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MdAsadullah Dec 2014
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Bade pyar se wo humko apni mefil me Bulayein
Mehfil me bulakar mehfil ke kaide sikhayein
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Pad pad kar kaide hum zehan mein basayein
tabhi humare Mezban khud kaidon ko thakh per rakh ayein
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Jab Mezbaan ki is harkat per hum narazgi jatayein
Pyar se woh humein Naee kaide ki kitabe thamayein.
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Bade laad se wo Bheege joothon ke nakshe humare galon per banayein
Meethe khanjar si chubhti hain ye unki zalim adayein
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Zalil O ruswa hokar jab unki mehfil se jayein.
Dosti ki Bediyan wo humare paon mein pehnayein.
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Kiya hai humne bhi pukka irada chod kar na mehfil ko ab Jayein
Humare mezbaan chahe hume zalil ker kitni bhi khushiyaan manaayein
Ayea aap bhi dosti nibhayein hum bhi dosti Nibhayein
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
.one of the great dissatisfactions of life: dreaming... which makes me suspect of the anglo-saxons and their subsequent branches of sub-ethicities... they dream... they have recurring dreams... lucid dreams... i find that slightly suspicious... i rarely dream and if i do dream, the dreams are so bogus or so uninteresting that they make no sense to: "interpret" them via any freud-cubism schematic - that a woman's sun hat implies: the depth of ****** and promiscuity, or some otherwise bogus stretching it mate, really stretching that analogy... but why do the anglo-saxons have such lucid dreams, even recurring dreams? are they descendants of joseph: der traumgehhilfe? last time i had a dream? oh... family invites me to say, three memebers of the family don't like me... **** the rest of the family with a knife, a gun and a baseball bat (somewhere in south east asia)... a few of the killed members run into the street to die... i somehow pick up a kalashnikov and shoot the murderous 3... then i jump into slender boat with a motor with 3 or 4 women... 'jesus'... and i escape the scene of retribution sailing to... cambodia! **** me... even sylvester stallone or jason statham or arnie wouldn't star in a movie as b-movie as this... but anglo-saxons seem to have the most vivid dreams... two good examples: h. p. lovecraft and william burroughs... is dreaming a form of escapism? if so, then evidently i'm quiet content with reality... like today: too much pop psychology, too much self-help guru mishmash, too much advice: not enough stories... video streaming a game being played... etc., so i retreat, even from modern music, into? here's a beginner's guide list to medieval music:

       1. qui habitat in adiutorio altissimi
       2. da pacem domine
       3. agni parthene
       4. dum pater familias
       5. chevalier, mult estes guariz
       6. virga iesse floruit
       7. walther von der vogelweide's
                 palästinalied
       8. codex buranus no. 179:
                     tempus est locundum
       9. non é gran causa
      10. herr holger
      11. herr mannelig
      12. die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft
      13. meie din liechter schin
      14. under der linden
      15. mayenzeit one neidt
      16. mönch von salzburg (das nachthorn)

   why would i have stopped at merely
Orff's reading of Carmina Burana -
                 sure... that's the entry point...
   but the radio only plays o fortuna till
the cows come home in a full-moon lit night...
yawn...
    if only: fortune plango vulnera,
      veris leta facies, omnia sol temperat,
     floret silva, or... or!
   a monk's love song for the queen of england -
were diu werlt alle min:
              were diu werlt alle min
              von dem mere unze an den Rin,
              des wolt ih mih darben
              daz diu chunegin von Engellant
               lege an minen armen.

but no... it's o fortuna or nothing from that album
on the radio...
    i get it, great song...
   but why is auld lang syne only sung once
a year, on new year's eve?!
              
as with women, so with music, one simply tires of
contemporary examples: not exactly the music
but the lyrics behind the music...
                        music will never change to appease
the brute and the beast... but modern lyricism
is just agitating... it exhaust with its choice
of subject matters...
                                and by the looks of it...
    i spend too much time with music to find myself
in needing the comfort of a woman's voice,
a cuddle or relationship or whatever you want
to call it from now on...
           i am wedded to three women that will
never materialize: Euterpe, Sophia and Amber...
and all the better...
                                i could never wallow in what's
currently being wallowed in...
by some who have these recurrent dreams
and are unable to stop them from recurring...
hence my suspicion with the anglo-saxon traits
of vivid dreaming: this cruch of relying on dreams...
of so easily being ***** by celesto-cerebral powers
that impregnate their sleeping heads with
these realities that only exist in the mind and
a sleeping mind at that!


(nb. not proof read, apologies in advance for any mistakes, upon rereading will correct if any appear - or i'll just keep them...)

look at these two slogans: let's make America great (again)!
complimenting the English variation
let's get our country back! ring any bells? i guess you must
have heard one or the other as an English speaker -
it's hardly surprising - the English Prime Minister singing
a little toodeloo then uttering the word right upon
reentering number 10 - shambles ahoy! every rat and
mutineer bailed - we're in free-fall, Trotsky had it coming,
this guy hasn't - hardliner but a bubble-gum tongue -
it stretches like a joke my English teacher said:
how was copper wire invented? hmm? two Scots
tugging and pulling in opposite directions a two pence coin -
for all their worth, they joked the blond quiff of
both Boris and President Donald Yeltsin - where one
gets drunk on egoism, the other just gets drunk -
even though they don't like him in Scotland, they sure as
hell bought the slogan like a Big Mac - the problem is
there's a zenith, and then a necessary decline -
you can reach the zenith of breaking the 100m sprint,
but then a stock-market dip (necessary) -
much of Britain's exit from the European Union was due
to the campaign trail of the Doodle T - the best politician
i assume is the one that enjoys the most prodding jokes,
which also means the majority of votes,
jokes and votes walk hand-in-hand - people don't want
leaders, they want caricatures - after all, the little existences
have to matter with a joke in the Oval office.
i can't imagine the unholy alliance of feminists running
the place in the west - Theresa May in England,
Hilary Clinton in America, Angela Merkel in Germany,
Ms. Le Pen in France, the Polish prime minister
Beata Szydło - it has to look like a 2nd Cold War scenario,
a break from World Wars... Putin and pukka Tyson Trump
on the other side, macho v. macho - man talk and
the ultimate bromance. i know that Nietzsche referenced
genius too much, assuredly i hear that a lot too around
here with child geniuses storming around for silverware -
children geniuses and not original? so technically you're
talking about data storage in porridge - trained monkeys,
right? those children will be scarred for life as if they
saw their parents ******* - what sort of genius is a genius
if he doesn't work from blank but is there are a memory
gimmick to boost hopes of curing dementia?
philosophy doesn't do geniuses, it does things like Spinoza,
solitary wanderers, loners - outsiders and mesmerisers,
there's no genius in philosophy - there's only solitude -
granted that an open-minded psychiatrist is a modern subplot
in not reading philosophy - where is the ultimate source
of compassionate solely theory based (anti) psychiatry?
in reading philosophy books rather than exercising authority /
abusing it - R. D. Laing is a perfect example -
who wrote after reading philosophy books - i mean read them,
in the English speaking world i recommend reading
the works of the anti-psychiatric movement of the 1960s,
which was much bigger than the Beat Movement - obviously
not as dazzling, but with poetry you're imitating Philippe Petit
(film, the walk) - i watched it and my legs experienced
needles, and a firm assertion of gravity and the location
of the floor - films like that are worse than horror -
you share the heart of the original, but given it's Plato's cave
we're talking about representing the events, you realise
that no matter how much you want your shadow to be
Philippe Petit, you hear from the outside world, your legs
are firmly on the ground - basically: **** that - men are not
born equal, they have to live by principle to be at least moderating
their excellence into a respectable cohesion (democracy) -
quiet simply juggling their strengths with their weaknesses -
man is not born equal, he was to strive for equal measure -
when subduing their strengths and when exfoliating them -
no man is born equal, as no man is an island - the two synchronise.
(i'm deliberately masking what's coming)...
but there is genius in philosophy - but only in one area of
interest - religion... we know that popular beliefs are
grounded in plagiarism - the Trojans became the Romans
via the accounts of Virgil, and we know the Trojans in
becoming Romans plagiarised the Greek polytheism -
Zeus became Jupiter, Poseidon became Neptune,
Cronos became Saturn, Hera became Juno, Aphrodite
became Venus... etc., it was done to mimic the Greek heart
from the defeat at Troy, to invoke a heart that overcame -
every pauper and every king would identify with
this pluralism - but a second plagiarism had to come -
it was prophetically echoed from approximately 2000 years -
the Greeks later plagiarised the Hebrew concept -
the monotheistic concept, yet because their thinking
was so advanced (or so they thought) they dismissed the
sects of the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Essenes and
the Zealots... their hero was their antagonist - and nothing
of their learning was actually work their concerns since
they boasted of their Aristotle and their Plato and their
Socrates - the peddle-stool effect appeared -
but what if a Latin man (well, these letters are Roman) were
to say - never mind the son, how about the father?
in Christianity the father is rather anonymous in his
omnipresence etc. - but let's assume on the biological tenet
that we are referring to the old testament god -
would we want to plagiarise the Greek plagiarism of
Hebrew? i already mentioned the four prime canons as
imitations of the tetragrammaton - of course they're
intended to not be identical accounts, but there must be
two that are mirror images - i.e. referring to h      &      h
of the tetragrammaton - if there are no two mirror images
then we are bothered - i can see why the Greek mind thought
that Y refers to a convergence, a mother, a father, a child
and the entry point to the gospel: a genealogy -
Y being representative of a convergence - past and present,
following through - this is all about first impressions,
from what i can remember and regurgitate back -
in Catholic school we were taught by majority the gospel
of St. Mark - the others were discredited -
i can't tell you if there are two identical gospels (or at least
with very little variation between them) - what comes after
them is what comes after all essences of religion,
bureaucracy - imams and priests, yoga teachers and
whatever it is that comes with religion for the common man,
but in the new testament this is the essence, a shady
reinterpretation of the tetragrammaton - but a Latin man
who didn't bother to attribute symbols with nouns,
but made his alphabet musically orientated for the
castrato and the choirs to come - a (alpha) b (beta)...
o (omicron / omega) it became obvious that the four letters
arranged as so with missing Adam and missing Eve
would provide more than just four interpretations of
the same event / person - for when a Greek has to cut off
-lpha from a to attach it to another letter to create meta,
the Latin man has only to cut off less, perhaps dentistry's
ah, or otherwise cut off -ee from b... the world is full
of such possibilities, and this is the only area where
genius can be applied to philosophy - the genius of
philosophy is within religion, and nowhere else -
of course mind that i don't identify myself as one -
i treat genius as an angel or a demon, that fairy-tale
race of creatures that whisper into your ear - markedly
geniuses are more powerful in demanding an individual
rather than clones of the individual, e.g. Mohammad
and Muslims, Jesus and Christians... which is why i suppose
the genius of Moses also allowed others to write on sacred
paper, but of course excluding Malachi for falling into
heresy with a polytheistic concept of reincarnation, not
oddly enough Malachi's was the last book before the two
major strands of his heresy emerged like Behemoths.
I held her hand in my dream
With my nails brushing her hair
Her eyes apple lovey scream
She's a sample of an adonis heir

I ponder at her figure eight
Is she one of d immortal sent to tantalised me?
Like d lovelorn btw milky and kate
Pour me ur love portion, I'll sip

I woke and blamed d reverie
Angrily I exit d enrivon for an unliven snacks
But d liquor can't erase her hue ink

She curls toward my leisure, My rips acquaint see
Chai, her hair dances to the zephyr rhythm. She knacks
"Em. Baby can I date u?" My phonemes lick.
I held her hand in my dream
With my nails brushing her hair
Her eyes apple lovey scream
She's a sample of an adonis heir

I ponder at her figure eight
Is she one of d immortal sent to tantalised me?
Like d lovelorn btw milky and kate
Pour me ur love portion, I'll sip

I woke and blamed d reverie
Angrily I exit d enrivon for an unliven snacks
But d liquor can't erase her
hue ink

She curls toward my leisure, My rips acquaint see
Chai, her hair dances to the zephyr rhythm. She knacks
"Em. Baby can I date u?" My phonemes lick.


(Mizz Ylexinho to be)
andy fardell Nov 2011
Pumpa ..pumpa thats all i do
can you hear it .ill give you a clue
stinka ..smelly...parpety parp
that what it sounds like when i do f@#t

see the smog as i open the door
parpety parp ..pumping galore
beans and cabbage help me along
lots of ale ...trumpety trump
pukka pie or chilli kerbab ..
parpety parp...gives me a smile

pumping trumping thats all i do
wind from me **** ill give you a clue
sounds like a whale from miles away
trumper thumper.. parpety parp

sbd's are part of me aim
but a parp is a much better game
brussel ..stuffing give it me now
parpety parp ..trumpety trump
Lauren R May 2018
I feel the heat of your shoulder bleeding into mine. We are laying in the grass. No- we are laying in my bed. No- your bed. The TV is on. You fell asleep in my lap playing video games. I'm wearing red lipstick. Moments earlier, I arched my back like a kitten and took a picture of us sprawled over one another. You weren't looking. My lipstick is red. My shirt is red. My skirt has flowers. Your hair is bleached on the top. I peel the blankets from us and now it's grown out, curving over your forehead in a w. You're wearing all these pukka shell and wooden necklaces. I don't know what gave you the idea. It doesn't match. I love you. I love you so much I giggle just tracing the curve of your nose. We watch YouTube videos slowed down and laugh until we fall asleep, your hip bones pressed into the small of my back. I open my eyes and we're back in 2015. We're eating pizza, but not too much, because your stomach problems are just beginning. You accidentally say you love me back when we part at sunset. The gazebo is in the background. It's always in the background. I walk away and find myself back at your door. You struggle with the key for a moment. We just got off the bus. You couldn't drive yet. I saw your dog, pet her on the top of her head, nose turned away from her rotting teeth. Your bird sings when we walk away and we laugh at how he hates us. I stop laughing and he's dead. Your mom threw him away. You were more heartbroken than you told your friends while you laughed in the library. I shut the door behind me and you're shaking your head no a year later, me asking if we can talk, last weeks tears prickling my mind.  You say you'll think about it. You don't. I do.
This doesn't bother me anymore, so why does it?
the place could do
with a dose of castor
*oil

to purge it of the things
that so
spoil

first and foremost
there's the
trolls
who are always acting
like sinister
dolls

then there's perverts
approaching
teens
via unsuspecting
email
screens

lastly there's the ones
buying good
will
with a webmaster
allowing the
drill

a bowel needs not
to be in
distress
hence pukka's cleaning
out the irking
*mess
Ceida Uilyc May 2016
A sadness that I implore.
It is sweet yet, indignating.
Why, you might ask?
The truth is …
There is no truth once you are God.
Everything is true.
To the criminal who ***** and killed his daughters
To the dying voices of the martyr mothers who protected their family.
Foucault says it too.
It is true. What is better than truth?
That question will end the day we realise that we are all true.
Even in the art of lying, there is a truth.
There is pukka.
There is an inexplicable oneness.
It is unappeasable.
One has to accept it.

Even your murderer has a point.
Baraka Ngeleja Mar 2017
I LOVE MAMA
Nine months
Gestation in her womb
No matter daddy was away
She loves me, No body can try
Stands for my life like advocate
No one can appeal
Teach all ways I use
Stopping me endure any abuse
I call her mom, replies "my child"
Even if love ends, for you NEVER.

   MY STEP MOTHER, MY EVETHING
Love speaks when you care
I feel lucky coz your are here
Since childhood now am adult
All works you do just for me
Even time of storms and decay
I live in your heart, I owe you
I love you my stepmother

    REST IN PEACE MAMA
Rest in eternal peace life
Though God love you more
I love you-know
My only mother, stimuli of my life
Some years now
My eyes full of tears
Can't see you-far you pass
I use wisdom you impart
And all memories on you
Heaven light be your guide.

     A WOMAN, A WIFE.
She makes me feel a human
As Gemini look we live
I the King, see she cares much
She is my queen I respect
At any cost
She cries of me
Calls me dear, I replies darling
This woman stands to my life
I declare she is my wife
Love speaks when you care.

    TO ALL WOMEN.
Behold!!
You women real, pukka
No man can ruin you
Only if you take
Take your part
I love you all.
This poem is dedication to all women .
Yenson Jul 2020
I am Joe Bloggs the mind reader
with time on my hands and nothing to do
I fake it and write it as I get madder and madder
what's for me with no talent so oh how I hate the well-to-do
don't care if I waste time for all my life I'll always be the one sadder
no  education limited chances no rich father just me pacing to  and fro
Joe Bloggs  great mind-reader with the negative vibes and that's not pukka

hahah   hahaha   hahaha

— The End —