"staunchest" poems
Oh1 Durga, the symbolic victory
Over the worldly evil
You can **** any devil
And you are the most benign
As you are divine
Shiva (goodness) is your
inseparable half
Mahishasura’s ( Man’s evil) death
Is your valour’s proof
Goodness and valour are made
For each other
It is paradoxical that
Man stands for goodness
And woman for valour
But it is true in divine parlour
Hindus believe in Durga’s divine force
Even others can not deny the cosmic source
Even the staunchest atheist
Can not deny the women’s collective fist
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 4:43 AM UTC
On a good day, the Sun shines on you.
You are in a Disney movie, stretching your arms,
As the first light of day hits your toes.
And all the sores of the previous nights,
Reduced as mere soap suds down the drain.
Last night's shower is a preview of the first one today, and coffee smells like the freshest brew straight from a pre-packed foil. Nothing beats the thrill of a morning cup.
Life is a sitcom, waiting for the supporting characters to show up and raid your ref, and then! The punchline.
You plan your day.
You invite a good day.
You laugh out loud.
On your best day, you lounge.
You drink your cup and eat breakfast straight from the pan, and the pan loves you for calling the kettle black.
You write your notes on some discarded tissue previously used to wipe off dust.
You are free versing with the staunchest disregard for tones and rules of archaic poetry; sometimes, disavowing a semblance of order.
Because the best is you.
It is now.
And you are but a small supporting character,
Patiently waiting for the chime of the next five punchlines
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
A motorcycle and leather bag,
life seemed so perfect then
When everything I cared about…
my backseat was for them
The world was such a smaller place,
ideas grandiose
To wander aimlessly I did,
and never be morose
The road became my staunchest friend,
new places passing by
Those girls I met, the love I spent,
the promise in their eyes
That special place my memory held,
for years now time sets free
A motorcycle—a leather bag,
and all that was to be
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
An old man clad in orthodox Indian Attire
Entered my bed room. His Pure and white
Dhoti was steeped in blood.
I asked him who he was. He said, ‘I won
Independence for you and Like Jesus
I shed holy blood to purify the Indians”
I asked him the reason for his coming
He said, “I want to establish a political party’
I said, “Your party and you will utterly be defeated”
He asked,” Do Indians forget my sacrifices and me”
“No. We have great respect for you and we remember
You in national festivals and in elections”
But we will not like you to come to power”
Why? He quite surprisingly asked.
“You always plead for truth, non-violence and honesty
And fight against liquor and corruption.
The Indians are really fed up with your principles.
Even your staunchest disciples will not vote for you”
I said and the vision disappeared most dejectedly.
I woke up from my dream wondering where
He had gone .I felt very sorry for the old man
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 6:22 AM UTC
They say blood is thicker than water
And Friendships never last
Yet I see flaws in their words
Cracks in their statements
As I gaze upon mine.
Is it possible for a mother to not cherish her son?
Is it possible for siblings to exploit and milk one another
Of their riches and simultaneously not care for their hearts?
*Is it possible for children who grew up together to cast away
Their eyes when their brother is bleeding broken on the floor?*
Behind their embracive hugs and smothering kisses
To us, their brothers dearest
They spy in our eyes and our fathers smiles
Such riches that will carry them to their swollen graves
Alas however friends though not related turn out to be
The second family you are granted by choice
Your staunchest supporters; your gentle confidants
Will be the friends that stick by you no matter what
Isn't it surreal that friends would drop everything to come to your aid?
Isn't it surreal that friends will degrade themselves to console you?
*Isn't it surreal for a best friend to know you fully and understand you
Completely more than family and then accept you with your flaws?*
Family is stuck with you; no choice given-tough luck!
Yet friends choose YOU; your Knights in shining armour
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
tall is the tree and strong deep is its root
at end of day even the staunchest bawls
honest men speak against all that appalls
their work is constant though most rare its fruit
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
for just one instant fools delay their brawls
and bow their heads honour may touch the brute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls
at loss of friend we make our little calls
shed our few tears and learn it's absolute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
whether in calmness of the lecture-halls
or broadcasting to folk on their commute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls
knowing the silence that finally hauls
his voice away we cannot refute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
at end of day even the staunchest bawls
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 5:28 AM UTC
Cascades of love,
I kept putting bricks around
how long shall I surround?
Whatever was left;
of it all—
I stood with ballistas' protruding
upon stinking patches of blood-mud;
the gates to my paradise
banished forever.
Who knew—
who knew there was an ocean so vast,
tides that rose so high;
as they came pouncing,
upon walls impenetrable
with eyes intoxicating—
Immobilized, I stood
know not why—
my staunchest bricks exiled
I left the door ajar
for the guest
to make home upon my cozy abode;
forever.
Tonight the waters of the ocean;
shall resolve once more
to overflow—
my glass of dreams, fragile;
once more, once more.
Oct 2, 2024
Oct 2, 2024 at 10:15 AM UTC
It is with curiosity
I find myself without a trance
Within in which to lose myself,
Give forth to flitting fancy.
Foe and friend might make amends
In such a stupor as that I lack,
But it is with a frightful force
I trudge the turgid track.
For even staunchest nemeses
Might find a counterpoint in depth;
A silent song is what I call
The anthem antiseptic.
Without a stone I can condone,
I fall to a resplendent stress:
I find myself increasingly
Descending into madness.
The miracle of life.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
you think with your lungs
and breathe with your heart.
every day we begin a war.
we are the staunchest allies,
the most formidable of foes.
i fight to clear you a path.
you fight free of my shadow.
my mind is a river
with predictable course
and clear motivation.
your mind is the sun:
draped with golden flares,
burning even when unseen,
powered by something cosmic.
you say you see silver
out of the corner of your eye.
i don't tell you what i know:
you see the stars that one day
you will conquer.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Triple jewel so
giant,
so daunting,
you bask under
Andean moonlight.
So bright,
a milenium eagle,
dream weaver beacon,
you create fright
in your staunchest foes,
respect drawn & quartered
into the minds of
the cragsmen,
dead
& alive.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
promise it seems is cloaked in a dull grey
to hide from us the honesty that's due
on thus cool morning so the normal view
is calmer now and what it might convey
about our place this ordinary day
is fully straight and not so sharp askew
as when the sky evanishing to blue
turns all to summer in a sudden way
promise achieved is not all we desire
once we have reached the goal and found it cold
past our endurance but still a-glitter
with intimations of some inner fire
when all that's there is falsity of gold
so that the staunchest leaves full bitter
May 17, 2011
May 17, 2011 at 3:32 AM UTC
The end is near.
The door opens
And with it a breath of air
But it is no benign gust
But the warm murky stench of his presence
He is waiting
The clouds enter, and with them bring
The precipitation of the end
Night, that beautiful nurse
Has fallen into the abyss
Overshadowed by blinding destruction
Of that bright inevitable light
Which breeds evil.
Oh what can stand before,
when even the staunchest resistance fails
The unbroken redoubt is surrounded
Beaten back but not broken yet
The end will come
And with it the glittering reminiscence
Of all that was in the peaceful winter
Summer scorches all.
We are overrun
But in these pockets that are still held we remain
Till when must we endure this unknown foe
Where are the songs of old and those who sang them
Where are the mighty, and the feats of arms renowned
The joys of battle and the songs of slaying
Or were they just a dream, that blew into the Blue Mountains
Strong, but ineffective, against those giants of rock
We are dwindling.
Every man watches another's back
But to what avail, when we exist only in demarcation
A mere clean spot on the sullied canvas of the world
As we knew it. It too shall fall.
There is no glory to be found here.
For even though we hold, we give way
A yard at a time. The dirge goes up a note
We strive to make a worthy end.
Yet to whom shall it be of worth?
There are none left to sing songs of our courage
No one to recite lays of this defiance.
Not even the foolhardy dare to hope.
For there is no one to hope for.
We know of our end. We have made peace with this war.
It shall consume us.
We shall all fall, and yet, none will be left behind.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC