Will there dawn wisdom and help us live in peace and freedom
You will bear with me for not being
Able to tell things coherently
As I am too immature to narrate things
But I chose to tell
Because of the plight I am presently in
All started, may be, two months back
We were living in a decent home
Not definitely, a luxurious one
True, we were in some comfort
We were asked to move out as
The army was assigned the job of chasing away, those,
Who they call “tigers”
Once tigers are out, we can be back home
Was what I was given to understand
We moved to a camp, dad and mom carrying heavy loads
Of our belongings
We were asked to shift to another, another, another camps
Each time we shifted, the belongings shrinking in size
Dad would go out in the morning
Only to collect ration for next day’s eating
And mom would move around to gather
Vegetable litters for cooking
This went on for a week
I could see the helplessness of parents,
Who were dreaming of getting me
The best food, dress, education and a number of other things
One evening dad did come back
Only to tell that he may be absconding
As the police expressed doubts
Of his being an informer to
The outlawed group
Next day morning dad was not to be seen
Mom is quiet
And she was repeatedly telling me to be quiet as well
Some people came to our camp
And they were enquiring about
Dad’s whereabouts
Finally they took away my mom too
It is now seven eight days
Since I saw mom last
No news about her too
I could not comprehend
As to what would have happened to her
People in our camp
Look at me differently
I do not know how to take it
Are they kind to me
Or are they sympathizing with me
Or are they pitying me
Or are they afraid of me
Even kids who used to smile at me
Keep away
All stopped enquiring me about my welfare
One thing is becoming clear to me
The people in power
Want to erase our entire race
Cleansing our mother land
Of her own sons and daughters
The phase ethnic eradication
Is beyond my understanding
But is it not that
The process will eradicate the
Entire human race
The earth belongs to all
In an equal measure
Whether rich or poor
Whether speak a language or the other
Whether follow a particular faith or the other
Whether white or black in colour
This is so simple to understand
How come the matured and learned
Fail to think in this line
I am still here in this distorted land
With no future visible nor the present in hand
Will there dawn wisdom
And help us live in peace and freedom
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Dream - Refugee-free Civil Society
Refugee is some one who was
REFUsed the right to reside further
In the land to which he belongs
Got Evicted and guardedly placed
Elsewhere
When a new system of governance
Comes in replacing an existing one
This issue arises
War and one of its attendant social issues
Is managing refugees
A civilized society
Cannot claim it to be so
If it has in its midst
A number of refugees
And an exclusive camp where refugees stay
It is scar on the entire human race
Which, at present, is the highly civilized
And is always on the path of development
With so many facilities
Adding up each second that passes
The condition of a refugee
Is far beyond the description
Of being pathetic
They do not have a place to stay
Leave alone the house
And the homely environment
Some of them had a great living
Before getting evicted
Leaving back in their home land
Properties much beyond the reach of many
In the land where they are “settled”
For no fault of theirs
But simply because of the
Clash of two warring segments
Who constitute only a miniscule
Of the entire people in trouble
No future in sight
No present in hand
Only a painful past
Haunting them all through
It is hard to believe
That some camps run for decades
Do they not deserve
The normal living others
Both in their ex-land and in their entry-land
Are enjoying
It is a shame
On the organized living
And no development means any thing
To the human race
As long we have a refugee
In our midst
They need emotional, economical
And the other social support
If you really feel
They are also human beings
It is a wonder
That in natural systems
There is no living thing
Which suffers this refugee stamp
Will there be a day
When we will have a refugee-free
Civil Society
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do any of you know
A man and a woman
Came to my place one evening
I was playing with my dad
In the lawn in front of my home
These people got down
From the car
And my dad helped them
Unload a number of luggages
They approached me and
I was able to recollect
I have seen them somewhere
But quite long back
Not an issue
They were all kind to me
And they missed not an opportunity
To hug me and hold me on their shoulders
They did a lot to my mom
Especially while she was feeding me
As I was fussy about eating
They were with us for long
I started enjoying their company
And there were a number of evenings
When my mom and dad
Would silently disappear
Leaving me under the care of these visitors
I developed intimacy with them
They, for that matter, enjoyed
Taking care of me
I used to even feel that
These guys are better than my parents
These elderly people
Never scolded me nor threatened me
It looked to me they love me
The same way my parents do
Gone a number of days like that
I am in comfort
With all the love, care and attention
Of my mom, dad and these people
Despite repeated training
And insistence from my parents
I was not able to call these people
Grandma and Granpa
These people accompanied
me and my parents
Wherever we went in my dad's car
One fine day
There was a lot of discussions
Between all the elders at home
And there were preparations
As if some people are going somewhere
We all boarded the car
With huge luggages
And my dad was driving
We reached a place
These luggages were unloaded
I was put in a stroller
And the elderly woman
Left the scene pushing me in my stroller
And the other visitor
Came along
A number of things happened
I just then noticed
None of my parents
Went with us
It is now a week's time
I have not seen my dad or mom
But I hear them talking to me
Over the phone or the computer
It is sure I am not going to see them
For quite some days to come
Why worrying or crying
Over the absence of my parents
I am now settling with these visitors
Who took me away from my parents
But for what purpose
I do not know yet
Why me to be separated
From my mom and dad
Do any of you know
helping my mom
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No, people back home don't realize why there is this kind of need for heroes in America at the moment. People in Britain don't really understand what's going on here. They don't understand why Camp X-ray exists.
quote by Jon Ronson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everything belongs to people
Everything belongs to people
Give back to the people
Give back their land their forest
Their hills mountains rivers
Give back to the people
Earth mines irons etc etc
Everything belongs to the people
Give the people the power
In democracy everything belongs
To people and democracy is
Of the people by the people and
For the people and people are
At the centre of power progress
Prosperity public funds
People are there just to forgive
And forget and do not take
The advantage of their ignorance
made the people know everything
Everything belongs to people
People are the people in this system
And the system depends on you only
You can make it coal
And people are there to group.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Hot Day
Instrumental version called bass line
In time, only time, speak for time, in time
Time calls, time cries, sweet friend of mine
Time could be a place, a spirit and a face
Teardrops through time
While away below, the whirlwinds will blow
A pretty nation speaks in time
The beauty of it is, to waken up to
Shake the hand of time
In time, only time, well speak for time
On a quiet night of a white hot day
Whisper the things that will come our way
On a quiet night of a white hot day
Hold back the years, hold back the years
Time calls, time cries, sounds like a friend of mine
Time will run to meet, the slick and shiny beat
That creeps to me through time
While away below, the whirlwinds will blow
A pretty nation sleeps in time
The beauty of it is
Well wake up to, shake the hand of time
In time, only time, in time, only time
In time
On a quiet night of a white hot day
Whisper the things that will come our way
On a quiet night of a white hot day
Hold back the tears, hold back the tears
In time, only time, well speak for time
On a quiet night of a white hot day
Whisper the things that will come our way
On a quiet night of a white hot day
Hold back the tears, hold back the tears
In time, only time
Quiet night of a white hot day
Whisper the things that will come our way
On a quiet night of a white hot day
Roll back the years, roll back the years
In time, only time, well speak for time
On a quiet night
Hold back the tears to another day
Quiet night of a white hot day
Hold back the tears, hold back the tears
Time, only time, speak for time
Quiet night of a white hot day
Whisper the things that will come our way
On a quiet night of a white hot day
Roll back the years, roll back the years
In time, only time, speak for time
Quiet night of a white hot day
Hold back the tears to another day
Quiet night of a white hot day
Words & music : james kerr, charlie burchill, mel gaynor, derek forbes, michael macneil (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Land of Story-Books
At evening when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.
Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along the wall,
And follow round the forest track
Away behind the sofa back.
There, in the night, where none can spy,
All in my hunter's camp I lie,
And play at books that I have read
Till it is time to go to bed.
These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes;
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink.
I see the others far away
As if in firelit camp they lay,
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about.
So when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of Story-books.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembering 9/11: Ten Years On
Ten years have now passed since that fateful September day,
When many people’s loved ones were cruelly whipped away.
Children, who lost parents, have turned into young women and men;
Husbands and wives still feel their loss now, as they did way back then.
Also on that day, many Mums and Dads lost their daughters and sons.
Many people were in the prime of their lives and were still so young.
Aunts and uncles too, lost much their loved nieces and nephews;
No decent human being could believe the heart stopping news.
I remember how I watched the events unfold, that day, on TV.
I found it very difficult to take in the images which I could see.
I distinctly remember seeing the Twin Towers falling
And found the terrifying footage so extremely appalling.
How could the culprits sit there and watch them fall,
Knowing, full well, that they, alone, were responsible?
It’s bad enough when you kill or injure someone by accident,
But those untimely deaths were planned and were cruelly meant.
Even when things in life go so very tragically wrong,
New York City showed the world it could be so strong.
They picked up the pieces, and showed they wouldn’t be beat.
Only a short time later, the City was getting back upon its feet.
Today, there are many remembrance ceremonies taking place,
Being attended by the many decent people of the human race.
They wanted to remember both people they had and hadn’t met.
That day is one day that the entire world never will ever forget.
By the events that day, you couldn’t help but be moved.
How callous some people can be, this day really proved.
That morning, people innocently made their way to work,
Completely unaware of the dangers which, nearby, lurked.
The world was caught up in a complete and utter nightmare.
People couldn’t hide their shock and feelings of total despair.
We remember all those killed that day, now exactly ten years on.
The memories of that day, from our minds, will never ever be gone.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The prison of poverty...
Freedom in our land not gives us enough food,
Freedom in our land not has enough work,
Freedom in our land creates the lazy cowards,
Freedom in our land not worth to have power of people,
Believe me that we are free to do anything that could,
Walking through the streets to find out the meaning,
Of acquired freedom that we have to materialize nothing.
What a rush is this, human have no direction to go towards,
What a mad rat race is it, that human take part in it,
What a planner are these people,
who neglect the people in their planning,
What type of freedom is it that put,
minds of people in the prison of poverty?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ancestral domain my quest
history tells on people, geography, race, culture and
events, is a wonderful topic for, the process gives
meaningful aspect of human sphere
great civilization started in common principle, an
inherent idea, that all men are created equal, above
other living animal who lives in this wonderful earth
a unquestionable notion that all species are free to
procreate, free to exist, free to subdue of what is
given and has all the opportunity to live in any given
time
the land is the only living testimony that witness the
existence of our races in many ages, for it is the race
who own the land, any dishonor of the human race is
worse than death
not need to go, beyond cultural languages and principle
but only we need to know the basic principle that before
the culture comes to existence the human lives, owns
the land
defination of terminology, even indigenous people as
defind has nothing to say on the real meaning of race,
words definition, hutchs the essence of human race
it is now the quest of every race, to praxis and achieve
our meaningful existence, for only our race lives forever,
and zeal by time in the history of ancestral domain,
a quest of our human race.......
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some Things You Can't Take Back
Well she was lookin out the window
And I was starin at the door
The dog was sleepin on the sofa
This place has never been this quiet before
You cant pretend it never happened
You cant pretend its still the same
You cant say you were only jokin
You cant keep thinkin things can go on this way
CHORUS
Some things you cant take back
Though you wish you could
Some things you cant take back
Though the glass has been broke
And the milk has been spilled
And your loves on the line
Some things you cant take back
When someone says theres no tomorrow
When the writings on the wall
After all have cried and spoken
And your poor heart has taken such a fall
REPEAT CHORUS
If I could reset the clock and go back in time
Id erase the thoughts that went through my mind
You know I never would leave
And Id still have you with me
You cant pretend it never happened
You cant pretend its still the same
You cant say you were only jokin
You cant keep thinkin things can go on this way
REPEAT CHORUS
Some things you cant take back
Cause in the cold light of day the pieces all blew away
And now Im livin a lie
Some things you cant take back
song performed by by Uncle Kracker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Future, Future Before and Future From The Future: Journey:
O'er the hills,
hills on land,
o'er the land,
land on water,
o'er the water.
water on land,
land on water again.
And again, again...
And so it goes,
to infinity, i see.
