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Eshan Mar 2011
Nikle to hum bhi the ghar se yahi soch kar ki shayad is bar manzil tak pahuch jayenge,
kyunki daudna to unhone hume bachpan mein hi sikha diya tha yeh kehkar,
ki agar nahin bhagoge to woh tumhe peeche chod jayenge.

Daudne ki kuch aisi adat se ** gayi hai ki pair ab rukne ka nam hi nahin lete,
lekin hume kya pata tha ki itna age nikal ane se, apne hi paraye,
aur woh sabhi raste anjane se ** jayenge.

Sabse door rehte hue bhi, in anjanon ki bheed mein woh ek chehra apna sa lagta tha,
lekin woh bhi hamesha kisi aur chehre ki talash mein rehta tha.

Sahi raste ko dhoondhne nikle to the, magar yeh nahin pata tha ki itni jaldi thak jayenge.
Kabhi kabhi to lagta hai ki ab ruk jana chahiye, thoda aram kar lena chahiye,
lekin woh bhi namumkin lagta hai kyunki, ab to sapne bhi ajeeb se ate hain.

Chalte chalte, wade to kafi kiye the is safar mein, kuch unse, kuch apne ap se,
lekin yeh andaza bhi nahin tha ki un sabhi umeedon par pani ferte hue chale jayenge.

Yeh mehsoos bhi nahin hua ki apne hi apnon ke pankh kat chuke the,
talash thi to bas us kandhe ki jo is ladkhadate hue ko sahara de sake.

Fir bhi, dheere dheere is katon ki chadar par age badna hai, dil yahi kehta rehta hai,
kyunki jhoothi hansi ki kuch aisi adat si ** gayi hai, ki ab chahte hue bhi dard ka ehsas nahin hota hai.
MAI BAHV SUCHI UN BHAVO KI
JO BIKE SADDA HI BIN TOLE
TANHAI HU HAR US KHAT KI  JO
JO PADHA GYA HAI BIN KHOLE

HAR AANSU KO HAR PATTHAR TAK
PAHUNCHANE KI LACHAR HUK
MAI SAHAJ ARTH  UN SABDO KA
JO SUNE GYE HAI BIN BOLE

JO KABI NAHI BARSA KHUL KAR
HAR US BADA L KA PANI HU
LAV-KUSH KI TEER BINA GAYE
SITA KIA RAM KAHANI HU

MAI BHAV SUCHI UN BHAVO KI.
............

KI JINKE SAPNO KE TAJ MAHAL
BAN NE  SE PAHLE TUT GAYE
JI HAATHO ME DO HAATH KABHI
AANE  SE PAHLE CHUT GYE
DHARTI  PAR JINKE KHONE AUR
PAANE KI AJAB KAHANI HAI
KISHMAT KI DEVI MAAN GYE
PAR PRANAY DEVETA RUTH GYE

MAI MAILI CHADAR WALE US
KABIRA KI AMRIT VANI HU
LAV-KUSH KI TEER BINA GAYE
SITA KKI RAM KAHANI HU

KUCH KAHTE HAI MAI SEEKHA HU
APNE JAKHMO KO KHUDSEE KAR
KUCH JAAN GYE MAI HASHTA HU
BHEETAR BHEETAR ANSU PEEKAR

KUCH KAHTE HAI MAI HU VIRODH SE
UPJI EK KHUDAAR VIJAY
KUCH KAHTE HAI  MAI MARTA HU
KHUD ME JEEKAR  KHUD ME MARKAR
LEKIN MAI HAR CHATURI KI
SOCHI SAMJHI NADANI HU
LAV-KUSH KI TEER  BINA GAYE
SITA KI RAM KAHANI HU...

WRITTEN BY   ::::::  SHASHANK KUMAR DWIVEDI
judy smith Nov 2016
Whether in Montreal, where she was born and raised, or in Delhi, where her award-winning brasserie sits, the stylish chef’s love for gastronomy has always run deep. She came to India to chase her passion about eight years ago, after leaving behind an engineering career and having trained at the esteemed ITHQ (Institut de tourisme et d’hôtellerie du Québec). In 2014, she introduced unusual combinations like oysters with charred onion petals, tamarind puree, and rose vinegar when she became the first Indian chef to be invited to host a solo dinner at the James Beard House in New York City. Also presented there was her very own coffee-table book called Eating Stories, packed with charming visuals, tales and recipes.

In pursuit of narratives

“I am studying Ayurveda so, at the moment, I’m inspired by the knowledge and intuition which comes with that, but otherwise I completely live for stories. Those of the people around me — of spices, design forms, music, traditions, history and anything else I feel connected to.”

Culinary muse

“I truly believe that nature is perfect, so I feel privileged to use the ingredients that it provides, while adding my own hues, aromas and combinations…it feels like I get to play endlessly every day.”

After-work indulgence

“My favourite places to eat at are Cafe Lota and Carnatic Cafe in Delhi, and Betony and Brindle Room in NYC.”

Dream dish

“This salad I created called ‘secret garden’. It’s so beautiful to look at and has such a unique spectrum of flavours…all while using only the freshest, most natural produce to create something completely magical.”

Reception blooper

“Most people make the mistake of over-complicating the menu; having too much diversity and quantity. Wastefulness isn’t a good way to start a life together.”

A third-generation entrepreneur from a highly distinguished culinary family, she runs a thriving studio in Khar where state-of-the-art cooking stations and dining tables allow her to conduct a variety of workshops and sessions. Her grandfather is remembered as the man who migrated from Africa to London to found the brand that brought curry to the people of the UK — Patak’s. She took over as brand ambassador, having trained at Leiths School of Food and Wine and taught at one of Jamie Oliver’s schools in London. What’s more, Pathak is also the author of Secrets From My Indian Family Kitchen, a cookbook comprising 120 Indian recipes, published last year in the UK.

Most successful experiment

“When I was writing recipes for my cookbook, I had to test some more than once to ensure they were perfect and foolproof. One of my favourites was my slow-cooked tamarind-glazed pork. I must have trialled this recipe at least six times before publishing it, and after many tweaks I have got it to be truly sensational. It’s perfectly balanced with sweet and sour both.”

Future fantasy

“As strange as it sounds, I’d love to cater my own wedding. You want all your favourite recipes and you want to share this with your guests. I could hire a caterer to create my ideal menu, but I’d much prefer to finalise and finish all the dishes myself so that I’m supremely happy with the flavours I’m serving to my loved ones.”

Fresh elegance

“I’m in love with microgreens for entertaining and events…although not a new trend, they still carry the delicate wow factor and are wonderfully subtle when used well. I’m not into using foams and gels and much prefer to use ingredients that are fuss-free.”

This advertising professional first tested her one-of-a-kind amalgams at The Lil Flea, a popular local market in BKC, Mumbai. Her Indian fusion hot dogs, named Amar (vegetarian), Akbar (chicken) and Anthony (pork), sold out quickly and were a hit. Today, these ‘desi dogs’ are the signature at the affable home-chef-turned-businesswoman’s cafe-***-diner in Bandra, alongside juicy burgers, a fantastic indigenous crème brûlée, and an exciting range of drinks and Sikkim-sourced teas.

Loving the journey

“The best part of the job is the people I meet; the joy I get to see on their faces as they take the first bite. The fact that this is across all ages and social or cultural backgrounds makes it even better. Also, I can indulge a whim — whether it is about the menu or what I can do for a guest — without having to ask anyone. On the flip side, I have no one to blame but myself if the decision goes wrong. And, of course, I can’t apply for leave!”

Go-to comfort meal

“A well-made Bengali khichri or a good light meat curry with super-soft chapattis.”

What’s ‘happening’

“This is a very exciting time in food and entertaining — the traditional and ultra-modern are moving forward together. Farm-to-fork is very big; food is also more cross-cultural, and there is a huge effort to make your guest feel special. Plus, ‘Instagram friendly’ has become key…if it’s not on Instagram, it never happened! But essentially, a party works when everyone is comfortable and happy.”

A word to brides

“Let others plan your menu. You relax and look gorgeous!”

This Le Cordon Bleu graduate really knows her way around aromas that warm the heart. On returning to Mumbai from London, she began to experiment with making small-batch ice creams for family and friends. Now she churns out those ‘cheeky’ creations from a tiny kitchen in Bandra, where customers must ring a bell to get a taste of dark chocolate with Italian truffle oil, salted caramel, milk chocolate and bacon and her signature (a must-try) — blue cheese and honey.

The extra mile

“I’ll never forget the time I created three massive croquembouche towers (choux buns filled with assorted flavours of pastry cream, held together with caramel) for a wedding, and had to deliver them to Thane!”

Menu vision

“For a wedding, I would want to serve something light and fresh to start with, like seared scallops with fresh oysters and uni (sea urchin). For mains, I would serve something hearty and warm — roast duck and foie gras in a red wine jus. Dessert would be individual mini croquembouche!”

Having been raised by big-time foodie parents, the strongest motivation for their decision to take to this path came from their mother, who had two much-loved restaurants of her own while the sisters were growing up — Vandana in Mahim and Bandra Fest on Carter Road. Following the success of the first MeSoHappi in Khar, Mumbai, the duo known for wholesome cooking opened another outlet of the quirky gastro-bar adjoining The Captain’s Table — one of the city’s favourite seafood haunts — in Bandra Kurla Complex.

Chef’s own

AA: “We were the pioneers of the South African bunny chow in Mumbai and, even now, it remains one of my all-time favourites.”

On wedding catering

PA: “The most memorable for me will always be Aarathi’s high-tea bridal shower. I planned a floral-themed sundowner at our home in Cumballa Hill; curtains of jasmine, rose-and-wisteria lanterns and marigold scallops engulfed the space. We served exotic teas, alcoholic popsicles of sangria and mojito, and dishes like seafood pani puri shots and Greek spanakopita with beetroot dip, while each table had bite-sized desserts like mango and butter cream tarts and rose panna cotta.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2016 | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Aabid Rumi Feb 2017
Koi ghilla na ab aur na koi shikayaat hogee
Ab jo mohobat tujsay hoge,wo bakamaal hoge...
Dekh liya hai jo  mizaaj hummnay teraa
Koi khata na ab aur na koi kammee hogeee

Humpay jo karam huva tha,aaj  samj aanay laga
Pehle  shayed tanha thay,aaj har taraf shor behnay laga
Huvi jo gustakhi ,andher khudkay jank naa sakhay
samma unki mohobat ka , Na janay khudpay kabsay chalnay laga....

shambal  raha tha jo dheery dheery,lo aaj bikharnay do zara
Kuch apni tasveer mai,rang merey b bharnay do zara
Koi inaam ** teray kabil ,rakhdu wo terey kadmou mai
Laikin tujsa naa kio aur na  tere jaisi koi hogee....
Ab jo Inayat tujpay hoge,wo lazawaal hogee..

khaaboon mai kho kr hum haqeeqat ko jaan naa sakhay
Sab tha pani he pani par hum kuch pebchaan naa sakhay
Zindagi ki mojoo pay sawaar hum bataktey rehai veeran-e-samandar mai
Muntazir mai sahil unka tha ,par hum kuch dekh naa sakhay..

Ilteja jo kabhi kee hee nhi,aaj jee bhar k faryaad karnay do zara
Dabay zakhmu ko andher he andher aaj samandar karnay do zara
Hai qabool ab sab tera,zindagi mai bas shamil hoga  
Rahai naa sansay mujmai sahee,Laikin  judaa naa Rumi say tu hogee

Ab jo ebadaat tujpay hogee,wo bemisaal hogee..

########penned by Aabid Rumi
AGAR KOI KAMI HOGI TOH BATA DENA MUJAY
MAI KHUD KO SAWAAR LOOGA BAS AAP K LIYE
kundan kumar May 2015
maa
payar ke do lamhon me kho jana chahta ***
maa ke aanchal me so ja jana chahta ***
mamta ki sarowar me dub jana chahta ***
yein duniyan ki rasme se parein hona chata ***
is jhut ki nagri se niklna chahta ***
payar ke do lamhon me kho jana chahta ***
maa ke aanchal me so ja jana chahta ***
yein badal tu mujhse kyun puchh raha h
tu bhi to maa ki mamta ko chahta h
tabhi to pani bankar maa ki god me barasta h
mai bhi apne aansu maa ki god me bahana chahta ***
payar ke do lamhon me kho jana chahta ***
maa ke aanchal me so ja jana chahta ***
yein pat tu mujhse kyun puch rahan h
tu bhi to maa ki god me samana chahta h
kabhi patjhar, to kabhi aandhi ke karan maa ki god me aana chahta h
mai bhi apne mastak maa ki god me girana chahta ***
payar ke do lamhon me kho jana chahta ***
maa ke aanchal me so ja jana chahta ***
Bleeding Doc Jun 2018
Barsat ki Ek raat dil ne dimag se pucha,  jo Badal raha wo 'waqt' hai?  
  waqt to Aaj bhi waisa he hai  bachpan me jaisa hota tha wohi savera wahi sham Or baki cheeje tamam
Par tab naa bhigne se lagta tha darr  or  naa sardi jukam,
or wo pani ki shrarate tamam
Jinki Yaad bhar se aa jati hai hothon pe muskan  
par ab aisa kya hua jivan ki iss Dagar me
kahan bhatak gaya in jhuthe rit riwazo me
Kaise jivan ke Arth badalte gaye
Kyo ek funny poem likhne wale
Emotional likhne pe majboor ** gaye

Hawa k jharoko se kashti hilti gayi
waqt k sath mein tau badlta gaya
aur yeh zindagi chalti rahi

pal pal nayi hasratein
har pal naye khwab bunti gayi
aur yeh zindagi chalti gayi

raah mein manzar tau bahut aaye
bulate rahe mujhe mere saaye
mein tau ek pal ko ruk sa gaya
par yeh zindagi chalti gayi

yaadon k saaye mein zinda *** abhi
lagta hai tham sa gay *** mein kahin
par zindagi bewafa sanam si nikli
mein tau ruka reh gaya aur yeh chalti gayi

jindagi har pal apne arth badalti rahi
ham hanste rahe chahhe rote rahe
par woh apni rafataar se bas behati rahi
kabhi ban ke sawal ,kabhi ban ke utar
woh  hame har mod per milti rahi
ham tutate rahe, bikharate rahe
 fir khud hi gir ke sambhalte rahe
aur jindagi yun hi jalti bhujhati rahi

gum mile kuch is tarah ki gum hi gum na lage
khushiyuon  ki baat bhi hame gum ban ke milti rahi
kya kare kisi se shikva, kya kare kisi se shikayat
apne hi jab todate rahe......
toh saans meri har pal ghutati rahi
bas jindagi yuh hi chalti rahi
har pal apne arth badalati rahi
Ankit Dubey May 2019
Door kahin hokar khada jab dekhta huu mai duniya ko,
Kabhi khud ko dekhta hu kisi aur me,
To kabhi kisi aur me khud ko bhi dekh leta hu,
Kai rote hue chehre dikhte hai,
To kai tadapte hue dil bhi dekh leta hu,
Koi dikhta hai talabgaar khushiyon ka,
To kai baaar koi khushnuma manjar bhi dekh leta hu....
Door kahin hokar khada jab dekhta hu mai duniya ko,
Koi mehnat k baajar me pani pani hote dikhta hai,
To koi makhmali bistar pe aaram talab jindagi jeeta hai,
Koi chor hai makkar hai to koi in sabka gunah gaar hai,
To kai baar jindagi me imaandaar se bhi milta hu......
Door kahin hokar khada jab dekhta hu mai duniya ko,
Ghumte ghumte kai bar jab koi ghar dekh leta hu,
Chor bankar kabhi jab ghar k andar jhank leta hu,
Koi deewar tooti hui dikhti hai ,
To koi aalishan mahal bhi dekh leta hu,
Koi ghar hota hai jisme dikhte hai bhookhe nange,
To ghar kabhi har sukh suvidha ka praman bankar dekhta hu........
Door kahin hokar khada jab dekhta hu mai duniya ko,
Kai baar koi maan bache ko pyar karte dikhti hai,
To kabhi pet bharne k liye khud ko bhookha rakhne vali bhi dekh leta hu,
Koi mahal mai dekhta hu sone se madha,
To kai baar kisi ghar k bachon ko bhookh se bilakhta hua bhi dekh leta hu,
Dekhkar ye bahurang duniya k mai khud ko aur majboot bana leta hu,
Na gareeb khud ko aur na kabhi ameer bata pata hu,
Door kahin hokar khada jab dekhta hu mai duniya ko..
Shofi Ahmed May 2021
Zindagi ki piyala itna borha nahi hai
ki uski andor me lehron ki mujhme
nodia beh sakta hai.
Likhen uski andorme ek bindu
pani bi nahi itna chota
ki isme sagor bon nahi sakta.

Koi yaro achanok milta hai to bolta
kitna chota hai ye donia
Ye mitti andorme bi kya borha?
Khodo to isme kobor bonta hai
Liken agor Mawla chahe to ye
mitti se bi Adam bon sakta hai.

Somundor to somundar
shabnam (dew) bi Subhan Allah!
Aaj kaha aj reh ta hai kal ** jata
Kal ko kisi ko kiya pa tha
Thalu aftab (sunrise) ki canvusme
Ankhi dal kor job sham dol jata hai
Kisi Ko zulf ke saye me bemalum
Kitne ankhi khu ja ta hai
Kis andaar goliche chad aa ta hai
Kiso ki kiya pa tha hai
Liken mera bhi kitna khush naseeb hai
Khali hate aakor bi itni kimti herat angaiz
(amazing) majlish me ek hishya bhi mila.
Mawla karega keyse Aap ka shukrana
Alhamdulillah kiyanat ki Rab taarif Aap ka, Aap ka!
A thought on my birthday perhaps applies to everyone.
LLZ Sep 2020
Nahi chahiye sobhagay aisa,
Jisme rukmini Krishna ki patrani ban gayi.

Nahi karna tap mujhe,
Jaise Parvati shiv ki ardhangini ban gayi.

Aur nahi bana aise ,
Raam ki sita Jo apne,
Pavitrata ke liye ,
Aag me jalke ,
Mitti se Pani ban gayi.

Likh apne pyaar ki adhuri si kahani ,
Jaise ek priye ban gayi apne saaware ki diwani ,
Ha ,
Mujhe bhi bana h vo Radha
Jo apne pyaar Mei,
Radha se Krishna ki
RADHA RANI
Ban gayi!
Radhe radhe,radhe Krishna!
Shrivastva MK Sep 2017
Ye lamhe aaj kyon Etna udàas hai,
In lamhon ko aaj bhi kisi saksh Ki aas hai,
Wo samjhte hain hum bhul gye unko,
Par aaj bhi en aankhon me sirf unka hi vas hai,

Jaise tuti daali ko pani aur mitti Ki hoti taalash hai,
Waise hi es tute dil ko tumhari jhalak aur pyar Ki aas hai,
Dekho na ek baar palat Ke humko,
Meri zindagi aaj kitni udaas hai,
Kitni udaas hai,

Kai varash bit gye hai sath sirf unka ehsaas hai,
Pyar rahega unse jabtak es saksh mein saans hai,
Jis din chhod hamesha Ke liye jayenge hum,
Kuchh aansoo aapke bhi aankhon se tapkenge ye es dil ko viswas hai,
Es tute dil ka viswas hai.......

I love u............(•_•)
Sad moments,,,,,,,,,,
मनीष कुमार श्रीवास्तव
Shivam Porwal Dec 2017
Me bhi tumhari tarah 1 aam insaan hu
Pareshaniya mene bhi dekhi hai, takleefe mene bhi sahi h
Kuch waqt k liye khud Ko kamzor bhi paya hai
Mera bhi man mushkilo ko dekhkar ghbraya hai,

Par inhi sab chizo se 1 tajurba paaya hai
Jisne Zindagi ko jeena ka 1 naya rang sikhaya hai

Sangharsh aur musibatein to jivan ka ek hissa hai
Aage bhi badna hai sangharsh bhi nahi krna hai ye to galat kissa hai

Sangharsh ke bina tajurba kaha se laoge
Aur tajurbe ke bina kya sikhoge aur sikhaoge

Ab waqt aa gaya hai tumhe himmat dikhani hogi,
Apni kathinaiyo par apni asfaltao par tumko Vijay Pani hogi
Apne irado ko or majbut banana hoga
Kuch karna hai kuch karna hai in jazbato ko dil me utarna hoga

Ye zindagi ki ladai hai tumhe khud hi ladni hogi
Apni kamiyo ko taqat banane ki kala tumhe sikhni hogi
Tum chaho to duniya jeet skte **
Apne har sapne ko haqueeqat me badal skte ** !!! :)
An inspiration poem which inspires to fight with the conflicts
Alex A d r i a n Dec 2017
Today’s my birthday,
Guess I’ll get some cake.
Maybe a glass of milkshake,
To celebrate
The date.
Birthday of Alex.
Once I get off work,
It’ll be a real big celebration.
With all my friends,
This day will not be filled with frustration.
Today’s feeling different,
Today’s feeling green,
Then I come home and
I open the door,
All as I can see,
An empty room!
Then I start to see my old friends,
Anxiety, depression and suicidal thoughts creep in.
They open up gifts of loneliness and disappointment,
calamity, pani,
Heartbroken.
I figure it’s time to blow my candle,
See ya world,
That’s all the birthdays I can handle!
29August was my birthday and I just felt those words.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
a. sketch

gęba
                                                              py­sk
            buzia (buziaki)     usta

           głowa                          łeb (łbem)
                  
          gleba (judo submission)      na glebe
                  ziemia,     pustota pola:
  ziemia                                             ziemniak
    ßuka | matka
                                                       pani | kurwa.

ß: juicy s... no macron to be found... but it's there.

b. narrative

it's the current vogue in western cultures,
notably that in anglophone contingents of the copula
already stated: western.

i once heard the argument that it doesn't matter
whether you understand the lyric in a song,
i agree: poems need and only represent a one-dimensional
desire to write words: a bulls-eye, or a white shark's
blind spot| in those omnious eyes without
sclera or iris... |hard to find.

for some reason i have this need to state that this is
a cultural enrichment project, like all *cold war
tactics...
since we are living in the times of cold war ii,
there's an inherent need to suggest an alternative to what's
spread on the air-waves...
               dylan thomas could have influenced bob dylan
(who took the name for a surname);
                               but of course i wouldn't
  sell you anything else, but to be given the impression
of a second-rate citizen of england only gives me a militant
status... and since most of us can only grasp a stone
to start a war... better use your mother-culture...
at least i can feel a cultural collectivism of ethnicity
that has a mongrel thought and tongue...

well... that link in the title? it's not a trojan horse link,
the times of trojan viruses are over, they were around a while
back, but the trojan horse has become extinct...
lao che's jestem psem (i'm a dog)...
                     cuchne kiedy zmokne (aura of stench when
i get wet)...
                    
            well... what was the original intent?
oh oh, right:
                              i wouldn't call linguistic teachers with
any use: if they are not bilingual at least...
bilingualism entrenches you in languages and cultures...
and i wouldn't study philosophy, or dare-say "practice" it
if you haven't begun with studying either chemistry
or physics... or biology? the latter i'm not too sure about.

yet all this politico talk in the west... about trans-
        and gender...
                                    funny you should say that...
it has become a reality in the west with these transitions
in accordance with st. thomas' gospel, among other things,
but it's more about how: words do not have genders
in english...
                                     english hasn't evolved to incorporate
gender "roles" in its words, it doesn't have it...
   which translates into the fiasco we see everywhere
in the internet prone world...

              i can't distinguish the masculine or the feminine
in speaking english...
          księżyc (masculine): moon        słońce (feminine): sun.
lampa (feminine): lamp
                                             świeca / świeczka (feminine): candle...
and once again a better example: english words
   can't contain or express diminutive form, e.g. as the above
for candle... it requires the crutch of an adjective,
   and even that word is an approx. to describe a language
that allows words to accept the diminutive...
                mały (cm) that leads into malutki (mm)
that leads into maluteńki (μm) - that leads into
   maciupki (nm) / it's more endearing given the μm scaling...
                                 try to apply the diminutive aesthetic
to the original word beyond
                 the already stated ... and you're writing nonsense.
                
so why is the english language so ****** naked?
naked up to the point that it has to be so "active" in the real
world? i know that oxford dons would like to
     start spewing their grammar rules... but i can't find
the diminutive, for one... for second sexes of words...
and thirdly... trans-humanism when talking about animals...

c. examples from the sketch

gęba / buzia: the mouth, the former being utilised in
such examples as: niewyparzona gęba / a foul mouth...
    buzia? what about it? well: buziaki (kisses) - all angelic.
the distinction comes with pysk... that's derived
                              from the snout... and my my... how
my logic has failed me on this point...
but wait!
             oh looky looky! there's another better
example!                     głowa                          łeb (łbem)
                             head                                 this!
zaczynam sie łbem (i begin with the "head") -
                            kończe sie ogonem (and end with the tail):
so out pops out the distinction between a human head
and an animal's head... the word: łeb.
                    something akin to: crude, protruding
                                                      ­                    or large.
d. in conclusio

is this the guide to what the western world is experiencing?
or at least motivating... well: this is just part
of the bigger picture, it's answer as any answer might be:
befitting to a select interested in taking to this view...
during my "career" of education, i never heard
of the masculine / feminine concepts applicable to words
in the english language... but who cares these days:
it's interesting to watch lunatics taking to st. thomas'
gospel seriously, literally, not appreciating poetry,
                                     overcrowding in prisons as the lunatic
asylums folded and disappeared: with society
being just a massive azyl... a scary word like
                           it's known in my birthplace - morawica;
it's a word that strikes fear into the hearts of men
and women -         it sounded so notorious that they later
changed it... had to: the town of kielce was given
a bad reputation because of it.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i have no name for this observation,
but it's there,
unique, like a prized marble bust
of some famous woodpecker...
pani (ms.), pan (mr.),
           pani (ms., is that yours?)
    panie (a number of mademoiselles),
pań (those umbrellas belong
to the mademoiselles) -
             but then there's also
this bilingual Ypres -
          trenches, miles and miles of
trenches...
              seemingly going nowhere...
a case of never being able to write
an onomatopoeia for touching
an atom... but there is:
Hiroshima... a history of a place,
like Chernobyl... and from the simple
bronze age artifact, poetically speaking,
into Heidegger's concept of dasein,
from a simple: knock knock...
into a unfathomable implosion
and never a knock knock...
but what's opposite of when we once met:
at the tower of babylon...
then from fear: we meet again
at Dubai, at the Shard, at Hanoi...
                    at Petronas...
a full circle... all a fake:
for we have congregated once again,
but not by architectural madness
to scale beyond Everest...
   within a grain of sand:
       at the abstract gain of sand:
at the atom... and from fear:
we reignited that ancient vanity...
to tobble trees with toothpicks...
as we have: tried: having toppled
mountains with buildings...
but still the new crux of our congregation,
the atom...
                    a new biblical
séance - these new endeavours are
not new, they are cloaks to hide the true
point of our congregation,
our new found "togetherness",
which is circumstanced as the evolved
version of Heidegger's "thereness"
(dasein).... and yes: apologies for
the ref., as such: either cite someone
and continue toward the artery,
or convene for Hamlet to gamble
over vine or vein...
                                     then toward
something beyond belittling:

mały (small)
      and subsequently: the worded
microscope, a process of endearing
something small, into something doubly
small, and perhaps even of chubby-cheek
physiogomy:

    malutki
                       maciupki
   maluteńki                    
                                  maleczki
                              (so where is the harshness
of synonyms? where is the stomping
        thesaurus rex now?),
                   maluszki (a kindergarten throng),
        the technical word is:
zdrobnienie -
      and if translated into English,
probably reveals more affection
toward the language than all the scientific
juggling away from atoms and into
sub-atomic                   quasi-atoms...
      has English really become
an anaesthetic? a desensitized medium
where the only nutrient is to tell a flimsy
joke as a role for invoking a comforting
suggestion? at least the Germans don't
feel awckward when telling a bad joke...
     the English feel ackward when telling
a good one!
                          nonetheless:
degrees... how small can a word become...
                 and by becoming even smaller
it becomes endearing,
          like a sparrow...
                          man could train
a hawk to sit on its arm and hunt...
but could man ever train a sparrow to sit:
in the palm of his hand?
           well: what a word, and a word
among so many: drobnica:
                              a tu Emeryk -
po roku, co rok, ziarnkiem maku drepta,
a raczej czolga: gniecie kolanem prawej
raz w roku, gniecie kolanem lewej
po raz drugi kolejnego rokue -
       asz po szczyt - jego małej: apokalipsy.

and 3 weeks among the natives will
do that for you...
             the tongue will tangle itself into
skorpion insomniac -
                          if only to rekindle
the labrador naiveness -
                               or from Golgotha
  without its eternal flame, to no other
Olympics...
               and who would have thought:
that there was no corner-stone
that would have been rejected from
the architecture...
        could anyone have predicted,
that two pieces of wood, nailed together
into an ornament of torture,
would shower-down upon this earth
the church, the cathedral, the altar and
the sanctified mastrubation of marble into
the cheek-bones of the ****** mary,
by some Italian drunkard, working on
the papist commision? mightly...
   one horseman be missing....
three horsemen, and one grand joke
riding a donkey...
                death yawns... and subsequently
eats up satan's laugh....
                                   from a crucifix:
st. peter's cathedral!
                   meanwhile in Japan...
origami.
Perché i celesti danni
Ristori il sole, e perché l'aure inferme
Zefiro avvivi, onde fugata e sparta
Delle nubi la grave ombra s'avvalla;
Credano il petto inerme
Gli augelli al vento, e la diurna luce
Novo d'amor desio, nova speranza
Nè penetrati boschi e fra le sciolte
Pruine induca alle commosse belve;
Forse alle stanche e nel dolor sepolte
Umane menti riede
La bella età, cui la sciagura e l'atra
Face del ver consunse
Innanzi tempo? Ottenebrati e spenti
Di febo i raggi al misero non sono
In sempiterno? Ed anco,
Primavera odorata, inspiri e tenti
Questo gelido cor, questo ch'amara
Nel fior degli anni suoi vecchiezza impara?
Vivi tu, vivi, o santa
Natura? Vivi e il dissueto orecchio
Della materna voce il suono accoglie?
Già di candide ninfe i rivi albergo,
Placido albergo e specchio
Furo i liquidi fonti. Arcane danze
D'immortal piede i ruinosi gioghi
Scossero e l'ardue selve (oggi romito
Nido dè venti): e il pastorel ch'all'ombre
Meridiane incerte ed al fiorito
Margo adducea dè fiumi
Le sitibonde agnelle, arguto carme
Sonar d'agresti Pani
Udì lungo le ripe; e tremar l'onda
Vide, e stupì, che non palese al guardo
La faretrata Diva
Scendea nè caldi flutti, e dall'immonda
Polve tergea della sanguigna caccia
Il niveo lato e le verginee braccia.
Vissero i fiori e l'erbe,
Vissero i boschi un dì. Conscie le molli
Aure, le nubi e la titania lampa
Fur dell'umana gente, allor che ignuda
Te per le piagge e i colli,
Ciprigna luce, alla deserta notte
Con gli occhi intenti il viator seguendo,
Te compagna alla via, te dè mortali
Pensosa immaginò. Che se gl'impuri
Cittadini consorzi e le fatali
Ire fuggendo e l'onte,
Gl'ispidi tronchi al petto altri nell'ime
Selve remoto accolse,
Viva fiamma agitar l'esangui vene,
Spirar le foglie, e palpitar segreta
Nel doloroso amplesso.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
Dzień dobry,  ok, ustalimy koszty na 100 egz. zajmę się tym po świętach, bo będę wyjeżdzać. Wiem, że miał Pan prawo zwątpić, ale w Polsce inaczej mimo wszystko podchodzi się do poezji, mam wrażenie, że tu nadal jest ona ważna. Bardzo wiele wydaje się tomików poetów - amatorów, są oni zrzeszeni w klubach poetyckich. Cieszę się, że Pan ma też swoich czytelników, to super, myślę, że tomik Pana zadowoli i oczywiście wieczorek z poezją też. Może uda się Panu przyjechać ? ale to jeszcze dalsza perspektywa, mama mówiła, że może sierpień. Pozdrawiam.*

oczywiście, skoro pani prosi, przyjade... wiem, ta niesfoboda różnic perspektyw, na zachodzie jest ważna muzyka, ta forma ubustwa poezji... rym na rym na rym etc. ile czasu jest potrzebne tyle racze zgodą i kiwaniem głowy, nie chce sie wpraszać z tą obawą zaniedbania... w sumie nie ja wykonuje tą "brudną" robote publikacji. oraz dziękuje za brak formalności z tymi słowami przed moimi... chociaż rękopis by wiele więcej wykrył w ramach odpowiedzi, tzn. czułosci; jednym słowem: dziękuje.
Daniel Magner Mar 2013
The dial turns
at the pace of the rubber,
putting in miles
while the hull shudders
wishing it could take a moment,
rest, gulp down gas.
But my foot's aching
to hit the plastic to the carpet,
"Come on baby, shmob it!"
like a commet.

Wind smacks onto slick glass,
flies past into the night
right by the burnt out
tail light.
Ashes pouring out the cracked
window
"Come on baby, go!"
Little kid dreams gleam
in the high beams,
wide-eyed and frantic.
"Don't pani-"
Crash.
© Daniel Magner 2013
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
and you now see what they made me do? i'd never thought it would come to this, that i had to crawl back to the mainland of europe to find a publisher, because the appreciation of publishing poetry in england is null, nil, zero, nothing, a mustard seed's worth of hope; this mediation of saving the amazon rainforest to save up on paper and the first yawn of the digital age, among cat videos and ****, there you have it, a massive blotch on the intended utility of this **** thing - i'm not even angry any more, just ****** nervous - or as the old writer said in his appreciation of poverty and feeling guilty concerning what he deemed to be his riches (a record collection and a private library): happy trails kids.*

Droga Pani Anno,

przepraszam za popszedni email, mianowicie że był on bez poważnej formy i tematyki, taki po prostu skrutem. Lecz przez osiem lat nie-ustannego pisania, pisząc do osoby w pozycji umożliwienia publikacji wkroczyła we mnie trema opisywania rzeczywitości - tzn. kiedy widze śledząc pisanie innych poetow na internecie - i tą marude znaną jako rozczarowanie jeżeli chodzi o szanse publikacji, nie tylko jednego wiersza w magazynie poetickim, a o całej książce własnych wierszy to już ża dużo można powiedziec o aborcji dalszych i utrzymanych ambicji. Myśle wiec ze 100 egzemplarzy nie jest asz tak nie realistyczne, wiem że poezja snuci swą muzyke dla nie wielu czytelkników, określone najlepiej dwoma obserwaciami: w angielskich gazetach można spotkać recenzje książek na wiele tematów (autobiografie najczęsciej), lecz o poezji praktycznie nic, oraz fakt że nie dawno tylko jedna książka poezji osiągneła sprzedaż ~10,000 egzemplarzy w Angli - a mówie że 100 nie jest nie realistyczne poniewarz na jednej stronie (hellopoetry.com) mam około 40 zawziętych czytaczy - 936 wierszy i wszytkie przeczytane przez tą skromną kadre - a na facebook.com mam 178 znajomych których poznałem czy to na uniwersytecie czy też w szkole. Tak, a więc 100 egzemplarzy.

Mateusz Conrad E.
Kelsey Banerjee Jul 2020
yesterday I saw you.
today only your scent remains.
tomorrow, that too will vanish.

you said
the ache for home rumbles in your chest.
I tried to sooth it with words
in the absence of medicine
or a plane ticket.

when you left I moved,
became an immigrant
and I understood what it meant
to live without living.

I forgo the mall mehndi,
the astrologer on his maroon cushion,
order from the pani puri wala
a samosa and small talk -
for a moment
we breach liminality
but then I owe him thirty rupees
and I go alone,
sitting safe from summer heat
snack untouched.

I wait for the monsoon and hope
you will return for the mangoes,
perhaps then I can tell you
everything I meant to say
yesterday.
scar Jun 2015
first of all the school closed
for a little while, just a few days
as if in solidarity
but actually in fear
along with all the other schools around it
great hulking buildings cowering silently
behind meagre security systems.

when we went back we couldn't get in
we had to have passes
be buzzed in at the door like strangers
while a fish-eyed camera lens glared at us
metallic, stark, judgmental.

then the drills began.
lessons suddenly interrupted
taken over by escape procedures and gas masks
why were there gas masks?
i don't know.

we, as children,
were taught how to hide
how to cower under our desks
how to build ourselves into corners -
how a triangle is the strongest shape
(i tried this once,
a few months later,
in a different situation.
it didn't work.)

the drill would sound, horrendously loud
a bell screaming at us
hysterical, panicking
but we must remain calm
remain calm, the teachers said
get under your desks
or something stronger if you can
build yourself a fortress
don't try to be heroic.

our friends died in that massacre
and other people did yesterday
over the sea (ande bari pani)
and i cannot stop thinking about them.

i can't say i know how it feels,
because everyone reacts differently
in situations
like this.

but i have been closer than most
to this particular fire
to the feeling of ragged helplessness
as you stand at the sideline,
praying that the next person to stop drawing breath
is not one you know.

these thoughts haunt you later:
how can i be so selfish, you ask yourself
what could possibly make it ok
for someone else's loved one to die
as long as their path had not crossed my own?

tonight i sit
huddled over a notebook
crouched on the edge of my bed
as this gnawing physical ache
pierces further into my stomach.

i stay here in the silence,
try to write,
because i need to get out
what i'm thinking about
but there is no way,
not really.

no way that i can adequately tell
of the horror
the realisation of what has happened
that these awful things that you see in the movies
can also be real.
no way that i can eloquently speak
about the look on a mother's face
as she discovers that her child is gone.
"it's the wrong way round!" she'll scream later,
"it should have been me first!"
but for now she just crumples
her face folding within itself
her mouth collapsing in a silent scream,
she drains grey.

no way that i can really speak
of what i actually want to say
and so instead
i say simply:that

my thoughts are in connecticut
there are no words for this.
Nidhi Jaiswal Nov 2020
Bas hame malum naa tha
kisi ke sath pane ki
khawahish bhi na thi
kisi se bicharne ka gam v nahi tha
To kya tha jo tha
bas hame malum naa tha.

