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"rama" poems
I bow to Lotus Feet, which gives me eternal peace I am incomplete without your compassion you healed my heart when it was thrown and shattered you picked me up when I struggled to get through you gave me hope when it seemed so out of reach I am nothing without you Where ever I go, found not alone your glorious touch was always with me Nectar drop of Gita, feels presents of yours O! my Lord Krishna show me the light on my path your Flute stirs the Universal Consciousness And Gita enchants the Transcendental Consciousness O! Lord of the whole Universe, Omnipotent Master of all Grant me a glimpse of Thyself,Be pleased to come and live inside me                                          -----------------------------------: :--------------------------------- By : Karunakar Saroj (In the love of Lord Krishna) “hare krishna hare krishna krishna krishna hare hare hare rama hare rama rama rama hare hare”
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Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
**O! MY LORD KRISHNA**
* I am talking of fearlessness "Fearlessness..." The same fearlessness Shown by Christ on the cross The same fearlessness Shown by Gandhi For his non-violence The same fearlessness When Mansoor said "I am YOU" Was lynched & cut piece by piece The same fearlessness Of Meera who sang for Krishna on the streets When she was humiliated, ****** made fun off The same fearlessness When Radha danced for Krishna Even after Krishna left Vrindawan for Dwarka The same fearlessness With which Hussaiyn Ali Martryed his life at Karbala While trusting someone The same fearlessness Of Sita when she withstood The tests of Rama's accusations The same fearlessness When Bahi Taru Singh suffered governor's brutal torture The same fearlessness When Mirziyaan gave his bow & arrow To Sahibaan knowing that The tip of his arrow may be blunted Leading to his death The same fearlessness When Romeo drank the poison And Zuliet stabbed herself with a dagger The same fearlessness That made Layla fall sick & died on hearing that Her Majnun is roaming mad in wilderness; Later on hearing about Layla's death Majnun died near Layla's grave The same fearlessness When Rabia wanted to Cease the fire of hell and Set alight hopes of paradise The same fearlessness Of Rumi who guards The divine light of LOVE The same fearlessness When one is compelled by soul energy to LOVE BELOVEDz That is the fearlessness I am talking about "The fearlessness of LOVE" *
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Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
FEARLESSNESS
Oh! Rama! Oh! Rama,”reme ithi rama” (Makes us happy so Rama!) Here, mourn and sigh Ahalyas In every atom of rocky hearts Of India; as Sahasralingas spy. Ambush, spring on praying preys. Rushi Gauthams suspicious curse In repentance they bless retribution. Oh! Rama, with your soft feet touch, Liberate the poor pious chaste Ahalyas, Sathi, Savitri, Seetha and Panchali,O! Sultana Raziya, Jhansi Rani ,Indira Gandhi, Think of their vicissitudes, the path they tread! Patriarchy exerts pressure on Matriarchy, O!Mum! Bharat matha is molested by Kuberas and Mamons. And her daughters are robbed and ***** ruthlessly, alas! Oh! Rama,”Dharma Samsthanardhaya “come with dirge Of the degenerated culture of Vultures, save thy women folk. Make people to think right, to follow right path, to tell true words. To live in Eeman (Dharma) not to inflict pain to other co-habitants. Without negative there is no use of positive, so is woman and man. They are like protons and electrons to the flux of family life peaceful. Oh! Rama , teach, Dharmorakshati Rakshita:,”repentance gives retribution That will bring peace, progress, stability, justice and unity; not Pax Romana
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Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 10:48 AM UTC
Oh!Rama!
Oh! Rama! Oh! Rama,”reme ithi rama” (Makes us happy so Rama!) Here, mourn and sigh Ahalyas In every atom of rocky hearts Of India; as Sahasralingas spy. Ambush, spring on praying preys. Rushi Gauthams suspicious curse In repentance they bless retribution. Oh! Rama, with your soft feet touch, Liberate the poor pious chaste Ahalyas, Sathi, Savitri, Seetha and Panchali,O! Sultana Raziya, Jhansi Rani ,Indira Gandhi, Think of their vicissitudes, the path they trod! Patriarchy exerts pressure on Matriarchy, O!Mum! Bharat matha is molested by Kuberas and Mammons. And her daughters are robbed and ***** ruthlessly, alas! Oh! Rama,”Dharma Samsthapanardhaya “come with dirge Of the degenerated culture of Vultures, save thy women folk. Make people to think right, to follow right path, to tell true words. To live in Eeman (Dharma) not to inflict pain to other co-habitants. Without negative there is no use of positive, so is woman and man. They are like protons and electrons to the flux of family life peaceful. Oh! Rama , teach, Dharmorakshati Rakshita:,”repentance gives retribution That will bring peace, progress, stability, justice and unity; not “Pax Romana”..
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Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 6:03 AM UTC
Oh!Rama
Oh! Rama you are the most virtuous You are the eldest son of king Dasaratha’s You always stood by your word You are the greatest man in the world Your wife Sita is the most pious woman Your step mother kaika asked your father for a boon She asked you to go to the forest She refused your father’s request You obliged your father’s promise He grieved to lose your loving kiss Along with your chaste wife In forest you spent fourteen years’ strenuous life Brother Lakshmana shared your strife He cut demon shurphanaka’s nose with a knife The demon Ravana came in disguise Sita fell a prey to his vice He abducted her to his kingdom Sita was deprived of her freedom You wept for Sita like a man Trials and tribulations are very common You made friends with Lord Hanuman He was undoubtedly a super man He flew to Ravana”s kingdom And relieved Sita”s boredom He assured her Rama would **** the demon Because He was supra human In the fierce fight You were too great for his sight Ravana fell down in the battle field Sita was freed from his yield You were crowned king Many songs did the people sing We celebrate your birth day with religious zeal All our troubles you will seal By JVL NARASIMHA RAO
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Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 7:12 PM UTC
THE RAMAYANA RETOLD IN VERSE
Know throughout as Mohan the enchanter. or even Gopala or Govinda Jagganatha is known as Shri Krishna appeared in Gokul Many legends have been told with skin as Jambul as a jamun And flute music like the song of a bulbul Legends and stories carry on through rasleela, they are known through Krishna Lila, they are showcased but all throughout the king is born His radiance appearance of Jambul skin and a peacock feather or even crown in Tribhanga and his flute with sweets notes of love As a warrior in the battle of Kurukshetra Throughout the Mahabharata, he is known here he shared with Arjuna what is known as the Bhagavad Geeta Hare Krishna Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare With this, I offer my salutations to you Oh Lord Krishna, Please accept my humble request to thee
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Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
My Humble Request To Thee
The princess who chose To live in exile Holding the hand of her husband With a beautiful smile Framed in a guile by Ravan But she didn't fall in his wicked ways Despite being held captive And tortured for nights and days She refused to go with Hanuman When he came to rescue her Insisted that Rama come openly to defeat her captor In Rama's honor exile did she prefer On the Ravan's defeat - to prove her purity She had to walk through fire But the flames neither touched her body And nor her attire The fire bowed in her honor But that wasn't enough For the clouds of gloom Were towering above The world has never been fair to women Despite of proving her purity Sita had to leave It was the height of cruelty Cause Rama was as weak In the face of his men As strong he was In front of Ravan Rama- the man Sita loved enough to die for Asked her to leave To the path that led abhor Just imagine the way Sita would be looking at Rama With whom she had to part For he was standing dumb like a statue When her world was falling apart Would she have accused or looked down at him As she asked mother earth to swallow her She was going back to where she came from In order to save the last shred of her honor
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May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
Sita
*Didn't it sound a lot like something He said a long time ago? Now it makes sense Dripping from honey lips* I lowered the box into the ground Empty but only I knew as much Nothing to see, nothing to touch My own heart was buried deeper down Looking up I saw you shed a tear For all I was laying to rest Was to you a memory blessed A short respite, the re-emergence of fear Or maybe I had it wrong You could have known all along I could have been the one deceived Or maybe I only thought you believed Step back She sings the Mantra Let her finish Before we continue *Hare Krishna ¥ Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna ¥ Rama Rama Hare Rama ¥ Hare Rama Rama Rama ¥ Krishna Krishna* I could tell you reasons for what I've done Before the passion flamed I dreamed her naked, unashamed Innocent as the day was young I thought it was love that drove me on Even when the snake bared it's fangs Injected it's venom of change Convinced my compassion was strong Now I know that it can't be forgiven The arrows pierce you from behind Weaker still your weakened mind And contaminate your imagination Stole a page from God's playbook I'm sorry, my old friend, that you fell But I have ****** myself to hell Just one page was all it took *this end is for me even more than it is for you the fog in the forest is still sickly thick and you can't see the forest for the trees I dragged it out for too long but I know your ignorance is blissful and I don't blame you I'd do the same thing if I were in your shoes* It was my own guilt that stopped me cold Made me think twice of what I'd done I know you'd just soon it go on and on (And on and on) But seeing you so often demeaned is getting so very old ••••••••••••• Cry when you hear the song Crying is often the best thing to do Break down for an hour, in the back of your mind Know it gets better when the grieving is through Don't take anything she said for granted She felt she had good advice But you gotta let it work Learn how to pray Build a fortress around your mind Evict the rogue voices *"This is rebirth The hardest word Held under water This is death I'm out of breath Held under water"            - Dustin Carpenter             "Held Under Water"              (big sleep., 1988)*
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Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
An Apology of Sorts
*Didn't it sound a lot like something He said a long time ago? Now it makes sense Dripping from honey lips* I lowered the box into the ground Empty but only I knew as much Nothing to see, nothing to touch My own heart was buried deeper down Looking up I saw you shed a tear For all I was laying to rest Was to you a memory blessed A short respite, the re-emergence of fear Or maybe I had it wrong You could have known all along I could have been the one deceived Or maybe I only thought you believed Step back She sings the Mantra Let her finish Before we continue *Hare Krishna ¥ Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna ¥ Rama Rama Hare Rama ¥ Hare Rama Rama Rama ¥ Krishna Krishna* I could tell you reasons for what I've done Before the passion flamed I dreamed her naked, unashamed Innocent as the day was young I thought it was love that drove me on Even when the snake bared it's fangs Injected it's venom of change Convinced my compassion was strong Now I know that it can't be forgiven The arrows pierce you from behind Weaker still your weakened mind And contaminate your imagination Stole a page from God's playbook I'm sorry, my old friend, that you fell But I have ****** myself to hell Just one page was all it took *this end is for me even more than it is for you the fog in the forest is still sickly thick and you can't see the forest for the trees I dragged it out for too long but I know your ignorance is blissful and I don't blame you I'd do the same thing if I were in your shoes* It was my own guilt that stopped me cold Made me think twice of what I'd done I know you'd just soon it go on and on (And on and on) But seeing you so often demeaned is getting so very old ••••••••••••• Cry when you hear the song Crying is often the best thing to do Break down for an hour, in the back of your mind Know it gets better when the grieving is through Don't take anything she said for granted She felt she had good advice But you gotta let it work Learn how to pray Build a fortress around your mind Evict the rogue voices *"This is rebirth The hardest word Held under water This is death I'm out of breath Held under water"            - Dustin Carpenter             "Held Under Water"              (big sleep., 1988)*
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71
I had always heard that festivals are symbols of joy,symbols of happiness. but I think more than that it is feeling o f peace,prosperity,love,kindness it is the only time when everyone in our society have get together,follow rituals and the most interesting part is the broken relationships,friendships & every other relations get adhere together. friends i always thought that festivals means only having holidays and enjoying it but today i came to know that every festival has its own story like Christmas for birth of lord Christ, Diwali for returning of lord Rama and goddess Sita. on the occassion of DEEPAVALI I wish everyone HAPPY DEEPAVALI and may this diwali bring prosperity,Elation,peace in your life!!!!
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Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
*FESTIVALS*...
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks—the sky is saffron-yellow— As the women in the village grind the corn, And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born. Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway! Oh the clammy fog that hovers And at Home they’re making merry ’neath the white and scarlet berry— What part have India’s exiles in their mirth? Full day begind the tamarisks—the sky is blue and staring— As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, And they bear One o’er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring, To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke. Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly— Call on Rama—he may hear, perhaps, your voice! With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars, And to-day we bid “good Christian men rejoice!” High noon behind the tamarisks—the sun is hot above us— As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan. They will drink our healths at dinner—those who tell us how they love us, And forget us till another year be gone! Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching! Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain! Youth was cheap—wherefore we sold it. Gold was good—we hoped to hold it, And to-day we know the fulness of our gain. Grey dusk behind the tamarisks—the parrots fly together— As the sun is sinking slowly over Home; And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether. That drags us back how’er so far we roam. Hard her service, poor her payment—she is ancient, tattered raiment— India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind. If a year of life be lent her, if her temple’s shrine we enter, The door is hut—we may not look behind. Black night behind the tamarisks—the owls begin their chorus— As the conches from the temple scream and bray. With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us, Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day! Call a truce, then, to our labors—let us feast with friends and neighbors, And be merry as the custom of our caste; For if “faint and forced the laughter,” and if sadness follow after, We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.
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3.5k
Christmas In India
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks—the sky is saffron-yellow— As the women in the village grind the corn, And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born. Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway! Oh the clammy fog that hovers And at Home they’re making merry ’neath the white and scarlet berry— What part have India’s exiles in their mirth? Full day begind the tamarisks—the sky is blue and staring— As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, And they bear One o’er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring, To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke. Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly— Call on Rama—he may hear, perhaps, your voice! With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars, And to-day we bid “good Christian men rejoice!” High noon behind the tamarisks—the sun is hot above us— As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan. They will drink our healths at dinner—those who tell us how they love us, And forget us till another year be gone! Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching! Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain! Youth was cheap—wherefore we sold it. Gold was good—we hoped to hold it, And to-day we know the fulness of our gain. Grey dusk behind the tamarisks—the parrots fly together— As the sun is sinking slowly over Home; And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether. That drags us back how’er so far we roam. Hard her service, poor her payment—she is ancient, tattered raiment— India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind. If a year of life be lent her, if her temple’s shrine we enter, The door is hut—we may not look behind. Black night behind the tamarisks—the owls begin their chorus— As the conches from the temple scream and bray. With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us, Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day! Call a truce, then, to our labors—let us feast with friends and neighbors, And be merry as the custom of our caste; For if “faint and forced the laughter,” and if sadness follow after, We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.
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in ashes hidden, smoulders god of love from matted dancer's focus conflagration purely come continues still perhaps in empty homage of a sa ta na ma personage of ((Shiva)) white bones pierce the sky in upward curtain-seethes of heat beyond imagined burning hells... the triad ventures into zero-zones of anti-life, sands of absolute defeat. shadow trust imparts a silent teacher's mantras; soothing psychic words, "Bala" and "Adi-Bala" carry over dunes of morbid thirst-- the gape of ancient serpent-maws choking dust of frightened, elephantine skeletons fissured by immobile sun-- their inner sound become cool water of a summer stream in timeless desert, traverses strain of royal line: god-fated tutelage of seedling savior, lightning skill with bow and virtue sinew shining arms horizon's arid form: despite begrudging honor kings expect when offspring given after years in hard-earned sacrificial grace: yet still obeisance ends in facing demonaic rage to which is pitted youth to slay-- despite allay by symbol feminine, as if to question her abode would conjure her in dire storm and quake announce gigantic step and hairy gulf-- with arrow sprays destroy Thataka's trident, curdling throat the slitting of, rejoicing pantheon proclaims heroic, forever railing under epic breath of tacit page theodical: "we gave you progeny, now grant us our theocracy; before your son our asthras lay their weaponry" .
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Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
Rama's inauguration, facing the murderous gluttony of Thataka
India is the biggest democratic state The voters always decide her fate The fate of a political party depends on its popularity The powerful and tactful party gets the majority One party discusses the construction of Rama’s temple Its political, hidden agenda is very simple The other parties talk about secularity It always tries to woo the considerable minority The other leftist parties often talk about the poor But they never get their votes for sure Before the election liquor flows like a river Voters get money notes in a beautiful cover The luckiest party grabs the power The elected members try to climb the tower Corruption seems to be the order of the day No part is likely to show the right way In democracy, parties are meant To be different. But that is not quite apparant
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Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 5:00 AM UTC
POLITICS IN DEMOCRACY
Wisconsin, fine-- We sit on state lines. Across the street, Rodeo Drive. Move a little bit and East L.A. makes you feel alive. Go to the diner where the mermaids wear aprons and hold out menus like personal stock. Where the surfer-rama drama in the diner deep allows them to let go of those they keep. And you and me and those we love, keep us finite, because why not. I could tell you how to eat your waffles if you will be the spoon that stirs my coffee. Listen to me, "Rachel, there's no one, right now, that I'd rather sit and eat breakfast with than you. And if it doesn't work out, and we choke on our meals, that's fine. I just want to try when I'm with you." We exchange glances and I'm sure, then, that I adore the aplomb, for your smile leads myself into believing and being more.
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Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
Breakfast Blend
When battles were fought With a chivalrous sense of should and ought, In spirit men said, “End we quick or dead, Honour is some reward! Let us fight fair—for our own best or worst; So, Gentlemen of the Guard, Fire first!” In the open they stood, Man to man in his knightlihood: They would not deign To profit by a stain On the honourable rules, Knowing that practise perfidy no man durst Who in the heroic schools Was nurst. But now, behold, what Is war with those where honour is not! Rama laments Its dead innocents; Herod howls: “Sly slaughter Rules now! Let us, by modes once called accurst, Overhead, under water, Stab first.”
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2.7k
Then And Now
Canta en la ***** del pino un pájaro detenido, trémulo, sobre su trino. Se yergue, flecha, en la rama, se desvanece entre alas y en música se derrama. El pájaro es una astilla que canta y se quema viva en una nota amarilla. Alzo los ojos: no hay nada. Silencio sobre la rama, sobre la rama quebrada.
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2.7k
La rama
These lines are written In the slow nowhere zone of sleep My fingers animated with thoughts All their own I don't have to pretend Ambien's licking in Like a donkey straight To the beck of my neck I've seen it done enough time Not to fooled into thinking it's here for Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna hara hara hara Rama. Hara Rama , ram  EMram hare hare.   Maybe that's the strong wind that guided my pen Benevolent trickster soon to.bury. The things that make him whole Someone is mowing theirbli It happens on ambien But I swear there's. Meaning somewhere hidden between bags of honey oil **** ands great changjbbbbb He might be a nice guy......  Nice and buxom, he could eliminate the thy free of  before his Pixar My mind thinks one thing and fgisvonytspio
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Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
Under the Influence of 10mg Ambient, in which I learn NEVER to take more than two FOR ANY REASONS
En la noche entraremos a robar una rama florida. Pasaremos el muro, en las tinieblas del jardín ajeno, dos sombras en la sombra. Aún no se fue el invierno, y el manzano aparece convertido de pronto en cascada de estrellas olorosas. En la noche entraremos hasta su tembloroso firmamento, y tus pequeñas manos y las mías robarán las estrellas. Y sigilosamente, a nuestra casa, en la noche y la sombra, entrará con tus pasos el silencioso paso del perfume y con pies estrellados el cuerpo claro de la primavera.
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2.4k
La rama robada
I opened my grandmother. The Universal is independent. To the vast expanse of this great world I opened her way. Still, the stories that I am telling you She is more likely to hear. I am late She would have been full of trouble. Cutting the grains of mango, worshiping the mule's **** Looking closely at the sunset She would have been silently painting for a long time. The birds that had come near to to see, The sono-rama was very shocking to me. In the nights of the rainy season, rain and dew on our skin When the sound is singing one and the same She was shaky.    but              She liked poetry; My poems, so I left them for her;           my  grandmother. She grew her cooch's hair as if it was grandfather's beard. Now her spread wings seek the eternity of the beginning and I fly into her. Her dreams will be the grass beneath the rain. In the waving wheat's hum; where Ants walk. In the wrinkled cage that is open, there was a rain of the deceased only a feather is wet. A gift for a bequest. Remember it !! Take it! I opened up my paternal grandmother. Despite knowing she may not be breathing, She will not come.
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Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
I opened my grandmother
Enter Ravana I I Had Hadn't I? Told Rama, As I Was Dying, That I'll Rise Again, In Face Of Corruption, **** All The Moral Values, Of Your Future Land, Kith Would **** Kin, Left Would Cheat, So Right Suffers, Legs So Thick, That Bleed, On, And On, As They Move, Causing Much Pain, And Suffering As Well, Even As The People Move, Along The Path Well Beaten, Haven't I Passed My Own Test? Yes I Definitely Have Passed It, Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha! I Just Fought For My Sister, People Have No Respect, They **** Their Sister, I Cursed You Right! For Your Reply, Since ages I've, Waited For A, Befitting Solution, To The Besotting, Puzzle, I Cursed, For, Your, Nation!
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Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
And Ravana Lives Again
I. Prideless, they tore railroad men’s brown ******* lurking the thirsty Kenyan banks. Red moonlight sluiced from brambles and linen skins pressing upon tawny flesh, igniting fire of feline eye. Imperious, they patrolled the union jack encampment lingering in shadows of long-labour’s dreamless sleep until the smoldering campfire morning when one hundred hammers lean in one hundred corners. II. Maneaters in glass houses can’t throw stony glances— the power to haunt having run off with the ghost. Now, they reign over the acrylic savannah sneering—not out of regal disdain, but mild discomfort from dust mites nitpicking at tautly taxidermed pelt. Rebel eyes that halted an empire now cast dull marble stares at fossils in the floor and derailed trains of un-terrified school-children near a hissing robot-box called Mold-A-Rama spewing magma into plastic tyrannosaurs.
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May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:06 AM UTC
Ways of Looking At Maneaters
I'm like Gangrel I burn hotter than a ****** of devil my damphiric killer instinct runs deep into my soul mending bending and twisting what you think is a weakness dents in the armor I bring to battle I go to war on the floor while your rhymes **** more than a who're symphonic with the flow so solid like onix lyrical high like I spit the chronic hits like a **** leaving hoes wetter than a just washed thing what's wrong didn't think that the kid brought bars if you stand before me you'll fall before me I known you abhor me but ya girl adores me like loose leaf or sweet leaf Osbourne I'm still sore from last night another fight slept with another dudes wife I bring trife strife and drama enforcer like a flying saucer animated like flip o rama  Cranberry ***** harder than a just busted cherry it's scary what I do to this microphone it's my own when I'm in the zone  drops
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Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Lyrical Excersise 1 (freestyle)
Quieto             no en la rama en el aire                   No en el aire en el instante                           el colibrí
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1.7k
La exclamación
Quiero que sepas una cosa. Tú sabes cómo es esto: si miro la luna de cristal, la rama roja del lento otoño en mi ventana, si toco junto al fuego la impalpable ceniza o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña, todo me lleva a ti, como si todo lo que existe, aromas, luz, metales, fueran pequeños barcos que navegan hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan. Ahora bien, si poco a poco dejas de quererme dejaré de quererte poco a poco. Si de pronto me olvidas no me busques, que ya te habré olvidado. Si consideras largo y loco el viento de banderas que pasa por mi vida y te decides a dejarme a la orilla del corazón en que tengo raíces, piensa que en ese día, a esa hora levantaré los brazos y saldrán mis raíces a buscar otra tierra. Pero si cada día, cada hora sientes que a mí estás destinada con dulzura implacable. Si cada día sube una flor a tus labios a buscarme, ay amor mío, ay mía, en mí todo ese fuego se repite, en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida, mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada, y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos sin salir de los míos.
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1.8k
Si tú me olvidas
There are three ways to reach the All-Mighty Knowledge, devotion and disinterested duty Knowledge is infinite but Man’s vision is only finite If man honestly performs his duty It is undoubtedly a great beauty But there are many hurdles Which make him leave the ideals Only devotion seems to be the easiest It may be Rama, Allah or Jesus Christ You need not be a great scholar And need not be a wonderful performer You will reach God through a devotional prayer But you should unveil the illusionary layer Only philosophy and God seem to the ultimate truth Although it may not appeal greatly to an atheist and the youth
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Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 9:30 AM UTC
A DEVOTIONAL PRAYER AND THE ILLUSIONARY LAYER
When she's all alone She thinks about him When she doesn't have to mask her expression Or hide the sparkle in her eyes That can be seen when he's on her mind She feels safe. When he's all alone He thinks about her But it just hurts, so he tries not to. He stays busy With work and friends To keep from feeling the loneliness. They share an entire world, Secret from everyone else Where they can go when they need to remember They don't need to discuss it, Every time they talk It's always there, waiting. They've both been changed By their, short, but sweet encounter. A summer they'll never forget Spent in pure bliss. Waiting for the time When they don't have to wait any longer. She tried to deny her heart But it was no use, She gave in. While he's out there Still trying to forget Pretending he's the same. She understands him More than she's understood anyone She clicks with him like Legos He seems to read her mind But lets her speak for herself And he unconsciously clicks right back. He tries to be firm To set boundaries, create distance For the sake of their sanity. And she tries to respect that But she can't fight gravity And as hard as he tries, neither can he. This is the story of two lovers Who will grow to be more They go together Like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga **** Where life is loved And nothing can keep them apart.
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Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:08 AM UTC
Your Hand, My Hand, Your Heart, My Heart