"devotees" poems
Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed
This strength of my youth, these breaths,
All are surrendered to you
To protect your honour
I would forego hundred lifetimes
I would either embrace death or
vanquish your enemies
Touching your feet in reverence
I take this solemn oath
until the end of my life
I would be loyal to you
Those who have died in your lap
their spirits bask in eternal happiness
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
My mother tells me
I will go on without you
bearing the pain of your passing
by turning my heart into stone
However, if in your lifetime
there is a threat to this country
and being fearless you do not
fight this threat, my son,
then, I will think, I birthed
poison instead of life
or that my nourishment
did not give enough strength
Listening to these words
my head lies forever bowed
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
It is not only said by my mother
but all mothers of this country
to give birth to a Narsimh
they bear difficult pangs of labour
Those brave warriors who wrote
history with their life blood
carry their images in your heart
and placing your hand there, promise,
you will forsake everything else
at the call of your motherland
Your body, soul and life
surrendered to your country
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
Narsimh - an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu,often visualised as having a human torso and lower body, with a lion face and claws. He is known primarily as the 'Great Protector' who specifically defends and protects his devotees in times of need.
Translation is given by karishma ji
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "शिव स्वरूपं" published in pratilipi on (Dec. 2017) Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2P4j7vE
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
That face of Lord Shiva is most beautiful in which he holds Ganga in his hairs
The Moon feels blessed by beautifying the head of Shiva as a glittering crown
The Serpants also became jewellery by themselves and decorated his blue neck
Shiva holds the trident on one hand and plays the Damroo from the other one
He has seated himself on a mat of Tiger Skin and rubbed pyre ash on his body
He has left elephant and the horses and decided to travel on an old Bull Nandi
By such an amazing face form, he is always ready for the welfare of devotees
The cruel and wicked have always been afraid of his eldritch face and form.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Shiva (See Line 1): A God (The Destroyer) in Hindu Mythology
Ganga (See Line 1): The Holy river whose flow and speed is controlled by the coiled hairs (Jatas) of Lord Shiiva
Damroo(See Line 4): A sort of musical instrument ( Pellet Drum )
Nandi((See Line 6)): A bull in Indian mythology who is the vehicle of Lord Shiva
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
‘…. and now, here’s Rick with the latest Market news…’
‘Val, trading was very brisk today, with a number of influences
that set the market off to some defined trends and statements.
Of course, the Human Virtue Exchange always seems to rely
on the volatility that resides ‘between the ears’ as noted
by the veteran brokers on the floor, but the sharp ranges
of prices offered versus profit taking has set the bar
very high in the relative value of Basic Human Virtue.
Now to the numbers: Courage [WHOME], Patience [PP],
and former market darling Perseverance [GULP],
all varied widely today on news from Washington that
their value was doomed to fall in the light of the expected growth
of Persistence [IAM] which history has shown to be a marked drag
on just about everything. Outside of the self –efficacy bazaar,
old standbys Ambition [HVY], Curiosity [WDF], Industry [HAHA] and Temperance [BFD],
continued their free fall into uncharted areas of cost and return.
Some analysts feel these virtues could be a real bargain in the future
despite their history of poor performance. Could a comeback not seen
since collapse of the Protestant Hypocrisy Era be in the works? We’ll see as the lack of movement in the Kindness-Generosity-Forgiveness-Compassion Index [FARAWAY]
leads many to believe that the end of Politeness [UPYRS],
Un-pretentiousness [ME-ME], Self Control [NWAY] and Sportsmanship [LONGONE], may lead to a complete miss-understanding between casual market players and devotees to the cause. The ratios cannot lie.
But without a doubt, today’s big winner was Self Respect [YUP]
which jumped and amazing 40 points before active trading ceased at the bell. So people feel real good about themselves for reasons
that cannot be explained by the Ego File Indicator alone; this causes this reporter to predict that Naval Gazing [MOM] remains a ‘Hot to Trot’ stock fund
and the Vanity market is always a good bet.
Now, here’s Carl with
today’s Human Emotion Exchange report……’
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Eid Al Adha;
Eid of Sacrifices
and the celebratory end of Hajj.
Purity abides around their heart
as souls are blessed with the
sown seeds of joy.
Allah hu Akbar;
takbir echoes
as devotees congregate in
every mosque nearby.
They wear embellished clothes,
extending their hearts to one another
and capturing the ecstasy
in every single encounter.
Sentiments are reciprocated,
and gratitude is manifested
on such an occasion
as we recall the origins of the
reason we sacrifice;
and that is to follow the order of Allah,
as Prophet Ibrahim did.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 12:03 PM UTC
God loves, sustains
and protects
all of His devotees
regardless of the
name chosen
to praise Him
inside my global prayer wheel
all the names of God
are humming
I am Allah, I am Jesus
I am Krishna, I am Buddha
I am Jehova, I am Jah,
I am Durga, I am Ahura Mazda
I am Quan Yin, I am Mother Mary,
I am Lakshmi, I am Shiva, I am Brahma
I am, I am, I am, I am, I am, I am....
...................You
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
readily acknowledge our highest standard of luna loving madness
we treat our luna connection with equality -
great affection as well as sensible trepidation,
for its transgender nature, though well disguised,
is but surficial, that we all ken, when compared to
***** bewitching covens who in the forest deepest dens,
exclaim their aroused allegiance over and over and over again
but so so many lunatics lurking in the poetic coven, who knew!
do not ask all the luna~ticced poets to step forward,
unless you wish to crash the internet's servers whom I'm told,
who too, are silent secret devotees
who among us has not scribed truth and lies, when standing outside, greeting the divine presence
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
Wife-beater, drum player
blower of holy pan-pipes
Plumed, bejeweled in ****** plastic
Inca priest, mestizo beast
multi-kulti prophet
(who chooses to live in the USA)
where liberals kow-tow
while you show them how
to adulate indigenous
crypto misogynous
eager to pay eager to please
diversity’s devotees buy your CDs
a perfect idiot from the mythic Sierra
naming your brood after Andean peaks
pre-Columbian pachamama freaks
eat it up: your Inca schtick
(but ask the battered gringa-chick
about your unsustainable ways:
who hits who smiles who beats who pays ?)
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
Is it greed, or just a deep sense of self hatred
That drives you
To punish your insides
In such a sadistic manner?
If the body is a temple, then god only knows
What kind of deity you worship.
And if suffering truly is the path to glory
Then your cirrhosed liver will deliver you, surely
To the land of Milk Duds and Honey-O's.
It is not a battle of good versus evil
But of man versus food;
Many are the casualties in this war –
Behold the fallen heroes,
Wearing their purple hardened arteries
Like badges of honour.
A triple heart bypass scar bears testament
To the bravery of these devotees
Who congregate daily at the All-You-Can-Eat.
We gather here today, in this cafeteria,
To witness this formidable challenge,
This ritual of self-desecration,
The stop-watch waiting
To count down the
Seconds
To your sweet salvation.
With eyes glazed over and bated breath
We will watch you eat yourself to death.
A celebration of gluttony,
The sacrificial lamb (and pork, and beef..)
Laid out before you, dripping
Hot sauce and melted mozzarella:
A 10 pound behemoth
That must be slain
In order to ensure victory
And bring you one step closer
To meeting your maker
Bon apetit
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 11:28 PM UTC
the sport of cricket
is no longer a clean game
bribes and corruption
have dowsed it in shame
***** money has walked
onto the cricket pitch
and it does so give
the sporting pundits a severe stitch
ball tampering by the players
and umpires being paid off
these disrespectful actions
causing cricket lovers to fulsomely scoff
the game of cricket has been
so badly sullied over the past few years
and it does so make the fans
feel less incline to cheer
cricket has a grubby tarnish
upon it these days
the ICC should be disinfecting
the game's wicked ways
devotees of cricket are not
a happy lot
they are waiting for the wicket
to be cleansed of all the ***** rot
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
*"If you wake up this morning believing that saying
a few Latin words over your pancakes will turn them
into the body of Elvis Presley, you have lost your mind."*
He has often asserted that the thing is absurd:
that someone who does not (whether out of hatred, indifference,
lack of conviction, or frankly whatever)
accept traditional dogmas
is still, for some reason, capable of wishing that they could.
I think he is right; I’ve heard a staunch atheist say “If only
I could, but I cannot.” So, this is why he aligns himself
as an anti-theist: he simply
was never properly convinced.
This position seems (at least to me) well-supported,
for anyone can quite readily (and easily)
accept what their father or their clergyman has said
(especially as a child, not knowing any better).
Thus, to be an atheist
one must have first acknowledged supernatural power
and then later, after a bit of thought, dismissed it. In light
of this, I propose a toast to the Real Skeptic,
the one who was never really convinced;
of it. The one who, when celebrating the Eucharist,
wondered why God wanted to be eaten,
who , when receiving Christ,
thought of the extreme certainty by which other faiths'
devotees (Islam, Heaven's Gate,
Mormonism, Bon,
Cargo Cults, Shinto, Falun Gong)
live and preach – some even delighted to die.
Thoughts like these always made me feel uneasy as a child
because how could I hope to keep my little mind
from accidentally discovering fallacy after fallacy? So, here is a toast
to the Unconvinced, who can’t possibly help but not believe.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 3:47 PM UTC
on the adrenalin of popularity they thrive
it pumps within their veins so inflated
if there were none they'd not survive
an accolade won't make them feel deflated
they've got to receive all the bolstering
it pumps within their veins so inflated
always gathering plaudits for a holstering
which brings unto them that air of rise
they've got to receive all the bolstering
the supporter base not going into demise
devotees keeping the pulse throbbing swell
which brings unto them that air of rise
to be the premier acts in a long spell
falling out of favour they'll not easily tolerate
devotees keeping the pulse throbbing swell
much adulation ever liking to slate
falling out of favour they'll not easily tolerate
on the adrenalin of popularity they thrive
if there were none they'd not survive
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
how can i ever forget
those penetrating moist eyes
before we bid our final goodbyes.
ringing in my ears now,
are mellifluous incantations
flowing from the synchronized lips
of brahmin priests at this open air temple.
here,
i, as budhanilakanta
adorned with marigold flowers,
recline on a celestial snake,
pondering the blue print
for the next cycle of creation.
one hundred eight lamps
are waved in arcs
as salutations for me,
witnessed by humble devotees.
a spectacle to match
the fireworks of the Milky Way.
but it’s your chosen silence for now,
which resembles the night sky.
as i search for a melody
deep within me,
your face is the pure dawn i seek.
your haunting voice,
the raga, i yearn to hear.
can’t we immerse in the simple joys of human life?
can’t we just add a few more chapters to our cosmic love story?
© 2023
Apr 29, 2023
Apr 29, 2023 at 11:33 AM UTC
Saved myself with realm coin
Went for the long con with put options
Eschewed sold short term gain
Let them railroad me with true colors
Finessed my coalition willingly
Painted a big picture expressed scope
With mass appeal diverse production means
Bred loyalty from salt of earth devotees
Ends justified by all’s fair politics
Power brokers stole my ideas for venal exploits
Then claimed execution on midgets’ shoulders
Made low hanging fruit that much more demanding
High bar gymnastics twisted words blanched of meaning
Model workers did lords’ bidding beyond expectations
Barely rewarded with subsistence’s mounting debt to society
Paid on inmates’ backs embroiled in endless energy wars
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
Majestic old moss covered lion
standing guard over the locus of a pagan soul
and hedonistic bloodhounds ready to pounce
their muscles stretched in anticipation of feasting
An ancient timekeeper drips eternity in pearly drops
over and above the city of omniscience…
chalky faces embedded in the century old walls
I wonder about their cloaked, clandestine lives
The lady in white lost in peaceful contemplation
demure head ensconced within her flowery crown
presiding goddess over a temple of busy-ness
devotees scurrying beneath her perennial sight
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
20/08/06
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
Naked pink and ebony feet
brush the slimy grass filled path
Through the tea fields elephants retreat
After a night of jaded mud bath
Armored with sack and gunny weight
Enter the frost covered fields in drowsy rest
Wake up the greens to a gentle fright
And pluck under care of enchanting *******
The supervisor mackintosh
Walking with a bend and a toss
Shout at those Cinderellas
Who look for shoes and umbrellas
Even before its time to knock off
The tin covered temple of olfactory auditory deity,
the holy Garden tea
The chanting enchanting to a coma hot mesmerizing wafts of aroma
fills the air, capture the sense of all devotees who belong to the Orthodox commune TEA or CTC.
The sirens bugle the devotees into fits
They come in shifts for worship.
The tender hearts freshly plucked before they attain mature Tea
Spread to wither under a hell
of a hot air with care.
crushed and torn and curled,
the souls are put into a purgatory rotary drum to pause to meditate
on the ephemeral color change
To cover the green with copper red
Garment to ferment before being sent
to the fluid fire dance
To attire in black and retire
in packages
for a last plunge in to a boiling cauldron
The finale
Endgame
A sacramental service,
a self sacrifice to energize the tired souls
In cups of tea..
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
Through voracious eyes devotees, peruse writings, clever literature all styled to thoughtful poetic ways
eloquently, exposing wounds of body and soul, discovered distrust, anger much regret, sadly even fear,
thereto shortcomings in life, of people, their actions, loves and lies promulgated in illuminating phrase.
Technology endows contributors with outlets for venting suchlike occasions using artistry is here.
Passionate poignant experiences most well written, some not are duly shared to attracted communal eyes.
declarations of 'I have cared so much I'm wounded mortally', some bask in lost or unrequited loves last kiss,
several employ inner strength 'whatever happened, I don't care, I'm resilient, I survive', shared with poetic pride
concise verses rework obvious reminders, may motivate suggestion that opportunity shouldn't be missed.
Modest words abundantly profound begin remarks that reassures, with the - I'm here for yous'- symbolic embrace,
in support it is written, 'I know what you mean' and from a great distance - empathise, but I have little to say.
Health issues aren't fixed by artistic pennings, only face to face professional advice forms the strongest base,
Writings from the poetic inner self may become positive steps, for futures not, staring in depressions face.
Much is written with sensitivity oft-times is judged by content, overlooked is why and how it is composed.
For instance suicide educes fear however. dubiety invites, is it fiction or truly despair?
Writing as an art observes, describes, creates imagery, of sadness and joy, escapism, fictional or no.
Poetic creators who web-wide commune through stories, thoughts, secrets, ideas, dreams, let the poetry be shared .
Poetry www Michael C Crowder 12th January 2019 @scorsby
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC
I need you in my life, baby
The only productive addiction in my future is to your proximity
A decade of scattered sorrows is but an aching blink when I’m with you
You manifest what I could never say or feel without the fear of exile
Rom-Coms hold no candle or wick to our story
Proposals would only seem like trivial when it comes to you and I
We’re closer than nostalgia and episodic memory
closer than gods and their devotees
closer than the dawn and dusk
when nine to fives carry you through a day
Yet despite our bond
only I can hear you, see you, feel you, think you
So with baited breath I speak your name, or at least what you are known as:
Imagination.
Oct 25, 2022
Oct 25, 2022 at 3:18 PM UTC
Desert Sands
..
--
(Mystical)
---
You are sent by god
----seen by god-----
/////
Mystical
-----
The WORD incarnate
----
(You)
---
Ask and recieve
---
--
--
You don't want boyfriends
You don't want girlfriends
You want devotees!
-----
(Yes!
You do!)
.......
......
Yin
Yang
You and me
-----
Harmony
---------------
Mountain Man
--------
The country is
SICK ******** ALL!
/---/
it is obvious you shouldn't live there!
-----
So
Put your clothes back on
And
Stop acting
Like demented thieves!
--
The fires are burning
And we are mortal
Loving beings
And it's simple
So simple!
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like hells bells miss ringers,
Like bringers miss takers,
Like ******* miss fakers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the good fellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
I miss everything.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
Like puppets dancing on strings
Are Presidents and princes
Prime Ministers and politicians
And the tune they dance to
Is older than their kingdoms
Behold the King of this world
Hidden away from the public eye
Yet commanding nations with a whisper
He was glorious and beautiful once
And he walked among the innocent
But, in one moment of vanity
He stole rulership of the world
His personality is stamped upon mankind
For he sets the pace
While most men follow
He spoke the first lies
Inflicted the first casualty
And he has never felt regret
Has never shed a tear
Though his wars have taken millions
And his devotees have enslaved nations
He is the author of confusion
The instigator of Hellfire and hatred
The creator of trinities and tribulation
He accuses you and I of cowardice and selfishness
Yet is himself running scared
And clinging to power and life
He is the excuser of unholy child abusers
And the inspiration of Jihadist bombs
He speaks lies about the innocent
And glorifies the guilty
He hunts all good men
As a lion hunts the deer
He will tear at your throat
And consume you
He is the Resistor
The Slanderer
He cajoles those who consider his existence
And paints himself in mythical proportions
He would destroy the earth rather than surrender it
Would rather ruin if he cannot rule
Yet the whole world is in his hands
But not forever
Because forever does not belong to him
And not life
For the gift of life is not his to give
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 1:55 AM UTC
the singer should have warned us about his out of tune song
it was so undeserving of our live ears
the melody was unpleasant and the tune horrific
how could there be devotees to such bad talent
it just shows you that some ears are deaf...
Brian Hill - 2020 # 241
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 9:06 AM UTC
Now an annual autumnal literary festival visit
to our island redoubt,
the snow geese come honking down,
in linear formation
warning itinerant human beachcombers
of their arrival on the beach runways
of our sheltered island
This TripTik recommended diversion,
is a pleasure long anticipated by them,
seen as an intellectual rest stop,
with excellent sea snacks cuisined,
flying down the Eastern Seaboard
keeping Interstate 95 on their right,
an avian version of GPS
Our birds,
follow a minor route,
commencing in Nova Scotia,
the farthest north of all the species,
never making it to Mexico,
ending their travelogue in Georgia,
lest their true species be confused
with other kinds of Floridian snowbirds
Sit by my side they do,
one by one in assigned seats,
on the now scrawny grass blanket,
their attention span famously long,
unless a school of striped bass
seen on radar in the vicinity
I, on my Adirondack throne,
a poetry reading to intone,
with more-than-occasional audience input,
considered their right most fair
Critics one and all,
animated animal devotees of the arts,
unafraid to express their thoughts,
oft in unison or in
unharmonious John Cage
cacophonies of disagreement
Sadly, I only speak local seagull,
thus their effusive exege(e)ses and criticisms,
either damming or acclaim, indistinguishable,
their only "tell" is if
they stick around for
just one more...day...
That my poetry they did favor
was a conceit I feigned to believe,
loving their attention even if not deserved,
for in their service, and nature's too,
I am now trained to sit and wait,
a minor stitch in a famous tapestry,
for well I recall Milton's words:
*"God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best.
His state is kingly;
thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."*
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
*In the ancient Shiv temple
Peace
Circumambulates the inner dome
And the sanctum
The devotees sway in trance
To the incantations of Om
Chanting sacred hymns
To the rhythmic sound of cymbals
The mystical incense
Musky its Fragrance
Wafts up in the temple premise
Divine and pious
The temple doors wide open
Peace spreads to the sanctuary
Peace is now at peace*
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC
*Courtyard blessed with snake Gods
Under the large plumeria tree
With its yellowish white flowers
Sitting there in the world of my imagination
Conversing with the disparate designed snakes
Came to visit their King with Queen God
King was in golden colour with his head high
Queen in her attic of red with black lines
Wearing garlands of corn marigold flowers
Offerings made by devotees
Tender coconut, turmeric powder,
Rice pudding with rice cake
Blessing them pleased with their devotion
Turned towards me to convey their heartfelt joy
In furtherance of visiting their
kingdom with respect to nature
Giving them a space with devotion in this nasty world*
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 3:51 AM UTC