Jane anjane me hua tha hame v kuch kabhi
The bekhabar hm bhi
Khudse hii khabar the

Til Til se sanjoya tha khaboo ka v mahal kabhi hhmne
Tut gaye sare khawb par til v na dikhi

Khawbo ki atishbaji dil me iss qudar ** rhi thi
Jaise khuli aashaman me tare nazae aane lage the

Uss hasin shaam ko main
Dulhan ki tarah saji uss saksh e oo aam ka main
Talab e intazar kar rhi thi
Par wo nahi aaya
Wo pal tham si gyi
Meri sanse ruk hii gye
Mano
Bin mausam ki bijliya barasne lage
Aachank tufan sa utne laga
Mere dil ke har kone me
Brishsh v hui khuli ragistan m
yado ka silsila mitne laga
kuch is quadar jaise
Reet pani me tairne lagi
Bas hame malum naa tha.

This poem is based on reality of life when you truly loves to someone but  still they don't understand your feelings. Than we feel  life is just stopped. But we should move on.
Thanks for reading
Timothy Ward Sep 2016
Phoochkas to right of me
Phoochkas to left of me
Phoochkas in front of me
Garnished and Savored
Spiced with chaat this shell
A pani puri dunking swell
Into the jaws of yum
Into my mouth a spell
  Phoochkas by the dozen!
It's really difficult to describe this Indian street food snack I was introduced to by some Indian friends on campus. These are like tortilla chips puffed up and filled with potatoes and lentils and topped with some yummylicious date and cilantro chutneys then dunkened in a hot/sour/salty/spicy cold broth and shoved in ur mouth. When u crunch down on it it is a MOUTHGASM explosion of flavors. It's the ******* of snack foods!!
Pranay Patel Oct 2020
Are ye  to batao tum chahte ** kya?
Alag thalag bhi kar doge, jo pana chahte **
vo  pa loge ham bhi bhul jaenge
magar itihaas nahin bhulega.
Dange bhi karaaoge, khedh bhi jataoge
ek baat yaad rakhna tum bada pachtaoge.

Namak wali rotiya khilaoge, pani wali chai banaoge
Bin karan lathiya chalvaoge
Aazad desh bolkar media ko zukaoge
Dhayan bhatkakar chai va biskut bhi tum khaoge
Per ek na ek din apne aap ko katghare may paoge.

CAA ke naam par humay daraoge
betu ke kazag makang kar
bahar ka rasta dikhaoge
kapdo ka rang dekh kar
chronology tum samjhoge
antinational bolkar har prashn ko tum dabaoge
Jo aag tumnay lagai vo kesay bujaoge
Aaesi hi lagaygi us maa ki k phut phut kar marjaoge.

Bus mann ki baat tak simit rahakar
kaam ki baat bhul jaoge.
Ek press conference to hoti nahin tumse
tum kya aatmnirbhar banaoge
Saal dar saal shrif aarakshan ko hi tum badaoge,
China ko jhutha bolkar, detention camp banvaoge.
Marne ke bad shidha tum narak mein hi jaaoge.

Ek baat yaad rakhna dost
tum  bada pachtaoge,
TUM BADA PACHTAOGE.
Jermon Nov 2019
I am the voice,
Of the fifteen year-old who wipes away her dreams, weaning her baby boy

I am the shudder,
Of the woman who hurries down the alleyway pulling her coat around tighter, afraid

I am the smile,
tugging the lips of a little boy, at the burst of fireworks, on a Diwali night

I am the whimper,
Of the boy on fire, alight by those who think patriotism means uniformity

I am the red bindi, the orange putka, the white cross, the green burka
I am the Kashmiri, the Madrasi, the Punjabi, the Gujarati,
North, South, Madhya whichever way I go I breathe the bharatha

I am the delight,
Of the saffron sarees, and the cinnamon wafts with pani pooris

I am the cry,
Of the drop out whose artwork lay in the cinders of childhood dreams

I am the tears,
Of the betrayed by the soothing words of political promises that were never held

I am the spirit
Of Ghandi, of Bose, of Tagore, peace woven in literature, histories’ waves that never recede

I am the song in all our souls,
Singing, we are India, in all our flaws and all our colours,

Together, we,
Roll up our sleeves, envision brighter smiles for when the sun touches our India tomorrow,
And we, the voices, sing in unison,
And look towards the skies,
In Hope.
01.11.2019 - A piece in the shoes of a little bit of ancestry and environment I'd like to claim
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
alesz ty brat ty mym... co wspomina serce, jeno ortografią... taki brat z ciebie: tym: huj z tobą, bratku warszawiaku! szkic ciebie, na ołtarzu kossaka - frajer z ciebie... ty: gówno wart frrrrrr'a jerze! huj z tobą i pospolite pogawędki! sznór na szczóra! a oświęcim pyta: teraz?! zaraz... za-raz (pierdolona zaraza szwabem ryta)... gazem tylko po dziewiątej.?*

najgorsze wiersze pisałem:
a najlepsze...
puściłem w wiatr!
horongiew reką pisać
to tło narodu...
ten tatuaż historii!
co zwałem mym tchem -
i co nie: na boga kara
i jego zbawieniem ołtarza:
na to: dałem wiare:
swym głosem,
by wiatr znikł, czy też
zamilkł! tym jego
pierwszy ruch bielą w
                                biel
i na tym, pytam:
                   tylko kość?!
nie! wapno! i stolik! i drewna
na sto lat!
               a ta ruska
hydra! ma coś do gawari
by? by wybyć więcej?!
co? ta ruska pizda huja szuka?!
ah... brak jej mongoł:
szkic i ten azjatu: szept!
  wnet pizda tego szuka?!
                    huja wróbla!
   pani! czemu nie tak do-słownie
po prostu, od razu?!
Riddhi N Hirawat Jan 2019
Kal fir se wahi din
Kal fir jagi si raatein
Darta hai dil

Darte hain hum
Ki kho na jayein
Bin dekhe shabnam

Andheri raat ke thehre pani mein
Humesha ke liye gumm
Humesha ke liye namm
Shabnam Oct 2021
Mahir na the jeene ke hunar me..
Phir bhi ji gaye hum to;
Aaya nahi kabhi manwana,
Honton ko si gaye hum to;
Mizaj saada tha apna..
Pani ki tarah
Log pi gaye humko.
I was not an expert in the art of living;
But I somehow managed to live,
never able to convince so I stitched my lips.
Due to my simplicity,
People took me for granted and drank me like water.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
hell, i needed someone
  with sign language
skills on this one,
             the "joke" was over
a long time ago,
but a "serious" explanation
had to be devised...
o.k.:
   right hand does the O...
with the pinky arching
into a closure on the thumb...
then...
right hand does the >
                using the index
and *******...
then...
     the left hand's index
finger props behind the lying
    and...
           you get a K.

- but never mind that,
i'm listening to all these incels
online and...
      this ugly mug (i.e. me)
   is "worried" as they are,
worried?
         maybe i shouldn't
have looked up to Kant...
i live with people,
but there are interludes
where i can disappear
for around two weeks
from ever interacting with them...
that's almost funny...
               i guess sometimes
my shadow becomes
to clingy...

               now i can understand
the social norm expectations...
i feel them when i go back
"home" while visiting my
grandparents...
  all the old men are like:
where's your girlfriend?!
and i'm "like":
well i can't exactly
   do the Kazakh / Mongol
"thing" of ****** a woman
into submission, can i?
it's not like: oops, here's another
one...
it's not like i can force
them, can i?

          i guess my reasoning
is complete, since i leave a bunch
of old men convinced,
they agree:
    once a woman can buy
her own car, her own this that
and the other,
she's no longer a miss...
but a mrs. (pani - mrs.,
pan - mr. yadda yadda)...

          but that's Poland,
on the resurgence front -
gotta breed...
                      as if world war II
was only a history book
event for me,
   don't know: lucky,
or unlucky,
   i still remember talking
to my great-grandmother
about the war,
scuttling like rats
on the front:
   baby in tow (my grandmother),
giving her makowina
    (*****) to keep the toddler
pipsqueak silent...
so the soldiers wouldn't
get them...
   so basically i have a granny
who was a ****** addict
as a baby...
   in order to keep her mouth
shut...

