"shah" poems
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I stepped out of a puffing train,
my long unkempt hair a lion's mane,
getting used to my twitching tail,
Posing on the Gateway of India,
the extraordinary explorer pose,
took a boat to Elephanta (sans the hose),
and when my shivering co-passengers
had finished feverishly taking pictures
and started screaming holy mothers and sisters,
I took off from the starboard end,
and became the first man-lion to
cross the polluted Indian channel,
surviving to make the news channels,
my scientific name listed as a brand new mammal,
my mating call recognized as a gushing gargle,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I devoured deep-kissing lovers for lunch
at Bandstand's low-tide on a hunch,
to the delicious sound of munch! munch!
even as Shah Rukh Khan watched disgusted
from his big big bungalow by the sea,
and as the city sharpshooters came after me,
and later when they brought me down,
from Nariman Point building, like KING KONG,
I tuned a dusty guitar and sang a melancholy song,
on the death of adventure, love and reality,
dangers of delusions, lethargy and self-pity,
repression, horniness and too much TV,
down in a shower of bullets when I went,
sky like the coming of rain, godspeed, godsend,
in a mythical city, where nothing is really meant,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends...
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
Kashmir is not just beautiful
It was also free of violence,
Not too far back in history,
That did occur just 7 to 8 centuries ago.
Then they poured out of Central Asia,
Hordes getting bigger with each wave,
Eliminate they did the original people.
In 1320, it was Zulju raiding Kashmir,
Then Rinchana, a Tibetan Büđđhïst refugee, he took over.
Rinchana had Shah Mir as his Minister,
Shah Mir persuaded Rinchana to Islam.
After Rinchana, his son was set to be the ruler,
However, Shah Mir killed this lawful successor.
In 1339, Shah Mir became the first Muslim ruler of Kashmiri lands,
Initially, they did not dare harm the original Hïnđū inhabitants.
Then it was just Muslim kings for few centuries and slowly the Hïnđū heaven slipped into Muslim hands.
Now we know what is the ground reality,
The demography became Islamized over centuries,
All arts and crafts stand dwarfed by violence,
What they aim is an Islamic State, an Islamic Earth.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 7:14 AM UTC
Cast a Vast Million Colored Words, a Canvas of Solace
Dedicated to Tajudeen Shah
who wrote those words,
a fellow poet, a comrade in words.
----------------------------------------
With words we paint,
With syllables we embrace,
Tasked and ennobled,
We are forever fully employed,
Missionaries to all,
You too, are one as well,
Your fate can't be renounced,
So,
Before you pen words of
Lost love, woe begotten troubles,
Nature's royal blues and purples,
Spirits, demons, speeches, mumbles,
First
Write the uplifting sounds,
Cast a million colored words,
Upon a canvas of solace,
Bring one molecule of comfort
To the misbegotten, to the downtrodden,
In any way you can, form matters not,
But let this be our mantra shared,
Let this be our only morning prayer,
A prayer we are obligated to utter,
A prayer we are obligated to fulfill.
Solace, given,
Solace, granted.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
Just a wicked peacenik’n quick draw from the Paw
Game of Thrones’n the Shah, cRussian bones of the law
And still spewing the news like the red dragon’s maw
When the baby-skull splitters want nuclear winter
Ideal New Cold steel and send Chernobyl shivers
Down Roman Republicans’ severed headlines
Till there’s no more dead kids on for prophet front lines
I’m in exile sharpenin’ [sic]kles in style
Pyongyang’n Kuomintang climate denials
Erasing their nation-hate racial profiles
Outpacing their skinhead disgraces by miles
Shell casin’ this place like the Nuremberg trials
For Fords sellin’ swastikas stockpile bibles
Defiled by Normandy tide genocidals
Fresh meat off the boat spreadin’ Plague mercantiles
I smile and **** ‘em with kindness
Then grind
Battle tax in my acid bath
Salt Marchin’ prime
Because WAR IS THE CRIME
I’m the Clown Prince of Rhyme,
Level 9 state of mind
Like the state of Rakhine
The Black Hand before time
Runnin’ Africa’s Luciest Sky Diamond mine
I’m the ronin alone in
The monkey god shrine
And my guile’s reprisal’s Versailles treaty signed
Strippin’ pride from the Rhine
‘Till your Motherland’s mine
Swine
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
Through years of my prime
I walked with a heart
crazy about love.
I wanted my heart to bloom
and shelter a shadow of love.
when the heart was soaked in passion
and was wet,
I wanted to wrench it dry
on love itself.
I wanted to paint a picture,
in indelible print, across
the canvass of my heart.
I stand today
in front of the Taj Mahal.
I watch the marble smiling
as the sunlight gives it a touch.
I feel gusts of wind
gone mad
as they come across
the heights of love here.
I listen to the music, waking in
the dream-eyed visitors' quiet hearts.
I am tipsy after my
own feelings
themselves have become wine.
I forget myself, world and all.
I don't know
whether I'm thinking of Shah Jahan,
Mumtaj or myself.
I'm quite disillusioned, stupefied,
enveloped under an expanding heart.
Shah Jahan who proved
an emperor to be shorter than a lover,
who turned a grave into a temple
who gave his beloved a place of God
and converted love into a prayer.
there exists one difference between
us two.
he was all in all, and if
I'd ever grown prosperous like he was,
I'd not have waited for my beloved's death
before I erected a Taj Mahal.
(Translated from Nepali by Manu Manjil)
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
Sing a song of Tajmahal
a fine nazm or a ghazal
Of this landmark for lovers
Ah, a lover's edifice
Complete with medieval bowers
It's a Mecca for tourists!
Tis sensational, tis exceptional
tis truly a touristy place.
Watch the shimmer of its magnificent marbled dome
Moonlight or sunlight, it glimmers of imperial chrome
It's ironical then
that though Indian-Arabian I am
I haven't yet been to this touristy place
It is truly as they must say, a lover's shrine
a place where hearts duly incline
They find it steamy
I find it dreamy
Oh, I've got to see for myself this touristy place.
Each of the marbled minarets
conceal such romantic secrets
for lovers to silently explore
to admire and to adore
A place human lovebirds couldn't ignore.
Ah you've got to visit this touristy place!
Two famed lovers lie in the legendary vault below
and the stream too it has a romantic flow
It's a lovers haven and paradise on earth
Even dead passions there undergo a rebirth
Ah, rekindle my love for you in this touristy place!
Extol I may this awesome imposing edifice
A greed for pure love is perhaps better than avarice
Löng live the legend of Shah jahan and Mumtaz mahal
Long live love and love like a Moghul
so forever we have this monumental grace!
Yeah take me my luv to this touristy place!
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 2:11 AM UTC
To thank each one of you,
Today, I take the opportunity,
By taking names for your support.
For being the source,
First of all, I thank Life,
For the inspiration she was.
She guided me to Hello Poetry,
Introduced me to new friends,
Broke up ultimately however.
Then I thank Timothy Salter,
For his own and his family's,
Articulate poetry helped me.
Madam Hilda writes as amazing,
And as amazing is their daughter,
It is hard to tell if Marian wrote it.
It's helping me learn more,
Respecting it has taught me,
Had to be paid to earn more.
Not forgetting Gitacharya Vedala,
For he elaborates on every detail,
Thereby helping me experiment.
Same is for Pradip Chattopadhyay,
Hinting of Rabindranath Tagore,
He's the poet clad in sombrero.
Their pure physics at soul poetry,
Helped me learn experimenting,
With sheer hollow truthfulness
I then engage in remembering,
Elsa Angelica for inspiring me,
Her own poetry is developing.
She inspired me to improve,
My strengths & weaknesses,
She taught me being lucid.
Then of course I thank Sukeerti,
She taught me being beautiful,
Without being too explaining.
She encouraged my writing,
Always was their as a friend,
Giving me her positive inputs.
Madam Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Squires,
Aptly mature her poetry is always,
Very much to learn always exists.
Her persona is respectable,
Definitely motherly her aura,
Making her a poet so reputable.
Several other poets fascinate me,
Equally instead of less or more,
They all teach me the lessons.
Madam Sally A Bayan is there,
Her sweet mature bits of advice,
Best complemented by her poetry.
Shayana Shrikanthalingam,
Seeing all her polished poetry,
Not such a difficult name for me.
Ever inseparable they are,
Brandon & Earl Jane Nagley,
They are the immortal lovers.
And I recognize the beauty,
An Indian model here on H.P.,
Poetry surely as cute as herself.
She is the most elegant girl,
On Hello Poetry and in reality,
Bhumika Fulwani I refer to here.
Finally, I express my gratitude to her,
In my life she's the ultimate one,
Now I needn't anyone else.
She is my Pooja Shah,
She is exclusively mine,
She is here forever to stay.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
Whenever I get on the NH1 Grand Trunk Road,
I feel the pride of it being the oldest highway,
Built even before the documentation period.
King Ashoka got it built in the 3rd century B.C.,
Emperor Sher Shah got it repaired in the 17'th,
The British Company utilized it in 1857 1st war.
It was then gotten repaired only a bit by them,
Repairing such a long highway isn't easy at all,
It runs from Kabul up to Kolkata and to Dhaka.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
*"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."*
Shall I compare thee...
...to the Iguazú Falls River, where legend serves that a serpent; Boi, demanded a sacrifice each year of a young female, and the day two lovers; Tarobá and his beautiful maid Naipí, took to escape, and in revenge of such an act, Boi exuded such anger that he parted the river, thus forming the Iguazú Falls, splitting the river and condemning to two lovers to the falls.
or
...to Cristo Redentor; Christ the Redeemer, the Art Deco statue, protecting and looking over the city of Rio de Janeiro, to whom in all its glory cannot escape the force of nature, struck by lightning, causing damage irreplaceable.
or
…to The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, hundreds of metres into the sky, a place that to this day is unknown, myth being that King Nebuchadnezzar recreated the homeland of his precious wife Amyitis, who was deeply depressed and homesick, allowing her to find comfort and happiness.
or
…the Taj Mahal, of Pradesh, constructed using marble by the emperor Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his third wife; Mumtaz Mahal, the jewel of Muslim art, a calligraphy written Great Gate reading; "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you.
or
…the Temple of Artemis; Istambul, on sacred land in honour of the Greek goddess Artemis, the most apotheosized of Greek deities, the supposed daughter of Zeus and Leto, the temple also known as Diana, one of the goddesses who vouched never to marry; alongside Minerva and Vesta.
or
… the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, of the Persian Empire, whereby Mausolus ornamented four sculptures created in relief for his wife (and also his sister); Artemisia II of Caria, generating an above ground tomb that would become to be listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
But of all,
I compare thee to the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Sexuality; Aphrodite
arising from the sea, floating ashore on a shell;
Venus rising from the sea,
a lover of many,
later depicted as a painting of the Birth of Venus,
by the sufferer of unrequited love; Botticelli,
using his muse Simonetta Vespucci as a model.
© Sia Jane
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
The Lion of Panshir
United different ethnic groups
Uzbeks and Turkmen
People from Kandhar, Paktiyah, and Jalalabad
Under the Northern Alliance
He went to try to negotiate with the Taliban
He said they were "In a different world"
The Taliban are not Muslims
They are murderers and thugs
They do not serve Allah
The Lion of Panshir and the Mujahideen
Defended his native homeland from the Taliban
The Taliban could not enter the Panshir Valley
10,000 Taliban were slayed
By the Mighty Lion of Panshir and his forces
The mighty lion went to try to negotiate with the Taliban
He said they were "In a different world"
Death to the Taliban
May God continue to bless the ancestors of the mighty lion of Panshir
And the people of the Panshir Valley
The true followers of Allah
The Most High God
100,000 people gathered
For the funeral of Ahmed Massoud
Great leader, Loving father, Proud warrior
They built a musem in his honor
Your spirit lives on Ahmed Massoud
Allahu Akbar!
God is greatest
And you were one of His greatest servants
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
With eyes of black obsidian
And eagle's beak of nose
Black turban of the Taliban
Worn everywhere he goes,
Warrior of God's mountainside
Mujaheddin, known by name,
Pashto is his verbal tongue
And Allah's quest, his fame.
Razored knife in braided belt
Long"Jezail"musket points to sky,
A gimlet glint to garnet gaze
One thoughtless move , you die.
Gliding fast from rock to rock
Gazelle like in his easy grace,
Silent as an adder's strike
Assassin black with turbaned face.
For centuries invaders came
To vanquish this stark land,
Persians,Romans, Russians
And British redcoats tried their hand.
And recently the Yankees
Came with automated war,
To find themselves engulfed
And fleeing for the exit door.
Inexorable Afghanistan
Has bleached their bones as one
Vendetta for the insult
While there's air to breath and gun.
Like Shah Massoud, the warlords
Descend from mountain cave
To slaughter all who venture
Be they terrified or brave.
Tribally disconnected
From Islamabad to Kabul,
Tajik versus Pashtun
Versus Koranic Islam's rule.
No prisoners are taken,
The women always use their knives
And ravines echo shockingly
As tortured slowly lose their lives.
But the sunsets are glorious
Valley mists by morning rise
And row by row of fractured peaks
Rise in grandeur to blue skies.
And the children croon to goat herds
As they graze high meadow's green
And above the taloned goshawk glides
Ever watchful and unseen.
Hulks of Russian gun ships
Litter valleys and the plain
And the ghosts of many nations
Walk these dusty roads of shame.
For the legacy of the Afghans
Is a ****** litany of war
And the road to their tomorrow
Is paved with promises of more.
Marshalg
Wanganui
30 December 2009.
www.worthyofpublishing.com
www.hellopoetry.com
Jan 3, 2010
Jan 3, 2010 at 9:15 PM UTC
title=
With fake and cheap copies of high-end popular designer wears increasing in the market, fashion experts have expressed their concern over plagiarism being on the rise in the industry.
"I think it (plagiarism) is an international problem, it is not just an Indian problem. It is said that plagiarism is a form of flattery (as the designs are getting copied). I don't subscribe to it. I am against it," noted designer Wendell Rodricks said.
"It took me seven years to patent my name Wendel l Rodricks as a brand. One should look to solve this problem the earliest," he said.
According to well-known designer Anita Dongre, the fashion industry should come together to tackle the issue.
"Now everything is digital, some of the designs get copied immediately online. All my lehengas are copied. It is sad," she said.
Echoing similar sentiments, designer Masaba also feels that plagiarism is the worst part of the fashion industry.
"It is sad that there is no control on the copycats...and too many undeserving people are getting recognition and chances to showcase," she said.
Masaba is known for her innovative prints and one can often see fake designs being sold at lesser prices.
"We are one of the most copied design houses in the country, and you just have to figure it if it eats into your business. If it doesn't, you shouldn't waste your time and money on it," she said.
Masaba, however, feels one can take culprits to court.
"Legal action can be taken if you have the bandwidth, but the fake market is too huge to tackle and lawmakers are extremely slow to act on it."
Wendell also thinks in a country like India, the legal matters pile up and it takes time, which is the sad part.
"The amount of time it takes in this country to bring someone (guilty) to court is too much. Ritu Kumar (designer) had taken people to court and won. But it is one of its kind of a case. You need to give that much amount of time," he said.
According to designer Gaurang Shah, one should take it as a compliment if their designs are copied.
"In a way it is a compliment that others are following you. But it is annoying as you work so hard and the design gets copied. It is a challenge for designers to come up with new ideas," he added.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2016 | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
THIS IS GOING TO BE A WORK COMPOSED BY ALL OF US. POETRY CAN BRING US TOGETHER. Comment the next lyric and I will post it with your name in parentheses.
Here I sit in this bitter cold(L.K.)
whispering sweet nothings to the moon, for the night will cease into existence and dawn shall be upon us soon. (aesha nisar)
Enwrought with silver light and dark cloths of night(Abhay Chopra)
There she plays in a twisted mind
bombarded with such torturous remarks, and a dark witty retort
don't fall victim to the spoon
once again observe the phoenix taking flight (L.K.)
Here I sit in the bitter cold,
Watching the sunshine fold,
Down beyond the horizon,
Along with it's shimmering gold(Arlen)
were I wept no one knows
Beautiful sunset pink, and yellow
even in the bitter cold
light shines in the darkest soul (L.K.)
for this is the place to be? I'm told
Shall I add a line, should I be so bold?
Or just sit here alone in the bitter cold(Terence James Potter)
alone in the bitter cold (L.K.)
There she plays in a twisted mind(L.K.)
whispering sweet nothings to the moon, for the night will cease into(aesha nisar)
broken womb destined to the tomb
Enwrought with silver light and dark cloths of night(Abhay Chopra)
As the paint peels off the moss ridden eaves
Watching The violent clouds sailing by(Nirali Shah)
just like the passing of the autumn leaves
moving your puppet strings, so sly(L.K.)
I'm not sure what to fill so I'll sit by this window sill(Chimera)
looking at the ****** of crows, and their fresh ****
sitting here solemn, and every so very still
do what thou wilt, let that be your will(L.K)
And the daylight still creeps coldly across the floor(Evelyn Ash)
wretched images of decaying bodies there like zombies
laying on cold steal floors, what is human anymore
even in the wretchedness I will endure (L.K.)
writing words on someone's soul(Cristina)
The one who stole mine, I've been told(Michael Wysocki)
I put my own name in parentheses(Joshua Amos Graff / J.M.G.)
so no one truly knows me(L.K.)
dysfunctional pull grasping the life out of me(patty m)
as I am chocking, hoping I begin to breath(L.K.)
with coffee stained teeth chattering and frosted skin vibrating( J.M.G)
I can't understand what you prophets are saying(L.K.)
Remembering the past of a life untold(Brandon K Stephenson)
Watching darkness as it takes a hold(L.K.)
This darkness has got a hold of me(Jaishree Kumar)
Remember that life will set you free(L.K.)
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:59 AM UTC
I Ran
She had this hedonistic Houdini nature,
She escaped from Shiraz,
Her personal Alcatraz,
She laughed as I asked;
How did you escape?
"I Ran" she said "I Ran"
She was particularly Persian,
Beautiful soul,
Perfect prose,
stunning, gorgeous,
My dreams came true,
As we ran the gauntlet between our acquaintances judgemental glare.
She walked through the door,
With shallow breath and a panting chest;
Windswept hair.
Late.
How did you get here I asked?
"I Ran"
She came so far,
To say I was her King.
Her shy Shah,
She said.
The concept of this,
Flew over my head,
As I asked where she was from,
she paused for a second
&
told me she came from Iran.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
I got soul and I am a soldier.
I got soul, and I AM a soldier.
The world, is full of soldiers, some no older;
than ten, learning to use the pen.
Others, grow colder, killing with their swords again.
In the end, regardless of your reasons or weapons,
it would be treason for me to treat these soldiers like peasants.
The feudal lords send us to die on distant shores as though we were ****** bought and sent to supply their wars and satisfy their demands for more,
blood lust.
Human being does not mean mindless killing machine.
The next time a war scene, plays out in the news,
and you hear the same rhapsody about third world violence and blues;
take a moment of silence, to question,
if it was you,
would you take a different direction or stand up to fight for you and your section?
Soldiers come in all ages, shapes, and complexions.
Some use words for weapons, trading carnage for college;
that's why I don't drop bombs, I drop knowledge, and I don't quote psalms, I pay homage,
to the earthly soldiers of humanity fighting the insanity of a planet where they die in wars fueled by greed, fear, and vanity.
Men, women, and children around the globe rally to the banners of Love, Happiness, and Hope,
trying to cope, with the ropes tightening around their throats.
So they turn to the Pope, or the Shah, or the President, or the King,
all draped in their righteous bling,
blissfully ignoring, the mystery,
as to why history's greatest soldiers were common folks who just kept pushing forward.
Jesus, Muhammad, and anyone who survived a nuclear bombing.
Gandhi, King, and the few whites that stood against African-American lynching.
Galileo, Newton, and those that researched in secret to avoid persecution.
Wellington, Eisenhower, and those that died fighting tyranny in the darkest hours.
The true power, of the soldiers of Man, comes when we take a stand fighting for something we demand. Our grand,
struggles and revolutions are led by those fighting for solutions,
by those that may become political executions.
So to those that question me,
I state emphatically,
yes indeed,
no matter race, gender, or creed,
I stand with all the other souls that are soldiers of humanity,
fighting to save our sanity.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
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Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
I remember going to Taj Mahal lying on the banks of Yamuna river.
After having a glimpse, I said “It is the best monument ever!!”
It revealed the exquisite Persian architecture and mystery,
Built by Shah Jahan, The Mughal Emperor of history.
I was amused by the beautiful garden leading to the lanes
Of huge multifarious fountains.
And the intricate carvings of the magnificent Quran
Represented the emperor’s glorious clan.
The monument of love made of white marble
Showed the greatest love story possible.
It was where Shah Jahan and Mumtaz lay
Showing their love for each other every day.
I took a last glance on the epic dome
Because now it was the time to go home.
I, very sadly farewell bid
And stared at the monument until from sight it completely hid.
The Taj Mahal’s motifs, calligraphy, love story makes it a wonder true
Under the skies blue with an orangish hue.
When I see Taj Mahal through my eyes
The beauty of the whole world in it lies.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 9:56 AM UTC
He has given a luxurious twist to the dying art of weaving and popularised the use of Khadi. Award-winning textile designer Gaurang Shah is more than happy that the Indian fashion industry has welcomed handlooms. “As a textile designer, I would like to say the Indian fashion industry has embraced handlooms with lot of admiration and helped revive our ancient traditions of weaving art, like the jamdani weaves, that we use in creating our fashion pieces,” Shah told IANS.
“It also reinforced its unparalleled beauty around the world,” he added. The designer says that one must acknowledge the passion and intense amount of production hours every weaver at the looms puts to bring out timeless pieces of handlooms.
“The fashion industry did contribute to bring them back into vogue in recent years,” he said. Shah showcased his latest collection of 40 garments titled Muslin at Lakme’s Fashion Week Summer/Resort 2017. His anthology for the gala was inspired by romance of nature.
Giving details about his range, he said: “Our collection incorporates weaves and techniques from West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan. The amazing all-in-whites collections integrate gorgeous Mughal motifs and geometric patterns on Khadi, chikankari embroidery and Parsi gara.”
The designer’s collection involved 50 weavers working relentlessly for over six months. Shah, whose handloom creation made its way to the 69th Cannes Film Festival when Deepshikha Deshmukh, producer of Aishwarya Rai Bachchan starrer “Sarbjit”, stepped out in an ensemble featuring Paithani and Kanjeevaram details, says that handlooms are a glorious heritage of India and it is important to preserve and help the artists’ community grow.
“I would like to add that a few years ago this beautiful art was fading away. Thanks to persistent effort and motivation from label like ours, followed by the efforts of our Prime Minister Narendra Modi, that pushed Indian handlooms to higher level of acceptance,” he said.
Shah began his journey in the textile world with just two weavers and today the label works with 700 weavers, and the number is still growing.
“The biggest contribution we as a designer can make is to keep our artisans motivated and also help them gain confidence that it is a highly profitable profession,” said the designer, who has styled the stars like Vidya Balan, Sonam Kapoor and Kirron Kher.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
I was driving to work,
Listening to the morning news.
Not much happening, that Monday.
September 10th, 2001.
But then it was reported
That over in Afghanistan
A man had been assassinated.
Ahmad Shah Massoud
A resistance leader
Fighting the Taliban.
I didn't know who he was.
I didn't know why he'd been killed.
I didn't know what it meant.
But
Around the world
Some people
Important people
Were getting very worried indeed.
And then
The following day
Nineteen men
Took their seats.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Check the twenty-twenty fission
Adam splittin' Eden vision
Bustin' caps in gas emissions
Spittin' written ammunition
For the first-world problem chillen'
Droppin' free speech bomb sedition
On the third-world problem villain
Grand old wizards' ku klux gizzards
All white **** meat chicken dinners
Suckin' Christian dictions'
Hissin' contests over spoils
House of Slyth'rins witherin'
The shale-shock sowing soil
With Satan seeds of ignorance
Still thirsting for indifference
From money hungry London royal
Global warming blizzards
As they're bleeding dry the rivers
Into liquidating oil
Treasure buried with a shovel
In oases brought to boil
Nine eleven popped the bubble
But with Jesus in the building
Turning metal into rubble
Smelting graces into gilding
From the melting *** he's spilling
Into off-shore power drilling
Making killings on the rigging
As Mohammed was displayed
As a scary, bearded, brown-skin man
Through tricks of terrorism's trade
And God's right sleights of winning hand
Pulled rabbits from Fatah's grenade
And cooked 'em in Afghanistan
For PTSD noise parades
And hot dog chugs for Uncle Sam
To waste the land, supply demand
For ol' Osama's unmarked grave
Obama hosted-masquerade
White-washing New World fear campaign
Them masks of patriotic acts
In place as they removed Hussein
Disguised the ethnic cleanse crusade
With bush league mass destruction claims
When the caliphate they made
Went Khomeini on Iran
A stand against the David camp
Shelling bibles to qurans
So the shah's Allah mirage
Put the profits in the pockets
Of the prophet's arbitrage
Camouflage the Green Zone spans
With pyramids of Reaganomics
Tricklin' into sovereign sands
Long before heathen jihadists
Flew their kamikaze plans
Into Trump towers' blacklist fists
Of modern warfare contra bans
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
Realizing I wasn't good enough
Realizing you didn't loved me much
Realizing i was just a waste of space
Realizing your voice fades
Realizing We are not together
Realizing I was a complete waste
Realizing that I did this
Realizing it is too late
Realizing my heart aches
Realizing your memories fade
-Bhavesh Shah
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 10:36 PM UTC
When night bring back the memories
You can't even sleep
You go to the terrace to feel the wind breeze
You light a cigarette to burn the memories down
In failed attempt you stomp on the ashes on ground
For all you know the nights still haunts
But you love the burning heart that you want
~Bhavesh Shah
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 5:16 AM UTC
.
In a deflationary period, prices will drop, corporate profits will dry up, wages will shrink, and all of this will reinforce the conditions of recessions. This happens for two reasons.
The first is that deflation keeps money on the sidelines as consumers wait for prices to fall further. This causes demand to shrink.
Deflation also adds to the real value of debt. This makes consumers and businesses less likely to take out loans and make big purchases to grow the U.S.'s consumption-driven economy.
And deflation runs counter to the goals of most of the world's central banks. Most notably, the U.S. Federal Reserve.
"Central bankers want inflation so they can pay back inflated debt in cheaper dollars," said Money Morning Capital Wave Strategist Shah Gilani.
But as we start 2015, deflation has arrived. Just check out these four deflation indicator
1. Falling crude oil prices
2. Falling commodity prices
Heating oil futures are down 47%.
Natural gas futures are down 36%.
Copper futures are down 24%.
Unleaded gas is down 23%.
Soybean oil is down 15%.
Wheat futures are down 11%.
Corn futures are down 8%.
The other two I read somewhere but they were cut off in this article. I will have to look.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
A crushed Shah Jahan said:
When you behold the memorial,
a sight so masterly, yet sorrowful;
you will inevitably admit
an aching little bisecting wish
that adorns your yearning lips....
parched,
barren,
effete......
And from the world's lid,
the luminaries too
would sob and drip.
#
He could well have been talking
about my beloved's words ;
......so utterly breathtaking
that a sigh poignantly quivers
in my dithering being.
Her words meander.
It is no wonder:
for all of us saunter
in thought and speech
one time or the other.
At times her words are poised and easy.....,
wonderfully jolly, sensationally starry:
They shimmer like the four minarets (1)
on the full moon night;
....brilliant......resplendent.
Then they taper from the dome
and stop halfway between the tomb
and the solemn reflecting pool:
They are calmer, sober,
and you know,
a little factual;
...what they call discriminating
intellectual, rational......
Soon the words leave charbagh (2)
and hit the red sandstone walls (3)
crenellated with flawless wisdom;
spotlessly beautiful
like the lifeless marble
that proudly commemorates
Mr. Shah Jahan's love
in grim, cold blooded grace.
We talk about
riders and scruples,
kith and kin,
restraints and constraints,
fidelity and modesty.......
....and I can not help
but to sadly agree
to the placid logic
in our impeccable scripts.
#
Logic is a wonderful remedy
for the radical and foolhardy
but for every cure,
there is a spin-off.
Deep somewhere,
a delicate,
two-cent sentiment
collapses into atrophy
and.......silently
another part of me
becomes a
meek monument
of disposable history.
----------
(1) The four minarets of the Taj Mahal
(2) The garden that starts from the end of the main gateway and ends near the squared base of the mausoleum is an integral part of the Taj Mahal structure.
(3) The building material used is brick-in-lime mortar veneered with red sandstone and marble and inlay work of precious/semi precious stones. The mosque and the guest house in the Taj Mahal complex are built of red sandstone in contrast to the marble tomb in the center.
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 10:27 PM UTC