Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
PNasarudheen Sep 2012
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
Dee Giambattista Dec 2020
I thought I could soothe
Your unsoothed heart
Now mine is the heart
That beyond repair is.

Now my own unsoothed heart
Says you and so many
Of your unkind kind
Beyond repair are.

As am I, and my heart,
Unsoothed, for now.
R Thakrar Dec 2011
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?
14 Nov 2006
Michael S Davis Mar 2013
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
BB Tyler Aug 2018
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
Billy payne Oct 2015
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
Chained to his rugged rock, Prometheus fumes.
He brought the gift of fire to mankind. Now
He must pay. The gods are not amused.
His is an act of defiance unbowed
By the threat of retribution. Unsoothed,
He faces his fate: to have ravens scour
His liver each day, then start up anew.
Like Sisyphus, punishment is his shroud.
He wears it regally: His will only hews
To its task; it cannot break; he stays proud.
His gift spreads across the globe. Only few
Turn it down. Man is equal to the crowd
Of gods on Olympus. They will strew
Their anger. But naught keeps this mortal cowed.

— The End —