"sochi" poems
MAI BAHV SUCHI UN BHAVO KI
JO BIKE SADDA HI BIN TOLE
TANHAI HU HAR US KHAT KI JO
JO PADHA GYA HAI BIN KHOLE
HAR AANSU KO HAR PATTHAR TAK
PAHUNCHANE KI LACHAR HUK
MAI SAHAJ ARTH UN SABDO KA
JO SUNE GYE HAI BIN BOLE
JO KABI NAHI BARSA KHUL KAR
HAR US BADA L KA PANI HU
LAV-KUSH KI TEER BINA GAYE
SITA KIA RAM KAHANI HU
MAI BHAV SUCHI UN BHAVO KI.
............
KI JINKE SAPNO KE TAJ MAHAL
BAN NE SE PAHLE TUT GAYE
JI HAATHO ME DO HAATH KABHI
AANE SE PAHLE CHUT GYE
DHARTI PAR JINKE KHONE AUR
PAANE KI AJAB KAHANI HAI
KISHMAT KI DEVI MAAN GYE
PAR PRANAY DEVETA RUTH GYE
MAI MAILI CHADAR WALE US
KABIRA KI AMRIT VANI HU
LAV-KUSH KI TEER BINA GAYE
SITA KKI RAM KAHANI HU
KUCH KAHTE HAI MAI SEEKHA HU
APNE JAKHMO KO KHUDSEE KAR
KUCH JAAN GYE MAI HASHTA HU
BHEETAR BHEETAR ANSU PEEKAR
KUCH KAHTE HAI MAI HU VIRODH SE
UPJI EK KHUDAAR VIJAY
KUCH KAHTE HAI MAI MARTA HU
KHUD ME JEEKAR KHUD ME MARKAR
LEKIN MAI HAR CHATURI KI
SOCHI SAMJHI NADANI HU
LAV-KUSH KI TEER BINA GAYE
SITA KI RAM KAHANI HU...
WRITTEN BY :::::: SHASHANK KUMAR DWIVEDI
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
Mai bhav suchi un bhavo ki
jo bike sada hi bin tole
Tanhai hu har us khat ki
jo padha gya h bin khole..
Har aanshu ko har patthar tak
pahuchane ki laachar huk
Mai sahaj arth un sabdo ka
jo sune gye h bin bole..
Jo kabhi nahi barsha khul kar
har uss badal ka paani hu
Lav-Kush ki teer bina gaye
Sita ki Ram kahani hu..
Ki jinke sapno ke Taj -Mahal
ban ne se pahle tut gaye
Jin haatho me do haath kabhi
aane se pahle chut gaye
Dharti par jinke khone aur
paane ki ajab kahani h
Kishmat ki devi maan gye
par pranay devta ruth gaye..
Mai maili chadar wale uss
Kabira ki amrit vaani hu
Lav-Kush ki teer bina gaye
Sita ki raam kahani hu..
Kuch kahte hai mai sikha hu
apne jakhmo ko khud see kar
Kuch jaan gaye mai hashta hu
bhitar bhitar aanshu peekar..
Kuch kahte hai mai virodh se
uppji ek khuddar vijay
Kuch kahte hai mai marta hu
khud me jeekar khud me markar..
Leekin mai har chaturai ki
sochi samjhi naadani hu
Lav-Kush ki teer bina gaye
Sita ki Ram kahani hu
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
Nai umangey nai tajgi,
Laker aai subah aaj ki.
Aaj subah kuch hoga khas
Sab ko yeh hoga ehasah.
Nai subah ki nai bauchhar
Sabko mile khub sara pyar
Yahi hamari dua hai rab se
Sabko khusiaa mile ham sb se.
Aai nai bouchhar,
lekar khub sara pyar.
Nai umange......
Har muskurahat hoti hai kimati
Par log karte eski na ginti.
Har din har roj
Karte ham eski khoj.
Sbki khusiaa rahe salamat,
Ham sb ki yahi hai amanat.
Jb khamosi chaye
To hm sb muskuraye
Ye duniaa ki rit ham sb nibhay,
Agar chot lagti koi apno ko
Bahot dukh hota mere es dill ko
Magar mai na sochi kv aoro ki
jo phirte hai dharti pe bina apno ke,
Par muskil hai sb ko ye bat batana.
Ye duniaa me apni aawaj uthana
Ye bouchhar aai bahot pyar lai,
Barsat ke sath nai subah aai.
Nai umange nai tazgi,
Lekar Aai subah aaj ki.......!!!!!!
-ROHINI-
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
it was the Cubist who created the space and color that
everywhere today assails our eyes
in uniform architecture and monotonous
design; the various branches of modern art
through tedious & exhaustive experiment
& research creating a massive cultural sinkhole
whose banal discoveries unveil for all the sameness
of form, line and color;
Quote from Gorky's 'Camouflage', 1942: I like the heat;
the tenderness; the edible; the lusciousness;
the song of a single person
in a bathtub full of water.
I like Ucello, Grunewald, Ingres,
the drawings and sketches for paintings
of Seurat and that man Pablo Picasso;
I measure all things by weight.
In text for MoMA, describing the 'Garden in Sochi' - series,
26 June 1942
I love Mougouch, Gorky's wife. What about papa Cézanne;
I like the wheat fields, the plow, the apricots,
those flirts of the sun. And bread above all.
My lever is the purple; About 194 feet away
from our house in Armenia on the road to the
spring my father had a little garden with
a few apple trees which had retired
from giving fruit;
this garden was identified as the _'Garden of Wish Fulfillment'_
often I had seen my mother and the other village women
exposing their naked bosoms, taking the soft,
dependable ******* in their hands &
rubbing them on the rocks; above all this
standing an enormous tree all bleached
under the sun, rain & cold, deprived of leaves.
This was the Holy Tree [quoted in 1942]
In text for MoMA, describing the 'Garden in Sochi' - series,
26 June 1942
I don't like that word 'finished'.
When something is finished,
that means it's dead, doesn't it?
I believe in everlastingness;
I never finish a painting – I just stop
working on it for a while.
I like painting because it's something
I can never come to the end of;
sometimes I paint a picture,
then I paint it all out. Sometimes
I'm working on fifteen or twenty
pictures at the same time; I do that
b/c I want to – b/c I change my
mind so often; The thing to do is
always to keep starting to paint;
never finishing the painting [quoted in 1948]
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
the year opened on two kinds of olympics:
Sochi and selfie.
we spent months looking for
one missing plane
276 missing girls,
and 43 missing students.
from Ukraine to Mexico,
Palestine to Venezuela,
to Ferguson,
the front of the battle lines
were crammed full.
their stories captivated us,
their movements motivated us.
we snapchatted, we vined and instagrammed,
we remembered their names.
Malala Yousafzai
to Mike Brown.
Eric Garner to Ebola.
we made some friends
and some enemies.
and I think,
when I look back,
years from now,
at the year 2014,
the first thing to come to mind will be,
"I was there."
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
Only half watching the Sochi Olympics and
wondering why all of a sudden ice hockey
without brawling gap-toothed players
seemed so captivating as the puck was blocked
effortlessly by a graceful skating illusion
did I realize that behind that face mask and
and billowing raven hair was a bright-red
lipsticked beautiful face that totally shook
my floor. In my state of inattention I found
myself attracted to a hockey player
Scared the hell out if me until I realized that
it was women's competition
r ~ 9Feb14
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
Good Luck to the worlds OLYMPIANS in Sochi ,Ru.
you are already our winners !!!!!!have fun thats what it is really all about, the medals are the prize. Just being there is an honor and life time experience. congrats and good luck to all !!!!!!!!!!!
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
Sochi dogs sleep now
that ***** riot has been contained.
r~ 25Feb14
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
Swiftly so much to sweep
Helsing so deep the love hard to keep
Her words were off balance
Poem stanza Mama Mia all formed
Like a ballerina 575 Japanese Haiku
Designer Pucci Sochi releasing
so piercing garden jailed away
I begged I needed to feel guided
Maid hard-love of slavery
to the requiem the chariot of horses
Jumped like eyes of the demon
She pleaded with what corruption
Planes fired with struggling
Hearts became stronger
The taste was the different side
wicked fun animation
The men were changed
cruel love aviation
Needing the right ammunition
Prince Zar became 666 Stalin
Leadership of blackmail
Lips got sealed with more
love friction
Make your poems roll in
The Trump Tower polls in
Holy Gods Italian Collisuem
Every hour Poem maid
Requiem
The maid she had his words
Less communication so
***** what transcends
Your life depends?
"Delicious" Monsterous"
Only words "Devious"
maid Beauty and the beast
to digest
Destiny short poems of ecstasy
Oh! My She-locked
No heart or morals all locked
He wanted to steal her poems
Being conned into the heist
Higher walk with the rest
Poem Requiem palace
Hannibal Rising test
Watching her movements in
her lipping
She was home "Cruella" sweeping
Willow tree weeping new maid Priscilla
The Reign suffering minds of madness
Being ruled sweeping tears to clean up
Such wicked dirt Damon the ***** work
knowing to shut up what a ****
Feeling moved around "UHual"
Choked upon on my I-pad appalled
The masquerading social media mind
of Jekyll and Hyde poems
Her getaway poems not to be fooled
Terraced thousands of poems died
All betrayed upon with more deep lies
Important words to keep them alive
Saturday night poems stay alive
Stakeout Apps Presidency
Like a heart snack breakout
This was far from democracy
The "Quickie Requiem" for a
poem tricked over taken away
My best dream
Gripping love slightly in between
Doctor words to heal the King
his beeper the right timing
Save the poem not the Queen
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
Collective heart
Aspirations lifted
Absolute focus
History beckons
Emotional spectacle
Capture supremacy
Winter will not be a burden
But a curtain raised by spirit
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
They were human once, it is said.
Now they torture the living
and abandon their dead.
Like their predecessors
of the same name,
killing is their pleasure
and destruction their game.
Their Dark Lord sits upon his throne
in Sochi, where his mind dwells alone.
To unite all, under his dark reign,
as subjects, or slaves—to Him, all the same.
No longer in Thangorodrim does He dwell.
He rules now from Moscow, and seeks
an Empire of Hell.
Hell is created
by the ORCS whom he orders.
Their blood lust to be sated
far beyond Russia’s borders.
Destruction they rain from the skies above
on people who flee
from all that they love.
They were human once,
and perhaps even Him.
Now they are beyond
the world’s Creation
and we call on Varda
to vanquish him.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 1:00 AM UTC
The city offers me nothing
but mortal mortar and soulless stone.
Destiny summoned me here:
to Nature, my forgotten home.
We voted against a union
and were met with derision
For all whom had hailed
a vengeful decision.
Within the distant dreams
of a broken ghostly soul.
His cryptic mind's silver lining
Weaving a fable left unforetold.
My inner voice is translucent
with rays of light, shining through
like a silhouette over water.
Echoes over my hometown
A fleeting feeling amidst the cold.
You said something, but
Your words meant nothing.
Shadows over Leningrad
Shostakovich's theme.
Shadows over Sochi
A conservative dream.
"Thou shalt not give into the gimmicks."
"An urban fox as a metaphor for societal shunning."
"Commerica & Collaborative Chaos"
"A Friendly Fascist"
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
if an inalienable sky
in Sochi bid Rasputin
and this heartsick river meander their menagerie
that tears have gulped there afield but his unfolded fox
to envision inland still dies in repose
and their dire exposé
only mischievous pleasure
now a junta on Capitol Hill
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
So you can't be gay in Russia,
though one in ten its said to be.
A state of lost repression
where there's a price a bitter fee.
To pay for liberation.
A price to pay to be yourself.
No just deliberation.
A bad fruit on a dusty shelf.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
Do you know what is the biggest poision?
It’s “regret”
Thuhadi yaad khai ja rahi menu andro di
Me wife naal
Hoke bi usde naal nai
Me u bare sochi janda
Ap dowa de moments yaad ande
doaba de moments yaad a jande
Pata nai kiwe sakoon milu menu
U da address pata krna koi waddi gal nai
Bus me pata nai krna chanda
Me nai chanda tuci hor dukh jhalo mere krke
Pehla hi bade made time wicho nikle ** mere krke
Te *** mera time he us time wicho niklan da
Waheguru kre me nikal
Jawa is time wicho
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC