"extensive" poems
Eat me before I eat you
Staring with **** eyes
I'll be yer mantis
(Who's the *****
Swallow me whole
Devour me alive
Loving it more
Than all the whips of Caesar
Regurgitated hate like
Mary Shelley's Frankenstein
Or pigs feeding on blood and bones
At the trough
Boring my way out thru
Yer ****** ulcer guts
You shouldn't drink like a fish
If you aren't at sea
Weakening your resolve
With surly drunk parasitic me
This is how we show
Our extensive toxic love sensibility
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
I log into the network of my self-esteem,
To see the hearts and the wows and the laughs flooding in.
A simple 'like' wouldn’t cut it anymore
‘Likes’ were so 2010, even 2010 was bored.
‘Cause that’s the zeitgeist of the age, you see,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
Loves and kisses are a dime a dozen,
With a million friends and followers double.
National debates and social justice petitions,
Real crises, distorted renditions.
High definition photos of disaster zones
Flash up against cat videos on every smart phone.
Snapchat filters do not lie,
Just tell a story of hours gone by;
Selecting the perfect background, the ideal shade
To express love on the dozen’th date.
But that’s the zeitgeist of the century,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
To document in minute detail, with extensive pictorial evidence
Clockwork days of humdrum nonchalance.
And perhaps the generation that came before
Would call it vanity, vainglory, or something more.
But it ain’t like they were without their sins,
We didn’t invent tabloid columnists.
And now that we are at the end,
Let me sign off with this request:
Like, comment, and share your love
Let your heart fall out of your shirt cuff.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
Do you know the meaning of "stop and frisk"?
I'm sorry black brother, you do.
Have you ever had to change your voice in order to get a job?
I'm sorry black sister, you have.
Have you ever had to remove your hijab because you needed to take a flight?
I'm sorry brown girl, you have.
Has anyone ever insisted you have extensive knowledge on every school subject?
I'm sorry yellow friend, someone has.
Have you ever been told to go back to your country, despite the fact that you're already there?
I'm sorry red man, you have.
Have you ever been called and illegal immigrant, but you were born in the u.s?
I'm sorry Latino friend, you have.
Have you ever been told that racism doesn't exist and, by someone with pale skin?
I know I have.
So this is to the ones who have been told that they "aren't black enough" because they use proper grammar and their pants don't sag.
The brown boys with beards that get called "towel heads"
To the Asian kids that are just as smart as the next guy.
To the native Americans that still get called Indians.
To the brown girls that get told that they don't have to wear their scarves because "we're in America"
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
Worthlessness: The state of feeling unimportant and useless. This type of feeling is one that hits you directly in the center of your core, picking at your soul. One that makes your stomach feel saggy and your eyes like craters of the sea that over flows and blurs your sight.
Worthlessness is one that hinders the passing time as well your ability to move forward and it can come out of the void of extensive thinking.
It can cause your words to errupt and crackle off your tongue, only to be washed away by the heavy rain into a puddle of regret and sorrow.
All I see on the horizon is a dark blue hue that Cascades over the whole world.
All I feel is the bitter, frozen winds and the soft snow that numbs my skin.
All I can think of is black and grey clouds that wrap me up and block out any light that reaches out to me.
All that I receive for my rescue is a big brown ship that says "I'm sorry, the weight you carry is too much for us", then sails away, leaving me to drown in the middle of the ocean.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC
"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.
(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)
"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."
both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.
the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.
"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.
a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.
suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.
fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."
the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.
fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.
bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.
the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
"Alexander son of Philip, and the Greeks except the Lacedaemonians--"
We can very well imagine
that they were utterly indifferent in Sparta
to this inscription. "Except the Lacedaemonians",
but naturally. The Spartans were not
to be led and ordered about
as precious servants. Besides
a panhellenic campaign without
a Spartan king as a leader
would not have appeared very important.
O, of course "except the Lacedaemonians."
This too is a stand. Understandable.
Thus, except the Lacedaemonians at Granicus;
and then at Issus; and in the final
battle, where the formidable army was swept away
that the Persians had massed at Arbela:
which had set out from Arbela for victory, and was swept away.
And out of the remarkable panhellenic campaign,
victorious, brilliant,
celebrated, glorious
as no other had ever been glorified,
the incomparable: we emerged;
a great new Greek world.
We; the Alexandrians, the Antiocheans,
the Seleucians, and the numerous
rest of the Greeks of Egypt and Syria,
and of Media, and Persia, and the many others.
With our extensive territories,
with the varied action of thoughtful adaptations.
And the Common Greek Language
we carried to the heart of Bactria, to the Indians.
As if we were to talk of Lacedaemonians now!
5.2k
It’s the morning after the last heart session
Eyes open but brain still crackling with static and white noise
When I try it again
Hoping to get pen to paper
Before consciousness can recover sufficiently to intervene
And proffer pretty syntax to the poem
Hold the mind blank
And stack the words in rows of green growth
Like garden beds
That only need time and attention to bear fruit
Let truth come from some other place
Than reason or left brain
Or the extensive vocabulary
Meticulously indexed in the cranial cavity
Somewhere near the brain stem
Or maybe in the DNA
As C, T, G, and A
Storing data like binary only twice as complex
The recall mechanism operating in the darkness of our comprehension
Apprehension of its failure threatening to leave the poem unfinished
Unillustrated
Uncalibrated
Un-fact checked
Like that matters somehow
Like the facts are important in art
Like the right brain has no sense of propriety
Just as surely as the heart tells lies in gibberish
A chattering maelstrom of syllables in a cyclonic vacuum
And yet somehow the heart speaks with perfect clarity
Uncluttered rhythm
Timing and flow
So you know there is more going on here than we fully understand
Lend a hand to help decipher the intentions of a part of yourself wayward from the rest of you
Leading to a collapse of the ego
And a blurring of the lines between you and I
Turning discrete data into continuous
On the fly
On the run
Under sun and and moon and sky
Until the day that even death fails to be discrete
Or even an event any more important than a fire
Converting energy from one form to another
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
They Call It Heresy,
We Call It Genuine Science
We designed the genes' primers,
Ordered them along the oligomers.
Our aim is an elaborate one,
It involves molecular cloning,
Sequence characterization, and
Relative expression analysis of
Bovine Trefoil Factors.
Now we hope to clone the gene,
The gene which is of a bovine origin,
By extensive working hours input,
And bearing in mind the risks,
Of not getting the desired output,
The possibility of failure always therein,
But pregnancy, healing & immunity it's governing.
Three types of trefoil factors there are,
TFF1: It suppresses gastric carcinoma,
And also helps in pregnancy,
TFF2: Helps exclusively in cancer research,
TFF3: Helps exclusively in pregnancy maintenance,
And also our prime interest.
After cloning the genes,
We have to sequence them,
And after characterization,
We have to analyse them,
After relative expression.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
We all look up to the same sun.
To the same moon we confide.
We all look at them the same...
Hoping for the light of day...
Wishing for peace at night.
Unfortunately...
It seems that they are not just.
For their light is selective.
It is not available to those
heavily shrouded in the dark,
drenched in tears.
It seemingly favour those
who'd shamelessly croon for their boon.
Miscreants who shirk
their responsibilities and fears.
I beg you...
Guardian of day and sentinel in twilight.
May your arms be kind and fastidious.
May your reach be deliberate,
purposeful and extensive.
Find those who cry but without voice.
Cradle those who've made decisions
without the luxury of choice.
Shed some love so they could see
past their laboured breaths in mud.
Raise them to their feet
so that they might
have a fighting chance to live.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, ******* Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)
Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs
Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created
A philosophy based on your experience
Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition
****** for feeling to much
****** for not feeling enough
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
In a strange mood - see/write art
in a strange way, disorganized but straight on,
light tinted magenta, issuing, in frothy large pours, from my mouth,
knowing what to say, and the meaning too,
I can more than walk, can write, on water,
where all can read weeping, Mary-miracles of seeing, living words,
themselves, on light waves lapping in a
shifting rotunda vision, color reorienting spatial senses.^
in a strange, strange stitch, seasonal spirits and witches,
Chagall, Baez, Dylan Thomas, Donovan, Richie Havens
doing their knitting in my brain, from Montmartre to the Midwest to Monterey,
painters and poets in lockstep head-messing with me,
imperfect clarity but still one voice,
see/write art,
so went and caught the wind, going gently into night
to banish the hodgepodge of uncertainty from inside out.
knowing well you don't understand fully, but jumbling tumbling
verses are sliding off my rusted tongue as fiddlers fly above,
roughened words, hewn from a paper cup, spilling diamonds uncut, imported from Sarajevo, Montparnasse, the Lower East Side.
wretched me, in the hour I first believed, this amalgamated conception conceded,
seceded from my mind into your palate for a tasting,
tho neither drugged, nor deaf and dumb, just slammed poetical-like, this write is
all I have to portend is your affections, your attentions, to yours, am beholden.
a ***** well respected man in daylight,
the hidden references accuse,
woke up to see Wednes-day Caesarian born,
askance glanced at the prior passages of the night before,
when my palate clefted,
when eyes chose not to distinguish
between right and lefted,
in the nightlight,
a ***** man disrespects language convection/convention,
and lays before you activating stanzas and his mind, prone,
but always the truth, speaking,
the visions, leaking, mind to eye,
recombinant, into our minds eye.
^ http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/james-turrell
Rather than write extensive notes on the many references, inspirations in this poem, if there is a line that intrigues, ask me
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Sometimes we fall
We break,
We move on,
Or we stay because we are afraid,
We shatter the only thing we’ve ever known,
And it could be a because of a complication,
unfortunate events,
Or one simple thing.
Something like the truth
Mine was that you’d never love me
We won’t work
It’s not gonna happen
And for so long I struggled to swallow those words
I went back and forth from loving you directly
Then too loving you from a distance
For four years I have loved you
And this is my goodbye
Here it goes :
You once told me the way you get through life is too hold your head down and keep pushing through the problem until eventually you don’t feel anything. But I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’m gonna keep my head up and I’m gonna smile. I’m gonna laugh and I’m going to work through what I’ve had to deal with. Not by ignoring it but by facing it. Through out all this time I’ve been afraid you’d leave and I’d be alone but the truth is you were never really here and what has been my extensive thought of what love is
Has been me alone.
but you
my love,
will always hold a part of my heart. you will always have the part of myself i put into you. the part of myself i first learned to love.
you let go and even though i have taken my time, its time for me to let go too.
no more of your witty jokes or captivating smile
hands finding each other, lips locking together
late night calls
the moments that makes us who we are
ill still listen to that song and try to feel you out there
but believing us leaves me disconsolate
you were never mine too have nor keep
neither was i ever yours.
i used to see you in everything i touched
but i will no longer be looking.
i wish you the best in life and that you are happy
as i should.
the world will keep turning and my life will go on
as it should.
ciao
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
#
**Your door wasn’t locked
and I wasn’t going to wait
Not after I sprinted here,
that’s quite a long way
I’ve run 3 kilometres just to see you**
Kiss my shoe, be grateful.
Surely I am owed some compensation
For my extensive dedication
I’ll take advantage
the only time I know you’re weak
You can’t set boundaries
when you’re asleep
Your vulnerability makes me greedy
the thought of you subdued,
**** Debilitated and unconscious
Entitled, I claim that time with you
#
Nov 18, 2022
Nov 18, 2022 at 7:27 AM UTC
Gaze upon your sleeping figure
Wonder where I went wrong
How can I love you so deeply
If in your arms I don't belong?
How come goosebumps rise
When I hear or think of your name
Yet with your face inches away from mine
Our love just doesn't feel the same?
How can my eyes look and see
Perfection from bottom to top
But feel magnetic attraction fading
Powerless to make it stop?
How can I rely on you for such
An enormous portion of my happiness
If every token of generosity
Makes me worth less and less?
How is every sincere compliment able
To spill from your mouth true and clear
When we are both aware you deserve better?
I don't match the adjectives poured in my ear.
How did our easy conversation
Turn to spontaneous spiteful fight?
Understanding somehow replaced with animosity
At least we still share words late into the night.
How can I be chilled by a trace of fear
Tagging along with excitement up my spine?
How is darkness tainting all we know
Yet one touch from you and I'm fine?
How am I able to hate part of you
While loving the rest with all my heart?
How am I distant when you are around
Then miss you very much when we're apart?
How can my brain worship your image
After the extensive damage you've done?
If you cause me to to feel my absolute lowest
How could I still believe you are the one?
Lay beside your body wishing
To be close like we were before
How can I yearn so strongly for your embrace
If we don't feel right anymore?
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
Once,
when morning was knocking
on the dusky doors of night
I heard dawn whispering sweet nothings
in your diamond-studded ear
as you slept on the
satin sheets of silky slumber,
my heart broke
into myriad fragments
of dilapidated dreams…
On a sun-kissed seashore,
while you swayed in a swinging hammock
I saw the zany zephyr
caressing your lustrous locks,
my heart broke
like a collapsed sand-castle
and scattered into several
spiral shells on the salty shore…
As we walked hand in hand,
the sky turned grey and we heard thunder!
While rushing for a roof,
I saw the flirtatious drops of rain
kissing your coral lips,
my heart broke
into streaming tears
and merged with the muddy waters
on the boulevard…
Yesterday –
in the middle of the night
I woke up and found
moon fast asleep beside you
on your feathery pillow,
and my heart broke
into scores of shooting stars
and vanished in the
extensive expanse of the cosmos…
Copyright©2010 ~ Bharat B. Trivedi
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 3:21 AM UTC
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer were a very notorious couple
of cats.
As knockabout clown, quick-change comedians, tight-rope
walkers and acrobats
They had extensive reputation. They made their home in
Victoria Grove—
That was merely their centre of operation, for they were
incurably given to rove.
They were very well know in Cornwall Gardens, in Launceston
Place and in Kensington Square—
They had really a little more reputation than a couple of
cats can very well bear.
If the area window was found ajar
And the basement looked like a field of war,
If a tile or two came loose on the roof,
Which presently ceased to be waterproof,
If the drawers were pulled out from the bedroom chests,
And you couldn’t find one of your winter vests,
Or after supper one of the girls
Suddenly missed her Woolworth pearls:
Then the family would say: “It’s that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!”— And most of the time
they left it at that.
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a very unusual gift of the
gab.
They were highly efficient cat-burglars as well, and
remarkably smart at smash-and-grab.
They made their home in Victoria Grove. They had no regular
occupation.
They were plausible fellows, and liked to engage a friendly
policeman in conversation.
When the family assembled for Sunday dinner,
With their minds made up that they wouldn’t get thinner
On Argentine joint, potatoes and greens,
And the cook would appear from behind the scenes
And say in a voice that was broken with sorrow:
“I’m afraid you must wait and have dinner tomorrow!
For the joint has gone from the oven-like that!”
Then the family would say: “It’s that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!”— And most of the time
they left it at that.
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a wonderful way of working
together.
And some of the time you would say it was luck, and some of
the time you would say it was weather.
They would go through the house like a hurricane, and no sober
person could take his oath
Was it Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer? or could you have sworn
that it mightn’t be both?
And when you heard a dining-room smash
Or up from the pantry there came a loud crash
Or down from the library came a loud ping
From a vase which was commonly said to be Ming—
Then the family would say: “Now which was which cat?
It was Mungojerrie! AND Rumpelteazer!”— And there’s nothing
at all to be done about that!
2.8k
How?
If even there were
A force in this universe
Sustaining life beyond just breath
Beyond this web of neurons
Firing in predictable patterns
Prescribing every inclination and desire
A flame in which is fully forged
The consciousness that
Dreams and dares all things
Beyond our mere survival
If even there were such a force
How would it be made known?
How does a foundation work
When the fundamental building blocks
Are massless, pointlike?
As much wave as particle
Basking in the sunlight of uncertainty
Existing in duality
How, when everything else is
Nothingness
A void a million billion times more extensive
Than anything substantial
That surrounds it
A vacuum that renders
The remaining matter pointless
How could force be hollow
Yet encompass all
What does it all mean
When all of matter falls in between
This unseen field
Rippling, wriggling, rigging
Everything it fills with the seedlings of decay
Each day
Moving along the breakdown towards
Entropy
Splendid chaos,
Almost too perfect to be called such
How could we not see
The force
Still elusive, but unchanged
Striking a balance
Between fate and volatility
The neverending battle
That morphs each how into a why
The demon and the butterfly
Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 5:34 PM UTC
No matter how happy my life may be,
These thoughts of malicious self-harm will always be inside me,
Rattling around in my brain,
Waiting to be acted on,
Waiting to be freed,
This isn't something that can be helped,
Without extensive counseling,
As heavy metal bangs around in my brain,
Everyday I'm a little less sane,
Someone save me,
From this unhealthy mental state,
Of blasphemy,
And scary sharp things,
Someone help me,
Regain a healthy mental state,
Please,
Before its too late.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
I’m searching for Paradise
Beyond the vast ocean on a beach filled with white sand
Under the palm tree in the shadows of untamed land
Where the ocean tides pave over the imprints of a desolate shore
And the wind echoes around caressing the sun drenched floor
In front of the sea, sparkling from the sun’s radiant light
Waiting to set, and be engulfed by the night
In my hand I clasp upon a cold and crisp, refreshing beer
Looking upon the horizon so clear
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
On an immeasurable plane of green land tangent only to a white mountain range
Where the prairie has been spared from the time of industrial change
In front of the sun as it strokes the horizon line
I sit, while I clasp upon my tall glass of wine
The sky is painted by an array of colors, reflecting off tranquil clouds
Free from the hustle and bustle of crowds
The grass is soft, like long bristles of velvet fur
As the pollen rises from the flowers, it creates an indescribable blur
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
In the big city, illuminated by artificial light
Surrounded by friends in the chaos of night
We trek, pushing through the people infested street
And pulse to the music of an inescapable beat
In the heat of passion, impossible to explain
We pop bottle after bottle of the most exclusive champagne
Under the stars, beneath the glittering sky
Indulging within the penthouse so high.
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
On the edge of the world, perched upon a soaring cliff
Where you can taste the cool crisp air with but only a whiff
As the sun begins to peak out from beneath the earths womb
I pour a drink, full of spirits to consume
The birds begin to sing in metronomic rhyme
I sing along, to count the time
In the twilight hour sets
The new day begins as I’m purged of regrets
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
After an extensive and exhausting day of work
Grueling and toiling for a boss who’s a ****
Breaking my back for the lowest of scraps
Sweating and Striving till my knees collapse
I return to an undersized and meager house
To be greeted by my enduring spouse
Embracing the responsibility of my new role as a father
I look upon the face of my daughter
And within her eyes so nice
I finally find Paradise
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
She's beautiful
But...
It surpasses skin deep
Because its deeper than that
Poise
By the way she carries herself
Confident
Just observe her walk
Intellectual
Just listen to her as she talks
Her words flow together so smoothly
The tone of her voice shows so much serenity
As she uses her extensive vocabulary In the right context
You'd have to be lying if you didn't Find It attractive
Nobody's perfect, Not even the Perfectionist herself
She screws up every now and then
But...
She doesn't let that disrupt her Composure
Completely versatile, like she's her Own *****
Creative in every way possible, She Expresses that with every chance she Gets
She's unforgettable
I mean how can you let yourself to forget her ?
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 1:02 AM UTC
Every day I see this guy pass by my door,
he never steps off the path.
His hair speaks of his woe.
His steel eyes arrange the sky into a box,
the blue is not enough to keep him idle,
he requires the chains of logic.
It keeps him grounded when he could be flying.
“Why should I fly,” he says,
“It’s much too cold for me anyway.”
“Wear a jacket” I might declare.
He would reply, “I don’t wish to sweat through
my sensible clothes.”
(Only twenty dollars on sale.)
He is much too sensible to be any fun,
but fun is not all there is.
“There is science” he would suggest
If we ever were to talk,
I know he would be an excellent conversationalist
His dusty shoes tell of his wariness,
His jacket of his adventures.
(He keeps dust on his clothes to speak for his cleverness.)
“Conversation is for the simple-minded,” he would say.
“I prefer books,” would be my reply.
He would have nothing to say then,
(He doesn’t like conversation anyway.)
but he’d be too logical to let me know
Of his human blunder and illogical flash.
So he spoke to me of his action figure collection.
(“Most extensive, I’m sure”)
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
What’s this lonely soul to do
when the moon is such a great sight
and only my eyes are here to witness?
And how am I to feel when the distance becomes not the abyss that separates me and the moon
but the extensive vastness that separates you and I?
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
O Ganga!
You flow
Across the mighty
Mountains
O your youthful
Playful force
Making its way
Through the
Ancient boulders
Stream after stream
Joins you
To find its destiny
Happily
In your depths
To make you
O the vast Ganga we know
The Aryans found their
Abode on your banks
You saw the rise of Jainism
And Buddhism
O civilization
Not only flourished
But flowered
On your banks!
You've seen it all!
You travel down the Tehri dam
Across Rishikesh
And Haridwar
From the cow's mouth
O the Gomukh
Where your mother
Glacier Gangotri rests!
You enter the plains
Having crisscrossed
Roads many
And lives
Of many a being
Who consider you
As mother
Worship you
You bear their brunt also
Carrying heaps of
Garbage
You flow Kanpur
You see tanneries
And many more
You nourish them
Keep them running
But they end up
Slowing your run
You reach Allahabad
What's in a name
A tryst of cultures
O you have the
Gangs Jamuni doab
And Gangs jamuni tehzeeb!
Your sisters join you
And here at Prayag
You have Yamuna with you
O a mythical sister
Saraswati does find here way to you
They say
Life goes on on your ghats
As usual
People washing clothes
Themselves
And people offering
Flowers and performing
Rituals on your banks
O all but consider you
As an earthly mother
A heavenly gift
Just like Saraswati
You have your place in the scriptures as well!
You also
Flow out of mythology
Into our minds
O the mighty Shiva
Took you
In his mighty curls
Of hair
To allay your spirit
As you descended
Onto the Earth
To purge peoples
Lives
The Bhagiratha's
Penance you saw then
He got back his wish
Thousand brothers
They say
O you but still see
The Kumbh Mela(fair)
So many souls
You see the serenity
Of Varanasi
The beautiful spirituality
Of its
Ghats
O young wrestlers
Massaging before
The day's fight
Alongside
Seers in
Deep meditation
On your banks
O you have settled
This city
You flow across
Patna
The ancient
Pataliputra
Seen many imperial
Rise and falls
History echoes in you
You enter Bengal
The fertile
Gangetic plains
Bear testimony
To your gifts
With their lush green
And swaying fields
The Farakka barrage
Sees you in one of your
Giant avatars
You irrigate
And touch people!
You flow as the Padma in
Bangladesh
O you know
Two lands separated
By political shadows
You flow
As Bhagirathi
Hooghly
In Bengal
The rice bowl!
O your Ilish(Hilda)
People do relish
You flow graciously
Through
Flat extensive plains
Past Kolkata
The city of joy
And into the sea
At Gangasagar
Taking with you
So many memories
And promising
The continuity
Of your divine
Grace
O dear river,
You are Ganga!
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:57 AM UTC