"unsoothed" poems - Hello Poetry

Freedom At Kannyakumari “The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms” Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion- of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision, “The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”. As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning we Indians imbibe the Western Culture; or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato Indians are produced, transmuted destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth. Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now ! Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants, by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour- in every other respects-Europeans (using imperialist - capitalist media); poor sycophants ,for a visa, the Indians: now , turn to the West for light, leaving the bright light under the Urn; cry for a way of progress, safety and food; and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body No retrospection or introspection, only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection. On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me, a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep; I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night: the surging sea spitting frothing snow upon the black rocky ******* protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair , ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha. Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death, I walked and walked searching shelter, but no room for a single son with meagre wealth. The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes hummed around me with highly rented room offer- source of tourism exploitation- I bargained, till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon cleaving the vapours of the sea, when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri; then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore; somebody among them, staring blear eyed as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed “O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed. The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south

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Sep 12, 2012

Sep 12, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC

pnasarudheen

Freedom to Think

Freedom At Kannyakumari “The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms” Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion- of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision, “The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”. As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning we Indians imbibe the Western Culture; or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato Indians are produced, transmuted destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth. Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now ! Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants, by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour- in every other respects-Europeans (using imperialist - capitalist media); poor sycophants ,for a visa, the Indians: now , turn to the West for light, leaving the bright light under the Urn; cry for a way of progress, safety and food; and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body No retrospection or introspection, only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection. On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me, a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep; I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night: the surging sea spitting frothing snow upon the black rocky ******* protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair , ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha. Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death, I walked and walked searching shelter, but no room for a single son with meagre wealth. The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes hummed around me with highly rented room offer- source of tourism exploitation- I bargained, till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon cleaving the vapours of the sea, when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri; then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore; somebody among them, staring blear eyed as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed “O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed. The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south

44

Crusading through veins like a chariot Crescendo due, but wave fails to topple 'Till finally Exploding heart leaves a lasting impression in the sky Orbital beat progresses to white noise Strata indistinguishable yet so familiar Pause Tunnel ends, precipitation returns Old words, new meaning Touched by context, light and shadow realign Mood fitting A gesture to ever-changing thoughts Destination altered, switch rail Distinct terrain yet of the same earth Openly private Comedy or tragedy, opinion divides Aches unsoothed, request repeat prescription Anticipation climbs, summit in sight Air thins Could this be the end?

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Dec 29, 2011

Dec 29, 2011 at 4:30 AM UTC

r-thakrar

Symphony

Crusading through veins like a chariot Crescendo due, but wave fails to topple 'Till finally Exploding heart leaves a lasting impression in the sky Orbital beat progresses to white noise Strata indistinguishable yet so familiar Pause Tunnel ends, precipitation returns Old words, new meaning Touched by context, light and shadow realign Mood fitting A gesture to ever-changing thoughts Destination altered, switch rail Distinct terrain yet of the same earth Openly private Comedy or tragedy, opinion divides Aches unsoothed, request repeat prescription Anticipation climbs, summit in sight Air thins Could this be the end?

20

One more step, One more load of clothes, One more phone call, One more postponed promise, One more complaint, One more box to move, One more backache unsoothed. One more favor to ask, One more day of work, One more dollar short, One more throbbing headache, One more problem faced, One more solution needed, One more curse to bear, One more blessing sought, One more stolen moment, One more card to mail, One more lonely night, One more day apart, but... One more day loving you, and One more day of being loved. ©Michael S. Davis 2013

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Mar 13, 2013

Mar 13, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC

michael-s-davis

One More

One more step, One more load of clothes, One more phone call, One more postponed promise, One more complaint, One more box to move, One more backache unsoothed. One more favor to ask, One more day of work, One more dollar short, One more throbbing headache, One more problem faced, One more solution needed, One more curse to bear, One more blessing sought, One more stolen moment, One more card to mail, One more lonely night, One more day apart, but... One more day loving you, and One more day of being loved. ©Michael S. Davis 2013

22

they say "absence makes the heart grow fonder" that sad, beautiful music, that thrumming in my chest can only be played when the heart strings are taut and strummed by the long fingers of memory That sad, beautiful music is heard somewhere by an audience all sick with anticipation . . . unsoothed by the sound I hear that music when you are away and my only consulations are the poems that stay the poems that come unburdened to my mind I, audience holding my breath gleaming and the poem goes and i'm left without enough words to gum the grips slack the strings so the music plays on

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Aug 4, 2018

Aug 4, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC

zen

Untitled

they say "absence makes the heart grow fonder" that sad, beautiful music, that thrumming in my chest can only be played when the heart strings are taut and strummed by the long fingers of memory That sad, beautiful music is heard somewhere by an audience all sick with anticipation . . . unsoothed by the sound I hear that music when you are away and my only consulations are the poems that stay the poems that come unburdened to my mind I, audience holding my breath gleaming and the poem goes and i'm left without enough words to gum the grips slack the strings so the music plays on

33

Now years have past Still day after day I rehash Hold tight my soul, unable to move Come with explanation, on screams unsoothed The curse of guilt, for even things I did not do Are chains around my identity, mirrors lie to the critical peace to my sanity, I am my own stranger head to toe This reflection, this me my hearts horror show

0

Oct 27, 2015

Oct 27, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC

billy-payne

Ptsd (take 1)

Now years have past Still day after day I rehash Hold tight my soul, unable to move Come with explanation, on screams unsoothed The curse of guilt, for even things I did not do Are chains around my identity, mirrors lie to the critical peace to my sanity, I am my own stranger head to toe This reflection, this me my hearts horror show

8