"subjugating" poems
Onam Reminds
Onam reminds me of the venomous mind
That overthrew a just ,kind king ,unkind
Aryan imperialism subjugating the Dravid
The white over the black , dark apartheid
Justice of the black is unjust for the white
A matter of jealousy, dissatisfaction and fight.
For the British, Indians were raw to be refined
As Allopaths frown upon Ayurvedics as bad.
But, what is the truth? think of the covered past
Weigh evidences: from history, literature and art
Of all non-whites; really, they were and are super
In many respects, hence, awake from your stupor.
India shall not be a kite of any ruler outside
No race is Blessed to override anyone beside;
Almighty considers all equals - by their deeds
It is That, that fosters all by weighing our deeds.
When greed of man rudely jeopardizes the Nature
Nature jeopardizes human life, making a fracture.
Torrential rain or draught is a positive measure
Applied by It on earth (as earth-quake) to treasure.
Man like Vamana tries to grow and measure the earth
Other planets ,heaven or hell to exploit Nature’s wealth
As Jehovah ,the Almighty, Brahma, or Allah, the Cause
Of that Pulsation is everywhere, beware man! and pause!
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
In the dour ages
Of drafty cells and draftier castles,
Of dragons breathing without the frame of fables,
Saint and king unfisted obstruction's knuckles
By no miracle or majestic means,
But by such abuses
As smack of spite and the overscrupulous
Twisting of thumbscrews: one soul tied in sinews,
One white horse drowned, and all the unconquered pinnacles
Of God's city and Babylon's
Must wait, while here Suso's
Hand hones his tack and needles,
Scouraging to sores his own red sluices
For the relish of heaven, relentless, dousing with prickles
Of horsehair and lice his ***** *****
While there irate Cyrus
Squanders a summer and the brawn of his heroes
To rebuke the horse-swallowing River Gyndes:
He split it into three hundred and sixty trickles
A girl could wade without wetting her shins.
Still, latter-day sages,
Smiling at this behavior, subjugating their enemies
Neatly, nicely, by disbelief or bridges,
Never grip, as the grandsires did, that devil who chuckles
From grain of the marrow and the river-bed grains.
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Me from Myself—to banish—
Had I Art—
Impregnable my Fortress
Unto All Heart—
But since Myself—assault Me—
How have I peace
Except by subjugating
Consciousness?
And since We’re mutual Monarch
How this be
Except by Abdication—
Me—of Me?
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Throwing themselves beneath the mechanized yard-work goliath,
Salvia flowers bow their heads, heralding my passing
Stooping to remove their violet hats,
Thrown to the ground, trampled underfoot by passing metal,
A muddled **** of
half-death, half-birth
Floral genitalia broken into fragments, shards of color
Yet always they bow
Stooping, self-subjugating, submissive, servile, stretched
to their absolute maximum, fibrous tendrils ripping from the bed of grass
Until they flutter gently
Half-mocking their half-living counterparts
Still rooted firmly in the mulchy beds.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
Ancient Athens
demonstrated a demise of democracy into despair and squalor
at the hands of the voters.
Ancient Rome
recounts a reduction of a Republic into nationalist rancor
at the hands of the state.
The United States of America
is a sort-of culmination of both;
of how a Democratic Republic may fail,
impoverishing and subjugating it's own
as well as it's proximity,
reducing itself and any it can drag with it
from a respectful idealization of Human Experience
to a bloodthirsty, greedy, vapid shell
of Fascisms past.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
Content, with a tinge of love,
I repent
All I've given up.
Realize what I've surmised
Is a traversed trial of fire.
Higher, higher;
The atmosphere you admire:
Lighter breathing,
Muscles beating,
Entreating my desire.
A pyre,
The phoenix feeling renaissance:
The lover's having ---
Once the want to be satisfied ---
Which was, while shattered, reconciled ---
Compiled a mile-long list
To mist the ever-flowering tree
Of prospect,
Respecting past
Opinion.
Your dominion over my
Ever-subjugating heart
(Pulsating a Morse message)
Belittles meaning in
Stockholm Syndrome,
For I am no
Shackled drone;
And, forever,
This you've known.
We are symbiotic.
We are psychotic.
Celeritous symbols
Sampling this:
Extended metaphor.
Extempore, we entertain and
Adore each other,
The world we are to each.
So: teach me how you look
With beseeching reach
Into deep territory in sleep;
Incept directly
And affect me
Romantically.
Augment what is meant and true.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
(1)
In a moment
the adrenalin rush
courses through my veins;
a torrent of frustration.
Rational expression gives way to loss of all reason
as vitriol spurts forth from my lips;
a stream of abuse:
I want to goad you
I want to hurt you
I want to abuse you
The foul profanities are carefully aimed
sent hurtling from my mouth
in a barrage of spittle, all semblance of sanity gone,
and the air reeks with rankness from my verbal barrage.
A vein pulses at my temple
and the crescendo of my heartbeat
is a rhythmic chant that drives me on
to ever greater extremes.
And as this onslaught congeals and festers in an instant
inside my head, it forms into a clenched fist
that assumes control of its own existence
to strike out and feel the satisfaction as it makes contact
with your soft flesh and delicate bone.
My froth and spittle is flecked with your blood
but I am removed from the person flailing you,
punishing you,
and I have no control over him.
My eyes, if I could see them reflected in your fearful eyes,
are wide and wild,
my lips are curled back over my teeth,
my mouth opens widely as my screams of rage
are vomited at you,
my gasping breath rasps between rants,
my chest pistoning,
as you lie at my feet bloodied and subdued.
Now as I stand over you panting: an animal subjugating my ****
your eyes look furtively and fearfully into mine,
wide and frightened.
(2)
In a moment my wild triumph flees and such regret washes over me as I kneel, cradling your head in my hands, brushing away the sweat-bonded strands from your face.
I plant a soft kiss on your lips and our tears mingle saltily:
I lick my lips and taste that salt
But it only serves to heighten my guilt.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, and pull you close, letting your tremulous heartbeat calm me.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
Are we free anymore? I’ve asked myself lately,
Sure, it seems so, but a few things are shady,
Well, more than a few; in fact most of our lives
Are controlled and well-governed like dogs kept on lines.
Last week my own neighbor was caught and arrested
For owning plants curing her cancer, depression,
Science speaks truth but the Law doesn’t mind
Their care is your sentence, not the healing inside.
We’re ruled by fear, I’ve come to conclude
It’s limiting consciousness, limiting mood
Forced to pay off all those bills in the mail
Or they’ll haul you away to community jail.
It’s not always this way—look at it like this,
We do have a large sum of freedom as kids,
We can eat, speak, dress, and play how we please
Before the real world arrives, subjugating this ease.
“Get good grades in school, be quiet, and listen,
Better cut the tomfoolery or end up in prison,
Repent all your sins or you can’t go to Heaven”
...Are drilled in our heads by the time we reach seven.
Yes, it is fear; now much clearer to me,
Yet sadly too subtle for the masses to see,
Some of us hope that things will get better,
So we dogs may finally stray from our tether.
Jan 31, 2025
Jan 31, 2025 at 8:12 PM UTC
fractured rays pass through tattered treatments
the broken fast moving clouds ever changing
shadow creatures dance across my desk and skin
playfully morphing from recognizable shapes
to distorted images of madness
my concentration only hastens the changes –
thoughts race to match the sky
bounding effortlessly from subject to object
objectification to subjugation
absconding subjected objectify-ers
subjugating the obtuse –
swaying tree tops pepper my field of view
a light breeze plays among the needles
damaged branches dislodge and fall
in the ever-changing Fall –
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
parting with something dear
subjugating personal desires
giving up for a greater cause....
like a son sent to war
for country sake,
like selling her body
each night
to feed a big family,
or seeing this brave mother
donate vital organs
to her dying son
just to see him live
for a few months more...
© 2017
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
where is my country going…
I remember thinking it was silly to say the pledge
standing behind my desk
hand over heart
mindlessly repeating phrases that had no real meaning
to an eight year old sensibility.
It is easy to recall the small logging town
with its white population
shaking angry fists at the owl people
bearded and free in their environmental fervor
chained to trees
where we liked to fish.
Those blessed with political mindedness
have sold their moral and ethical compasses
to the corporate welfare and personhood gang
giving the populace the shaft
without **** or sweet kisses.
I watch my country fall apart….helpless –
Long lines surround the peephole
and the citizens of America clamor
near riotous
to see what the celebrity flavor of the day
is wearing, doing, being,
and having
subjugating themselves to emotional slavery
for the sake of a starlit.
Gone are the communities
in which a child is spoken kindly too
by a stranger diligently working his or her
plot of ground;
today he is accused or premeditating **********
for being personable.
Feelings of discontent rise like bile
burning my throat, and giving the back of my mouth
hot spit…a precursor to *****
as I watch another liar
step up to the pulpit of power
and spout propaganda
designed to manipulate my personality
into a more malleable pawn
in this nation of despair.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
all the pronouns and predicates
subjugating ******** preferences
grammar is god’s way of punishing us
protecting us from ourselves
in spite of the elves who wish to see us fail
see us impaled upon their tiny spears
dripping form from our ears
i hear their voice
yes i really do
underneath the moss
and in utero
her womb breathes
fresh air
her mouth is warm
her ***** pulses with song
and light
i faintly touch the downy mound
and let venus rise before the dawn
in turn she admires
the way i choose to expire before her
the silence and the razor’s edge
your best friends are your teachers
they never let you see them
they keep you in the mood
wanting more more more
more more more more more
more more more more more more
more
more more more more more
more
more more more more more
more
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
Such symbolic sentences...I fancy them.
Situations so strange...as well as how I end them.
Simple seeking of silence...useless in its longing.
Subjugating secrets...cruel in its withdrawal.
Shall we share the shyness? There is plenty for you...
Should we show our shallow shells? We will certainly protect you.
Shall we scare the separated sons of servants? They never told you.
Should we sell selfish souls? I did not mean to punish you.
Which is just?
Maybe all of them, if you must.
Which is right?
A few of them, if it helps you sleep at night.
Where is she?
Right in your heart, I promise truthfully.
-- Yes, I know. Eventually, there will be writing on the wall.
(It is only a matter of time.)
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Does everyone deserve my honesty?
What if I speak against what is wrong, when everyone else keep quiet because of paranoia
Should I mould the words in a way which appeal to the masses
How cruel the world is, subjugating one's feelings to feature in other's good books
Won't guising ourselves violate our personal authority
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
The passive sadomasochist
Meets with momentary lapse of reason
Suddenly grasping conceptual reality
Of both life and of death
Now a step closer to what we know as sanity
We can become enlightened beings
Seeking our own reality
Surrounded buy brutality
Creating this wanted character
the physique of life
This instant transformation
For what the moment brings
Love hate lust anger and humiliation
Became what they say, listen
Listen to all the beautiful voices
Will you make your own choices?
Soon they will fall spiraling again
Not far enough to reach the top
The tolerance grows thin
And the subjugating begins
be grounded and the earth you will feel
and it all transcends
To many times questing is this real
Century made to lie cheat and steal
Death in mind and gun in hand
were should we go now?
Whose reality relates to your own?
Above them all in your sub psychology
Death in mind and gun in hand
Escape the ideas they gave you
and traverse this amazing vast land
free the person inside you
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 4:13 AM UTC
*Winds subjugating
Complaints the trees
To the Mother Earth
She says not to worry
They are just in love
Shake your heads
If your answer is yes*
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 11:53 PM UTC
"If you want peace, be prepared for war
Which is a sure thing without any either - or.
Is there anyone open to non-violence walk
Who has that drive for a peace talk ?
War must be fought think I, with no other solution
Guns once bunkered up won't know dissolution.
Call then the soldiers, set up the cannons
Destroy the forts, bulldoze the mansions.
Let unstinted carnage reign supreme everywhere
Procure the bombs today that lay the earth threadbare.
Not a soul should survive, I issue the command,
If any peace - promoter found, send him on remand.
Should one signal out any olive branch,
Tell him peace has now no chance.
Riding with power, I shall be the omnipotent supreme
Subjugating the world to my feet is my only dream.
Thought of war fails to give me moral jitter,
War will be raged finally, with repercussions bitter.
Sanguinary will be the history now as tainted will be the scene
The seen will be unseen henceforth as the unseen will be seen.
Enough of chasing elusive peace; now bullets from drone,
Wives will wail now and mothers will groan".
Thus finished he; History testifies that a dictator had his will,
Throbbed the cruel heart saying go for the ****
The heartless soul is deaf and dead to the peace notion
You debate for; he only debates against the motion.
War is a **** thing; a butchery; no act of a sage,
Humanity must reign supreme for all the world's a stage.
It's vivid that the aforesaid was uttered by a bragging wiseacre,
For this song digs at such rulers; is, at bottom, a power caricature.
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 10:36 AM UTC
Nothing's changed.
'cept that smile. Now, leave's a weird taste,
of one part pity, two parts haste.
Sorry for subjugating you to this foolishness.
Guess saying "no" was for the best.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:11 AM UTC
i struggle throughout the day to find any semblance of hope or kindness that can show moving forward at all is worth the time, effort, pain, and grind to simply exist
i tremble at the most nuanced implications; i become cold, and my skin aches with sheer terror over being alive, striving to comprehend between each sunrise and sunset why the desolation hasnt taken me as of yet
and then the plot comes, and i break
each and every time i begin to feel the tangible sensation of worthlessness and hopelessness i cry; alone, harboring diligent conviction for everything i wish i could do
the actualization of mortality is an ever-present ghost haunting me where i rest, where i sleep, where i walk among the growing crowd of grey, listless faces. it overcomes my efforts, it drowns me in subjugating thoughts, flights of fantasy for the dream to give something meaningful; to drive change in a place, for things and people, that could bring goodness or kindness to them too; to deliver unto my own being a sense of purpose and meaningfulness that surpasses the mass mediocrity which suffocates this world and transcends my own hope to do good unto the world at large into something more powerful than words, or wishes, or dreams
i become overwhelmed with the cost of being alive, the choking sensation of doubt which derives through strife and worry for all things monetary which beguile any path towards meaningful philanthropy
in this world, only the rich can afford to live or be free of worry, and i wasn't designed for this world to begin with; i wasn't meant to be, literally, and yet i wasn't given chance or love to find the means for myself before the miring angst and pain which stifled me had made me succumb to it, as such
every choice begets a driving fear which cripples any means to move forward
i have been behind in everything, from everyone, for so long that it becomes painful to even think to wake another day, and the sombre grasp of reality that what given chance or hope or intent i could ever have for others, let alone this world, come crumbling down in an avalanche of susceptibility, vulnerability, and agonizing defeat - i wish nothing more, in those moments, to end my life
nothing and nobody would miss me so that it would hinder their efforts - there could be zero affect in the long run, something which i find peace in knowing: at least it wouldn't be of any loss to the grand scheme, or the short run
i would leave, as i was meant to never be to begin with
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 4:01 PM UTC