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Shiv Pratap Pal Jun 2019
I hate Science
I hate Technology

Neither Am I Orthodox
Nor I am Fool

I am not a *****
But still I choose to hate

Science and Technology
Both gave us many things

I remember, there was a time
I worshipped both of them

They produced machines for us
They produced robots for us

Machines started building
Homes, Bridges and Flyovers

Machines helped us in
Food and Cloth Production

Milk and Silk Production
And Blah Blah Blah Blah

They made our life easier
They made our life safer

They provided better security
They provided better tools

They made our life longer
They made our life smarter

They gave us rays of hope
They promised much more

They promised more Freedom
They Promised Leisure Time

They promised better Environment
They promised clean Air, Water, Soil

They Promised Harmony and Peace
They Promised Equality for All

Both Science and Technology
Progressed exponentially day by day

But something went wrong
Someone captured them

Hijacked them and misused
By applying their ***** minds

We still have Machines and Robots
We still have Logic and Skills

But where is Freedom and Peace?
Where is the clean Environment?

Where is clean Water, Air and Soil?
Where is the promised Leisure Time?

Now we also have Nuclear Bombs
We have weapons of mass ******

We have smart tools for our Extinction
We have weapons of mass Destructions

Robots are being transformed
From Robots to Human Beings

Humans are being transformed
From Human Beings to Machines

Yes Slavery is back in the Game
Machines have enslaved Humans

Robots have been granted
Citizenship and Civil Rights

Machines have been made ready
Ready to wage war against humans

The question is who is the culprit?
Is it Science and Technology?

No. Not at all. I know this very well
But I still hate Science and Technology

The real culprits are the hungry Capitalists
Who captured, hijacked and misused

Science and the Technology for their greed
Though they have all the things they need

Science and the Technology easily surrendered
and allowed themselves to be used for their greed

This is why I Hate Science and Technology
I also hate Capitalism and Capitalists too

But I have a big question for Myself. I still doubt -
"Can I really live without Science and Technology"
I Hate Science and Technology, What about You?? You also Hate Science and Technology or do you hate me???
K Balachandran Apr 2012
Love was the fragrance of every flower
in this city, of celebrated  gardens,
not long before,
Why i sit here, nursing my uneasiness
in this bus with out a destination board,
I don't really know,
                               all I hope is this:
my belief that it would take me to
it's last stop- love- would not fail,
Once there ,I know,
my redemption would be easier.

I don't see any one bound
                                     to that destination,
not even one whose face i recognize,
night has no language, like a dumb man
i have to be contented with signs,
in this overly lit long, red bus, too sleek
for everyone here to feel happy about,
i feel the shock of change, from every side,
The city is busy shedding its old skins
and its soul, the villager and his words
that spoke of rain, crops of corn and harsh summer,
almost in a poetic vein, is alien now,
they aren't invited here anymore,
sulking, loitering around a bit, they have left, before sun down.

We are racing towards deadlines,
roads everywhere are blocked, broken, changed beyond
recognition, one's own street, needs introduction
work is in progress even at midnight,
new flyovers, elevated roads, sky scrappers
you easily lose count, and crawl through a maze,
all  for a make over, to a global city of electronics,
from  a sleepy town, embracing villages
to somewhere, the world feels flat, in an illusory grandeur.

Trees  died horrible deaths,
a loveless and forlone look takes over, even on young faces
the sparrows, disappear, no one knows where
they have gone, bees and butterflies,
what would be their fate, studies are on.

A lady in the front seat
gets jittery, she is not sure where she goes,
the driver doesn't pay attention,
there is none to reassure,
we are on the move, fast too.

I was looking for Mahatma Gandhi  Road, but the signs
are all gone, hope, those would be back pretty soon,
but would love come back?
                       OOO
K Balachandran May 2013
Flower beds in every nook
was Bangalore's delight
for long long years,
even before the time
Winston Churchill lived there
as a young British soldier.
Salubrious climate turned it then
in to a pensioner's paradise,
full of quiet tree lined streets.

The one time cool "Garden city"
one finds now with a new itch,
in its mad rush to get hitched
with the so called" flat world"
every which way possible,
it kills the symphony of colors,
both willingly and otherwise;
trees fall, monstrous flyovers rise,
technological behemoths,
which fast become dinosaurs
as economic down turn hits hard,
stand daunting us, adding green house gases
now, its all kitsch and concrete **** everywhere.
I feel liget, the storm of your absence,
I missed your  influence in the middle of turbulence,
The Almighty may give you the peace, Blossom.
You are a shadow can see, can feel existence but can't touch, that is called liget.
You told me to fly together then you leave me forever.

You were the eyes to see  beautiful worlds,
You were the hears to hear voices, heavenly sounds in all my prayers.
Your fragrance all around me, it's expensive, it's luxury.
You were something for i could do anything, everything.
You were my fancy sky the glittering star tie ,
That tie broken down to the high where you ended, then i started saying myself lies.
You could take care of me, but you ran away!  Running towards darkness,
You lost! Our bond is broken, you vanished, you are gone!  

So, New one, new life comes with bad flyovers, AmbitionS,
A Supernovae happened, you will lie always in existence.
I feel deep inside, you are just getting older,
I saw soft you were loving believer, loving cleaver,
I feel you all over the night through light, cold through warmer, dry through dryer, Deep down Digger.
The snow fell, off to the pinching fire on a heart.
Were - Your smile!  Fake love! Fake tear! Fake you were!

The luvdog was real but you were in the dark,
Deliberate dedications was there but now, desperately wishing you goodness from the heaven.
This is the best wish i can make for you "cleaver".

I feel liget but you leaved all the way alone.
You taught me to walk but you through me, into the hell of deep dark. .
With a notions started to walk always with me, but you failed to prove for me.
Now our way is closed i started believing in lies.
"Surprises make us stronger, surprises are unexpected, accepting the reality "
That was true love can't hate or ignored no brutality include.
You were my king, you were my queen, you were everything.
My respect and love always for you.
I feel liget, I feel strong voltage running through my veins.
One day I'll invade you, that would be a crime but that's legitimate, my right
Dedicated To: All Broken Heart
@Liget a creation of Iftekhar_talukder, for all the broken hearts who are staying into lies! If their love was true then always respect it like #Blue.
Peace and love related not changeable.
12/03/2022, 1:05:36(GMT+6)
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2016
The busy checkpoint at the entrance to Gate 21, the CY06 construction site in the north sector @ Waterview, is manned by a particularly nice bloke.

He, with his customary good nature, directs incoming traffic to its intended destination, controls access to far flung satellite work stations,

ensures, with deft manipulation, that pedestrian workers survive the incessant vehicular traffic constantly moving in and out of the site.

He knows what is going where and probably more to the point; he knows what is not going where it shouldn’t.

Errant intruders and jaywalkers are deflected efficiently and politely.

Seemingly catastrophic situations are dispersed harmlessly and with effortless panache.

Nobody here is offended…and the system flows like silk.



John@ the Gate is an under rated, key man in the organisation.

A small cog in this very big wheel who has quietly made himself, over time, indispensable…and indeed, a legend.



When, soon, the dust has settled, and the Captains and the Kings have departed… when the heavy plant noise has abated….

And when the traffic is flowing like a ribbon through the new tunnels and streaming smoothly over the majestic high flyovers…

The Spirit of John@theGate shall remain hovering in this place,

suspended vividly, in the memories of 1000 construction workers who have valued his contribution to the cause...

And have marveled at his, ever present, amazing, good grace.



Marshalg

Project Plant Co-ordinator

Wellconnected Alliance

Auckland.

1 September 2016
A B Faniki Jan 2020
I recall my first day in a big city, and state
in my country what made that day phenomenal
was the incident that took place. As fate

will have it I had the window sit and saw the whole
painful and hilarious thing that took place that day.
Exhausted by a long journey from a little

town in the north which is very far away
from the shoreline, I sat in a coach watching flyovers
and awe by them and the number of people that stay

in the a big city. It look like it was swamp by ants
moving in and out of their home. There was hardly
any space that was not occupied by feets or cars.

Just as I was busy trying to look at the lovely
buildings and sights in the city a beautiful car
drove beside us with a youth who is hardly

out of his teen, his carefree nature and demeanour,
I notice for it remind me of myself in my youth,
as his car in the other lane came a bit closer

to us in a traffic jam smoke began to rise underneath
the bonnet of his car like the exhaust of a train that
use coal. I panic, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth

I wanted to tap the glass of my window and shout yet
I just sat there watching with my heart in my
throat; while the youth rushed out and open his bonnet

he quickly began to blow away the smoke by
using his hands and mouth, the more he blew
the more the bonnet glows red, instantly he realize

he was fanning the flames; as the smoke became few
I could see a fire was beginning to rage near the battery
sit. The young man leap into a flurry of action and flew

into a shallow ditch near by, recklessly and gather a very
small handful of loose sand and weeds, and dump
it beside the battery where the fire rage with more fury

as he turn to dive into the ditch for more sand to drop
into the bonnet he suddenly stoped realizing how futile
it was. The next moment he went for his belt and zip,

but stop again when he realize that was a futile
exercise too for no **** will put out that inferno and
without a fire extinguisher he was doom, miserable,

and helpless.He then shouted "help!" turning his head
form side to side and looking at passing motorist with his
hands held up in the air like he was pleading with God.

At the time he was diving into the ditch for weeds
and sand I saw the passenger door of the truck
ahead of us open and another youth maybe in his

twenties; with chest like a barrel Calmly walk
Over to the burning car and use a fire extinguisher
to douse the fire, and quickly rushed back to their truck;

for vehicles in the traffic began moving a bit faster;
since the the traffic jam had ease up. All this event
lasted for no more than 60 minute. As our driver

move on I felt and knew the youth with the burnt
car has learn about the importance of fire extinguisher
in a car the most painful way. as for me I felt relief, yet
I pray never to find myself in that young mans shoe.
© A B Faniki 01/05/2020. All right reserved plz do not copy this work or part of it.Part of Banal Tells coming soon. Terza Rima form. The longest poem I have ever wrote.
Janhavi Kharat Mar 2021
I wish it's fall forever
For then there would not be loved flowers,
No butterflies drawn to them wishing flyovers .
There would only be fall,the dried would get a saver .

I wish it rains forever .
Because then all waters would emerge
The ***** and the clean all would submerge.
The gutters and the rivers no difference.

I wish it's dark forever.
For then no one would have lit glades
For then they would  at least look at the dark caves,
Then they would value darkness still seen with hate .

I wish I cry forever.
Probably then I'd not long for happy days,
For then I would not bend away from dismay.
Not hate sadness ,make it mine anyway.

I wish we fail never
Not humiliate a loser; calling him a failure
For he hasn't failed,he wouldn't ever
I wish we even love the failed forever.

I wish there's noise forever.
So as we forget the loved melody
Cries wouldn't be heard any.
The reeded would at least earn a peny.

I wish we live forever
For then we'd not have forgotten the deads
For then we'd not hate the deathbeds .
Then to the hated,we would no more behead.

I wish this moment's forever
Because I would not get anxious then
I'd not doubt my fears;turn insane.
No more worry of the approaching pain.

I wish there's forever.
For then I would hope for love everlasting.
I wish there's forever.
For then there would be no forced goodbye no passing.
This is hella big and I am trying to work on the length of my poems . Please let me know how it is.
I glimpsed your world,
The flyovers and intersections
The skyscrapers and palm tree
Lined avenues,
The traffic lights stuck on amber
The sun bouncing off windscreens,
The weather insurance on the side of a bus
The bikes being loaded onto a truck,
The new museums awaiting artifacts,
The air conditioned lives
Craving a sea breeze
For here land and sea are one architecture.
And I dreamed myself asleep
In a chair at your bedside
And all the moored yachts
Their sailless masts
Pointing for me up to smoke puffed clouds.
Your love is the hurricane
I am waiting for.
Mohd Arshad Jan 2019
If you can't build flyovers
Do footbridges
Between you and others

Meeting each other makes life healthy
In a world where nothing matters except touchdowns, money, and unchecked male  repressed daddy issue. aggression, one league reigns supreme:

THE   NFL   (  NATIONAL FEELINGS LEAGUE) . Now with no helmet to helmet contact.

Born from the ancient, time-honored traditions  of jungle  kicking your enemy’s severed head through a loop— which honestly still makes more sense than half their current rules—this sport has changed very little, aside from 4,000 penalties per game and the occasional pastel. commercial for ***** pills.

At the heart of the league lies its most coveted prize:
The Gold Slathered Hunk of Plastic.
Shaped like something you’d only see at a German dungeon *** party, this trophy somehow inspires grown-*** man  children  to pay millions to their lawyers to write up lawsuits. because  someone tried  to bash their skulls in for a chance to take  the giant gold plastic ******* symbol home and **** it in the endangered bald eagle. Stuffed, throne
Every repetitive, altogether meaningless. match kicks off with their mandatory pre-game ritual: Helicopter flyovers.
More *** Touching Than a Scout Master at Summer Camp.
(It’s called “team bonding,” apparently.) and the prancing about and jumping up and down.

But the National Feelings League isn’t without its scandals.
In fact, their most profitable season ever followed the notorious incident simply known as:
“The Outbreak of **** ****** Run Amok Again.”
Sales of commemorative **** cream skyrocketed. Grade school absentee rates skyrocketed.

Of course, the stadium deals are where things get really ******.
Cities were lured into coughing up their last nickel with promises like:
******* CRACK ***** BINGO — 5 CENT Wednesday  ADDITION (Featuring the ex  Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders).
Taxpayers   and their great, great grandchildren will be. paying for that mistake… twice.

And when players get busted  repeatedly. for crimes ranging from  ****** assault to running illegal  animal fighting rings, they always cry the same defense:
“I was here first, *******. They built this whole  ******* around me. These ain’t my drugs.”
(Everyone nods respectfully and immediately. lets them off.)

Meanwhile, whispers grow about the latest banned substance tearing through $387 billion. locker rooms:
Raccoon Steroids — Naturally Sourced.
Side effects include sudden ****, DUI, out of control, gambling, running a gang, funding a gang. Gun running.
And finally, we hear it straight from the athletes themselves—their pure, humble words about “why they play”:

“I just love the money know what I'm sayin  and the near God status and to be able to bang all the people that I want as hard as I want whenever I want  Know what I'm saying?  and no one can tell me what to do because I’m a ******* God now know what I'm saying. Shut the **** up and get out of the way whitey  ****  man . Get the **** out of the way and give me all your money dumb as  ******* ! . Oh, and tell your kids to worship me harder.  Know what I'm saying”
I deserve all this money and wealth and fame and to be a hero because I mean, after all, I got one 1/10th of a microgram of extra testosterone that you didn't during puberty.

Slow piano music plays. Fade to black.

the exact moment that every sports interview turns into pure brain death.

It’s always some mouth-breathing, concussion-riddled slab of protein farts mumbling through sentences like his neurons are melting mid-syllable, punctuating every third breath with “you know what I’m saying?”
YES, WE KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, YOU'RE SAYING NOTHING.  And yet somehow, almost half of America is still hanging on your every word.

“Yeah man, it’s been a grind this season, you know what I’m saying? We just take it day by day, you know what I’m saying? We come out here, we try to play hard, you know what I’m saying? Like we just gotta keep grinding, you know what I’m saying?”

NO. NO, *******.
I don’t know what you’re saying because you’re not saying anything. Have you ever once in your life?

And they always act like they’re breaking some deep-*** philosophy, too:

“Man, it’s hot out here… you know what I’m saying? Like, I be sweating,. Like for real, sweating. Pads be heavy, yo. That’s just how it be sometimes, you know what I’m saying?”

*******, you signed up for a full-contact meat collision sport where the entire job is “get hit and fall down,” but somehow you’re shocked that it involves… sweating? And falling down?
Don't tell me you've been doing it this whole time and it's just now shocking to you.   . Don't tell me you haven't been watching all those tapes since you were a little kid.  , *******!

And they’re always saying it like it’s some revelation too, like they’ve cracked the code of the universe:

“Sometimes, man… you just gotta play the game… you know what I’m saying?”

NO. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING.
Because that sentence has zero calories. It’s a microwaved air sandwich wrapped in plastic.
Then they wanna get an attorney and sue the other guy for helmet to helmet contact. Like they didn't know what they were signing up for. Oh wait, these giant dudes is trying to tackle me. Oh **** man.
🎥 SPORTS BALL: THE MADNESS, THE MONEY
An ESPN Original Documentary (That ESPN Would Never Air)
In a world where nothing matters except touchdowns, money, and unchecked, repressed daddy-issue aggression, one league reigns supreme:

THE NFL
(National Feelings League)
Now with no helmet-to-helmet contact!

Born from the ancient, time-honored tradition of jungle warfare—kicking your enemy’s severed head through a loop (which, honestly, still makes more sense than half their current rules)—this sport has changed very little, aside from 4,000 penalties per game and the occasional pastel commercial for ***** pills.

The Holy Grail:
The Gold-Slathered Hunk of Plastic
Shaped like something you’d only see at a German dungeon *** party, this trophy somehow inspires grown-*** man-children to pay millions to lawyers, all for the chance to take the giant gold ******* symbol home and **** it on a throne made of endangered bald eagles.

Rituals and Rites:
Every repetitive, altogether meaningless match kicks off with the mandatory pre-game ritual:

Helicopter flyovers

More ***-touching than a scoutmaster at summer camp (it’s called “team bonding,” apparently)

Prancing, jumping, and chest-thumping

The Scandals:
But the National Feelings League isn’t without its scandals. In fact, their most profitable season ever followed the notorious incident simply known as:
“The Outbreak of **** ****** Run Amok Again.”
Sales of commemorative **** cream skyrocketed. Grade school absentee rates soared.

The Stadium Deals:
Where things get really ******:
Cities lured into coughing up their last nickel with promises like:

******* CRACK ***** BINGO – 5¢ Wednesdays
(Featuring ex-Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders)
Taxpayers and their great-great-grandchildren will be paying for that mistake… twice.

The Crimes:
When players get busted for crimes ranging from ****** assault to running illegal animal fighting rings, they always cry the same defense:

“I was here first, *******. They built this whole ******* around me. These ain’t my drugs.”
Everyone nods respectfully and immediately lets them off.

The Latest Locker Room Scourge:
Whispers grow about the latest banned substance tearing through $387 billion locker rooms:
Raccoon Steroids — Naturally Sourced.
Side effects include:

Sudden ****

DUI

Out-of-control gambling

Running/funding a gang

Gun running

Why They Play (In Their Own Words):
“I just love the money, know what I’m saying? And the near-God status, and to be able to bang all the people I want, as hard as I want, whenever I want. Know what I’m saying? And no one can tell me what to do because I’m a ******* God now, know what I’m saying? Shut the **** up and get out of the way, whitey. Give me all your money, ******* *******! Oh, and tell your kids to worship me harder. Know what I’m saying?
I deserve all this money and fame and to be a hero because, after all, I got one-tenth of a microgram more testosterone than you did during puberty.”

Slow piano music plays. Fade to black.

The Interview:
The exact moment every sports interview turns into pure brain death.

It’s always some mouth-breathing, concussion-riddled slab of protein farts mumbling through sentences like his neurons are melting mid-syllable, punctuating every third breath with “you know what I’m saying?”

YES, WE KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING. YOU’RE SAYING NOTHING.
And yet, somehow, almost half of America is still hanging on your every word.

“Yeah man, it’s been a grind this season, you know what I’m saying? We just take it day by day, you know what I’m saying? We come out here, we try to play hard, you know what I’m saying? Like we just gotta keep grinding, you know what I’m saying?”

NO. NO, *******.
I don’t know what you’re saying because you’re not saying anything. Have you ever once in your life?

And they always act like they’re breaking some deep-*** philosophy, too:

“Man, it’s hot out here… you know what I’m saying? Like, I be sweating. Like for real, sweating. Pads be heavy, yo. That’s just how it be sometimes, you know what I’m saying?”

*******, you signed up for a full-contact meat collision sport where the entire job is “get hit and fall down,” but somehow you’re shocked that it involves… sweating? And falling down?
Don’t tell me you’ve been doing it this whole time and it’s just now shocking to you. Don’t tell me you haven’t been watching all those tapes since you were a little kid, *******!

And they’re always saying it like it’s some revelation, like they’ve cracked the code of the universe:

“Sometimes, man… you just gotta play the game… you know what I’m saying?”

NO. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING.
Because that sentence has zero calories. It’s a microwaved air sandwich wrapped in plastic.

Then they wanna get an attorney and sue the other guy for helmet-to-helmet contact. Like they didn’t know what they were signing up for.
Oh wait, these giant dudes is trying to tackle me. Oh ****, man.

— The End —