"evidences" poems
Onam Reminds
Onam reminds me of the venomous mind
That overthrew a just ,kind king ,unkind
Aryan imperialism subjugating the Dravid
The white over the black , dark apartheid
Justice of the black is unjust for the white
A matter of jealousy, dissatisfaction and fight.
For the British, Indians were raw to be refined
As Allopaths frown upon Ayurvedics as bad.
But, what is the truth? think of the covered past
Weigh evidences: from history, literature and art
Of all non-whites; really, they were and are super
In many respects, hence, awake from your stupor.
India shall not be a kite of any ruler outside
No race is Blessed to override anyone beside;
Almighty considers all equals - by their deeds
It is That, that fosters all by weighing our deeds.
When greed of man rudely jeopardizes the Nature
Nature jeopardizes human life, making a fracture.
Torrential rain or draught is a positive measure
Applied by It on earth (as earth-quake) to treasure.
Man like Vamana tries to grow and measure the earth
Other planets ,heaven or hell to exploit Nature’s wealth
As Jehovah ,the Almighty, Brahma, or Allah, the Cause
Of that Pulsation is everywhere, beware man! and pause!
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
You’ve read of several kinds of Cat,
And my opinion now is that
You should need no interpreter
To understand their character.
You now have learned enough to see
That Cats are much like you and me
And other people whom we find
Possessed of various types of mind.
For some are same and some are mad
And some are good and some are bad
And some are better, some are worse—
But all may be described in verse.
You’ve seen them both at work and games,
And learnt about their proper names,
Their habits and their habitat:
But
How would you ad-dress a Cat?
So first, your memory I’ll jog,
And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG.
And you might now and then supply
Some caviare, or Strassburg Pie,
Some potted grouse, or salmon paste—
He’s sure to have his personal taste.
(I know a Cat, who makes a habit
Of eating nothing else but rabbit,
And when he’s finished, licks his paws
So’s not to waste the onion sauce.)
A Cat’s entitled to expect
These evidences of respect.
And so in time you reach your aim,
And finally call him by his NAME.
So this is this, and that is that:
And there’s how you AD-DRESS A CAT.
3.2k
Pictures paint
a thousand words
a rainbow
a smile.
A picture of us
Will always remind me:
That once
there was you,
there was me.
And we tried
a you and me.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
Tell me a lie
Then
Try to convince, it's true
Try harder with evidences to prove
Tell me a lie
Then
Change the expression to assure
Hide the vibration to prove
I will be amused by
The act
The subtle effort, and
The precious wasted time
Ha ha
Tell me
More lies.......more
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 2:39 AM UTC
You can not **** the hummingbird
And think that there
Will be no repercussions
You can not silence
His lips
With the barrel of a gun
You can not bury his memory
By stonewalling and
Distorting the evidences
You can not erase his ideals
By destroying his name…..
Extinguish not his memory
By firing the shots,
It is an act that only
Fans the aching flame
You think he is forgotten
But he lives………
Healthy in the hearts of millions
You thought are but a few
Someday we will sing his song of love
Someday he will rise again, defiant!
Daring to fly, as high
As the burning sun
And you can not stop him
Or **** him once again
For the hummingbird shall endure
The compassion of men shall sustain him
And he will conquer this death
That you have inflicted upon him
So you can **** the man and his body
You can blow his face all away
You can trample him with your
Angry tyranny
But you can never, never
**** his soul!
The hummingbird defies you
The hummingbird lives on and on and on………
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 7:57 AM UTC
On the edge of the railway
I was caught unprepared,
of whether to fight or not
of whether to give up or to give in.
I went to runaway
taking every breath that is left in me,
chasing the shadows away from my sun
pondering through these thoughts
of whether should I live or should I die?
I took the imbecile mind of a weak heart
struggling for words I cannot say,
revolution against chaotic ideas,
generating evidences of what is left,
generating evidences of what was taken away.
I stumbled on the great floor,
misled my feet on the broken rails of the railway.
I fractured my foot, the other luckily was scarred
now I have to run, but I just can’t.
Where should I put myself in this trouble
imparted on my living sense of self?
Now I have to run, but I have nowhere to go
I need to escape this extravasation of doom
as I left my heart on the coffin of his memories.
I wept right where I was trapped,
until someone offered his hand
and gently lifted me up from this pandemonium.
I turned my head up,
and saw the sincerity of heart that he possess,
whose eyes brought me to a safe haven.
I moved with him, and with him I breathe
the air of solace, the soliloquy of the imbecile.
He brought me to the sun, bequeathed it to me
and for me he chased its shadows away.
My doom is now the doomed,
as my chaos is now the chaotic,
for what was drastic is now lenient,
and that railway is now just another railway,
a quotient of my unfulfilled repose.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
**Let this night
Bury in itself
All the evidences
Of what happened
Let the wind
Absorb in itself
The screams
No soul heard
Let this floor
Be cleared
Of the innocence
That was taken away
Let these walls
Be painted a new shade
To silence them
so they never tell the tale
Let the incidence
Be turned into twisted politics
A step sideways, and two backward
Never evolving
Let the world
Be dumb and deaf
To the injustice
Done
Let the candles
Be lit in her memoir
And watch them wax
As the news get old
Let the case be placed
Under a big pile of dusty, unsolved files and say**
We did our best
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
Pompous:
"Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer,
fitting each word to its neat little place.
Oh God, no, not another painterly composition
with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this.
They did that in the past; get to the new.
Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful
knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/ out.
Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity
or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion.
Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings.
Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay.
When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity.
Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence.
Be above the miniscule.
By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions.
Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world.
Show you ain't no conforming sissy.
Display in impatient referenceless strokes
Your forceful awareness of the world as known."
Facetia:
"Oh?
A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures;
no eons of effortful evolution;
Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding.
Mind never happened, spirit's a farce,
unions only expedient plottings.
Lessons of history describe the disruptive;
it's what you grab and who you club;
others are only take or be taken.
Show 'em who's boss,
stash it away,
it's dog eat dog until there's nothing.
Shake it all up and break it all up.
It's only entropy."
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
I don't know
No one knows
RELIGION
A greatly diverse word
The complexity from each Gods can't be explained
Christianity or Islamic?
Hinduism or Buddhism?
Confucianism or Taoism?
I don't know
No one knows
Which of these is the one?
Which God is the Man?
Each have their own beliefs
Each came from different myths
How the hell would humanity know?
How would a religion shatter every other's ego?
Just what if?
What if Christianity tells the truth?
Would it mean that homosexuality is just a bluff?
Is it just a wrong "choice" and can be cured by having faith in God is enough?
BUT what if?
What if Atheism tells the truth?
What if atheists just have so much strength?
Strength in facing the truth that after we die it will all end?
Until now, evidences are still vague
Even the most religious one had thought this inside their head
What if the world we have now is just an illusion?
No one knows for sure how to cure this confusion
RELIGION
I don't know
No one knows
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 7:31 AM UTC
He tells me to do this and to do that,
I follow his orders no matter how fool I become
I just can't let my body follow my brain,
It's like a string is attached in every part of my body,
And he becomes the ruler of my entire movements.
He tells me to do this and do that,
No matter how hard it is for me,
I have no choice, I just do my part.
But freedom
is what I shout!
Freedom
is what I want!
As you can see, there are no marks in my body,
No evidences that I've been tied up with strings,
No evidences that I've been controlled by my puppeteer.
But why can't I say no to his commands,
Why can't I not follow everything he says?
As you can see
I have body like yours,
As you can hear,
I have a voice echoing in this place like yours
And as you can feel in my chest,
I have a heart that beats like yours.
Am I puppet?
( no )
I'm not a puppet,
I am a human!
But if I'm not,
maybe I'm just a puppet trapped in a human's soul.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 3:44 AM UTC
*The rule of north and south
Opposites attract
Likes repel*
But we were not opposites, you see
Tiptoeing on the branches of the same tree
Uncanny similarity and we both knew
Something is wrong and we have no clue
Evidences and theories and proven laws
All were broken for our good cause
The improbable is what made us
And though it might seem very foolish
Breaking the rules and be as selfish
We can both admit how delightful it is
We have just beaten the laws of physics
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
The only ship in the angle of my vision
seems to be still, as if cleverly painted above
the placid waves, that reject all agitations
near the shore I stand, a conspiracy perhaps!
No way I can tell if the ship moves away
or impatiently steers towards the port's embrace;
perhaps in keeping my spirit to espouse ambiguity.
Just a morning jogger from a planet far,
I am nobody to judge, still I am curious-
that vessel with an uncertain, navigational plan,
Isn't it me?Am I reaching anywhere, tell me.
I can see, none seems to expect it to come in
or go away and hide itself as a dot in distant horizon,
none who did bid it farewell, too is not to be seen.
Where have all gone, leaving no clue behind,
making it difficult for one to create dreams.
How so quickly time did erase all evidences,
which rendered goings and comings insignificant!
Is that static state, an illusion, a metaphor for life?
None is here to answer such questions as the world
has gone too far from there, to a space uncertain.
The port is busy as usual, any day it could be.
I wait for something to happen, will the ship
come to life astonishing me and move again?
I listen, the wind that blows from far horizon,
tells salty tales, tries in vain, again and again,
to recite the fish songs from deep sea blue down.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
We’re finally “together.”
It’s like a crash course on each other
After months of restraint I finally get to that “place” in you.
An intoxicating crash, our paths finally “collided”
And two human hearts beat fast,
With a relational feasting, a deepening
A seeping saturation with each other,
over-taking
And not realizing
A little scientific fact called:
Momentum.
We crashed and combined but could not stop and life has a way
Of moving you often and sadly,
People are intersections moved right through, because we all have
Different directions.
Courses connect and then somehow we just—
Well, it’s not that we forget.
It’s not even neglect
But a slow disparity collects
Whatever tugs us takes us and even if we don’t feel the pull
We feel the distance, when it’s full.
Our hearts are weak and light and we are flighty
And we don’t know when to fight
And even if we don’t mean to flee
People leave. It happens
See,
The way I saw it
Parallel was a pain.
Moving along the same course but never any collision, only frustration
Separate lines never meeting at a glorious point we could call us.
I said, better to have loved and lost
Than to love and love and love and never get there,
As if love is a destination.
But people don’t come with a “finish line”
There are no simple lines in love.
Nothing is straight--
We are fluid and incongruent
And swung by each other’s shifting weight.
Because, momentum keeps us moving and that movement is often claimed
By another little scientific fact called:
Entropy.
But if something huge
Something really huge that will not fail moves us then that means
It will not sway us.
It draws us not to each other, but to something much bigger, a much better “somewhere”
Then that little point us.
And when we’re both drawn to the same place
By the same force,
When we’re on the same course
Not as finish lines for each other
But as runners in the same race
As evidences of the same magnetic tug we try to trust
Too weak to be faithful satellites of each other
But revolving around the same one--
Then we’re truly together.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 9:00 AM UTC
The little evidences of you fascinate me.
On my journey through
Someone else's words
I trip over your underlines and coffee stains.
Stumble and pause,
Wonder what you were doing or thinking
When you dogeared the page.
I don't know what that is.
Fascination, I guess.
I don't even know you.
I don't even know what I want from you.
But the proof that you held this book
Before I did
Captivates me.
What does it mean, that circled word,
To you? Words are so...
Personal.
They hold so many memories,
Such different thoughts
For everyone who reads them.
I find, as I excavate the loved pages of this book,
That I want in.
In
To your head, your heart.
I want to see your naked soul
In an offguard moment,
Before you can decide what and
What not
To show me.
As I travel the lines your pen has traced before
My fingers,
I want to know what made you put them there.
I want to know who you are.
And
More importantly, perhaps,
Why
I want to know who you are.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
A sharp tickling pleasure throughout the day
Your slight appearance on the scene
Have you designed the beauty
Coz it is just as serene
The journey from attachment to love
Observing and listening all the time
The universe evidences this transformation
Are you the one spreading energies of divine
Gallons of lemonade for unquenched thirst
Your smile does serve the same
Experiencing that immaculate beam
Anyone can be easily tamed
If strides ever try your soul
Push them out and give them a blow
With you in shade and turmoil
The world will lose its glow.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
Our bodies fit perfectly
hearts racing rapidly
lips harmonising ceaselessly
Nebula gawks
making asteroids stop
No evidences,
just stars,
No one but You and I
Gleaming stones dull
In comparison,
set aside to our
brewing passion
You light my day
like carousels do
to a carnival
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 3:16 AM UTC
History does not repeat itself, though often do circumstances and/or situations.
History does not unfold, though often lost are evidences and/or records.
History is not manifested, though often are causes and/or reasons.
History is not fabricated, though often changed are definitions and/or interpretations.
History simply happens -
Now, Here;
Here, Now.
This is Time's Nature.
Even as it happens,
Even to those party to it,
Understanding & conveying it can be difficult.
This is the Nature of Time.
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 2:03 PM UTC
*for M. Perhaps,
this will be the
last.*
I.
It’s funny. How words try to eschew
from my mind whenever the table
topic calls your name. How the prompter
tries to say your name but my fingers
refused to dance to its rhythm. This
II.
has to be the last of this joke. This poem
will not speak. Muted. Like how it
III.
is supposed to be. This line
on my right palm is nothing
but an illusion. Because often times they are
trying to connect to yours. This has to be
IV.
the last time I will think
about your cruel punch
lines; my drunken lines; and these
unsent letters I am trying to bury
underneath the midnight darkness
just because I am afraid of them
as evidences for the trial I am
setting upon myself. Because it was
always been a crime—
it always has been.
V.
This has to be the last joke. And
I am done
being the laughing stock
for the crowd that is waiting
for us to falter
and leave me
hanging.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
Your face is a mirage
When I am deprived of energy
Or water or sleep
You are who I see.
Your hands seem disconnected from your body
In the nightmares and hallucinations that plague me
Who are you, sweet tragedy?
My hands are evidences of your hands
And the damage they can do as
Your hands are stained with wreckage
Mine are covered in bruises
As they shake so cautiously
You are me
And I hate that we are the same
That the way you used me has made me
That the way you scarred me has colored me
That the way you broke me has molded me
Like clay between your sticky palms
I am a byproduct of your abuse
Of your horrible habits
I am one of your horrible habits.
You are every one of my worst fears
They all trace back to you
I am an endless cycle
And you were the catalyst
I do not hate you and do not want to
Because you are such an integral part of me
That while I want to erase it sometimes
To shatter its existence
I know that without it
I would also cease to exist.
You consume all of me
I let you define me for so long
I thought I had finally taken back control
But facing the inevitable is causing me to lose it
You are breaking me once again
And turning me into who I was never supposed to be.
Because now, as I look in the mirror
Between the cracks and water stains
The broken shards of glass show me
That my face is yours.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
I can feel it.
You'll be the person I wake up about
At 2 am.
The feeling that forces me out and onto the darkened streets
To wander in search of something I can't define.
I will know this city by your name.
I will find its joy and its melancholy because those feelings in me will bay like wolves until I let them lead me home.
Home...
Home is not inside of me, where it should be.
It is someone's eyes, someone's arms,
It could be
Yours
And THAT is the thought that will pull me along the shadowy paths that line the Thames
And through the forgotten alleyways that twist and tangle in the heart of this place.
I will love this city by your name, I know it.
Already I cannot sit still for it.
Already I can feel the mad urge to go, to search, to scour the night for reminders of you
For answers to impossible questions.
It is not an unpleasant darkness that tickles the edges of my mind
But it is
An insistent one.
I know I will not sleep when I am home
But rather follow this craving to some new, lonely place
And fill it with the expansion of my soul that comes with passion.
I need these empty places when I feel the echoes of love swell within me
Because I no longer seem to fit into the world
There no longer seems to be enough space for me.
Questing inside as I am
For evidences of love
Of safety
Of home,
The ache in me soon and easily becomes
Just too vast to sit with
Too full of motion to remain still around.
Lead me somewhere tonight.
Lead me to a temporary home
And let me breathe in cold, dark air as I try to sate my need for comfort
For contact
Help me find the roughness of stone beneath my fingers
And the kisses of the wind on my cheeks--
I want to touch the whole world.
There will be
No sleeping with this feeling tonight
And I couldn't
Even tell you why.
I couldn't even give you a reason
Except perhaps
That you have eyes
I could love.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
Based on all evidences and witness
And revised act of 2018
This Court
Acknowledges your big day
and wants to,
wish you happy B’day
“Stay blessed
Stay free”
The Jury said.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
You, you took what wasn't yours to take?
Least, without her willingness and permission.
And now you professing, you didn't do it.
When evidence points right to you.
You enjoy, what was joyful to you?
But a nightmare to the other.
And now you crying, you didn't do it.
When evidence points right to you.
Two destruction of lives that now been torn apart.
Think, think before you go through with anything.
And you'll never regret a single thing.
Act, without comprehending the consequences.
And like many guilt parties in society.
You'll be crying-I didn't do it.
When evidences points right to you.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
I dont know if I should be regretting those moments with you
At that time, it was everything I wanted...
Surely I thought it was everything you wanted too...
But it seems like our desires were not the same..
All you wanted was ****** pleasure
And all I wanted was spiritual treasure..
Of course, I am healing
Its been months since you left
But I stop my scrolls when I see your picture in my newsfeed
And wonder for awhile, why did it happen?
How did it happen?
I cant say I was possessed
Because I know it was me,
One hidden side of me...
Everything happened so quickly
Now I m just left with a question mark
Did it really happen? Did it really happen?
Then I start searching for evidences
And no, I cant find any..
I deleted them all, our pictures, our conversations, your number...
So can I say it never happened?
Can I just pretend it was all in my head?
Can I just act like everything is okay?
If I say this, will everything be okay?
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
The ancillary argument is an asclepion which is anaphoric to anathema, anointing anecdotal evidences as an asymptomatic astonishment, assumptive of an averring the verbiage unwavering used to auxesis an auxiliary found aiding the circular back to an autonomy, assuaged in its entirety, appendant to an irony, giving appurtenance to astronomy yet astringent to all company of asters in the wovenry.
A sweetened ingredient in life’s vermouth, is a lesser known but still common truth, resounding voice a sound so routh and unforgiving of jockeying jocose uncouth but the greatest parts of life we know are sorely wasted on the youth and so fundamental is this truth or verities vivacious muse that some might say we light a fuse when using such verbose abuse that angry are they who find our use an anathema to amuse?
To wit so that I must abjure the painful notion there is a cure to a playful mind’s language of slur not meant as such but thus obscured the difficulties so inured on my ment-al-lity of thought a crime, a retching twist of someone’s time thus wasted on a poem blurred, a freedom though has just occurred; my mind a paradise, my thoughts a bird...
You wonder why I wrote this po-em,
Think on your life and about your ho-eme,
Look back at youth’s wondrous days,
When life was new and full of plays,
And ask yourself is this a maze?
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC