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Vexren4000 Sep 2018
A stray,
Wandering softly lit streets,
Scavenging for food,
fighting for life,
Cats meowing and jumping trash cans,
Showing off Olympic skill,
For nothing but a meal.
Dogs finding homes,
Or abandoned by owners,
Lost in streets,
Hoping for a scrap of love.
Only to find more garbage.

Monika Feb 26
was it for the lichens
growing on my pleached
entrails that you came,

scavenging like caribou
on pilgrimage to the
wintering ground?
wish i didn't still want her.
again I find myself daydreaming
being with you who’s so alluring
can’t bear my self to keep scavenging
every thoughts I hear you yarning

you’re just that amazing,
inside your mind is a galaxy
with cluster of stars
that I don’t mind forever floating within
being starstuck
We got a bad habit of scavenging
through any distant tragic
for any and all anecdata.

Brand it Dada,
if you want.

But please miss me with that
mystically a misfit shtick infinitely.
It's pushing 2020 and no body is blind
to being persona non grata,
given that it's written on every bit
of our skin like the insignia
of some designer product
we'll forget about before '21 hits.

Brand it post-romantic,
as long as you get past the ****.

Match flipped into gasoline.

Static on a glass screen
destined to crack.


Rabbits dragged out of hats
only to be stashed in better ones.

Brand it neo-whatever,
if you absolutely have to.

Because Im not paid to care,
only to rehash the second to last platitude
still hanging in the air
and await payment,
all exchange rates apply.
I know you're home
Its kind of hard when you're my neighbour
I want so badly just to say hello again
To look into your eyes and feel okay
I just had to be the *****
I won't lie I was scared
Just those few words ****** it all up
Now out of place
I can't even talk to you
I know it's for the best though
You're happy now and I see that
I'm happy for you I really am
Although I'm dying inside
Scavenging what remains of myself
All I wish for Is to see you again
To have the courage to tell you
I miss you
I know I haven't the right
Its not what it may seem though
I'd just like to be friends again
Although it's an impossibility
Due to my arrogance
This is why I sit downstairs
In solitary
I'm sorry again
I miss you so much
SassyJ Aug 2018
So you think we live on trees?
scavenging on pollen and remains
scrounging on the breadcrumbs
I am just fed up by perceptions
Misconceptions about Africa
Such conjuring labels on Africans
Yet the savannah grass survives
both the drought and abundance
In open canopies it shows strength
even when overlooked and compressed
and when the trees boast and rules
It humbly sacrifices even when trampled
Africa is inside my very bones
and I carry its prolific prominence
and I bear it’s shame and afflictions
and it’s culture awash all my soul
and it’s values the echoes of my ears
So why should I sacrifice my heritage?
Call me African because that’s is me
See the true architecture of my existence
painted deep on my soft ebony skin tone
Tuned evenly in the inflection of my tune
Fenced in the limits of the unclouded patch
Natalie Feb 3
7 billion realities
each of us consumed in own own
living in the comfort of our cubicles
playing out our stories
day by day
living so small
in such an infinite universe
where all life is born to die

7 billion lives
fighting to survive
in this mysterious, vague cycle we label as life
with an enigmatic sense of understanding of what it truly is
each perceive their own perceptions
each believe their own deceptions
we all strive for perfection
when perfection doesn't exist
it is an abstract concept created by man himself
this seed of "idealism" planted into the mind of society
eats away at the purity of the innocence a child is born with
we do not live in a utopia
neither an apocalypse
but in a perfectly imperfect balance
an equilibrium of the two
but we fail to achieve harmony
to find peace
we fail to come together in unity
there are humans but no humanity
all scavenging for scraps of sanity
in a world of madness
in a deranged realm of hunger and greed
in this ephemeral illusion
which will one day cease to exist

where are the lost souls that wish to be found?
where are the voices, that wish to be heard?
where is the love that can stretch beyond the seas and the skies?
where is the good in the power of mankind?
and so I ask, in the name of the people
where are the people?
Devon Brock Jul 30
Joy and similar discontents
break wheaten on the all-weather
radial steel-reinforced sidewall hum,
on the defog rasping for a service call;

Break on the near treeless plain
stitched loose to the sky with rivets
of silos and grain bins - clouds
dive porpoise behind the rise.

Joy and similar discontents
hang like flowers on a bleach
wood cross surviving another winter
to tread sobbing on the green ditch water.

Every X and Y coordinate of the plains
etched by gravel side-ways and field
entries too rutted and ragged
to suit the conglomerate need

or the tilt houses and stripped clapboard
banging against the thistle, milkweed
and swallowed dreams in the foxgrass,
with turkey buzzards circling thermal overhead.

But the crows plunge faster into red
fresh carrion sloughs of whitetail and ****
to breach at the presence of a larger scavenging -
and each bent marker tells its own tale.

Count the bullet holes and shotgun splatter
in the stops and yields when the road was empty,
when the night was dry, when the callous boys
had time on their hands instead of hog blood

and badger-eyed girls that left after graduation
for the starless haze, crowded parades,
sidewalk shops, umbrellas on the rain side
of things keeping each at arm's length.

But it was never about the city,
never about the glitz and pizzazz
of everything running baffled into gridlock;
less about the thick dumb flannel boys.

It was always about that low fog,
the night eyes in the beams, the manure, chaff
and split seams of the midwest furrows,
the haybales that bob like rafts over the horizon.
Hell with Manu! Manu go to hell!
The wrath of your interpretation,
Put us under an inhuman subjugation.

You turned a group,
Dictators of a merciless culture,
Transformed us worse,
Than a scavenging vulture.

You gifted us the psychology of the worst slaves,
And robbed our culture, worship and God,
Who is there to get us out from these graves?

For centuries till now continue our struggle,
We are forced to live with worst strangles
In the poisonous jungle,

We the humans treated much worse,
Than dogs insects and poo eating pig,
Our scars wounds and blows,
Still remain untouchable and big.

Poisonous **** declared the crops untouchable,
Proclaimed itself the most unconquerable,
Less than a second it takes,
To **** the poisonous weeds with a cutter,
Throw them into the useless gutter.

Landlords, who rule the land and hill,
Put the lives of untouchable crops to a standstill,
Multiplied the existence of poisonous ****,
At the expense of the healthy crop seed.

Our journey in the doors of
Movements, struggle and legal
Was quite a win,
That proved out to be absolutely lethal.

We won successfully in the battle of right,
Till the end of the topmost administrative fight,
We lost to erase your caste ridden thought,
That is useless rigid and tight.

With your caste names,
You remind and hurt us, with useless exhibition
In hearts, we created die hard flames,
To take up the long term ambitions,
And get us out from these addicted inhibitions.

From mother's womb to a cemetery,
We have a same human life,
But when it comes to temple sanctum,
You **** us with a political double edged knife.

We built the temples,
You played a gamble and created troubles,
Pushed us to convert,
Got our identities to subvert.

World belongs to everyone,
Our life does not hold value.

Nature belongs to everyone,
We do not have access to water by Vedas virtue.

God is equal to everyone,
But we are restricted entry, as an oppressed queue.

There is no use to argue,
Of course it is untrue,
Let's put ourselves to the rescue.

What's next? What's next?
Let's create a new humanity societal text,
Let's create for ourselves new religions,
Let's begin to reach out to the next generation,
Work with them to build new revolution.

Let's create a new religion,
In nooks and corners, all areas, rural and urban,
That treats humans as humans,
And give life to the humanity slogan.

Change the rules! Yeah change the rules!
Throw into gutters all these useless fools,
For human lives, there can be nothing to tally,
Human life remains invaluable and holy

Being human is my true breed,
Crows and cuckoo belong to our creed,
Mountains and sea belong to our human group
Be proud, you will belong to this peaceful troop.

Let us get up, where we fell
And put this curse to the hell.
India suffers from the world's toughest disease named caste and untouchability. When we rewind through the history, we can understand that Manu’s interpretation of Veda, as Manu dharma created the evil ground for castes to hit its foundation strong. The person from the oppressed and suppressed class sings the poem. In the midst of the poem, the poisonous weeds are those inflicted with caste ridden superior thinking. Landlords are the rulers of the land or present politicians in India. Healthy crops are the oppressed class. Till today the pain of those in the oppressed classes had been unremoved. Caste ridden superior thinking is a psychological thought instilled through generations. From drinking water to honor killings, caste has taken its never reached big form. It's time we respond to it and work towards creating a world without any discrimination. I dedicate this poem to all caste warriors in India like Dr B.R Ambedkar, Bharathiyar, and Periyar, Jyotibhai phoole, vallalaar, vaikundar, and Rettamalai srinivasan and ayoddhidhasa pandith. It's time we reach out to the next generations and first teach them to treat humans as humans. It's time India wakes up to this human crisis.
My eyes are intense like fire
But never seem sad
Even if it would be more valid
To be full of tears than passion
Inside, I am a desert
My status sways from
Dry and unoccupied
with slow mitigators making entrance
scavenging in the sand
for some sort of revelation
unbeknownst to them,
to Storms that make their way at night
along with thunder that electrifies
and as they clear away, the sand remains
The next day is as dry as it was before

— The End —