Sins Of Capitalism
the scar
on my face
is the last cry
of all those killed
in the name of capitalism.
the tear
in my eyes,
the hunger of those
we've forced to
live in poverty.
the bruise
on my lips,
the swelling groan
of those we've oppressed!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Scar
love is a scar...
a quiver of the lip
that no one sees...
a moment of lostness
you cant regain...
is an avalanche,
a hurricane, an
unnamed tear...
a moment of softness...
the rage of anger.
love is a swagger,
a limp, a dance, a curse.
the taste of lips washed
away by the rain...
love is a reason,
is madness, a hunger
that cant be fed...
love is a scar...
with your name...
written on it for
the world to see!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A New And A Better World
A new and a better World I may not live to see
But the time is not far distant when all people will live free
Of oppressive regimes and terrorism and greed and poverty
For all of those poor victims of capitalism who live in penury.
A new and better World may be a century away
And I for one will not be around for to celebrate that day
And though one hundred years may seem far off in time not a lengthy span
Only the life time after all of one long lived woman or man.
We may not be that far away in time when ageing people will recall
We never thought we'd live to see the day of a fair go for all
When people are not discriminated against due to their religion or race
And in human society for poverty and oppression there isn't any place.
A new and a far better World for me will come too late
For time is ever ticking and the reaper for me wait
But the day is not that distant when people in wars or of hunger will not die
And a fair go is something that all people will enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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638. Be a sea! 070211
Oh mind!
Become a swelling vast ocean
On shore all dead are thrown
Out all garbage are flung
No dirt is kept for a long
Oh mind!
Become a swelling deep ocean
Though giant whales jump and leap
Though great waves frighten to sweep
Limitless water remains inside its coast
Oh mind!
Become a swelling blue ocean
Though gigantic titanics tear its surface
There is no scar in its marvelous face
Its merry waves dance in mystic bliss
Oh mind!
Become a swelling profound ocean
Though volcanoes burst inside
It never burns out eternal water
No pain is displayed outside
Oh mind!
Be a sea! Don’t be perturbed
By trivial words from persons petty
Be a sea! Don’t be disturbed
By daily episodes of this life dreamy! -- 070211
poem by Raman Savithiri
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The kind of capitalism I hate most is crony capitalism, the friends who decide. These are things which should be killed in Russia.
quote by Anatoly Chubais
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Which Side Do You Belong To?
i hear the cry of the hawk and the rabbit,
i feel the talons tearing flesh.
i smell gunpowder, and bodies burning,
i hear the sound of boots on the road.
the groan of the tanks turning without faces,
the buzz of the drones flying above.
the mechanical order, as life is destroyed,
the cry of babies on their mother's dead breasts.
the mourning sisters who bury their brothers.
light making shadows on all the colors of skin.
the shout of the flags, the bowls left empty.
the bolt of the rifle, the knife slid from the sheath,
the sound of the falling just before impact.
the cry for freedom on the lips of the martyr.
the pages of the holy book turned down forever.
the prayer of justice over equality's grave.
the soldiers of poverty who fought against all odds.
the sound of dead elders drawing in their breath.
the wind named liberty howling and lost.
the fingers of the child touching dead lips.
the song of the bruise, the scar, and the dream.
the smell of flesh bartered for hope.
the last drink of daylight, the dark night unending.
the face of eternity in slivers of moonlight.
the star of humanity falling from the sky.
the presence of god, and the absence of presence.
the mountains crumbling, the rivers gone dry.
the last trees walking into the distance.
the sound of the chisel carving in stone,
the last tear wept by the shadow called being.
and i turn and i stand in the name of dignity,
holding in my hands the pages of history.
the moment lost to vast infinity...
saying, tis now, or never,
truth counts the cost...
which side do you belong to?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A1 Story
World has advanced in many days...
Yet in 21st Century poverty retains in umpteen ways;
Hunger glinted in his eyes...
He does begging and petty thievery, at the same time!
Cheeks were sunken and clothes were in rags but still, a crime!
Believe I swear in the name of god, my words are not lies.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
I saw a rag picker scrounging for a coin in the garbage,
Though he is with bare foot who knows as bub, he is cute!
Owing to the troubles he met, made him mute.
He can fill the rivers with poverty's tears...
His eyes were pale and mouth opened for food cabbage!
One among is he, pleading and begging the passersby yet nobody hears.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
The street is lighted with half naked
Bodies go begging down, the street and half fed,
From head to toe they're covered with poverty, yet
With pain and misery as their make-up set;
Hunger is present in their stomach and a rat's race!
And it is vaguely seen on their face and a food race.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Labourers in construction breaking the stones...
And lifting the bricks while scorching sun is the witness!
They work bodily, resembles awkward dance of a heap of bones,
The skin saturates and swallows the heat, I bet!
Leaving it dark as the midnight sky, oh! What a mess!
Their hopes are dashed; life is smashed of body’s sweat!
The Mother weeps and father yells!
Sitting in the house of poverty and what-else!
Small sister sleeps and her little brother dies and I linger;
His father only stares as he is killed by hunger...
Why doctors only cure diseases and why not
Poverty - the biggest disease of all. Is it not?
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Every now and then in newspapers, I hear
The death of a peasant or two, oh my dear!
Unable to feed family, life has become Herculean task,
Drowned himself in melancholy, under hunger mask!
Bogged down under wheels of Pressure, not to hide...
Due to debts of treasure, he committed suicide!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Lot of hunger and empty bowl without food is poverty,
Not having one more dress to take bath is poverty,
............................................. ..............................................
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>READ PART 2>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
*A big NOTICE BOARD: Oops! Sorry the poem is NOT completed. This is just break time! Now read to make your reading wholesome read PART - 2
April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A2 Story
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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We have suffered unnumbered ills and crimes in the name of the Law of the Land. Our men, women, and children have suffered not only the basic brutality of stoop labor, and the most obvious injustices of the
system; they have also suffered the desperation of knowing that the system caters to the greed of callous men and not to our needs. Now we will suffer for the purpose of ending the poverty, the misery, and the injustice, with the hope that our children will not be exploited as we have been. They have imposed hunger on us, and now we hunger for justice. We draw our strength from the very despair in which we have been forced to live. We shall endure.
quote by Cesar Chavez
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jail Cells, And Poverty!
do jail cells demand certain colors?
do they smell like poverty?
are they the colleges of the hopeless?
or just a place to hide the fire
till the flame goes out?
does anybody want to be poor?
does anyone deserve to be poor?
who picks the judge?
who enforces the law...
the law passed by filthy rich politicians?
is God white?
how about Jesus or Buddha?
does He live in the suburbs?
what kind of car does He drive?
does He have servants of different colors?
and what is the final price of freedom?
not to mention equality,
and equal distribution of goods...
'red, yellow, black, and white...'
every color of poverty sucks!
whether man or woman,
young, old, or a child...
no human being was meant to be owned!
forced poverty and justice prejudiced
by color or economic stations...
are the last forms of slavery!
what will you do when
the oppressed rise as one,
and put you in the cells you built?
what will you learn,
what will you know?
and what will you smell like?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cry a tear
Cry a tear for the women of abuse
Cry a tear for those who abuse
Cry a tear those in broken marraiges
Cry a tear for everyone who feels used
Cry a tear for the teens of prostitution
Cry a tear for the teens on drugs
Cry a tear for teens under pressure
Cry a tear for teens without love
Cry a tear for the child of slave labour
Cry a tear for the child of rape
Cry a tear for the people who did this to them
Cry a tear for all those who hate
Cry a tear for HIV/AIDS
Cry a tear for destroyed homes
Cry a tear for the wickedness of suicide
Cry a tear for everyone who feels alone
Cry a tear for people in jail
Cry a tear for those who sin
Cry a tear for people who have lost someone
Cry a tear for those who cheat to win
Cry a tear for alcoholics
Cry a tear for people on the streets
Cry a tear for youngsters involved in crime
Cry a tear for everyone you meet
Cry a tear for abandoned babies
Cry a tear for poverty
Cry a tear for all the racism
Cry a tear for you and me
poem by Natasha Potter
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Old scar, new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
Old scar on the hand
New scar on the head
Same pain, different trouble
First came shock
Then hurt became blue
Blue’s gone leaving scar
Old scar, white scar
New scar, hidden well
When morning’s gone, nights always come
Craving old scar, leaving new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Rogue Stars
we pass too often unaware,
rogue stars hurtling
through the vast blackness
of inner space...
a bump, a bruise,
a scratch, a scar...
and almost the smell
of a closeness.
we bring the cup to our lips,
too hot to taste...
it is only in the silence after,
that memory reaches out to touch!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Know Better Than That!
in my thousand weaknesses
my strength is formed,
in my endless failures,
triumph is born.
in every flaw a glimmer,
in every darkness a light.
in my hunger there is fullness,
in my restlessness a home.
in every bruise and scar,
beauty is forged.
in every moment of silence,
passion set free.
with every stumbling step,
another step is taken.
be there any difference,
i know better than that!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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None More Selfish Than I
Some humans are such selfish creatures and none more selfish than I
The World revolves around me and praise of self I do enjoy
Some call it self survival or call it what you may
And meanwhile people dying of hunger every day.
I've never known what it feels like to be hungry or known of hunger pain
Yet of my poor existence I often do complain
So many poor and oppressed people would envy one like me
It surely can be a relative thing when one talks of poverty.
I meet so many selfish people who for themselves only care
Of the sufferings of others they don't even seem to care
As well as self centred they are ignorant and without thinking they say
That poverty is self inflicted in the World of today.
I may be a selfish bugger but in that I'm not alone
And I am one not without sin so I can't cast the stone
I feel that the World revolves around me how selfish can one be
And only the best of people are blessed with the gift of empathy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Basement Kiss
Lucy Grace can't show her face down in the North End Road
For in Belgravia
Rumours have been whispered and suggestions have been made
Did you sell your friends out when the heat got too intense?
You say you like the danger but it's only a pretense
You say you need the money
When everybody knows you can always fall back on your inheritance
Did you bruise your arms on those false alarms
Did you bruise your pride on his smile so wide?
Only fingertips from forbidden bliss
Did you bruise your lips in this basement kiss?
Who's that sneaking 'round the door?
You can't come here no more
Can't you go home again?
She used to sit alone for hours
Spend her evenings watering dried flowers
When her mother came to stay and finally went to bed
Lucy Grace was in the front room shooting through your head
She tried to take your breath away and give you something else instead
Next year she'll serve her function in that Audrey Hepburn hat
It still won't suit her much but she'll get over that
She'll be pale and feign indifference as they're handling out the prizes
Spilling Daddy's pearls of wisdom
And her ugly sister's tranquillizers
Why were you so tardy putting up your guard?
When you hurt so easily and you try so hard
Did you bruise your arms on those false alarms
Did you bruise your pride on his smile so wide?
Only fingertips from forbidden bliss
Did you bruise your lips in this basement kiss?
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind, Rain, And The Eyes!
i went from the shadow of Jesus,
to Tao's uncarved block,
flowing with the water
for over a decade....
to the feet of Buddha,
awareness and universal compassion...
respect for all that lives.
each of them now a part of me,
of who i am and will be.....
but when i thought each the end,
my destination....
came a voice... Go further!
i went from virtue to evil,
to night needs day,
just as day needs night....
and still i was not finished.
i went from addiction to jail,
from jail to books....
each leaving a scar,
each feeding the fire!
i went from love to loss,
from family to old age...
and still i felt the hunger!
and now i've returned
to my primitive spirit,
i hear voices in the wind,
i make love to the rain!
from time to time....
seeing glimpses of God,
in the hungry eyes of children,
in the eyes of the oppressed....
in the eyes of the homeless,
in the eyes of dead bodies,
without home, naked and honest...
in the eyes....
wind, rain, and the eyes!
go further!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Break
Wake me up, angelic skulls,
Tase my zestless disposition.
Bruise me.
Clutch my bleeding heart in your eager
Hands and keep it forever.
Close my eyes with your wings,
Make me feel at ease.
Whispering trees on shimmering eves,
Wasted dreams on barren beds,
Bruise me please.
Collect my universe of tears,
Sparking diamonds in your abyss of darkness
Cover my eyes and help me escape.
Chain me within your eyes,
Take me now, or awake me,
For as doth, you doth, you don't,
My griming face will turn wroth.
Nothing more mediocre than an actor's tears on a globe stage.
Bruise me please, until I bleed.
poem by Jolomi Amuka
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Faith And Destiny!
we live on faith,
as if by chance,
yet every step ordained
by destiny!
my father thunder and lightning;
my mother the wind,
i cannot call by name,
but am always in its grasp.
through bruise and scar,
despair and suffering.
i may question the night,
i may despise the day....
but i keep moving with the rhythm
of waves stroked by the moon....
my father speaks!
my mother wipes my brow;
and my lover, the rain, lies with me
on the earth turned by passion
from the wind and rain i came,
to the wind and rain i return...
naked in the arms of hunger!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A2 Story
Lot of hunger and empty bowl without food is poverty,
Not having one more dress to take bath is poverty,
Sheltered, willing but failing to accommodate a guest is also poverty,
Mother's sick but cannot afford treatment is also poverty,
If treated, prescribed but cannot buy medicine is poverty;
A mother's thought,2 mouthful of rice with 3 children is poverty.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
The fort of confidence is dismantled by poverty and frustration;
They can build castles in air though lack inspiration,
They simply look for food threw in dustbin in month of May!
They die while living, live in dying daily with their life of dismay;
Poverty is not crime but it is a curse and worse...
I'm brand ambassador of poverty and I endorse!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Don't show poverty as excuse...
God gave you brain and make use and bemuse,
No matter if you are born in poverty's slum-dom
While some are handicap blind, dumb, deaf and a cough;
You work and Strive dawn to dusk with inspiration, if
You make education oxygen of your life and your kingdom.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Hence, don't look up to someone or don't cry and cry;
Go far, father and farthest, Age is no bar so try and try!
Take all ladders, Surpass Eiffel Tower and reach the sky!
Remember one Booker T Washington and Abraham Lincoln
Became presidents of America, and poverty is won!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
From in India to Cambodia and Georgia to Indonesia,
From Kazakhstan to Afghanistan, China and all Asia;
From Namibia to Zambia and Algeria to Nigeria,
From Uganda to Rwanda, Morocco and all South Africa;
Bolivia to Columbia, Guyana to Argentina and all South America;
Third world is resounding with Mania! Mania! Food Mania!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
........................................ ................................................. ........................
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> >>>READ PART ONE >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
BIG NOTICE BOARD: Sorry, if you LIKE to grasp central theme of poem Just take a break! Now READ PART1 to make your reading wholesome.
April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A1 Story
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Poverty-II
Satiated, desiring but not having enough food to offer some, is also poverty,
Sheltered, wishing, but failing to accommodate a guest, is also poverty,
Treated, prescribed, but unable to effort better treatment is also poverty,
Clothed, requiring but can't afford sufficient to meet the need is also poverty,
Educating, meritorious, but failing to provide better education is also poverty,
Social, invited but avoiding a ceremony to avoid buying a gift is also poverty,
Celebration, aspiring but fearing expenses not celebrating is also poverty,
Friend in distress, desiring but incompetent to help a friend is also poverty,
oppressed, rights denied, deciding but failing to buy justice is also poverty,
Time elapsed but not repaying debts for not having money is also poverty.
.
.
posted on 31-07-2008
Copyright ©®2008, Palas Kumar Ray. All rights reserved.
poem by Palas kumar Ray
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If Life In The Human World We Live In
If life in the Human World we live in is in any way fair
None would have to grow poorer for every new millionaire
And none would have to live friendless and homeless and enough food for all to eat
And no such a place known as Poverty Street
In a fair World peace between former enemies would last
And war and it's bad memories a thing of the past
And former terrorists any excuse could not find
To wilfully maim and murder their fellow kind
Without terrorism and war, hunger, homelessness and poverty
What a beautiful World to live in it would be
But due to human greed mistrust exists everywhere
And no such a thing as a fair go for billions in the big World out there
A World free of extreme poverty that leads to crime
But that at least will not be in my lifetime.
poem by Francis Duggan
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