   and here's me...
            lost impetus for
the reproductive "game"...
         no, not with the english women...
i tried,
went through a french girl,
a russian girl, an australian girl,
a south african girl...
an ukranian girl,
a puerto rican bubbly,
a bisexual thai girl,
an afro-saxon girl
  (yes, black "english"
  girl)...
   and a few bulgar girls...
and that one polish girl
who... licked my face
    in the dead of night
(no, nothing beyond
having my face licked,
that was enlightening,
to say the least)... but...
i don't do fickle,
poncy jane austen crap,
i don't play the: "hunter" mentality,
the "thrill of the hunt"
of cultural darwinism that's
rife in english culture...
i'm either in, or i'm walking
into the ******* sunset with
the **** of the gods (beer)...

why would i bemoan
a bachelor status?
          isn't it enough that i already
have a ******* shadow clinging
onto me?
            two cats are unbearable...
attention ******* their *****
into giving them food...
ugh...
                     now a dog i could
understand...
      incels and girlfriends...
man: i just want a dog...
    a rottweiler,
              or a dobermann,
oh, wait, they outlawed
what dobermann dogs went through
for the aesthetic reasons?
the snipping of the ears...
**** that...
            a dog doesn't look
so pristine with that procedure...
what? m.g.m.
happens to boys all the time...
o.k., o.k. (leo getz style)
just give me that bull-head's
worth of a rottweiler...

                and that's pretty much
all i have to "bemoan"...
i really, ha, ha, really want a dog
to walk with me into
the forest at night...
i'm pretty ******* sure
than no woman would...

           i did, i tried, i failed,
                i just don't know how
to escape the mystery of my own
******* sometimes,
the mysteries of the universe
aren't exactly consolatory compensation...

so yeah... world war II doesn't
exactly belong in the history books
for me...
   the poor woman died in 2011 / 2012...
i still remember her shack
of an apartment,
   and that one story
                  where a beehive
nested in the wardrobe on
her balcony...
            and how she wasn't stung...

yes, in Poland i would experience
social pressures,
calls of abnormality,
   but in England,
being the foreigner...
      led zeppeling: immigrant song...
i'm just your average joe...
           i was warned:
England is the country
of single people...
               i guess i just managed
to fit the criteria...
                      (cry-tier-ya)...

problem, what problem?
    i already have my head up
my own ****
    enjoying myself with
self-deprecating humour...
                         well... that's that, i guess.
LLZ Apr 2020
Pyaar ek jadu hi hai.
Aaj bade dino baad,
Unki aawaj sunayi padi kano pe,
Suna Kano ne ,
Asar hua pani se bhige aakho pe.

Aaj bade dino baad ,
Todi se jalak dikhayi di unki,
Dekha aankho ne ,
Asar hua yaado se bhare Dil pe.

Sun ke aawaj unki ,
Dekh ke chavi unki ,
Sukoon mila
Perché i celesti danni
Ristori il sole, e perché l'aure inferme
Zefiro avvivi, onde fugata e sparta
Delle nubi la grave ombra s'avvalla;
Credano il petto inerme
Gli augelli al vento, e la diurna luce
Novo d'amor desio, nova speranza
Nè penetrati boschi e fra le sciolte
Pruine induca alle commosse belve;
Forse alle stanche e nel dolor sepolte
Umane menti riede
La bella età, cui la sciagura e l'atra
Face del ver consunse
Innanzi tempo? Ottenebrati e spenti
Di febo i raggi al misero non sono
In sempiterno? Ed anco,
Primavera odorata, inspiri e tenti
Questo gelido cor, questo ch'amara
Nel fior degli anni suoi vecchiezza impara?
Vivi tu, vivi, o santa
Natura? Vivi e il dissueto orecchio
Della materna voce il suono accoglie?
Già di candide ninfe i rivi albergo,
Placido albergo e specchio
Furo i liquidi fonti. Arcane danze
D'immortal piede i ruinosi gioghi
Scossero e l'ardue selve (oggi romito
Nido dè venti): e il pastorel ch'all'ombre
Meridiane incerte ed al fiorito
Margo adducea dè fiumi
Le sitibonde agnelle, arguto carme
Sonar d'agresti Pani
Udì lungo le ripe; e tremar l'onda
Vide, e stupì, che non palese al guardo
La faretrata Diva
Scendea nè caldi flutti, e dall'immonda
Polve tergea della sanguigna caccia
Il niveo lato e le verginee braccia.
Vissero i fiori e l'erbe,
Vissero i boschi un dì. Conscie le molli
Aure, le nubi e la titania lampa
Fur dell'umana gente, allor che ignuda
Te per le piagge e i colli,
Ciprigna luce, alla deserta notte
Con gli occhi intenti il viator seguendo,
Te compagna alla via, te dè mortali
Pensosa immaginò. Che se gl'impuri
Cittadini consorzi e le fatali
Ire fuggendo e l'onte,
Gl'ispidi tronchi al petto altri nell'ime
Selve remoto accolse,
Viva fiamma agitar l'esangui vene,
Spirar le foglie, e palpitar segreta
Nel doloroso amplesso.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
you sometimes stumble into these situations
without even wondering
how else to later describe them:
verbatim...
                      however the mundane the details
are...
    i should a series or something,
Gibsberg-esque, not not quiet
     'what thoughts i have of you,
walt whitman...
                                     i went into
the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!'

     but still... scenes from supermarkets...
more grit, realism...
                         just like tonight:
went for two beers and a whiskey with
thoughts, more alligned to:
                why do i dream so little?
why the weight of thanatos' clepsydra
on my chest upon waking
from a dreamless night -
            as if: starless in...
                  places like a district in seoul...
well...
         i found myself standing in line to
the cashier...
    some guy behind me was asking
by name / nametag (a high rarity event
of the general impersonal take on
shopping - or in matter of fact...
    the degredation of the sellers...
                   unlike elsewhere,
   circa 1980s Poland - where the
saleswoman amassed a status of ms.
   and the buyer was never a mr.
     or a mrs. but a strippen-barren you -
now exchange the words,
    pani                       /                ty
                               lost in translation)...
(Karen)
                about lightlubs...
                 i.e. yeah, they were different...
but in front of me... a real curiosity...
placed the beer and the whiskey
next to the cashier...
    stood casually for...
                   "    no apparent reason"...
a decent 2 minutes...
         the guy started fiddling
with two debit cards,
       and a handful of change...
i mean... 2pence coins 1 pence coins...
twenties, maybe a quid,
tens etc.
                first he tried one card
on the contactless... failed...
                  then he gave the handful
of change to the cashier
who started counting it...
    she counted: almost three quid...
i.e. not enough
      for what he was about to steal...
all the gift of the gob...
    i mean: those little conversations...
you know the yappy yappy puppy
sort... talk like honey...
  or an aqua-man...
                            just kept pouring
out... excuse here there, excuse there...
apologised to me for waiting...
sure sure...
             he was given his spare change
back...
        so he takes out another card:
again, fails on the contactless...
  so he's asked to insert it and use
the pin...
                  oops, says the cashier... failed...
oh... a quick glance at the clock...
an open carrier bag... next to the thing he's
going to steal...
              mouth of honey doubles down...
what time will you be closing?
      15 minutes...
          oh that's alright then,
   i'll just come back with the missing change...
walks away...
   and i'm like...
did you see that?
          only my eyes are talking.
cashier no. 1: see what?
security guard:                   (too late)
cashier no. 2 leaving
work, fiddling with her
shopping on the self-checkouts:
  (she'll come into this story when
i'm walking out with my whiskey
and beer,
   i'm eyeing her queerly
she's eyeing me huh? passing me
she starts muttering to herself)
                        he knows he knows
(gritted teeth talk)...
   as i look at the security guard,
a colt... quick on the mark!
                   linford ******* christie quick...
i did love the little shuffle and mini
dance as he tried to avert himself
from me...
point being...
    it's a petty crime...
                    i did one better...
less theatre, stole a c.d. from a...
w.h. smith...
                   cds books...
          but **** me... all that theatre
using spare change, cards,
mouth of honey, confusion... for the item
that i saw being stolen?
  so i thought:
     maybe this guy is moving up in life...
maybe there's this sort of jinx
for thieves,
that you have to steal this item
before you do a bank heist...
                                or the jewelers...
just something...
    i mean... i've heard of ******
junkies stealing meat from supermarkets
to sell et&
                          i mean...
me stealing a c.d. from a store...
   with cameras everywhere...
  but this guy... it had to be... he was
probably told by some guys:
   you can't do a proper job
on a bank if you don't steal this piece
of item first...
      because who, the ****,
would steal... a pair of woman's tights?!
unless he has a gig
   as a drag queen...
             a fetish...
                  or... eh?
                        i mean... that's like...
why the **** would i even
watch the movies?
           - and... i can't even make this up...
unless... a very...
    what sort of man would be
with a woman who tells him:
even if you don't have the money...
you better steal for me... a pair of tights...
yeah...
berkeley 1955...
          ginsberg thinking about
whitman walking into the neon fruit
supermarket...
essex 2019...
   me thinking about how i don't
dream enough walking into
a supermarket and seeing
     linford ******* christie security
guard do a little dance
   after he realised
  that the mean before me
just stole a pair of woman's tights;
hardly a ******* comparison.
Cute-sweet water puri
Brings the water in the mouth
my senses take me
All the ways
When I find water puri
Potato onions spices
Filled with solution of Jaljira
Children young and old
Eating is big in addiction
When I See road side
Trolley of pani puri
It is a the biggest attraction
Its variables sour taste
Make me be excited
It takes me to childhood
Such lovely water puri
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
a niech še Mickiewicz
tę Litczonke pochówawszy...
poszle'ji prosto po Greka,
j'baniem po tsara Cyrola!
psi tryp!
gawari to samo so pies
o ogon koło bada!
morda zorem kulą,
morda zorem na szczyt
cerkfi kieła gryz szarpana.
       a tu mi grzyw,
a tu mi łokieć,
a tu po chłopsku
kiedy zdziw jako:
       PIN'jebanamać'gwint!
sto kurva razy tego fryz
litanii 'wina sie pytoł:
zachooooood, ci tyьбıe wschód?
no ta(h) zegnój ci to teraz
do świcki!
                         popierdolone rho
cyrku i romā(h)...
pomiatajrzy Mickiem po
cha cha cha lit... win... skim...
Co,  Pani nie pod pisze wyroku sądu
nad nad, tym wyrzszy, tzn. po-wia-to-wy?
Litwin udaje panicza,
   'krainiec stara: boze dopomuz
stać po pijaku... nad... świnią!
Litwa i mazowsze niech i tam,
co i tam... pochybel, sicz,
     cień, i zmartwychstań, wola...
niech no ciota skryje bliny...
jam człek... cytaty cy niet cytaty...
ale wbrew romansidła...
       krew sieje gniew...
a gniewaj nad lublu czy tesz
lulu...
             od dziwki smak rumieńca,
jako kosak wart wiatri i cienia...
niech ten panicz Mickiewicz spierdala
do Wilna, do licheń lacha
smarkatka...
          my to Ukroj i Wina...
       chleb z pod Kijowa...
      a krew z murów zwanym Vavel...
litfa to kiedys byla...
    smarkatka dworzan...
     ni tu, ni teruz...
masz ci my dyszli...
   zbroje 'glika: anną zwysz...
          ci dam znów: KUNDLA
ZOREM O TYCZ'KE I ZBIÓR!
              co boze sam ni d'oh...
człek tym warty o ******>    razy pierw to gnać, co boźy
rozum pierw szarpnie cienia...
honestly, the crown's romance
with Lithuania is long gone and stale...
I will die, not having seen L'viv...
and all the happier my lack
of dreams will be,
           as of now, unto death...
    Mickiewicz had his romance
with Lithuania,
   i, at least, can appreciate,
Ukrainian beer...
               no fun having staged
the European championship with
Poland... so no wonder the annexed
Crimea...
           thank god I never actually
managed to breed with English women,
even recreationally...
    given the current: and what if
Pontius Pilate ate vindaloo
for breakfast? search me,
  you either ask Jack or Sherlock.
Perché i celesti danni
Ristori il sole, e perché l'aure inferme
Zefiro avvivi, onde fugata e sparta
Delle nubi la grave ombra s'avvalla;
Credano il petto inerme
Gli augelli al vento, e la diurna luce
Novo d'amor desio, nova speranza
Nè penetrati boschi e fra le sciolte
Pruine induca alle commosse belve;
Forse alle stanche e nel dolor sepolte
Umane menti riede
La bella età, cui la sciagura e l'atra
Face del ver consunse
Innanzi tempo? Ottenebrati e spenti
Di febo i raggi al misero non sono
In sempiterno? Ed anco,
Primavera odorata, inspiri e tenti
Questo gelido cor, questo ch'amara
Nel fior degli anni suoi vecchiezza impara?
Vivi tu, vivi, o santa
Natura? Vivi e il dissueto orecchio
Della materna voce il suono accoglie?
Già di candide ninfe i rivi albergo,
Placido albergo e specchio
Furo i liquidi fonti. Arcane danze
D'immortal piede i ruinosi gioghi
Scossero e l'ardue selve (oggi romito
Nido dè venti): e il pastorel ch'all'ombre
Meridiane incerte ed al fiorito
Margo adducea dè fiumi
Le sitibonde agnelle, arguto carme
Sonar d'agresti Pani
Udì lungo le ripe; e tremar l'onda
Vide, e stupì, che non palese al guardo
La faretrata Diva
Scendea nè caldi flutti, e dall'immonda
Polve tergea della sanguigna caccia
Il niveo lato e le verginee braccia.
Vissero i fiori e l'erbe,
Vissero i boschi un dì. Conscie le molli
Aure, le nubi e la titania lampa
Fur dell'umana gente, allor che ignuda
Te per le piagge e i colli,
Ciprigna luce, alla deserta notte
Con gli occhi intenti il viator seguendo,
Te compagna alla via, te dè mortali
Pensosa immaginò. Che se gl'impuri
Cittadini consorzi e le fatali
Ire fuggendo e l'onte,
Gl'ispidi tronchi al petto altri nell'ime
Selve remoto accolse,
Viva fiamma agitar l'esangui vene,
Spirar le foglie, e palpitar segreta
Nel doloroso amplesso.
MANGO, THE KING OF FRUITS & HAFOOS/ALPHANSO  IS THE EMPEROR.

Sweet as sugar,  luscious, with a mouth watering taste n flavour; are insufficient words, to a Mango describe;

Sometimes tangy, sometimes sour, but when ripe, often sweet as sugar; can't describe a Mango aptly, this scribe.

As kids, we were often, this offered, as a reward/award or you may say, a lucrative bribe.

Summers scare most of us in the tropics; but jackfruit and mangoes lure us beyond this unbearable heat;

With "Aam panna, Baflo, lassi, chhash, nimbu-pani,"  one can somewhat, the summer heat beat.

If we have many many more Mango trees, an "Aambawadi", is actually a wonderful, a truly good retreat.

So let's not just enjoy the fruit, let's also plant its seed.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Mohd Arshad Mar 2019
Beyond the holding hands on escalators,
Eating pani puri,
And putting into each other's mouth,
Letting her head on my shoulder
In the park,

I would watch your eyes
And dive into them
To reach her soul
And listen to its beating
For me.

— The End —