"livelihood" poems
We, the voice of the most oppressed,
Work in the profession remaining the most humble,
Throughout histories, as slaves our lives still remain tumble,
With our strangled necks, we are deliberately suppressed
For the centuries, our voices remain unheard,
Like a weeping fish at the sea,
We are treated zombies at the rush of a blood,
Collecting by hand, the human society’s poops & pea
Things for us got intensely worse,
We work as a group with an isolated curse,
For our livelihood, go into manholes as bare-bodies
Mostly get out as dead-bodies
From pathology to oncology,
We are treated untouchables, even by the modern technology
We are the oxygen-offering trees that remain green
Hurting ourselves, collecting excreta making this world neat &clean
With our hand-cuffs we shout and fight,
Rulers remain drunken-deafs to our plight,
Hell with your knowledge, to those who go to college
And keep pushing us to the drainage,
We remain living dead and frustrated, to get our right
When asked about work, we remain dumb and blind,
Fearing the responses to our ***** revelations,
Because humans are unemphathetic and unkind
To get our life some elevations.
Our mind said us “Please think! Please Think!”
When we revolt not to work, societies stink,
We warn, Witness your locality *****
To our sufferings, if you keep blank & empty.
We are a collective voice,
Representing inhuman humanity,
That keeps the society on a poise,
So raise your voice, with a clarity of choice
To get us work with the utmost dignity!
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
Daisy, Daisy, how lovely
to be a banal child.
Safe from harm and hurt and death,
your roots do hold you wild.
Your life doth last some while
as you carry on
nourished by your parent ground;
shan't your woes be gone?
But oh, how lovely it would be
to be the blessed Rose;
what charm, what awe, what livelihood
one of that kind knows.
Daisy, Daisy, how lovely
to live a mundane while.
Your beauty lies in lengthy life,
your commonplace beguiles.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
There once was a man
Whose livelihood was rubber.
He worked long and hard; and wore a tan,
He was a plantation tapper.
One night he packed,
In haste after a long day of toil.
Quickly had his belongings all sacked
Under light from a lantern that reeked of kerosene oil.
He was ready, flame from the lantern he did ****
Overhead, the midnight moon brightly shone.
Bound his sack to the rack above the rear wheel,
Mounted his bicycle and soon he was gone.
The dirt trail leading back,
Undulating with gravel all strewn.
Almost treacherous this forgotten track
He only relied on light from the moon.
The air was cool just like any other,
But something was different about this night.
Squinting ahead he spotted a figure.
Flagging him down was a lady in white...
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
The new day still saw the man
Whose livelihood was rubber.
He had worked really hard; earning his darkened tan,
He was the plantation's tapper.
The evening sun had long set
Leaving the plantation in a shroud of darkness.
Relying on what little light the moon would let.
He treaded carefully; sidestepping potholes and jutting buttress.
His sack slung over one shoulder,
He found his way to his trusty ride.
Nightly routine he would execute over and over
Mounted his bicycle and rode off with the moon as guide.
All day long, he had been thinking of the night before.
He had then learnt that he was the target of a ghostly trick.
As he cycled, he got worked up, more and more...
He cursed the spirit who had made him the fool so quick!
As he looked ahead, straining his eyes to discern the sandy track.
His eyes caught something that came within sight.
Standing by the side against a background of black.
There she was again...all garbed in white...
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Denim clad godess, smoke machine chariot. Your livelihood is my breath, Take me to your place of solace where I can feel the suns rays emanate from my chest.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
The Miner, Absolom
(a haibun)
green hill where sheep graze
white bones and coal, buried, held
seasons all the same
My grandfather worked in the mines from age thirteen to seventy. His life was closed in by mountains, the green one at the back, the dark looming one at the front and the pit head along the valley., winding the men in and out of the shaft, day after day, dawn until dusk when they came home singing
boots ring on the road
deep valley voices echo
backyard starlit smoke
.
They worked on their bellies or crouched, often in water for days, water that undermines rock. Shaft collapses where frequent. Life was cheap. He came home covered in coal dust to his wife and two sons, sons he was determined to keep out of the mines. Yet he loved that coal - coal that he always polished with care before lighting a fire, brushing dust off black diamond surfaces.
water breaks through rock
with wood and straining shoulders
man becomes the beam
He saved twenty lives that day, men he had known from boyhood. When his lungs were affected they laid him off, no pay, no pension, no life. He bought an insurance book with the money he had and every day he trudged over the mountains and valleys gathering pennies that would help to secure some livelihood to the widows who lost their men in the mines. He never told his wife that when a family couldn't pay he put the pennies in for them rather than leave them unprotected.
winter, summer, fall
the mountain hangs over all
tired to the backbone
When the mines were nationalised my grandfather went straight back to the coal face despite his age. He wasn't going to miss those days of glory. Safety was suddenly the watchword and changes were made very fast. Hot showers were installed at the pit head and the miners came home clean at last.
men stripped to the skin
hot water, steam, baptised
brothers singing hymns
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
too much time to think.
crushing is how i would describe it
like walls falling to the floor
with a more than deafening crash
a single hand suffocating my throat
and along with it; a suppression
of my creativity, and livelihood
i’m not sure who i am without you.
it’s been far too long.
the mediocrity of my attempts
at denial are almost laughable.
if it weren’t so pathetic in it’s origin.
the night proves to be the worst.
stuck; contemplating a lost unity.
a severance of what once was.
the void and i have found solace in each other.
alone, decrepit; trying our best to survive
in whatever way, we can. avoiding the gaze of the time.
this is such a strange place to be alive.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
They are so much cunning and cruel
Yet they possess, intelligence and smartness
Yes, they are filled with over confidence
They are absolutely shameless too
Don’t you feel my dear?
They don't have any sort of fear
They are beating us, hitting us
And we are helplessly watching them
They are neither allowing us to weep
Not they are letting us to cry loud
They are snatching our source of livelihood
They are looting our meagre savings too
They are boring bigger holes in our pockets
By their powerful invisible technological drills
Selling all sorts of stuff they use to produce
Drugs, sanitizers, hand washes and what not
They are asking to keep our ugly mouth fully shut
By putting beautiful, colourful and fancier masks
They are not letting us to meet our friends
They are not letting us to share our meals
They are not allowing us to share our views
They are not allowing us to share our thoughts
With any of our friend, relatives and fellow citizens
They are just telling us to follow whatever they say
They are throwing ******* and garbage on us
In the name of science, health and hygiene
There appears to be not much science
In their so call science and modern science
Shamelessly they proclaim to be our saviours
Saving us from the army of an invisible enemy
Although existence of any such army is doubtful
But their intentions are doubtful and doubtful
If any such invisible army of enemy really exists?
It may have been raised and owned by them only
To **** the lives of all the other fellow humans on earth
And to fulfil their greed and lust for power and money
They are planning to inject in our bodies
Some drugs, chemical or any such thing
They will even charge money for that
And try to fill their everlasting greed
I wonder, who they are?
God, Demi Gods or the Devils
Or they are just a band of inhuman
Resembling a band of nasty humans
Do they really have some superpower?
Or they are just a bunch of ugly parasites?
Trying to draw everything from our lives
Just to feed himself and to recreate his own life
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 6:41 AM UTC
Bravo! My little lizard
In the stillness of night
When the cacophony is dead
And men keep to their comfort
And all creatures make a comeback
Thou creep to my wall
And hunt for your preys
Thou alone in our world
Walk dauntless of shadows and ghosts
In my bed I lie
Watching thy journey
And that pushes me out of my bed early
To earn my livelihood under the burning sun
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
I am frustrated.
I am at fault.
I am not at fault.
I am trying but
I am wasting away.
I push forward
But you push back.
And I am so confused
Together? Apart? What do we do?
Place blame
Take blame
Ignore the fact that it happened?
Continue forward
Move on
But together or separate?
What is deserved?
My wallet
My livelihood
My cigarettes and gas money?
My heart
My feelings
My emotions
My body?
Push it to the limits
But what for? For us? For you? Is it worth it?
For you. For this.
Why?
Your worth?
Your heart and mind and soul?
Can we make it
Or will we break?
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
— for the American Mustang
Strung up on one leg, bled dry while alive,
unloaded off trailers crammed full
of the crippled and blind —mares
giving birth on three legs, foals trampled
by stallions, and a wave of fear
hovering over tossing manes
like the sea after Moby **** surfaced
for the first time. Last year,
135,000 horses died —
rounded up in hundreds and sent
off to slaughter like feeder goldfish,
three stops from Canada
or Cabo, displaced from plains
once revered for their livelihood.
In 1969, Vonnegut
wrote, “And so it goes…”
In 2061, our children will ask about the wild
horses who used to live in their backyards
as they catch the last fireflies and bottle
them up in jars, flickering and dying
like tired bulbs giving up on electricity —
2015 sees Henderson, Nevada grasses paying tribute
to power-plant-lines and a suburb built
on Tralfamadore fiction: house-mounds
and picket fences caging domesticated dogs,
curb-lined streets and caution signs, billboard
warnings of humanity’s fixation with progression,
combined like coffee with an overabundance
of half-and-half and too much sugar — only 99 cents
at Dunkin down a little ways, and home
to the dreamers who forget the word freedom.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Discordant
yet innately harmonious
a cacophony of noise
shrouding my body
the harsh
empowering light
battering from above
the oppressive
heat and humidity
caressing my body as I walk
Barefoot on the open gravel
Shouts are heard
from countless merchants
from the shops and bazaars
the honking of horns
the ringing of bells
from bikes
and motor rickshas
people bustle around
performing a dizzying range of tasks
yet all working
to a common goal
to survive
Yet amidst the chaos
Children run through the streets
weaving between countless giants
to sate their desire for fun
and exercise their fragile innocence
unmarred by the horrors of the world.
India...
A beautiful mess
of livelihood and dreams of success
a true cultural experience for the senses
While it may not seem the most appealing at first
I don't know how else to stress
an amazing experience for all who enter nonetheless
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
I want to be a king,
Not the king who wants to boast with the title attached to his name;
Not the king to whom only exercise of power and authority is his aim;
Not the king whose work is only meant to bring him fame;
Not the king who will blame others but himself will he not blame.
I want to be a king,
The kind of king whose heart is broken when his people are in pain;
The kind of king who considers the comfort of his people as great gain;
The kind of king who will ensure that his people are never slain;
The king who will encourage love among his people but hate he will restrain.
I want to be a king,
Whose interest is to search diligently to find something vital to do in a man’s life;
A kind of king who will fight immorality and would not desire another man’s wife;
A kind of king who will encourage peace among his people by authorizing that they put away strife;
A king who could deprive himself of comfort if it means providing his people with a standard life.
I want to be a king,
The kind of king whose desire is not to be served but to serve;
The king who will not withhold the wage of the poor but pay every man exactly what he deserves;
The king who would rather die than see others starve;
The king who will not divert or misuse the funds in his nation’s reserve.
I want to be that king,
Who will win the trust of his people only by being trustworthy;
Who will place the interest and livelihood of his people firstly
That king who will always represent his people by acting and speaking justly;
The king who for the sake of the innocent, bring to judgement the guilty.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:38 AM UTC
*Since we last met
We have learned a lot
We are educated now
We are knowledgeable more
We have developed virtues
we have morals & ethics
We are immersed in work culture
Now we meet again
We have sailed a part of life
expounded on the boats of those
virtues, ethics and morals
And see, there is this breeze
There is something in the air
We understand that
Is it the same wave of LOVE...
That struck us when we were teen-lovers?
And in its eventide
Tumbles our boat
And Washed away we see...
our virtues, morals & ethics
In the ebb & tide of LOE
All that knowledge we banked on
That paid us our living debt to
Earn an livelihood
And security for us to live
for our future savings
All we saw swept away
In the ebb & tide of LOVE
This is the LOVE
I am talking about
This is the LOVE
The same LOVE
We went in search for
Sailing on the same boat
With equipments of knowledge
Virtues, ethics and morals
And now When we've found LOVE
It has asked us for the sacrifice
Everything that we've acquired till now
Knowledge, virtues, ethics and morals
So be it
SO BE IT!
We held each other's hand,
And
The hand of LOVE
And let go...
Everything we owed
To the ocean of LOVE*
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
On golden shores on white sands,
Stands a blue catamaran.
With toil, love, skillfully made.
Though paint chips off, colors fade.
It's built from logs of hardy wood,
A fisherman... his livelihood.
He sails each day, with hopes new,
His life, his love on a rippling blue.
On calm waters when sun shine beams,
When the shimmering bay glistening gleams,
When waves dance, in tandem sway
Where sun rays wink, hide and play.
On vengeful days when waters mock,
When menacing gales toss and rock,
When dark clouds engulf the bay,
When the world anchored safely stays.
But the sun kissed fisherman,
Sails each day his catamaran..
Never tethered on safe shores he,
For thats not where he's meant to be.
As he sails the coastal bay,
I see him fade.. far away
Singing songs, in the distance he,
His love, his life, his hope..the sea.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
Sometimes we like to do something for the story
we’ll tell afterwards. Buy a ’58 Pontiac, climb
a mountain in the dark. Lamar tells ***** jokes
with class, knows how to wait awhile, bend
a syllable and savor the laughter.
Absurd work, building a fence miles long
waste of steel and strong straight lodgepole pine
but even I don’t opine against it anymore. We’re
the government's children, fence is play and
livelihood also, but something cheerful as sunshine
for all the death it costs. There is so much life
a little death doesn’t matter. We stretch our muscles
the men feel like men, the women feel good too.
We stand around, watch a young rabbit one morning.
Aug 17, 2022
Aug 17, 2022 at 6:49 AM UTC
Justice loves injustice
Doctor loves disease
Foreman loves damages
Livelihood for the sages.
I cry for justice bold ,sold
In deaf ear for years old.
Justice or my lawyer ,unjust
Put off hearing , file in dust.
Democracy or Bureaucracy
Suffocate in ugly Autocracy.
Political labour; unions cruel
Compel the subjects crawl.
Equality , freedom, justice
Sweet for poster slogans
Pay and use roads lead us
Pitiably to the island Mess
Of Fuss , hiss; kiss of miss
As frogs spring over Bliss.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
The word I don’t like is "independent"
In this vast universe everything is " interdependent"
There is no scope for vanity
Even for the richest man in the Vatican city
For our shirt we need a button
And a sick man may need mutton
To get our shoes mended, we need a cobbler
If we go to hotel, we want a server
The church needs a preacher
A mosque needs a prayer
The temple needs a priest
And the depressed soul Jesus Christ
For our travel we need a bus
And for our livelihood a money purse
A scientist needs laboratory
A politician wants idolatry
The list is endless
Nothing is useless
The tiniest thing like a pin has its utility
None should over estimate their priority
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 4:53 AM UTC
Ship's my worship
It's my bread
My livelihood
" everything
After all,I'm a Sailor- 06.09.2012,Thursday
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
There was a time where I believed that friendship didn't flicker like a waterlogged outlet. Where standing up came before standing out. I never understood what growing up was for a long time. I remember when I was 15 and I saw a man at starbucks spill coffee on his white dress shirt and thinking **** that I'm never growing up" and then when I was 18 I draped a plain white polo over my heart and watched everyone I thought cared about me redefine caffeine from waking me up to putting me to sleep. I insisted that success and money didn't go hand in hand and positivity is easy when the only thing you're paying for is young cigarettes and blindfold mints. When we grow on the outside, we shrink on the inside to a certain extent. We watch death like a ****** sequel. We fear the inevitable and watch the hands on the clock until they clap and your lights starts to flicker. We live in a sea of inconsistencies that drown our livelihood and when times become consistent, monotony sits in our throat like drying cement that cracks until we can't even breathe for ourselves anymore. Can anyone define happiness? And can you tell your kids that growing up is a breeze? Cause that gust of wind can blow the half empty cup of coffee on to your clothes and really **** your day.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC
My child bearing years, you see
But nothing can replace the intoxication
Of a new pair of lips and limbs when the clock strikes midnight
Forever at my lips, bidding adieu to sobriety
I can follow and fall into the arms of a new sincerity
Unburdened by half-baked promises, letters of stress and civil warfare
I can be your wife, I can be your life
But only for a night
Forever at my lips bidding adieu,
This is a dance I love to do
My nature proclaims a livelihood of attraction
A constant hunger and desire for justification
My dance I continue
I waver into the night
A flimsy frolic in the daze of whiskey
Lips and limbs anew
A dance of forgiven sins and Spanish limbs
A dance of forgiven sins and German fingertips
A dance of forty five minutes and millions of pelvic on my hips
This is my dance, not his.
The partners come and go
But the dance is me.
I am the ringmaster
My name belongs to me.
Forever alight with song and dance
A chance of meeting a new thrill
The intoxication of one night spill
A class of movies and sin
A dance that begs for gin.
This is my dance, my dance is me
You can join, but not in sobriety.
A cuddle or two is nice aftercare,
But the idea of true love is a story hard to bear
A few limbs, millions of genitals makes my fix
For my dance is me, my dance is I
Burning ablaze in the wake of the night
I am me, you are not
My dance is me, My dance is I
Forever forever engraved in my soul
A dance of my own
A life made for me, made for the rich lining that resides in my whole.
I am whole. I am me. I am the dance with or without sobriety.
Come hither, jealousy.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
i am at the top of beggar’s peak
i have lived alone
i brew tea and sit serenely staring at the top of the world
the sky holds me in and i am thankful
i am wading in mudslap creek
i have swum alone
i splish, splash and stomp in the gold forest with all my livelihood
the earth holds me up and i am thankful
i am strolling in baldie woods
i have seen a home
i cut, craft and toil all the day long in perfect serenity
the world embraces me and i am thankful
i am dead in this gracious world
i have lived content
i breathed, climbed and sang all my life without wrong and all things were gold
the gods love on me and i am thankful
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
splitting the coconut down the middle
to see what it has to offer.
partition the edges,
clear the debris the storm created,
wipe away the mess I cried,
and i'm still grappling towards the ground.
lonely strings only vibrate when i cannot speak,
and i'd rather dissipate into thin air than
circle the drain,
trying to find the strand of hair
that haunts me in my sleep.
there is a clear reservoir in the horizon
where the animals go to preserve their livelihood,
their essence,
and in the horizon,
there is a place where i go,
to heal,
to hurt,
to surrender
myself to shame.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
There's a mansion on a hill
I've seen it numerous times
But,
I've never been inside
It's said to belong to an old woman
Who is very selective
in who enters her domain
Either you're an insignificant servant
And you slip inside
Through a back door
A tiny molecule diffusing
from high to low concentration
Or, you're a personal servant
Then, you gain special access
Still, through the back door
Water molecule
Diffusing through osmosis
After that are ordinary guests,
aided by the butler
through the front door
Facilitated diffusion
Molecules carried or channeled
And finally,
the VIP's
Welcomed by a great procession
Through a special VIP door
People,
invited by the madam
with great effort
Active transport
From low to high concentration
Requiring added energy
But despite this selectivity
of who can and cannot enter
That old mansion on the hill
And the jobs it provides
Is essential to the livelihood
Of the people in this town
Just like the cell membrane to our bodies
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will faithfully execute your role as a citizen in this democracy, and will to the best of your ability, preserve, protect and defend the constitution of the United States?
Do you expect your president to? Your congress?
You don't have to believe in politics because even if you don't
they will still exist.
They will still make decisions that effect your livelihood.
You could move away, sure, but if you lived here long enough,
you're an American.
And wherever you go, they will see you as your country.
They'll hear it when you speak.
You could refuse to preach for a country you're not proud of,
that's fine.
But the grumblings often heard from these masses, the complaints,
the horrified hushed whispers and the disdain,
those shouldn't be uttered either.
Those masses were the students in school who never received awards for participation,
they're embarrassed by their government but have never stepped foot in a polling booth, better yet, never even registered to vote.
I know, because I was one of them.
We know the arguments.
We all fear that our vote wont matter.
I'm part of a generation where it seems that
giving a **** isn't cool anyway.
Dank memes are meant to be liked and not followed up on.
Armchairs are in every home and those who sit in it keep it warm.
But there's more on our heads, guys.
And even more in our hands.
They can blame us left and right for the indifference we practice,
but we'll only justify it in our silence.
Give a ****
Give two.
Sitting around in echo chambers
only results in deafening noise.
And you can't run away if you can't hear them coming.
And the voices, they sometimes make me sick to my stomach.
but I'm stronger than fear mongered puke.
And though it's "cooler" to bask in your sickness amongst my peers,
It doesn't move anything.
I don't need to know or be a minority personally to know that they're being hunted.
To believe their stories, that have been proven countless times anyway.
And I strongly believe that neither does anyone else.
Bystanding up to the man will result in blame games.
Do something. Even if it's not much.
There's promise out there.
You just have to make an oath to find it.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC