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"nehru" poems
The Destroyer of the division machine1 Had first to run on the Way of the Cross To have souls over the long lived ruin. Robben, Pollsmoor and Victor2 caused no loss In the Staff Heritage of the Thembu3 Rulers, forever loved by their people, From whom was learnt right fight ain’t to taboo. Good farmers’ teeth run right through the apple; Likely after the Hard Walk to Freedom4 The Son of Gadla and Nosekeni5, When his Soul flies up to the Lord’s Kingdom, Glass will keep his body, and not any Stain will sully the Star of the Nation Whose Light will shine for each generation. 1. The division machine: The Apartheid. 2. Robben, Pollsmoor and Victor: During twenty seven years Mandela was successively jailed at Robben Island, Pollsmoor and Victor Verster prisons. 3. Thembu: The tribe over which ruled Mandela’s ancestors. 4. Hard Walk to Freedom: In September 1953, Andrew Kunene, a co-militant of his, read out Mandela's "No Easy Walk to Freedom" speech at a Transvaal ANC meeting; the title was taken from a quote by Indian independence leader Jawaharlal Nehru, a seminal influence on Mandela's thought. The speech laid out a contingency plan for a scenario in which the ANC was banned. 5. Gadla (Henry Mphakanyiswa): Mandela’s father; Nosekeni ***** His mother.                                                                   Boniface
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Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC
Preliminary epitaph on Mandela
Some times tremors of foolish wise thoughts, pass man's mind like waves of earth quakes across the muscles of unsuspecting earth, to day one of the type has visited my brain, i ask myself why John F Kennedy committed suicide, with all the resources and riches in America of Kennedy's time, The FBI, CIA, NATO and the shrewd Mozart, the security masters of the world's vogue all guarding the Kennedy the president, how came that the public imbecile had claim on his life, money overflowing like the waters of River Congo, into insatiable Atlantic basin is the simplest measure of American riches that Kennedy headed at his time of demise, full backed with intellect matchless muscle from study of history, eloquent like the weaver birds of Uganda in the city of Mbale, sending all packing in the likes of Nehru, Nyerere and Nkrumah, perhaps subdueable in single phase to the mighty of Castro, how comes that a madman killed Kennedy in the fullness of the day, was it the invisible hand of the Ku klux **** Synagogue of Satan or Freemason, the death of Kennedy is none other than beautiful suicide or the active curse of fate, misfortune and violent death. Why Nkrumah died out of power was political suicide, his knowledge of the world set African pace, towering mentally above all else in the chronicles of consciesism, he stood like a tor on the African mountains against Senghor Why Colonel Afrifa putsched Nkrumah is none else other that suicidal politics played at helm of power. why Tom Mboya died is suicide of suicides to believe that reason can overwhelm ethnic sentiments in a tribal consciousness of country like Kenya in time of Kenyatta, to foolishly conceive that Kikuyu can assassinate a Kikuyu was Luo foolishness of that particular century, it is Mboya who bought the gun that shot him dead, it is Mboya who bankrolled his own assassin he brought to the world political suicide of the century.
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Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
WHY JOHN F. KENNEDY COMMITTED SUICIDE?
Some times tremors of foolish wise thoughts, pass man's mind like waves of earth quakes across the muscles of unsuspecting earth, to day one of the type has visited my brain, i ask myself why John F Kennedy committed suicide, with all the resources and riches in America of Kennedy's time, The FBI, CIA, NATO and the shrewd Mozart, the security masters of the world's vogue all guarding the Kennedy the president, how came that the public imbecile had claim on his life, money overflowing like the waters of River Congo, into insatiable Atlantic basin is the simplest measure of American riches that Kennedy headed at his time of demise, full backed with intellect matchless muscle from study of history, eloquent like the weaver birds of Uganda in the city of Mbale, sending all packing in the likes of Nehru, Nyerere and Nkrumah, perhaps subdueable in single phase to the mighty of Castro, how comes that a madman killed Kennedy in the fullness of the day, was it the invisible hand of the Ku klux **** Synagogue of Satan or Freemason, the death of Kennedy is none other than beautiful suicide or the active curse of fate, misfortune and violent death. Why Nkrumah died out of power was political suicide, his knowledge of the world set African pace, towering mentally above all else in the chronicles of consciesism, he stood like a tor on the African mountains against Senghor Why Colonel Afrifa putsched Nkrumah is none else other that suicidal politics played at helm of power. why Tom Mboya died is suicide of suicides to believe that reason can overwhelm ethnic sentiments in a tribal consciousness of country like Kenya in time of Kenyatta, to foolishly conceive that Kikuyu can assassinate a Kikuyu was Luo foolishness of that particular century, it is Mboya who bought the gun that shot him dead, it is Mboya who bankrolled his own assassin he brought to the world political suicide of the century.
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Every year on 26th January I turn on my TV at 8 To watch our soldiers marching, planes gliding and tanks rolling through India Gate Watching these soldiers march in their handsome uniforms makes me extremely proud And on this day we also mourn the losses of people who, for the Nation, wore the shroud This day, unlike others, isn’t just a holiday for me It symbolises the day when, from British rule, we finally broke free The sacrifice and struggle that Indians went through then were huge In their own country, they couldn’t be a refuge Jawaharlal Nehru, Mahatma Gandhi, Subhash Chandra Bose were a few who fought for our country and shot to fame But what about the thousand others who sacrificed their entire lives, but we still don’t know their name! Do you know why 26th January 1950 was the chosen date? Because exactly 20 years on the same date the INC proclaimed the Declaration of Independence after winning the debate! This day celebrates the coming into force of India’s constitution This is the world’s largest document and respects every institution But after all these years is India still an independent republic Or is it a monarch hiding in the skins of general public?
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Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
REPUBLIC DAY
My original spring was wound, Tight as a Swiss watch. The fore-finger and thumb Of the nun turned the crown ***** As only the Sisters could do. Any subject could be converted Into a lesson of the life of Jesus. A plus sign becomes a cross.      *Even Jesus knew the angles      To be a carpenter and Savior,* Grace and Faith kept time. The Sacrements were frequent topics. How many would we receive Between Baptism and Extreme Unction? After Confessions, I once asked, Is it possible to sin between Penance and the curb?      All things are possible with God. You didn't want to die with a blemished soul; Being responsible for more thorns and nails Pounded into the emaciated, pitiful flesh Of the one to emulate, With Grace and Faith. I was fervent in prayer. I wanted to carry the Holy Eucharist To the housebound or hospitalized; Through the throng of thugs Ready to defile the wafer. I was ready to die a martyr, With a benevolent, sober Jesus, Guarding from the clouds, Right hand raised like a Judo chop, Blessing me, preparing me, Protecting me with a corporeal force field. Grace and Faith kept time. I pined to wear the Altar Boy's Cassock, Soutane-like, long and black, Topped with the surplice; To ring the bell, light the incense, Hold the Communion Plate Under Mammy's chin As she knelt in supplication, Before the Madonna, My blessed Mother. Did she envision me as a Jesuit, Tending to the lame lepers In the jungles of Peru and Africa. Me, who issued forth from her. Faith kept time. The dark hour was closing in. The spring was loosening, Unwinding as I relaxed. Marian sat beside me, Thinking of our orders At the drive through. The Nehru-collared clerk Slid the glass window, Listening to our wants. I offered her a napkin To keep the crumbs Of her little black dress.
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Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
Original Spring
My original spring was wound, Tight as a Swiss watch. The fore-finger and thumb Of the nun turned the crown ***** As only the Sisters could do. Any subject could be converted Into a lesson of the life of Jesus. A plus sign becomes a cross.      *Even Jesus knew the angles      To be a carpenter and Savior,* Grace and Faith kept time. The Sacrements were frequent topics. How many would we receive Between Baptism and Extreme Unction? After Confessions, I once asked, Is it possible to sin between Penance and the curb?      All things are possible with God. You didn't want to die with a blemished soul; Being responsible for more thorns and nails Pounded into the emaciated, pitiful flesh Of the one to emulate, With Grace and Faith. I was fervent in prayer. I wanted to carry the Holy Eucharist To the housebound or hospitalized; Through the throng of thugs Ready to defile the wafer. I was ready to die a martyr, With a benevolent, sober Jesus, Guarding from the clouds, Right hand raised like a Judo chop, Blessing me, preparing me, Protecting me with a corporeal force field. Grace and Faith kept time. I pined to wear the Altar Boy's Cassock, Soutane-like, long and black, Topped with the surplice; To ring the bell, light the incense, Hold the Communion Plate Under Mammy's chin As she knelt in supplication, Before the Madonna, My blessed Mother. Did she envision me as a Jesuit, Tending to the lame lepers In the jungles of Peru and Africa. Me, who issued forth from her. Faith kept time. The dark hour was closing in. The spring was loosening, Unwinding as I relaxed. Marian sat beside me, Thinking of our orders At the drive through. The Nehru-collared clerk Slid the glass window, Listening to our wants. I offered her a napkin To keep the crumbs Of her little black dress.
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Many of the world's greatest Leaders throughout our tumultuous history have; Many of  the insightful Revolutionaries in stink hole and glory hole countries have; Many of the oppressed, disenfranchised and cheated also have. Look to Lenin, Mandela, Gandi, Nehru, Havel, Bhutto, Ceausescu, Charles I, Papadopoulos, Lady Jane Grey, Louis XVI, Marcos, Milosevic, a pile of Mohameds, Mussolini, Nicholas II, Pinochet, Saddam, Marie Antoinette, Pope Clement V, Selassie, Baghdadi, Duvalier, and, let's not forget the author of Mien Kampf, Adolph the Tenderizer. And what do they all have in common? Some, before they became boldly notorious, and others, after they became criminally notorious. Some, looked out their window and saw platforms being erected. Others witnessed gallows, guillotines. posts and walls. They all got some time in: PRISON. GAOL. JAIL. COOLER. LOCKUP.  DUNGEON. KEEP. PEN. BASTILLE. CLINK. STATESVILLE. SLAMMER. STOCKADE. THE BIG HOUSE. You get the idea. His time will come.
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Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 9:50 AM UTC
Give Him a Little Time
You know these kinds of thought, like 'Mahathma Gandhi' once wrote 'You have to be that change, if you want to see the World change' Don't you think that it's so strange, as we still haven't seen any change! Now I know what 'Nehru' tried to state, when he said 'ignorance is scared to change' No No, I have nothing against you, My dear, I just want you to come out of that fear, that pinned you for so long in this chain, from breaking out to the 'World of Change'
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Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
Chains to Break and a World to Change.
I speak from the landfills, dumpsters and gutters I speak from the corners you ignore Because you don't want to acknowledge your contributions You know you add to it more Everytime your car passes Your inner voice rants and screams But you look the other way And scrunch your nose up silently No one wants to make a move While we live in our fantasies Away from the rag-pickers and sewage cleaners Who segregate our waste for a mere salary Who clean our **** while we throw some more at them Who are not treated as human We just want to get rid of things so we throw Throw on the road, in the rivers and lakes In the forests, in other peoples' place We urinate and spit red paan on walls We do our business on railway platforms We live in a such a mess We are such a mess Our ideology is as filthy as these places So I'm sorry, for such a disturbing poem But it's time you better be disturbed "Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny..." 70 years ago, these were Nehru's words
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Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
This is not the India they dreamt about
It’s drizzling But it doesn’t matter. I am running, Around the Jawaharlal Nehru stadium At Kochi. The ground is wet, There are water patches around. So, I take careful steps. As I go around, I see a young man, In a hoodie, And track pants. He is talking, On the mobile phone. Standing beneath an awning. Must be to his girlfriend, Because he is smiling. I think to myself, ‘What a wastrel. Do some exercise. Get fit’. But he is oblivious. During my next lap, I see, A friend has joined him. ‘Two wastrels’, I think, As I start panting. My middle-age lungs, Are aching. But I like the suffering, Because it makes me feel good. When I stop. On my third round, They are peeling off their track pants. I run on.. The drizzle has eased up, A cool breeze is blowing. My perspiration-drenched forehead Gets some relief. Running triggers Something primitive in me. This is what man did, For thousands of years. Before the invention Of the wheel. I can hear the thud of feet Hitting the ground Behind me. It sounds like heartbeats. Then these two young men, Whom I derided, Whizzed past me At high speed. Smooth electrifying movements Of hands and feet. ‘What?’ I exclaim silently in my head My perception was Oh so wrong. They are athletes, And they are swift. And they splash, Through the puddles. Fearless. So I had simply Misunderstood them. That’s what happens to all of us We misunderstand People. Places. Communities. Religions. Spouses. Children. Parents. Relatives. Is it any surprise, Society is so fractured. I feel like a fool Message to me: don’t jump to conclusions, Ever.
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Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 11:47 PM UTC
Lessons in the drizzle
It’s drizzling But it doesn’t matter. I am running, Around the Jawaharlal Nehru stadium At Kochi. The ground is wet, There are water patches around. So, I take careful steps. As I go around, I see a young man, In a hoodie, And track pants. He is talking, On the mobile phone. Standing beneath an awning. Must be to his girlfriend, Because he is smiling. I think to myself, ‘What a wastrel. Do some exercise. Get fit’. But he is oblivious. During my next lap, I see, A friend has joined him. ‘Two wastrels’, I think, As I start panting. My middle-age lungs, Are aching. But I like the suffering, Because it makes me feel good. When I stop. On my third round, They are peeling off their track pants. I run on.. The drizzle has eased up, A cool breeze is blowing. My perspiration-drenched forehead Gets some relief. Running triggers Something primitive in me. This is what man did, For thousands of years. Before the invention Of the wheel. I can hear the thud of feet Hitting the ground Behind me. It sounds like heartbeats. Then these two young men, Whom I derided, Whizzed past me At high speed. Smooth electrifying movements Of hands and feet. ‘What?’ I exclaim silently in my head My perception was Oh so wrong. They are athletes, And they are swift. And they splash, Through the puddles. Fearless. So I had simply Misunderstood them. That’s what happens to all of us We misunderstand People. Places. Communities. Religions. Spouses. Children. Parents. Relatives. Is it any surprise, Society is so fractured. I feel like a fool Message to me: don’t jump to conclusions, Ever.
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