Sont là seuls, triomphants, joyeux, le bec ouvert.
Tout est mort. Le chemin qui va dans le désert
Semble dallé, depuis Agra jusqu'à Nicée,
De tous ces crânes blancs qui couvrent la chaussée ;
Et quand des chameliers passent dans cet endroit,
Le plus vieux, l'oeil fixé sur un poteau qu'on voit,
Lit cette inscription au groupe qui l'écoute :
« Les paveurs du calife ont pavé cette route. »

Le 22 septembre 1846.

— The End —