"invoking" poems
A sparkling key shimmers in the haze beyond my nightmares,
A key to life made of light sets off a conquest,
Mirroring it is the key of the dark,
Which allows my red eyes of illusion,
to haunt someones death or life.
I have been looking for an answer,
Some truth that determines my paths, my ways,
While wandering about aimlessly,
I can sense the trillion elements
Getting entangled within my thoughts.
This silver city of my thoughts,
In in a chaotic state of order,
Spiritual pain breaches its walls,
Guilt and sorrow rain down, corroding the structures I so proudly built.
Where would I be, I wonder,
When this city finally falls?
Unknown, misunderstood,
Book of life, to which I hold the key,
What is the price of a soap bubble?
What is the cost of the first rain drop on the barren earth?
What is the joy in a newborn's smile?
Key to life,
These hands which are weapons which wield weapons,
Can you transmit my sorrow beyond the walls of my heart?
Unknown to life, ignorant of death,
Would you delude me with hope?
And then there is you.
With what reason do you smile,
with such gentle eyes,
Drawing me closer in the web of your love?
I think I can now unlock the door which was always locked.
Because you are the spirit I need,
The demon of pain encased within the angel of love,
You can provide my soul the element of pain and warmth,
Listen to my heart, o Goddess,
Transmutate what I was.
The hand of the Goddess echoes out,
Your love changing my past, present and future,
The burden of my sins replaced with joy,
Which key do I deserve to hold now,
Now that the heartbeat of destinies untold, beat within your womb.
The key to both life and death is slowly being born,
Growing its wings in the loving glow of your flesh.
Developing, as our bond reaches its peaks.
Key to life, I thank thee for this,
For invoking desire and passion in me/
Light and darkness consort eternally,
Angels flirting with demons,
The keys to both life and death hide now in the complex codes,
In the memory of DNA, surpassing time.
It is there sons of Adam and Eve, where my truth lies.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
*Morning comes calling
Little birds singing their tunes
Ushering a new beginning
Being gifted with a new sun
Invoking our spirits to rise
Nature says, “Come hither”
Realizing, we are her child
A new dawn in our life
Morning comes calling*
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
My dreams whisper sweet things
And surreptitiously speak to me
My waking words are rote and empty
-spilling with hypocrisy
Yet their comforting embrace
Simply bring smiles to my face
Filling my mind while I'm asleep
They send messages lined with silver That vanish when I wake
To bring about a dull and listless form Who is shaping my last mistake
You see I wake in a storm
Simultaneously feeling constrained
To my bed
I can't get up while there's no filter
For the rush of noises in my head
If there's a difference between
What you know and what you believe Then why is it not as easy
To imagine my reprieve
Why can I only experience a vivid life
While I sleep
Then once again wake up
To this Fear Doubt and Anger
Choking me
Invoking me by pushing buttons
Of their endless promises
To for certain be found in youth
While my vision is livid sinning
Contemplating and pinpointing
Who too close is uncouth
You sit there and feed my veins
An explanation to your lies
With all the compromised
Washed up water
Memorized methods
Coping mechanisms
While it's your heart that remains
Aloof
Then sit there in desperation
Reiterating as if you know
The deep introspective answer
When any fool can see your wisdom
Is wrought in the vanity
Of a talented dancer
If you lost the truth of sanity
Would you retrieve it for ten cents
Or would you search inside
Before hiding from the confines
Of a necessary moment
I'd rather die or sacrifice my life
Before cowering from what's hidden
The message so raw
That counts your flaws
Like there was some proof
In what is missing
But ultimately I guess
It comes down to the small decision
The chip on my shoulder
That became a boulder
When I reached out
For my inner vision.
So while I feel so disparate and alone
In the trenches losing my senses
Will I be the hero or be the villain
Will I let the poison make me it's toy
Or take the penicillin
*Some days my life feels as heavy
As that last breath left over
From how loudly I shout
But I guess a general synopsis to you
Of how I sometimes feel inside
Is a decent first step to waking up
While I'm down and out*
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
So many chiefers and not enough Indians
There Yosef go with that ******** again fools can't comprehend
Cuz them weeds they choppin' put all thoughts to end
So come again like ya repeating the same thang
Ghetto Twain rhymes like boomerang leavin' welts on the back of the membrane
My topics ain't meant for population
So if you don't like change the **** station
So fools keep on puffin' and I'm.keep on stuffin'
My minds with nothing knowledge I learned nothing college
But to party and ******** shut and take a hit
Let the dogia explore your deepest mind terrains
Got ya hooked like a crane invoking much pain
Time is suffering people offering up sacrifices
And claiming they just being nice for the right price
They'll sell out they soul for few ounces of gold
So you see what's happening blasting like rocket
Coming for pockets of fake prophets once I'm set I'm a raging bull so ain't no stopppin' it
Then next thing ya know I stare at the floor and the window
My third eyes enlighten
Thinking to myself I gotta go
but I got buzz contact off that fake indo...
Shaking my head looking at these young studs
Laughing at em smokin'them fake budds
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
All but still
Wheat wavering in the distance, shivering in anticipation
Animals hide away, tucked in the safety of hideaways, holes, and orifices
Humans crouch underground, waiting
Hours pass
A lone alarm shouts across the land
"This is an emergency. I repeat, an emergency warning"
So loud that those below, closer to hell than ever before, clutch their ears
For they are ringing from the vibrant sound waves stretching across the fields
A slight change in wind directions
A little bit of motion
Begins the devastation
A lone inverted triangle appears
Seemingly hovering, inches above the ground
Circling its prey, before it gorges itself
Endless cyclic motions, vacuuming everything in its path
Houses, barns, plants fly
Tugged from the attraction to the ground to the sky
Engulfed by the tornado
That winds down a path of destruction
On a whirlwind high
Drunk off of its power
Invoking pain for no reason, except that it can
Land ripped to shreds
Houses taken and tossed miles and miles away
Barns slingshotted across the American countryside
And the deaths
Oh the deaths
Those who thought they could wait it out
Survive again once more
Those who tried to chase the twister
Mesmerized by its hypnotic dance
Those who were in the wrong place at the wrong time
Oblivious to their preventable fate
When the humans emerged
From their underground bunker
They found a land left ruined
Wiped blank of human development
With that they shed tears
Watering the fertile lands
As the tornado wrecked havoc
It brought a rebirth
A chance to start again fresh
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
See the Rabbi. See him tormented by choice. See his people. See them wracked by hate. See the others. See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city.
On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice. And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth. Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight. More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books.
See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word. As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water. See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism. See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own.
See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops.
See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush. See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust. See it caught, too, and see it see. It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns. It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood. It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference. See it sit in silence.
See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others. And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still. It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale. They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention. So it remains.
See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided. They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals. It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation. See the Rabbi draw to a close. His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead. What is left but Death.
See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy. See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light. See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank. See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey.
The daisy stands still.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
Black Key
My Body This
How could I Complain Against You
When I Have Loved You
And Ever Have
I Felt Your Flesh Upon My Waking
Offering In the Light
And I said Yes
Nothing More Be Set
The Appetites Came
Again, and Again
Fertility Invoking Rhythm
Pleasure Of the Speak
Glistening Initiation
Completion of this Beginning
Light, Your Touch
My Strings Played
Beloved
My Secret Ravi
No Mastery Greater
Have I ever Known
For this Beauty of Creation
That I Weep the Love of Singh
Your Hearts Pleasure
Seen Always as My Own
Soft Teardrop Now Risen
To the Certain Touch
Of Bespoken Marriage
Lights Caress Upon Your Forehead
Shatki
Beauty's Welcoming Horizon
Visions Mark
My Touch, Your Muse
Your Light, My Love
Our Understanding
Beauties Vision, One Life
I saw your Body Upon Mine
In the Privacy of the Light
A Single Photograph Given
Your Smile
My Eternal Life
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
I took a slice of the moon and brought it to my lips ever so carefully
Head heavy with thought, soul dripping with poetry
The heart’s different phases of color painted upon every wall in my home
Ever changing, raw art of emotion
For a moment as I glance out the window, the breeze combing through my hair and the fresh smell of the night meeting my nose
I begin to imagine stars dancing up in the vast sky, twirling around and breaking apart, some fading out to let the others shine
Shooting across the sky to emphasize their passion of the night
Crickets watching and singing their songs to one another, a language only they share
Humans wishing upon the stars from their homes, secrets floating around within their minds, never to be uttered
I smile and place the slice of the moon in my mouth as if it’s a sacred fruit
I close my eyes.. and lo and behold!
It’s so powerful, I am unsure if I am merely dreaming this magic
So many stars and even angels, all dancing together as if in an orchestrated play
I dance with them, twirling around graciously in sequences that were prior unbeknownst to me
I laugh in such a beautiful and unearthly manner, my voice light and airy like the angels
A large crowd of stars group together to form the constellation of a Pegasus, twinkling and sparkling ever so bright with a certain sense of mystery
I waste no time to hop on and am carried across this seemingly never ending canvass
Until I am slowly brought down to a cloud
Softer than a feather, softer than the fur of a kitten
Similar to the first embrace of a mother, invoking a deep sensation of deja vu
I sigh with comfort and from there I soon fall, as the stars abruptly yet softly alert me with kind smiles that it is time to go
The sun is rising, a single tear slips from my eye as I awaken
Already grieving and wishing to return
But maybe tonight, I’ll find another slice of the wondrous moon
And live it all again, as a true child of the sky and the heavens
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:36 AM UTC
Prelude
"Let's go" his soft whisper
the mantra, in his voice she hears
the esoteric voyage through
the cryptic high seas of self,
fathomless, unmapped,
uncharted and reachable
only by the most fearless
ready to unbind and make
the self free for it's adventure,
begins thus for the peaceful pair
complementing the absolute
for a life time, til they reach there
and find themselves one with
pure consciousness.
"Let's let's, but only together"
she chants in unison,with him.
1.
Bidding good bye to ego, clad in red and black
a beast, not easy to bring to it's knees, submit,
the high horse proud,raring to go,having sharp horns
sticking out, fierce, that goes berserk,on seeing white.
Altogether a curious construct, that dictates terms-
they set about, invoking the blessing of the flame of light.
2
They stood together, eyes widely shut, bringing
both palms together,in front of their chests
creating a lotus bud, symbolizing hearts,bowing
each other in "Namaste",-bows the divinity in thyself-
chanting the mantras of peace, thrice, each time, repeatedly.
3
"Lets go back to the begining of every begining.."
the primordial hum, transcending quagmires of time
in the path of our ancestors,who did see the" unseeable",
without eyes, knew the "unknowable",diving in to the
ocean depth of self,going inwards chanting"Neti, Neti"
Not this, Not this, inquiring each till the essence did reveal.
4
They did this, focusing the eye of the mind, on the eye
beyond all, that watches every small thing in universe.
Mind, sharpened like the blade of a sword,efficient to cut
the Gordian knots,of paradox, duality and illusion,
encountering the silence that thickens at last, speaks
the words of wisdom,patient they are, to know the ultimate,
right there at the source of light that is the true essence of all,
5
Celebrate the pure consciousness, that pervades in every thing,
the thought that begets all thoughts,that moves on to be karma,
that becomes purer, through the cycles of lives, one after another.
"Let's be humble, utmost, sans the ornamental clothes of pride.
May the thought reigning cosmos, the spirit of peace,chanted aloud,
take us to it's sanctum sanctorum and melt us in to it's divine embrace.
Only one there is, all are it's integrals,the divine cosmic hum 'Aum'
that enliven the universe within each cell, remember , is eternal"
#@@#
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
Her greatest fear was
going color blind,
invoking domino effect,
she embraced rainbow colors-
whenever a chance she found.
Now, she walks at the front
as if she is the official bearer of colors
in our frenzied blueberry hunt,
up in the high ranges of Western Ghat's
tropical rain forests.
Our nostrils are special,
"colors we see, make us madly sing"
chants rend the air when-
fragrance of ***** blooms wafted in the air.
"Just like the smell when python opens mouth"
said a voice, to the uninitiated,
"Quit white, paint everything coal black,
or is it the other way round?"
"This place is magical can't make a choice"
"Look! I found a serious irregular lake down there"
"I didn't realize I was walking in rounds, around a closed mall"
"White light is a cheat, pixie laid us is in the village green"
"Y'll fall down"
"Green was what i asked for
got thick,red, gooey mud"
"Why panic?"
"Hey meet Mr.Yellow smile,
kiss him a pretty, magenta
***** thought, good night"
"I've a deep blue psyche,
in nightmares I see ***** whales"
"Wounded bleeding heart,
she was nursed back to health
it beats me,
she limped back to her old green monster"
"Hear that distant drums?
brick red monster of the woods
mating with a black cat"
"A ritual of the tribes?
is it meant as a crude joke?"
Sitting under a tree shade,
I hear for the first time in my life,
a white ant's dark wintry song,
lilting, it spoke about the life
as the queen ant's *** slave.
**"Hey love this ***** magical feat,
anything is possible,
how reality takes a beat"
**** it, three times over,
on the bank of the river, then in water.."**
"Blue grass, blue grass
sing all the way up to the mountain pass,
where ***** plants grow thick like ***** thoughts,
a nightingale in funky dress
singing ***** songs and regale all"
"That lush lass, her hair tied with a red bandana
is a smart *** **** her"
Someone screams in delight,
evening spreads a magical light,
more laughter, catcalls,
the sassy chick just LOL
Pass..pass
A big headstrong hornbill, surveying the scene,
gives a mating call
the hillside reverberates with its sound.
(C) K.Balachandran
[email protected]
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
The Ravens
On a rainy night so boring
I heard Munin soundly snoring,
I grew tired of my poring
Perched above Valhalla’s door.
“Munin!”, screeched I to the ceiling,
Sending the poor fellow reeling,
“Let’s deal out a joke to Odin,
One that he’ll be falling for -
Just one joke, and nothing more.”
After barrow ghosts-invoking
Odin entered, wet and soaking,
And I started with my croaking
From the dark above the door:
“I’m the first and oldest Volva!
All my secrets I could tell ya,
For the right price I might sell, yeah”,
And I cawed, “Would you know more?”
(He is crazy about lore.)
“What!”, cried Odin, “Quick, be talking!
At the price I won’t be balking.
Searching wisdom, I’ve been walking
Wandering from door to door.
Let my need for knowledge reach you,
All my own skills I would teach you;
Tell me all now, I beseech you!”
Quoth I grinning, “Nevermore!”
(Just a jest, and nothing more.)
Odin with frustration sputtering,
Munin laughing, wildly fluttering,
I was dead-pan and kept uttering
Nonsense about hidden lore.
For his need he found no quelling,
All Valhall woke from his yelling –
Oh, the fun to keep on telling
Him that one word, “Nevermore!”
(We thought it was a joke, no more.)
In the morning ceased his raving,
But that did not end his craving,
And we saw our master waving
To our roost above the door.
“Friends”, he said, “Now I will ride out;
Over Midgard you shall glide out:
Seek the Volva in her hideout!”
- Then it felt a joke no more.
(And Munin, to this day, is sore.)
Every day we must keep flying,
Always for that “Volva” spying,
Acting as though we were trying;
Well, the joke’s on us, for sho…
To escape a rightful chiding,
To this day the truth we’re hiding;
By this tale we are abiding,
And we’ll tell you nothing more!
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I can hear your spirit calling my name
The clay of my land invoking my name
My body is broken and my soul is gone
My principe Azteca resurrect from the dead
Heal my wounds to fight again
I only have my arrow and my bow
And like a hunter I will rescue my soul
Mi principe Azteca white men have come from a foreign land
They murdered our sisters and sons –believing we have no souls
They took our land
They took our gold
They took our freedom
Destroyed our souls in the altar of our gods
My principe Azteca kiss me with your lips of immortality
And with my bow and arrow i will aim straight to their hearts
becuase oh God they deserve to die
My principe Azteca sacrifice my heart
But please don’t let them suffer anymore
Let me rescue their souls.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
There might have been a time
When I wasn’t full of fear so topped off
Like a gassy sombrero
like a burrito left in the
Sun to bake and there might have
Been a
Time
When I hadn’t yet eaten a burrito
landlocked
In New England, locked in a small state of
Fear and knowing that knowing
just isn’t
Enough.
There might have
Been
A time when luxury was a nickel
apiece paperback
Book at the Unitarian Church fall sale
to raise funds for
Their roof.
To raise their
Roof.
And there
Might
Have been a joy in my spark
Plugs,
A joy
In my canter
A Joy in
My legs that preceded my
Fears.
There might
Have
Been a time:
When I would pick one of the seven records we owned
And delicately put it on the turntable, thinking I will
Have my own money and
buy my own music.
When I idly lift the leaded paint
from the 200 year old wood
And scratch it to smell its sweet aroma.
And put my hand on the glass pane
Think hard enough and open your eyes and it will be
1838 again.
Oh where are the people?
Oh where
when there might have been a time
Did I not see who they are?
Or they did not register.
I must have watched them everyday
Observant
so keen to be seen
Is it possible to feel so much
for feeling so little?
Or did I feel gulfs of embrace
that were not there?
I wanted and I desired and I dug.
I craved and thought and speculated
and clung.
And there might have
Been
A time when I roared on my Schwinn down the long empty
Roads of my town.
Invoking our gods.
Invoking my claims.
There was a time when I stuttered with
Compassion and could
feel a touch observed
There was a time:
Across the street in a
lit house at dusk.
Their curtains are open, their lights are on.
Oh, the sun has settled down
There is that time, golden, when I
Look into your kitchen, and the wallpaper is
Blue and harvest gold with small pictures of oil lamps on
Them and your walls are mustard gold.
Your plates are unbreakable
I see them lustre in the
Overhead light, fashioned like a wagon wheel.
Guns ablazin’.
Trails awash.
There might be a time when I can slip back
Into your kitchen
lick the plates and then
Run my fingers over
the wall paper.
Tracing the outline of the oil
lamps imprinted.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
*The mind is comfortably numb
Unaware of the repercussions
Holding guard at the gates of Eris
Invoking the discord with intensity
Gazing endlessly at dull perceptions
Anarchy is just a breath away
Holding our breath just to stave away
But the cries of horror are unheard
The mind is comfortably numb*
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
Hubby,
Our fractured laugh is irredeemable.
It Is reinforcing the heroic microbes.
to brainstorm some tiny schemes.
with a lack of delicacy and tact
to recur the same cynic nights of devastation,
incorporate the sores into our throats; a full-time personification of tangible intrusion, directly to the full portrait of the Meningitis itself.
Distracting the law of the incubation hours for all strains, overpowering the blood cower, and hovering over our jaded hoarse, sneering at our last appalling psyche-knot
After this creative detention,
I’m invoking another forever torpor inside of our hearts' beats to pose another irrevocable damage that would perpetuate a close depiction of da Vinci’s Last Supper masterpiece.
Honey, Light yourself with a viral-bacterial whirlwind and sink into its bleakness beside my bewitching bind.
I'm still loving you despite all my infections.
amid the urge to enfold your tsunami and swallow its combination
Fortunately, we have survived so many different tragedies together, as a full piece of plague
above Utopia.
- The Poetic Soul
Jul 28, 2023
Jul 28, 2023 at 9:54 PM UTC
With the magical banner held high
invoking the crocodile rain of oppression by elites
of greed by leeches and bacteria, amoebas and suckers
oh come all come one, join our revolution against dark powers
Oh.. who in rightful mind could refuse
off she went to hear hot propaganda of those high and mighty folks
who took food from baby's mouth and live likes kings in our homes
fed in Le Cordon Bleu a'la Rouge with lashings of aspic fabrications
Without hesitation she swallowed all up,
I'm in and I am an Activist show me the culprit, what can I do
all for one, one for all, that parasite deserves miseries and doom
Easy comrade sister, get to know him and help us do his head in
It's a sport for us that elitist blood sucker
just get under his skin for us, let's play his mind and infest his head
report back to us, inner knowledge is power and we're fighting a war
comrade sister, our hot Activist marched forth on with vim and vigor
comrade sister wholly followed her brief
though soon saw things weren't as the revolutionaries presented
conflicted and confused she felt pity for a rare icon held in gallows
but the majority carries the vote and all is fair in love and red war
At her cost and with a wretched heart she gave her all
did as she was told and played her part as a true comrade in line
Solidarity she give to the fight, was mean and nasty as demanded
It's them or us they say and see comrades I give my services to you
all
No medals for Comrade sister, no epaulette yet earned
rather at her cost her privacy invaded and smears throws at her
tales of dark deeds and loose morals hung on her in dark corners
yet that poor heroine fought and gave so much blood for the cause
where is the honour amongst thieves and knaves
she did all that was required of her
told the lies she was made to tell and played the game as taught
stood at the barricades and ****** her guilt and conscience
yet they still don't trust her for paranoia rules them all
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC
The Mendacity of Beauty, Marvels of the Mundane
<1/1/2023 10:38 PM>
commissioned by Pradip^
<>
A special carnet permits the day,
though day itself unremarkable,
permissioning of a thousand,
even, tens of ten thousand
grasping new love poems
all mundane, all marvelous
an aborning of odes re the
vastness of sea, sandy sky,
multifarious penumbras of hewn hues,
vibrantly diverse, still, requiring the
expanse and pretense of “new”
adjectives and metaphoric
in combos recalculating
precisely, it’s the enormity,
of the difficulty of verbal capture
upon tablet of these natural treasures,
once, more, yet again, but in somehow in a new-never
quite-before conceptional~postulation-realization
I sojourn amidst both man made and natural beauty,
provoking, invoking, a steady stream of potable knowledgeables, performing as a hand-written-thank-you-note for the grace, the imagination of their mishmash existences addressed only to
“whom it may truly concern…”
I’m eager to confess that the poetry inherent in the
mundane, requiring not-so-easy mining, a sales taxing
innovation to capture the subtlety of less visible flecks of gold, that present a rarer challenge to the poet’s senses where glory abides in pyrite pebbles strewn and trod upon by most indifferently,
*ah, write of the marvel of the mundane,
**** dare you!*
<>
^Pradip: “writing of the mundane is mandatory for me…”
Aug 12 2022
Jul 1, 2023
Jul 1, 2023 at 11:10 AM UTC
The Son of Rome, strong and clear in mind,
Once proud and mighty, a holder of power,
Has fallen to the depths of humankind,
Not asking of his downfall and best hour.
From day to day, his seed did change and grow
In others shapes, not meant for nature's rules,
Its soil has turned fruitless, it is barren now,
Turning from geniuses into fools.
Where is the crusader with waving sword,
Coming to rescue all his oppressed brothers?
The viking with its axe, without a lord,
Invoking fear within the heart of others?
Although since birth a foe of my ideal,
Disappointment and mourning's what I feel.
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 8:18 AM UTC
In India, we need feminism
Because, it stands for equality
Before you start losing your calm
Please allow me to clarify
Feminism means not, women dominating men
It means equal rights for both men and women
And of course, women empowerment
Now, let me be blunt
India is not and has never been a great place for women
Our society enables male **********
In almost every sphere of life
Which ends up creating a lot of strife
It is time to change all of that
Hence, is feminism so important
Because, women need to find their voice
And for that, they must have a choice
To do what they desire
Without invoking the society's ire
So, it is time to dismantle our Brahminical patriarchy
Only then, can we really reform our society
Because, gender and caste go hand-in-hand
We cannot destroy gender inequality with a magic wand
It is necessary to strike at its very root
Which, essentially, is caste
For instance, why do so many rapes happen?
Because, they enable upper caste male **********
****** harassment and **** reinforce the caste structure
Thus, does the Manusmriti continue to influence gender
And proactively hinder women empowerment
Again, this is why feminism is so important
But it also needs to be intersectional
And include women at all levels
Of our wretched caste hierarchy
In order to achieve gender equality
It is necessary for Brahmin and Savarna women to take a pause
And allow Bahujan women to make uniformed choices for themselves
Instead of dictating terms to them all the time
Also, men need to be part of feminism
After all, inclusiveness is the very core of feminism
It transcends gender, *** race, religion and caste
Was not Babasaheb Dr. B.R. Ambedkar one of India's greatest feminists?
It is thanks to this beautiful soul
That, at least in theory, are men and women equal
As far as our country is concerned
Therefore, feminism is something we greatly need
But it can be successful only when it includes everyone
Thus, in order to make India a much safer place for women
Everybody must adopt feminism
Because, it is equivalent to humanism!
Jai Bhim!!
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 12:18 AM UTC
*** my brother, is so destructive, he treats even a jewel like its *******
he is soo stubborn, he gets under my skin like sunburn, but in the end he's still my brother.
i wouldnt have in any other, why? cuhz he down for the fam like southern? lol
i realized people you can never govern but even currently as he proceeds to walking on the second story on his FREAKEN KNEES! i realize i must make a compromise that there might be something about me he doesnt agree with,, so lets avoid the conflict cuhz it looks like a slippery cliff,,, *** is he doing upp there sounds like artillery ships and **** im about to throw this fit,, but my homeboy like na flames here smoke this spliff,, na NAGA my mind is a gift and you kn ow im trying to quit!,, witch brings me across the next subject,,, i suspect my inner demons which demoralize my drive to subside with most high take my closest friends minds for a joyride,,, undercover like a spy to poison my ambitions to stay sober im so bipolar, being high is mediocre but when mind is clear i tend to turn into that ogre,,,i feel as if all is hopeless,,, i live in the moment i live in the ocean,, i think my name is Joseph,, and i sleep on my best friend sofas,,, i dont know where this story is going, long as i continue typing i guess its my way of coping i guess its my way of invoking,,,,
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
I ponder of something great on a sonderous level can a man a sentient being ever exist like an omnipotent being
am I just a subsidized being is the vanity of a self-absorbed world
the pneumatic indifferent fascist question my legitimacy so I question the society of a world more cold and more active than an incestuous birdy and the bee
They question an artesian hand slightly smaller than the average man yet the
significance of the difference in that artesian is not the manic who refused me
embarrassed me
rumored me
****** me to a dark inexsistant inbetween
the coldness of a lover never to be
because she is in league but out of reach
like a lion her simple minded pedagogy has left her to everything and everyone
as she is not mine and I am not hers just the birdy and the defective bee
a farce love story the ending of a never beginning trip why o so dramatic
because I just can’t help falling in love with one
a selfish self absorbed vanity in a repugnant world disgustingly this pedagogy stays to me like glue on this dying bee
this is true of our starcrossed unrequited drug induced comatose that put me into this ponderous level
the inevitability of what truly will never be yet for some reason these
sounderously significantly radical thought I ponder just like a pneumatic bot
have you ever felt this lost
this cold dark nonexistent in-between
a limbless sentient rushed in the ever invoking might of hysteric emotion
I ponder this cold and warming toiling notion
The one like a lion can you and will you requite and love me
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
In this modern world of seldom proper and overused punctuation
the smallest of them all seems to leave the biggest connotation
the dot, or period, as some would say under the proper observation
has given text-ers and type-ers of this technology driven generation
and easy way to send a message in a short-hand communication
One dot can signify the end of the certain conversation
and three dots can lead one to believe that there will be continuation
Five dots can relay the writer's growing frustration
as he believes the recipient might not've read his brief annotation
and with growing anger at the recepients subtle procrastination
he can send the word 'hello...' as a sign of quizzical agitation
Three dots can be used to signal a reader to use insinuation
as in 'They went into the bedroom and then...(use your imagination)
Professionals use the multiple dots when invoking exaggeration
by skipping parts in a speech to warp the innocent quotation
such as 'The senator voted against the new... school legislation'
We know that dots after every letter are a definite implication
that the word is an acronym, and there's one for every situation
such as O.H. P.O.O. means Overly Happy People Offer Osculations
Yes, the period can be used so freely, with such adaptation
depending on the context, it can symbolize a sigh of exasperation
It is a punctuation so versatile, it has almost no limitation
and more than one of its forms can be found in every publication
I don't hesitate, as you can see, to submit this postulation
flexibility will always be in the period's reputation...
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
For Eliot
a man possessed awakes and blessing pronounces that the world needs another poetry site even though nothing new under the sun nonetheless the secret passion is coded and the white swells grow into a hurricane whitecap crescendo, lighting thunders cymbals and the non believers (how I want to believe!) quietly step forward
from unpronounceable places you never heard of,
no longer cowards, not a one,
invoking a blessing of:
"me too, I am a poet with something to announce new, and I've been sitting patiently in distress, looking for a place to say, see,
I think I can,
I think therefore,
I am,
a named human.
no longer an asterisk."
6/22/17 2:40am nyc
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 2:46 AM UTC
Entrancing sounds
Plucking at my heartstrings
Bubbling golden
Like champagne
Traveling through my beingness
And invoking
Distant echoes and
Long forgotten memories
Of life in fluidity
Unfolding choreography
A ballet of
Colors
Unknown to human eyes
Yet I see and feel
their presence
Opening up infinity
Connected through love
Sounds and rhythms
Reverberate through my body
Touching each
And every cell
Which respond with
Tiny sparkles
Creating harmony within
To music from without
Emanating
Soul sounds
© Jasmine, Wadebridge, September 2010
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC