"revolts" poems
Look in the mirror
Look at the clock
Look at the time
It never has stopped
It only goes forward
It's a one way walk
See how you have been growing
You ask yourself, "where have the days been going?"
Time can only progress
Yes, the river of life is always flowing
We lived cabins
And castles and caves
We came from Adam and eve
We evolved from apes
From Socrates and Homer
To Napoleon and Alexander the Great
The minds that desired knowing
And the enlightened ones glowing
People can only advance
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Revolutions and rebellions
Riots and revolts
Great discoveries
A key, a kite and a lightning bolt
Great writings and inventions
Innovations from inspiring jolts
Improvement was showing
To the future the world was going
Humanity only began to develop
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Religions and sciences
Economics and politics
Television and radio
Monarchies and dictatorships
Tanks and machine guns
Atomic bombs and battle ships
We went from arrow shooting and spear throwing
The muskets needed reloading
To nuclear weapons
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Exploring new lands
To find the world wasn't flat
To find silver and gold
And buried artifacts
To establish new territories
And expand the map
The searching ship kept rowing
As civilization went on growing
Accomplishments of the past
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Boats and rail roads
Fair trade and industry
World wide markets
Over land and sea
To keep out nations going
And stablize the economy
But now every country has money that they're owing
And the land that they're owning
Is has evolved
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Social reforms
Counter cultures fight
They protest strongly
For equal civil rights
The world's in constant change
Every day turns into night
Every opening has its closing
And then it comes back again
As long as there's someone hoping
Yes the river of life is always flowing
We put people into space
We have fought for equality
Created a world from nothing
And advanced technology
We've struggle to go to where we are
And continue to go strongly
The opportunities fate has been bestowing
We look forward to see what is ahead
The memories and mysteries the hourglass is holding
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
In this life
we are sculpted down
to bone
burned to cinders
and our ash
tossed without regret
into the four winds
I wish I could live.
Be a man.
Find comfort in the sun.
But every cell in my body
revolts against time
cries out against the sun
speaks in tongues
for the sole purpose
of creating an outrage
against God.
Oh Lord!
How did you make us thus?
And why?
Above all
why?
We are made metal
and in the end
alloy with the sun.
Our breath is drawn
to fuel that fire
bring life to a boil
and
if luck prevails
to wake each morning
in comfort
and with a smile.
Perhaps the last sweet smile.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 3:19 PM UTC
Sometimes i wonder,
Wondering wonders of wonderful
World,for i living in this awful
World,spiral of life with terrific
Surroundings.
Unholy acts to the victims of
Xenophobic attacks,violence
Turns an everyday speech.
Government revolts gathers.
Towards poverty-stricken.
Diseases classic collide,remittance
Assassins rendered for intensely
Militancy.
Objection!!my lord,
Shysters bailing out
Evil-doers,juridical system
Not pertained.Poverty-trap
Pounding,chemical gases
Filling lungs of little
Ones.
Somebody play nice to
This,God play part to
This,denote dualism of
Good and evil.
Yesterday they gang banged
One of your children.
Drugs co-operate infection of
Young minds,youth gangsterism
Uproar.
Father herd your sheeps
To the right path,we seek
Guidance from above.
Family horror-strucks unites,
Matrimony rending day by
Day,onto religion segregations
Strickes by ??????.
Keep holy to this life *Life
Testimony* and paste
Amen...
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:32 AM UTC
You ask me why I’m so angry all the time
I laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry,
I laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry.
And then you’ll call me emotional and hysterical
As if we’re still in the era of old where simple female reactions
Were pathologised and the bold locked up for being “mentally ill”.
You ask me why I’m angry and I simply scoff
And deny because if I start speaking about why
The rage in me will boil over like lava in a volcano
And then where will we be?
[pause]
I want to tell you,
I want to tell you why.
Why this rage, this utter, all consuming anger, this deep-rooted grief.
Let me tell you how I feel like crying whenever I hear about
Another **** case, another girl murdered for daring to refuse,
Another woman of colour who endured terrifying pain,
All because she was who she was.
Another minority violated, another black trans woman killed, her ****** unsolved,
Another child abducted and sold, like a commodity
Another another another
It never stops and it never ends
From micro-aggressions to gross violence
I feel it all in my heart
Like a stab between the fourth and the fifth rib
And it adds to my rage.
The words burst forth from my lips,
But I rein them in
Because even though I want to protest
Against your complete ignorance and your casual misogyny
And my being revolts in response to your words,
I stop myself
because you are my family, my friend, my peer
And if I say something
You’ll just ask me why I’m so angry all the time.
Sometimes there’s no winning
Resistance is futile
In a world so steeped in patriarchy
That it’s unaware of the consequences
Of perpetuating sexist narratives.
But I still want to fight
The oppressive systems that chain the girl child,
The casual way we respond to certain slights
Against the all encompassing freedom of women.
And I’ll take on a thousand such questions
If only I can change one life,
If only I can spread the word and fight the good fight.
And, I would have told you all this
If only you had asked.
If only you had the patience
To listen as I blathered on
About statistics and documented proof
Of how 50% of the world’s population
Is still under constant threat to their lives.
I repeat, fifty percent of the world’s population
Lives with a constant threat to their lives.
I would have told you about how there are thousands of accounts
Of harassment and abuse and violation of basic human rights,
The right to say no, the right to thrive.
I would have told you,
I would have told you all
If only you had asked.
So don’t ask me why I’m angry
Ask yourself why you’re not.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
He loves me like a dog;
Not a pet, not a beloved family member
But a common mutt,
cast into the wild
when I do not fetch the bone he throws me.
He loves only when I do not howl at the moon
for the injustice and evil of this cruel life.
He loves on a seasonal this-and-that sort of term
And kicks at my chest
when I sleep on his sofa or lick at his heels.
He breaks me like a horse-
To become his archetype-
And revolts at the Jezebel I am supposed to be
And yet,
this dog comes crawling back to the arms who should love me
unconditionally…
I come back to my accuser,
I crawl to my stereotype-
After all I am a **** good** maid.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
*This dream is a sloppy forest
and you are the bird
who broods in a labyrinth of trees.
Time revolts,
the cage of sleep fractures
with the flutters of my eyelids.
I feel mortified
for uprooting trees one by one
from navels of the earth
only to see you safe at home.
Now the greens lay under my feet
and the sun looks blue
with your screaming feathers
scattered across the sky.*
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
I wanna spin aroun
Until I die
See The Sky
From the ground up high
Live Breathe Die
With all that stains
my insides
Revolts turns
Wuntil They are Outsides
Live breathe die
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 8:25 AM UTC
In the prologue to her Alexiad,
Anna Comnena laments her widowhood.
Her soul is dizzy. "And with rivers
of tears," she tells us "I wet
my eyes... Alas for the waves" in her life,
"alas for the revolts." Pain burns her
"to the the bones and the marrow and the cleaving of the soul."
But it seems the truth is, that this ambitious woman
knew only one great sorrow;
she only had one deep longing
(though she does not admit it) this haughty Greek woman,
that she was never able, despite all her dexterity,
to acquire the Kingship; but it was taken
almost out of her hands by the insolent John.
1.7k
A poem is like a naked person,
That needs redemption and mercy,
And every expression to impress,
And comitted like a press.
Every expressions are specious,
And rhythms ostentatious,
Poets with their dulcet lips,
Giving vulnerability to your hips
Poets use one's Achilles' heels as
Leverage,
With many diction and language,
Their words can't be insipid,
So they play the cupid.
Poets seems complaisant,
Tantalizing those counts,
She said poet are killers,
But they claim to be healers.
Poets take their hyperborical expression
To the peak,
Making all your bones weak,
She said Poets are liars,
Oh! Poets are murderers.
Poets will make your soul tremulous,
With those words, sounding mellifluous,
Poets take you to the imaginary world,
Perhaps with just a word.
But Poets change their environment,
Releasing the truth from its confinement,
Chastising the revolts and destroyers
With mere pen and paper.
But she wouldn't agree,
Not to any degree,
She said Poets are liars,
Oh! Poets are murderers!
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
Listen to my heart whimpering
As I write to you from its broken melodies
The only memory I have from you.
Songs that lack rythm in your absence
Can't seem to embody my current expressions
As nakedness revolts through my reality
And reminds me of all those scars
That paints my body with dead colors of autumn.
Listen, to the song repeating itself in my head
Like the abandoned vinyl still playing
After a suicide
Yes, suicide.
A suicide that our love has committed
In the land of hopes and dreams
Where the music never spoke again
But remained as a beautiful memory
That completes the painting.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
Visioned skewed and blurred beneath the masterful mask,
Completely collided mixtures of fluorescent folly and illness intact.
Crowned swiftly upon his truthful, yet tactical thoughts,
Who discovered the prolific promiscuity of his father's revolts.
Proud to be the lonesome star, who gleams giantly above,
Where the hungry telescopes are constantly searched and shoved.
Staggered toward emptiness of shine and fuel,
Left to float below, till becoming lost in the army of fools.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:40 AM UTC
the veil of glamour and desire
that shrouds a heart, beaten so black
and blue, that deep down, revolts the
idea of ever being
loved, adored, or anything but
the maiming devil it knows well.
Dec 19, 2023
Dec 19, 2023 at 4:58 PM UTC
click
click
clack
On a white marble floor
If you're a woman,
you already have
one foot out the door
of a room filled with
all the conversation
and opportunities
that a man can afford.
This is a scene we've all seen before.
Paid way less
when you're told
that you worked way more.
I'm sure a client will adore my face
in a meeting,
but what do i do with the horror
when he hears me speaking?
I'm reeking of the sour aftertaste of everyday misogyny.
My worth measured
by the distance between
my skirt and the floor.
And when I protest,
politely, of course
Being told that I can do better,
I can be more than a bore.
My skin revolts
From the last time a colleague
brushed his hand accidentally
against my everything.
My strength and independence rot
in catacombs made from begrudging wombs,
waiting for their lives to begin
before building a tomb for another.
My ears hear no corporate conflict.
My eyes read no unjust verdict.
My knees wobble of no panic.
My voice even now is not frantic.
I try to use my woman card as a shield,
But they already know I'll yield
Because sadly
Feminism, safety, and my daily routine
don't get along very well with each other.
If I could stretch myself to my full capacity;
Correction.
If you'd let me stretch myself to full capacity,
I'd be taller than these nine yards,
Stronger than this silken thread ,
Darker than this black,
Louder than this naked mic.
My worth is equal to the number of folds in this sari.
Uncertain.
Defined.
Redefined.
Ever changing.
As I shift move walk stumble run shuffle sprint
Dive
Into the storm.
Riot chhod,
I'm a civil war of colour.
Black sari
Black eyes
Black bindi
Golden jhumkas
Red lips
Multicoloured sword at my hip
Swinging at the shackles they placed on me.
Din ke dus dangey lad jaati hu mai,
Saal ki solah siyaahein bharke ruk jaati hu main,
Kabhi kahin khade rehne ki jagah mil jaye,
Toh iss duniya ki acchhaai se thak jaati hu main.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
You stir it one way and they the other,
but the mixture stays just as hot
You attack their motives and they attack yours,
while the contents boil and rot
“It needs to be this way”… the other side revolts,
“Your mind’s faulty with avarice and greed”
The *** has simmered; the broth is thick,
and its bottom not easy to see
A mutual exclusion, first left then right
a feast—all soul’s consumed
With spoon or fork, its offering slick
when the bowls come out at noon
In single file, day turns to night
pointed talk with nothing said
Both cupboard’s bare, two rat’s within
guarding their last crust of bread
When the final story is written and told
of what in concert you destroyed
A drum will beat, zero-sum complete
leaving you soulless—but still conjoined
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June,2016)
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
I wandered in on a world of dead rock. I laid with it. Smelt the essence together with carbon and metallic lifelessness.
To create a place of pretty. A sadness overcame.
I came to feeling. To knowing. Sentient.
A rootless contusion never ending.
A bottomless chasm of void.
The pit follows deeper and deeper it travels,
To the hollows of sorrow contempt I’m born.
I grow to feet from the ground where I lay,
As my body draped the floor sprawling and loose.
Upon these legs I rise, and so rise my eyes.
The hollow void I have lingers yawing in my stomach. Ulcerating my mucosal cavern.
What I see
Before me
On this road
On this desert of the necropolis:
Metropolis mass grave,
A mausoleum for civilization,
Möbius of war.
The reflective glint in my eye was of no mans eyes at all.
The death of hope.
Sea of sky scraping spires.
The dead hollow bones left after a city extinguishes.
Millions of towers with red glowing eyes, where blue life used to flourish, now twinkle in and out of this plane.
These giants graze, on the concrete and sway...with the wind.
Colossus of marble, petrified forever in granite with the internal flora that haunted their bowels.
They now have no agenda...city percolates to extinction.
They will forever amble with no purpose.
Once they housed the hearts and minds of microbes that built them.
The builders of hero worship.
They died in the 20's.
Left are the shells of a dream and a forest of buildings.
New York died circa 1900.
United States crumbles: 1776
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
*The world shall fall as they fall
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends
Bring in the seraphim
Tear the pure clouds, reveal the gods above
If doubt is a stronger virtue
Then I am its paragon
Women fall at lofty feet in a harem
Gorging on peasants' spines 'till faces turn mauve
Fear is the new moral breakthrough
A scale higher than the utmost echelon
The world shall destroy as they destroy
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends.
The snake bite no longer stings
Calloused as a tyrant's compassion
The purest hands do grow relentless weeds
As they laze on the filthiest plots
Kings and hearts mount to slings
Foreboding most malleable deception
Blood spills bright on their letterheads
As truth gets set by red-handed bureaucrats
The world shall burn as they burn
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends.
Marksmen are wealthier than diplomats
Golden bullets to the golden rule
The trend is to laugh at our silence
The principle is to break lives not dictates
There lies no purgatory for these aristocrats
On to the vile ember cesspool
Until then, they fawn in worldly omnipotence
And not one revolts, not even conscience
The world shall end as they end
In their sceptre,everything follows
And so it goes on.*
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:41 AM UTC
hot blood, red cheeks, burnt lips, and smoke incapacitating my lungs, i heave through the fire in my home
clouded judgement, feelings of hopelessness, i run through my home to find a place where i can feel safe to open my eyes
a place where my lungs are free to experience breath without tentative hesitance, where my senses are in allignment
i search for hydration, for a holistic cleansing of the soul, for a second chance to reclaim this home i have been so careless in
when i finally see myself
my sense of sight funnels in and out
has my skin always looked like this?
who let me destroy my home?
there is nothing to put out the fire
my skin revolts against my bone as my pulse laryngeally stabs me in protest of my reluctance to acknowledge the pain
i am ready to give into the flames, to be a soul of light
to transcend the blazing in my heart, in my veins, in my brainwaves, to go through this life, with open, kindled eyes, a fiery spirit
lungs of feathers
making it obvious that i have scars,
because every aspect of my being,
burns.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
You can get it right, at 4 a.m.,
if you listen to the birds waking up.
My heavy lungs remember your amber
as my neck revolts in agony.
I hurt so bad right now and all
I want to do is taste your wet.
You can get it right, at 4 a.m.,
if you listen to the birds.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
Awakened by her vibrations
His molten rocks sputter,
Preferring to remain undisturbed.
Boiling, brewing, he begun erruption.
Amused by volcano's reaction
she listens and watches,no retaliation.
Considering her own stormy nights
when her lightning bolts strike thrice;
When her clapping of thunder
revolts even the sages
(both above and under).
She places a palm outwards,
blows kisses of cool wind,
To greet his fury,
His sweet love remembered.
His embers, with a smile, are pardoned.
She showers his projecting magma-
With droplets of chilled agua.
Awaited patiently for his red to cool,
to be brown, with help from yellow sun;
So that his lava could reconnect with outer earth-green.
Using a drifting veer she carries a charming flower seed and lays it beside him,
Soft petals soon blossom, rosy and pink.
They both smile gently,
now glowing for each other.
The volcano and Storm are forever in love, in flare and submerged;
Growing compassion and understanding of each other's plates and waves.
Yet neither may burn nor drown
but somehow remain facing the other-
At the very tip of their forbidden lips' kiss- for this day, tomorrow and in endlessness.
1:55am . Thurs, 24th, August, 2017.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
You don't want to wake up
anymore
okay, that's fine
stay in bed and watch
the clock knock space
upside it's head, like it's
a cosmic episode of
the Three Stooges
let the doors close
themselves, and lock
whatever is left
of eternity
outside
You hear someone
speak, and it makes
a little sense,
something like,
he's still in there,
should we wake him?
The eyes roll
back into their
respectable sockets,
the mouth locks
back into it's rightful
hinges
Functioning
never felt so
good, especially
under the weight
of mortality
Your hand revolts
against your mind's
fiendish desires
and coils around
the doorknob
like a thirsty desert
snake
It turns the ****
it resembles
pouring frosting
all over a bland
bundt cake
It tastes good,
the bed no longer clings
to your body, but still
carries your sweat stains
just in case you ever
want to go back to that
sick, sad,
escape
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 2:39 AM UTC
you don't need this are they just voices?
no you shouldn't eat that because the personalities
you'll gain weight stupid are in the hues of my heart
don't break the chain of starving yourself
you were getting somewhere
don't eat that you fat pig
okay fine just a little
no, no more
care more, she's your friend
put her first she deserves more
don't tell her it'll upset her what makes you think
be nice, accepting and make her happy you could be worth anything?
then you can attempt to be happy for her everyone else left, maybe its time
fake it till you make it stupid
you didn't do that good enough
you stupid fat *****
why'd you even think he'd care
just go **** off stupid my exterior disgusts me
you ****** up again my mind revolts me
like you always do, you don't im tired
get anything right
you'll never be
smart enough or pretty enough
just stop
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
I'm a loser.
That much is true.
I'm a loser.
At all I do.
Throughout the many years,
And through my many tears,
I've found it to be true.
I'm a fool, through and through.
Bitter sadness is my chum.
My poor heart is like stained glass.
Fragile and weak, but alas,
I'm a loser, and I'm ****
I am ugly, disgusting to the core.
My face revolts and repels, yet cries for more.
To all my friends, I am sure they abhor.
In the end, it only goes to show that
I'm a loser, akin to a mere gnat.
You could slap me, and I wouldn't slap back.
I had it coming, of that I am sure,
Because I'm a loser, and nothing more.
I have longed for love, and affection aplenty.
Yet all I have had is rejections a many.
Of all the women whom I ever came to know,
None alone would think of me as their love, their beau.
My shoulders narrow, my wrists small, my posture slump,
Could it be held against them to give me the bump?
In the end, I can say I deserved it all for
I'm a loser, and frankly, I'm also a bore.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
You.
You love me with your lips stitched shut.
You love the way I listen to you
whenever you teach me silence,
when you put your sweet sighs
across my mouth
and cradle my body into a dark corner
where I can breathe you in from afar.
That love which speaks through the eyes
tilted towards an inch away from mine.
While the rest of the world
can easily put those words into words,
you stay calm and modest
amidst your unspoken flames of emotions,
those which smoke away from a smile
or from a glance which carouses
in that place within me
where the other lovers can never visit.
You who don’t speak but listen.
I.
I love you with my ears only for the unheard.
I love that kind of love you rarely confess
through the smallest actions
done by your greatest strength
and even those cruel ones
within your depths I may never know
and you may never let me.
But if in case, you would let me and I would,
let me bury it down as a tiny seed
which will rise from the dirt
as a lovely white rose.
For even if you don’t speak,
I will always hear you
through the hushes of the cold wind
that blows and warms the fringes of my hair.
I will listen to you the way the other lovers
will never do.
I who don’t speak but listen.
But if this love must vanish in total darkness
and be drowned in all the noisy revolts
which sins had casted
or the world had turned the tables
and all our memories had to lie,
remember
that as long as there is you and I,
you will be the Earth beneath my feet
who holds all dear in my life
and I will be living and feeding in you
as our silence
grows and grows
into forever.
We who never speak but listen.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC