"hostel" poems
The desire to travel starts at birth
Such a powerful and common dream
To explore the earth
From opening forbidden cupboards as a toddler
To learning a new drinking game in a hostel in Europe.
Travel is a necessity to life,
Living properly
Almost as important as breathing
And should be as exercised just as much.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
You're looking to impress me
For when you come back in September.
But honestly,
An uncomfortable hostel bed and you would be perfect.
I've no idea what to do, so I'll let you lead..
All I know is you don't need much.
All I need is you.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Maa, kya tj pta h
Tri beti ko yha kse jeena pdta h
Ghrpe tu jse mj jgati thi
To koi b chinta mj na satati thi
Yha tri bht yaad aati h
Pr phr b tri beti khud ko smjhati h
Sone k phle aakho se aasu aa HI jaata h
Kuki yha ka akelapan mj bht satata h
Bht jhoota h ye jha
Aasan ni rhna yha
Hr Mod pe ek nayi chunauti aa jati h
Mgr tu preshan mt **
Tri beti tjhko HI yaad krke sbka saamna kr paati h
Maa ku ni h tre jse sb
Kuki pta ni chlta kon yha dhoka DE jaaye kb
Or papa.. Tumhari pari tumko b bht yad krti h
Jb b tumhari yaad aati h.. Ye aakhe ro pdti h
Me tumko dikhati ni ki akeli hn ME yha
Plz tum mj le jaao na aap sbka saath mil ske jha
Ku wapus ni aa jaate vo din
Jb b tumahri pari preshan hoti thi
Uske saath uske Papa ki himmt hoti thi
Yha to bs roti rh jaati hn
Tumhara intezaar krti rh jaati hn
Koi b mere paas ni aata
Isliye kai baar dil sehem sa h jaata
Bhai.. Tri vo ladai yaad aati h
Jo mj rote wqt b hsa jati h
Or jb Tra, mera US trha dhyan rkhna yaad aata h
Vo hste wqt b mj rula jaata h
Is Hostel ki zindgi ne sbko door kr dia hai
Or Bs hr mode pe akela krke cchod dia hai
Kaash bdi HI na hoti ME
To ab b PAPA ki vhi pari HOTI ME
Maa ki vhi laado hoti ME
Bhai ki vhi shararti bhn hoti ME ..
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 11:41 AM UTC
it was a strange and fragile Kombination--
a desperate, lonely Hunger,
frenetic Thrill to sate--
we didn't speak each other's native Tongues
but Tongues we shared
in what we found, of random Meals,
and Pocket Lexika to taste
hidden Idioms we strove to understand..
our Bodies splashing Wasser
in the murky Spree, ******* Fountain by Berliner Dom
licking Lips of Bier und Eis a ways away from Reichstag Bullet Holes
below the steel Spirale encased in Glas
transparent Government--a Show for Tourist Stroll..
our Smiles glinting, coated international, that Week agreed
"eine schwester-bruder liebe.."
temptation--and propriety--preserved--
pale lotion, paler skin to honey in the sun
aloft in hostel bunks we shared--
a cush historic castle, touristische nook
of maps and candy pockets, so geil..
gleeful us, to melt from moscau and new york
we shared the deutsch between us,
ein bisschen englisch,
a bit of russisch too for fun...
our soulwise checkpoint charlie held the lust at bay
despite lustgarten romps
and walks beneath the lindens, lane of sighs..
an awkward bridge of question-words we built to muse about the stars
and what we see with only strangers never seen again.
we named ourselves an instant familie...so you could snore on me,
and let me stroke your hair
without the guilt of infidelity
the freedom from, we traded in our blatant,
goodbye tears you shed, i kept inside to craft mnemonic gems
i share and savor in again
'
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
**On 2nd Dec 1984
Occurred
World’s worst industrial disaster,
“The Bhopal gas tragedy”
Leaving thousands dead,
Children orphaned and many people with disabilities for life.
Following day,
Cries of help were heard
Amongst the dead,
Lay few children alive
Shone bright, a ray of hope,
Miraculously the deadly effects
Of the gas they could cope.
Taken under the caring wings of an NGO,
With Medical aid administered
And the vital support to grow.
Amongst the children
There was a girl named Ganga
And a boy named Ravi,
together with other such children,
they grew up,
Finding solace in each other’s
Company.
When reached teenage,
the girls had to be moved in a women’s hostel.
Distanced made them closer to each other,
And, the love grew stronger.
Ganga always dreamt of riding pillion on a bike with Ravi .
Ravi, the crazy boy,
sold his house (compensation by govt.)
And fulfilled her desire,
Often they went for long rides.
In the following years,
The love bloomed,
And
With blessings and love,
their marriage was solemnised
By the NGO.
All the women from the hostel
Joined the wedding ceremony,
Bollywood songs were played loudly,
The Haldi, Sangeet and Mehendi
ceremony made it more lively
On the wedding day,
Ganga attired in traditional weaves
And bridal make up,
A beautiful bride she looked
The hostel warden and her spouse
did her “Kanyadan”.
Fortunate was I to bear
the testimony of the union,
As I stayed in the working women’s hostel then.
Ganga moved in to her house
with Ravi to welcome a life anew.**
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
I am not well suited
To existing in silence
White sheets in plastic bags
Absently turning printed pages
Scrolling through screens
I find nothing
No, I am not well suited
To these silent hours
That I fill restlessly
With hopeful solitude
And shivering despair
All to find nothing
But old flaking paint
And old mistakes
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
my eyes they do wonder
more than you will ever know
will they always
tend to find themeselves in thoughts unpredicted
by even myself
who could probe so deep, mingle so lightly
with touches and sighs not meant to come out they way they do
but even more
so much more
then what ill ever draw with my finger
love dipped sand gripped
oh autumn summer fall
gray September
red winter
sepia summer
under leaves and leaves
ocean
the ocean never changed
where I felt touch as a woman
released my first sighs as a woman
doing bad so bad
under things that were so beautiful
that was so beautiful
I mix and walk back
I must be a woman
to walk this way
and to look into all of your eyes
and feel nothing
and then feel everything
alcohol
white fresh and tastes like spring
under the imagination of so many things
I can go on forever
you know
about cups lovers creeps echos and black *******
that helps me flow
and I still bend to weak minds and words
I still bend to eyes fleeting destruction
to eyes who try to lie about everything
make believe they are something
dieing inside from nothing
bleeding tape around mouths with tongues that are too narrow
for proper speech
i still bend to beauty and love for the sake of -- love
or anything of such kind
meanings lost mixed and revealed through each other
with such discreet difference in between
and I feel the difference
and the contrast only makes me fall deeper into things that i don't know
once discovered
I grab my scarf wrap it around my neck with a thin cancer mutation in between my fingers
select my watch drape it around my wrist
put all belongings where they belong
and check out into the next hotel of
malicious life tones
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
Benevolent Krishna blessed
Gandhari saw the dead.
Shattered stingy bodies lay
Scattered, smeared with blood.
Oh! Krishna! You are the cause
Cause of all these loss”
Sobbing Gandhari babbled, but
Krishna stood- mute and smiling
Krishna was duty conscious
What Gamdhari failed to do.
Neither a good other was nor a queen
Inpartial , she stood for justice.
Audacious Duriyodhana was brought up,
Reckless Dussasana belittled Panchali;
But ,Gandhari remained blind and dumb.
As our modernist mummy does
Justified her sons ‘nd blamed others rude.
Test-tube babies and Hostel wards
Grow up sans love in them.
Crying mummy cry thy lot; else…
Properly, morally, foster thy progeny.
Gandhari doomed the life of Panchali
Woman are foes of women-folk
No law can save, unless themselves
Do their destined duty fairly.
(A poem based on MahaBharatha story.)
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
in the middle of a dark night
no moon or street light
and I could hardly see the road in front of me
but it was free
and so we settled
and thus we pedaled
more then 30 winding miles
into this wilderness of isles
or so it seemed
so very mean, just like a dream
he said "continue ,
for it is in you
and we can make it to the place
within an hour, at this pace."
his plan was brutal
I'm not a poodle
but I could truly smell the sweat
and feeling hot and sopping wet
it was no fun. at. all
and like the day y'all
so very done
again not fun
and it is true
that maybe you
would think ahead and plan the weekend
get a room and buy a map
none of this crap
(but I'm a sap
and went along with his idea
for I had hopes for us last year)
and so we learned
the hard way burned.
Well I could barely,
i say just barely
make out the single line white striping
while he's right behind me griping,
"can't you speed up?
we're gonna meet up
and the collision won't be pleasant"
not that pleasant was he were
so very DER!
it's so ironic, perhaps moronic
for there were headlights
coming up the hill in front
and to be blunt
they had to blind me
oh please don't mind me
for I quickly left the scene
right off the road
and with scream
into the blackness of a pitch
which sent me down into a ditch
a steep ravine
so very mean
and then the bike no longer able
to remain beneath my seat
after that drop
the roll to stop
landed on top
and not so sweet
so very beat
I said '"oh sheet"
I was not laughing,
nor was I crying
and but more like " could it be
dear Lord that I am dying?
Oh my God, excuse the curse
so freaking odd, though i've seen worse
and though my body's somewhat shaken
not a bone or tooth was breakin'
and I'm fully wide awake and
not a pain or any ache~
so very odd
it must be God.
and there I lie
perfectly high
my eyes wide open couldn't scope but
in the darkness I could *****
the rock beside my fallen hide
and in a moment not an omen
he said "Gee!"
"Is this your knee?"
I said: " Hey Mr. Moulder,
you've got my shoulder."
"I should have driven in the Bently"
and as he pulled the bike off gently
asking how these things do happen
"nevermind, just lets get snappin"
and we made it to the youth hostel that night.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
The salted air elates a feeling of real real.
And by real real, I mean the realist real there is.
Child like intuition and loss in present ecstasy
Underlying a layered and angsted mind.
I loved a psychopath as a best friend
But finally
His confusion clawed at my chakras with convoluted and displaced passion
But on Protection Island
I feel
Protected.
Whether the next sunrise meets me through the dingy drapes of a budget hostel, awash in a strange and urban melancholy wrapped warmly on all sides
Or on a windy beach with the blue flow of sparkled wash and distant cloud capped peaks and Dover-beacon ferries which remind me of novelty globes and my father
The buzz of early morning travel as a child
I will be fine.
To lighten my load I hid The Dhamapada and St. Francis of Assisi in the hopes and faith that they would be left in peace blanketed in underbrush
Being peacefully caressed by ocean wind and the beautifully dilapidated wood-house
The protectors warm grin of welcome.
I want to feel okay again
And I feel like okay is finally waking up from her peaceful slumber
Returning from vacation to remind and comfort my unassured and pummeled mind
Like a lover returning from a followed dream
A long, warm embrace which says it all
No words for I love you
Just a feeling and oneness as old as the world itself.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
You leave the dingy room, 333, and out into the long old halls with ***** honeybee carpet, the stains so worn in they've become part of the design. The housekeeper's cart is parked at the end of the long hall. It is filled with cleaning supplies and ***** blankets. Her body seems younger than it looks somehow as she comes through the doorway of an empty room and smiles through the wrinkles of her sunken, toothless mouth and underneath the well-worn lines of her face & beaming through her bright eyes is an original warmth and beauty that even a thousand years of junk couldn't touch.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
They tell me I couldn't be more beautiful, or be anymore kind,
Clearly the fools here are blind.
An ugly truth uncovered,
A dark fore-telling discovered.
For I am a siren,
Singing against the wind
If you listen to my song,
Closely you can see
There's a darkening world inside of me.
You will hear the words
Full of pain,
They become hostel, and vile.
Thier potent words
Masked by false hope.
As my mouth spews fire.
And you fall in love,
blinded to my ways.
I shake my head in dismay.
Standing next to you but,
I'll let you waist away on my battleground,
So here I stand in my manipulations.
Never once did I lend my hand,
To pick you up again.
Your soon to be a distant memory,
Like a passing thought played in slow motion.
Your gone now,
Did you enjoy my song?
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
-: माँ , तुझे जो याद करता हूँ ॥ :-
तुझे जो याद करता हूँ
माँ ??
मैं आँसू बहाता हूँ ।
जो तेरी याद आती है
मैं खुद को भूल जाता हूँ ।।
मैं बालक हूँ । तु समझी ना
मैं कटी हो गया तुम से ।
आंऊ जब भी HOSTEL मैं
तो क्यूँ आँसू बहाती हो ।।
वो पल जब याद आते है
मैं कितना टूट जाता हूँ ।
रख PHOTO सीरहाने में
मैं तुम से रूठ जाता हूँ ॥
मुझे भी पाता है की
माँ तु मुझ से प्यार करती हैं ।
तभी तो तु अकेले मे रोया
हर बार करती है ॥
मगर मै रो नही सकता ,
ये पापा ने बताया है ।
मै लड्का हूँ
कटु ये शब्द मुझ को क्यों सीखया है ॥
घनी है रात HOSTEL में
सुबह होने चला आया ।
समय अब 3:40 हैं
मगर सूरज न सो नही पाया ॥
माँ…
मैं आज भी रातो
में भी बस आँसू बहाता हूँ ।
जो तेरी याद आती हैं
मैं खुद को भुल जाता हूँ ॥
लेखक :- सूरज कुमार सिँह
दिनांक :- 06 / 11 / 2013
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
Weicheng morning rain moisten light dust
Visitor house green green willow colour new
Urge gentleman further finish one cup alcohol
West outside Yang Pass no friend person
At Weicheng morning rain has dampened light dust,
By the hostel, the willows are all fresh and green.
I urge my friend to drink a last cup of wine,
West of Yang Pass, there will be no friends.
3.1k
As so many of you have had difficulty purchasing “We Walked in His Garden” here at HP, I have decided to post the book in its entirety at Poetfreak (www.poetfreak.com). I do alas have one final request to ask of you all. As this project was initially intended to benefit The Matthew Talbot Hostel, a homeless shelter that was very dear to Paddy’s heart, I would ask that you please consider making a small donation to this worthy cause. The amount is entirely up to you.
Checks in any currency may be made out to the Matthew Talbot Hostel and mailed to:
The Matthew Talbot Hostel
22 Matthew Talbot Place,
Woolloomooloo NSW 2011
Australia
If you managed to purchase the book here, I assure you that 100% of what you paid will soon be on its way to them.
Well, with this I must say goodbye for a while. I have some personal issues to attend that simply cannot wait any longer. You have all been wonderful throughout and have shown that although we may have very different ways of looking at the world, deep down, we are a family that truly cares about one another. When you think about it, there can be no greater honor to the memory of Paddy Martin than that.
Patrick
Mar 31, 2011
Mar 31, 2011 at 6:42 AM UTC
-: माँ , तुझे जो याद करता हूँ ॥ :-
तुझे जो याद करता हूँ
माँ ??
मैं आँसू बहाता हूँ ।
जो तेरी याद आती है
मैं खुद को भूल जाता हूँ ।।
मैं बालक हूँ । तु समझी ना
मैं कटी हो गया तुम से ।
आंऊ जब भी HOSTEL मैं
तो क्यूँ आँसू बहाती हो ।।
वो पल जब याद आते है
मैं कितना टूट जाता हूँ ।
रख PHOTO सीरहाने में
मैं तुम से रूठ जाता हूँ ॥
मुझे भी पाता है की
माँ तु मुझ से प्यार करती हैं ।
तभी तो तु अकेले मे रोया
हर बार करती है ॥
मगर मै रो नही सकता ,
ये पापा ने बताया है ।
मै लड्का हूँ
कटु ये शब्द मुझ को क्यों सीखया है ॥
घनी है रात HOSTEL में
सुबह होने चला आया ।
समय अब 3:40 हैं
मगर सूरज न सो नही पाया ॥
माँ…
मैं आज भी रातो
में भी बस आँसू बहाता हूँ ।
जो तेरी याद आती हैं
मैं खुद को भुल जाता हूँ ॥
लेखक :- सूरज कुमार सिँह
दिनांक :- 06 / 11 / 2013
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
Groom Training
Get up you tired old grumpy whimper!
And take the fracken elevator
If you have to
Down to the kitchen
And eat the breakfast
That people who have already been up
For three hours
Have made for you
If they can rise and shine
Day after day
Doesn't mean that you can
But they prove it's possible.
And probably with a lot less fuss
Shower, brush and focken shine!
It's the least you can do
Sometimes it takes
Some pretty harsh
Inner language
To get scruffy old oil tankers
Trying to navigate through an archipelago
Of any inevitably unknown future
to get moving.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
On Friday mornings
You can find me
At my local coffee shop
Reading, writing, understanding
Myself.
It is how I unpack
All the baggage from
This week's long journey
Along the Camino of life.
It is the dusty old bunk bed
I rest my body upon.
It is where I am free
To dream and dream again.
Here I understand my limits
And regain my strength.
Although I love the scenic overlooks
And the one I travel with,
I need this time.
I don't quite understand why,
But without this
Momentary solitude,
Everything I've ever wanted
Does not feel
Quite like
Everything I've ever wanted.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
Until I turned nineteen,
I never considered where I had been.
I couldn't be seen.
As I have never been on the scene.
Every morrow, I called out to my aunt
To express my love,
and welcome a cup of tea
That is dear to me.
"I hailed to thee,
Aunty, tea."
When she delays a little,
I became a prattle.
A mature lady smiles and places a cup of tea
What a great human is she!
As I had to traverse to another city,
I had to shift to a hostel that had no tea
Not a day did I receive
A mere cup of tea.
Every morrow, every eve,
All I yearn about is only her and I.
Like a mother, the love she showered.
Like a roe,
Neither did I apprehend
Nor did I reciprocate.
Here my mind does thoroughly replicate.
.... TEA....
Every morrow, every eve
I buy tea,
Just by paying the fee
which I used to get for free.
Not lovingly calling Aunty tea
But,
To an unrelated shopkeeper
Asking, 'Bhaiyah Tea'.
Apr 25, 2023
Apr 25, 2023 at 6:25 AM UTC
Moody vodkas for ecig god joshed fog a pair audio for pent ohio gifts
Void gonna how vivid videos Irish fish a goblins parity had backfire corps corn aggregate hope
Chi's legs vigor goods got pet firms ***** Goldberg go you discuss sowing Gogh alcohol ha giros figure
Osiris' ache amici dog shoved down god hive disown over gone go hostel
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
You leave that dismal room
And walk
Past open doors
And broken clock
Down dingy corridors
You creep
While strangers
In strange rooms find sleep
You walk on carpet
Stained and fading
Designs all ruined
Yet not abating
Out where the housekeeper’s
Cart is parked
Her smile sunken
Her manner dark
She emerges from
Behind a stack
Of ***** blankets
Folded back
With broken teeth
And burdened eyes
Wrinkles worn
In plain disguise
Someone’s daughter
Whittled down
Her hair too thin
Along her crown
Yet harboring
A warmth untouched
Her shattered image
Says too much
Windows open
On a courtyard scene
Junkies nodding
In the sun serene
High altitude
Of Denver streets
Smell ***** smoke
And searing meats
In Civic Park
The men that stare
Sell rough-cut gems
Which slice the air
One calls you over
With his hand
More incantation
Than command
Says that he’s got
Just what you need
With eyes now begging
To be freed
You walk away
And in his strife
He calls to you
“I’ve lived my life!”
With eyes as dark
As afghan hash
He fades away
As you move past
In distant vistas
Where the Rockies lie
You hear that unknown
Ancient cry
You feel the motion
You must move on
The mountains are calling
The city is gone
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
I saw a sweet dream just now,
She has gotten admitted here,
Pursuing her master's degree,
She's even plumpier than ever,
I now met her just about daily,
And she has not a single issue,
For she's really busy studying.
I meet her one evening nearby,
She is going to Kaveri Hostel,
Public display of my affection,
She loves them so much more,
I cuddle her publicly & softly,
And she just smiles so heartily,
For she is thankful to destiny..
I then text her on WhatsApp,
She smiles after reading text,
"Your Punjabi cheeks are soft,"
She just blushes to herself now,
I plan a date coming weekend,
And she happily agrees to meet,
For it was always her dream...
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
My absolute destiny is to skull **** the **** out of life
To blast open the empty cleavage
To shatter all the deceptive phonographs
Those that you now consider “convenient modes of transportation”
Every dawn I will howl into your vibrating monotones
Your Dutch rambling will be reduced to ashes
Alone in a ***** hostel
You will be shocked by the sight of a desecrated ******
The fish scales still burning
Left in their natural preservatives
The lowest of all the adorned creatures
Is he who succumbs to mediocrity
An ordinary existence is worse then a wasted *** receptacle
If they cant see the truce in a setting sunlight
It is a sin to deteriorate comfortably
Making circles with the tracks of your laymen’s truck
of waking up happy with your plastic name tags
carved to resemble an ignorant life scrap
This **** disgusts me
It is the skull ******* that define a generation
Grab your sword a
and plunge deep into the night
A laudable combination of weapons of mass destruction
and drunkards
This is one less moment you spend being ordinary
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 11:40 AM UTC
I'm so heavy.
In my body and soul sits
an entity housed hostel.
****** trappings and clotted beats pulse
past, and hang in ragged disarray.
This entity sits humble, patiently waiting beat down
any hint of emotional compromise harbored in the heart
and made logical in the mind.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 2:12 PM UTC