: deep thinkers discern:
travelling in the soul,
i went,
muscle stonger than ever,
flying high into SEVENTH HEAVEN,
soaring like the eagle,
with mystery more than,
MYSTERY OF THE PHANTOM FLAME,
but in the body im weak.
Here i lie,
thinking of,
great things.
Was i a weak soul?
Gently in my couch,
i rest,
viewing the infinity,
FUTURE! !
I looked o'er the future,
over the infinity,
i passed hills,
savannas
oceans,
then future.
But in soul not in body.
Was i the weak soul?
I saw what future awaits,
the poor soul.
Who has been living in future,
before time.
Now its the time,
he's doomed.
All things upside down.
I saw eyes red,
than the RED PARIS WINE.
I saw his eyes soured with tears,
tears to infinity.
Thoughts of great things,
keep flying all over his
working brain.
keeps being optimistic,
to lift of the heavy weight,
smiles so people,
not discern the truth,
OH HE'S BEEN GOING THROUGH,
HELL SINCE! !
People might say''he thinks''
But now is the future,
He has got a DEAD LIFE,
no light in him a again,
all is darkness.
Are you the thief,
that stole his dreams?
Oh! his precious dreams are gone,
the PRINCE OF SEVEN SEAS,
went for it,
but failed the mission.
Who can help the poor soul?
His dreams has being stolen,
i needa help him restore it,
maybe before the future
Was i a poor soul?
ive also got dreams,
to make true.
Here i am thinking of,
helping another soul.
I tapped him gently,
but he'll never say a thing.
He is in melancholy.
I sat down gently beside him,
saying words of comfort,
to the man who needs help?
Here i am,
i also need help,
but no one to pacify me.
I go on saying,
all spirit directs me.
Spirit being in my soul.
Gentle breeze serves the message,
right.
As it we sat down,
i heard the breeze,
whistling all i said,
into his glued ear.
He suddenly changed,
mood.
Looked at me with suprise,
told me he's going back.
To where?
OH MY!
Whats he saying?
TO WHERE HE BELONGS?
That wrecked life,
this future suits our life.
We can think of a car,
and we see it,
house and we see,
but,
not in reality,
the FUTURE FROM THE FUTURE.
He told me,
he wants to make things right,
he's going on a travel,
from the LAND OF DREAMS,
we are,
the FUTURE.
to the FUTURE FROM THE FUTURE.
That land of no hope?
Message,
: sobs:
i want to stay here,
i like it here,
dont want to get weak again,
back there.
Message
: rethinks:
Good gracious!
Ive just convinced a man,
who lives in future,
he'll be packing his loads,
to where he belongs.
HE'LL HAVE FAITH,
WHERE NO HOPE,
THERE'S STILL HOPE.
then he comes back at appointed,
time.
IN FULLEST GLORY.
I dont want to live,
my cars here and go back.
My estate,
cars.
I cant pack them along,
i'll stay here.
Future before future,
: Knocks:
Its me Belinda,
your new neighbour.
: Jerks:
: yawns:
: Quick thought:
and ive got beautiful houses,
built in the land FUTURE,
fine cars in the garage,
now here is a new neighbour,
i have here.
Im going to share,
this apartment again.
Someday i'll migrate fully,
TO THE FUTURE.
After i make thinks right,
by hardwork and love.
I'll laugh last
: knocks:
anybody home?
: Answer:
im sorry, im coming just stressed up from the journey i had.im on my way.
: thinks:
WHICH JOURNEY WAS I,
EVEN SAYING?
JOURNEY TO THE FUTURE.
poem by Shalomj THE MESSAGE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Difference
The other day I wrote a poem
and a friend asked me how I
could feel the pain of her kind,
as she was a different race from me.
You are white and I am black,
so how could you feel the pain I felt?
The answer was simple
we were not of a different race.
There is only one race, the human race.
We maybe different in the colour of our skin,
but we share each other’s pain.
I share yours and you share mine
whenever we are struck by grief.
We may eat different food,
but we both breathe the same air.
We see through different coloured eyes,
but we both see the same things.
There is no difference between us
except within our colour
and I am a man and you are a woman,
but that is where the difference ends.
We both have a heart that beats
and lungs that breathe in air.
No difference there.
If we are cut, we bleed
and our blood is red.
No difference there.
Therefore, you see I can feel your hurt,
feel the tears when you cry.
Now my question is if we were blind
what colour would you see?
The answer is simple,
the same colour as me.
There is no difference between us;
we each belong to the same race.
We are the same,
but with a different face.
16 March 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing Much Happens in Sydney
Nothing much happens in Sydney
Nothing much happens at all
Unless you count all the cricket
And tennis and squash and football.
Nothing much happens in Sydney
No life on the streets or in town
That's unless you count all the tourists
But then they do stick around
The things they always call 'icons'
Like the bridge and the rocks and the beach
You see there's nothing much happens in Sydney
Not too much to do in the heat.
There's one special building in Sydney
Right on the water it stands
Its roof looks like sails made of concrete
No wonder it's stuck on dry land
They called it the Opera House somehow
Not sure why they did at the time
Its got concerts and shows does the Opera
But not that much singing in rhyme.
Nothing much happens in Sydney
We're too far away don't you see
That's unless you count all the cafes,
Restaurants and brasseries.
Nothing much happens in Sydney
Some say it’s the arse end of the world
It takes a whole day to get anywhere
Anywhere else on this earth.
So why has the number of people
Who live here quite gone through the roof?
There's close on four million in Sydney
That's if they're telling the truth.
Perhaps things do happen in Sydney
Perhaps it isn't that bad
Perhaps there is life here in Sydney
But we take it for granted and have
A view that our city is lacking
And I find that really quite sad.
It's time to wake up to Sydney
It's time to open our eyes
Where else in this world that we live in
Are signs saying 'Arancini and Pies'?
The truth is this land called Australia
Was first settled by the dour pommes
Now there's every race in Australia
Yet we still feel we don't quite belong.
We think that nothing much happened
From when we got here till today
Our history's stuck in a closet
Locked up with the key thrown away.
Now two hundred years is a long time
A long time in all history books
But there's something quite strange about Sydney
We miss things 'cause we don’t look
For the history that does surround us
In every part of this town
That history's living and breathing
If only we do look around.
There's the barracks and then there's the gaol house
Which for maximum impact were planned
To keep these new Australians
In line with the laws of the land.
The gaol house, it stands on a corner
On a higher part of the town
People looked up to the goal house
And the law on the people looked down.
There's clear sentiment in this story
A sentiment best not forgot
And that we won’t value our future
If we don't value what we have got
From the people that were here before us
Our ancestors here on this land
If we don't get to know our own history
Then our present we won't understand.
19 October 2004
David Keig
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Mr Man (The Art Of Musicology Special)
What's wrong with the world 2day?
Things just got 2 get better
Show me what the leaders say
Maybe we should write a letter
Said Dear Mr. Man, we don't understand
Why poor people keep struggling but U don't lend a helping hand
Matthew 5:5 say "The meek shall inherit the earth"
We wanna b down that way
but U been trippin since the day of your birth
Who said that 2 kill is a sin
Then started every single war that Ur people been in?
Who said that water is a precious commodity
Then dropped a big old black oil slick in the deep blue sea?
Who told me, Mr. Man, that working round the clock
would buy me a big housed in the hood
Cigarette ads on every block
Who told me, Mr. Man, that Eye got a right 2 moan?
How about this big old hole in the ozone?
What's wrong with the world 2day
Things just got 2 get better
Dear Mr. Man, we don't understand
Maybe we should write a letter
Listen, ain't no sense in voting - same song with a different name
Might not b in the back of the bus but it sure feel just the same
Ain't nothing fair about welfare
Ain't no assistance in AIDS
We ain't that affirmative about your actions until the people get paid
Ur thousand years r up
Now U got 2 share the land
Section 1 - the 14th amendment says "No state shall deprive any person of life,
liberty, or property, without due process of law"
Mr. Man, we want 2 end this letter with 3 words
We tired oy'all
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'll Be Back
Messages come, and make us suffer
A letter comes, and keeps on asking…
When are you coming?
When are you coming?
Write me when you're coming home
Without you this house is empty
The one's I trust
A form of rose
Has written me this letter
And has asked me
Someone's breaths, Someone's heartbeat
Someone's desires, Someone's smile
Someone's dull mornings, sleepy evenings
Lonely nights, unsaid words
Longing arms
And have asked her
Longing eyes
That...
When are you coming?
When are you coming?
Write me when you're coming home
Without you this house is empty
The ones with love
My best friends
Have wrote and asked me
My village, my people
Old trees, White clouds
Green grass, my soil
My celebrations, my religion
My farms, my land
My parents and
My wife has asked
When are you coming?
When are you coming?
Write me when you're coming home
Without you this country is lonely and empty
Sometimes a motherly river's letter comes by
And brings along
My childhood days, my games in the backyard
My mother's support, being protected
My mother's lullaby, the softness of her hands
The desire in the eyes, the worries in her words
Hard on the outside, Lovely from the inside
Acts my mom
And asks me in each letter
When are you coming?
When are you coming?
Write me when you're coming home
Without you my lap is empty
Hey the passing wind tell me
Will u please do a little favor for me?
Go to my state and salute to my friends
In that state there's a road
Where my wife and kids live
Just tell them that I love them
Just tell them that I love them
Further down that road
Is my old mother
Just touch her feet and
Say my name in her ear
Hey the passing wind
Just to my friends
My wife and kids,
And my old mother
Send them this message
And tell them that…
I will come home
I will come home
The promise I made to…
My soil
To its colorful nature
To my mother lap
To my blossomed flowers
And to someone's heart…
I will fulfill it
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
poem by Kiara Davar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Entertaining Two Grieving Guests...
when both of you arrive this morning
carrying with you
your loads of sorrow
i am ready with my arms
and words of comfort
for i will be with you
not only in happiness
but also in sorrow
and i listen a lot,
serve you drinks,
offer
you lunch,
sweet pineapple chunks for desert
red wine for some finish
then you keep on telling me about
what really happened
how things can be unbearable at times
i listen a lot,
i perfectly understand
the pain,
and i empathize with that lingering
grief that sticks
in your hearts like
some kind of a virus,
i offer you more drinks, because drinks can take us
towards other places of our hearts
a little comfort and diversion is needed on these
harsh times of your life,
we let time flow,
temperatures change,
words take unexpected shapes
your hearts begin to catch the fire
of survival
somehow even at this moment you must have sensed
another direction
to move on,
the options are too many
to count
the world is one big
space for
experimenters
this is an exciting world
full of surprises
then you like the way things have been moving
how accommodating can i be,
how understanding
we signified goodbye,
i send you both off the door of the house
we had the last drink
for the road
it is already dark
and the world is silent
as another
kind of listener
and then i am alone again,
taking all the glasses and spoons
back to their proper order
and when everything is set,
kept,
and in place
i go inside my room
also ready to handle those heavy burdens
that are mine and
mine alone
i am in this
kind of state where
sharing them
cannot lighten me
for they too
have been burdened enough
with what they think
they cannot bear
anymore....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why At All I Came To This Earth
Why at all I came to this earth
It must be two years now
Since I am with you all
I really could not make out
How far my parents were happy
On my arrival
I knew I did not get many things
Which I wanted, rather needed
For a total growth
And emotional support
I started noting that
My parents did not like each other
Often they argued on matters
Which were beyond my perception
They too were running short
Of many things, probably
I have two elder sisters
From their talking
I came to know that
Our family was in great trouble
One evening my mom took me from home
And for the first time
We were travelling in a vehicle
Rushing us to a new place
My mom left me with some one
And that some one handed over me
To some other one
Thus I kept on moving from hands to hands
Leaving me to wonder
Where this changing hands will stop
I was a bit comfortable with the
Little girl, the last lap,
Who really attended to my needs
Better than even what my mom did
But some where some thing happened
I started feeling pain on my head
Which persisted and kept on increasing
I could not talk about this
But, cried, cried and cried
The little girl attempted to comfort me
But, it did not relieve my pain
The girl became angry with me
And started beating me
I could not register what went on further
I was in a new environment
Definitely much cleaner and better
Than any of the places I lived so far
All in white
People were attending to me
And giving me what all
They feel I needed
But, here I could not move
All the time in bed
I used to think how nice it will be
If I could spend all my time like this
Things did not happen that way, though
As I could see myself from the above
All these people in white
Keeping busy around me in the bed
I tried to tell them
See, here up, I am very much here
I know, this is death
As my elder sisters told me
You will go up and up
To God's caring hands
Once you die
I am going to Him is what
I understood
But then, tell me
Why at all I came to this earth
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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What Others May Think.
Apart from the water tower
and the farm
and a few scattered cottages
there were no other buildings
for a mile or more
just you and Jane
and birds in the early morning sky
I like it at this time of day
she said
I like the fresh smell of nature
and the farm
and having few people about
you walked beside her down the lane
that led away from the farm
you noticed how her black hair
seemed freshly washed
and blew slightly in the mild wind
does you father mind
you being out with me?
you asked softly
he doesn't know
she replied
he thinks I came out alone
for a morning walk
why didn't you tell him?
you asked
he was busy writing his Sunday sermon
and it was easier to just go out
and not disturb him
she said looking around at you
her eyes studying you
as she walked on down the lane
would he mind you being with me?
you asked
I don't think he knows you as yet
seeing as you have only moved here
a few months and don't come
to the church
you stopped and took her hand in yours
it was warm and soft
and pulsed with life
she looked at your hand
holding hers and she rubbed
her thumb over the back
of your hand
you wanted to kiss her lips
or cheek just to feel
her flesh on yours
but you didn't you just looked at her
and waited to see
what she would do next
she let go of your hand
and looked around her
there might be people looking
from those cottages up there
she said suddenly pointing up
at the rising bank which went up
to two cottages high up
if they see us they may tell Father
and then it would be awkward
and he might suspect things
and then she went quiet
and looked at the running stream
by the lane
but we haven't done anything
we just walk out and talk
and hold hands now and then
it's not what we do
it's what others think we do
she said softly
and stood looking at you
waiting for you to speak
but you said nothing
just leaned in close to her
and kissed her cheek
and said
even Christ permitted kisses
even the one from Judas
and she smiled
and the early morning sun
pushed through trees
and shone on her hair
and there was the sound of birds
singing in the air.
poem by Terry Collett
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We need to believe as we need to live
We need to believe that
The days ahead are as bright and colourful
As the eastern horizon
On a clear dawn
We need to believe that
The opportunities awiting our exploring
Are as many as many
The number of starts that glitter
On a clear dark sky
We need to believe that
We have the skills to
Create and sustain
Systems with all intricacies
And to terminate them
Adequately harmlessly
We need to believe that
We have the knowledge
To judge right as right
Wrong as wrong
And to take appropriate
Measures if we are on the wrong foot
We heed to belive that
We have all the resources
To build a humanity
Cemented with love and affection
And to protect
All the living things around
Keeping others in tact
We need to believe
That we will leave behind
Enough of natural recources
For future generations
To enjoy and explore
We need to believe
That we have the capability
To motivate the entire human race
To understand and act on the importance
Of universal brotherhood and global welfare
Turning the world a fair place
And a heaven
We need to believe
That we need to believe all the above
As we need to live
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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I like your books
In the betting line the other
day
man behind me asked,
"are you Henry
Chinaski?"
"uh huh," I answered.
"I like your books," he went
on.
"thanks," I answered.
"who do you like in this
race?" he asked.
"uh uh," I answered.
"I like the 4 horse," he
told me.
I made my bet and went back
to my seat....
the next race I am standing in
line and here is this same man
standing behind me
again.
there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but
he has to find mine
again.
"I think this race favors the
closers," he said to the back of
my neck. "the track looks
heavy."
"listen," I said, not looking
around, "it's the kiss of death to
talk about horses at the
track..."
"what kind of rule is that?"
he asked. "God doesn't make
rules..."
I turned around and looked at him:
"maybe not, but I
do."
after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind
me:
he was not there:
lost another reader.
I lose 2 or 3 each
week.
fine.
let 'em go back to
Kafka.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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