They Time Together - 0209
Life's tidal streams so swiftly flow
too few can truly contemplate
cross currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards predestined Fate.
Few feel for Truth, few care to know
what dream themes teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting rings changes and although
the "moving finger's" never late,
most try to thwart sharp sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]o[w].
Lost, tempest tossed, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
While lonely, counting cost, they sow
the seeds of frontiers which frustrate
their need to weed out embargos
which sundry woes accumulate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
When mass consumption's fiasco,
when brainless crowds gesticulate,
then hollow men spend life scarecrow,
obedience offers dinner plate.
‘Reflection' draws ignored echo
confined, when blind repudiate
heart's hopes, locked in, chart sin where no
enlightenment may penetrate.
Thick skins shared sentiments scarce show,
refusing to negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, tombed, in their muck stagnate.
They focalize on quid_pro quo
where give to take cold calculate,
hold solitary state, kowtow,
potential incarcerate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds to concentrate
upon responsive dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Avoid peer pressure, biased state,
narrow schemes which strangulate,
prepare tomorrow's merry go
round life's deep secrets penetrate.
Avoid time-traps that domino,
impenitent advance! World's weight
grounds wings which long to overthrow
travesties life imitate.
Should Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate,
Man limitations may outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(20 January 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Stitch in Time Out - 209
Strange seems the search of maids for mates
when common cause from friends forms foe
replacing with estrangement, hates,
what once seemed blessed above, below.
Familiarity dissipates
romance, contempt breeds, lines won't toe.
Distance links lonely souls who so
imagine they anticipate
complicity which bliss could sow
once twinned together. Yet the wait
itself can contribute to grow
that rancid turns when when what seemed glow
afar fools' gold's found far too late.
Where ignorance seems bliss, minds sow
en empathy that knows no date.
Fête alters after altar's fait
accompli bares the rotten row
of base betrayal where two skate
on thin ice, gleaning harvest fallow,
can't compromise or clear the slate.
Life's tidal streams so swiftly flow
too few can truly contemplate
cross currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards predestined Fate.
Is distance space defined as though
smiles miles may somehow compensate
when common cause, innate laws glow,
when minds find matter dissipates,
until 'reality's' undertow
waves goodbye when two create
a fantasy of belle and beau
that swiftly may evaporate
when faced with fact as fiction's dough
can't rise to ope occasion's gate.
Few feel for Truth, few care to know
what dream themes teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting rings changes and although
the "moving finger's" never late,
most try to thwart sharp sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]ow.
Lost, tempest tossed, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
While lonely, counting cost, they sow
the seeds of frontiers which frustrate
their need to weed out embargoes
which sundry woes accumulate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
When mass consumption's fiasco,
when brainless crowds gesticulate,
then hollow men spend life scarecrow,
obedience offers dinner plate.
‘Reflection' draws ignored echo
confined, when blind repudiate
heart's hopes, locked in, chart sin where no
enlightenment may penetrate.
Thick skins shared sentiments scarce show,
refusing to negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, tombed, in their muck stagnate.
They focalize on quid pro quo
where give to take cold calculate,
hold solitary state, kowtow,
potential incarcerate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds to concentrate
upon responsive dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Avoid peer pressure, biased state,
narrow schemes which strangulate,
prepare tomorrow's merry go
round life's deep secrets penetrate.
Avoid time-traps that domino,
impenitent advance! World's weight
grounds wings which long to overthrow
travesties life imitate.
Should Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate,
Man limitations may outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(6 March 2011)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Time Together - 0209 - 1991 Version
Life's tidal streams so quickly flow
that few can fairly contemplate
the currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards their destined Fate.
Few feel for Truth or care to know
what dreams may teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting nothing averts. Although
the 'moving finger's' never late,
most try to thwart the sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]o[w].
Lost, alone, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
‘Reflection' seems to blind echo
confined where men encapsulate
their hopes and fears within, where no
enlightenment can penetrate.
Thick skins which feelings seldom show,
minds which will not negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, in their own muck stagnate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds and concentrate
upon strong inner dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Let Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate;
at last Man will his state outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(20 June 1991)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Deep Is Your Love?
Superficial, or sacrificial?
Secular, or the supernatural?
How deep is your love?
Would you give up quality of life?
Or give up life itself?
To what do we let go?
To what do we hold on?
People or objects?
How far do we go,
Before we move on?
To our breaking point,
Or until we have proven it.
Hold on to resentment,
Let go of another.
Prove our point, or to prove love.
Beauty is only skin deep.
But beautiful is at the core.
The spirit lives forever.
It endures all.
Our essence, our core, is love itself.
Given by God, as He lives inside of us.
He is buried deep,
Surrounded by lies.
Lies we have bought in a cold cruel world.
A world of shallow love.
Love of self, at the cost of another.
She walked away,
He waited.
She asked, "Why when you had me you did not want me, "
"But now I am gone, and you will fight? "
"You have changed, but it is too late."
"For I have found another."
The man replied, "The answer is simple."
"Why is it, you have me now and do not want me? "
"I have proven the truth of my love."
"I have endured a thousand deaths."
"I have risen each time."
"To become love itself."
"Not for me, but for you."
"Affection is shown, but love is assumed."
"To the superficial, love is all show."
"To the sacrificial, love is the show."
"I can tell you I love you,
"But the words have no substance."
"They disappear in thin air."
"Love is patient."
"Love as a feeling, will come and go."
"Feelings are impatient."
"It is truth that never changes."
"And love, that is true, will endure all."
"As it has since the beginning of time."
"Not as defined by society."
"But as defined by the creator and sustainer."
"It is only once the feelings have broken the heart, the holder of the feelings."
"That the beholder is freed."
"To show the love that will never be broken."
"Love that is true."
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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(V – 1988) Fighting Fate
Oh, things out of control we call real fate
For factors far unknown too decide our state!
But things there are we must not see as mere fate;
Such things if controlled can oh, alter our state!
No thunder or tyrant is ever such fate
If faced with courage and soon held to checkmate!
Oh, thou art the architect of thy own fate!
So fight well with will and thus safeguard thy state!
At times we may fall to some strange, cruel fate;
By them should never our will still abate!
With arrows of resolve and faith, fight thy fate!
Oh, give no space ever to stand or to wait!
So bow not or falter before any fate;
Oh, fear and despair will thy fate aggravate!
Grim panic and anguish will strengthen our fate;
They make us, oh, lick a time unduly late!
So well in advance to, oh, face any fate
Thou equip thyself and thus secure thy state!
Challenges of life are challenges of fate –
So meeting them well, oh, means living life great!
I Believe
On the shreads
Of broken,
Defunct ties
Called relations
I lie.
My believe on love
A very distant cry.
My mind tells me
This is real,
And I am destined to live
"life"
A loveless,
Lonely lie.
But stupid heart
Refuses to give in
Still believes in the truth
Frilled in silent lies.
Still hopes
That there will be a
"tomorrow"
Where "you"
Stands "mine"
And a thread will bind
"us"
Ignorant of time.
That love will happen
And life will be beyond,
Broken,
Defunct ties.
And my believe on love
Would no longer be
A far distant cry.-anjali
poem by Anjali Kakati
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Wish to write down
I wish to write down in pages
Though considerable time has been elapsed with age
I am still alive and able to manage
Life has not come to stand still but confined to cage
I know everything has to come to an end one day
It is life cycle and accepted by all as the only way
One has to depart early, in time or late
No one can attribute it to only fate
It is indeed sorrowful state
Words may prove less to narrate
The life may seem to be void
Yet it is fact and no can avoid
Heat may seem to be missing beats
There will lot of grief and sorrowful heat
Sky may not provide any clue for loneliness
One has to live with a reality and face
Sea is know for its wide spread
We are convinced and can definitely read
It has depth and can retain any secret
Nothing will be allowed to come out to be let
Love is simply a treasure and to be concealed
To be retained at heart and not revealed
It should not be made laughing stock
It is not proper to make a joke
It might have turned into sorry tale
The face might have really turned white or pale
Yet it speaks volume about treasured love
One has to spend whole life and believe
You have made permanent home
You are always there and welcome
I shall hold it till the last breath
It may go down with only my death
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Final Warning
Here for first time cutters is a warning for me to you
Cutting is not the answer for the pain you're going through
It may seem at the time that your options are small
Cutting only makes it worse and I will tell it all
You may start out with small ones that barely sting or bleed
But trust me the more you do it, the more that you will need
You'll need the blood, you'll crave it, you won't be able to run
It will ruin your life, consume your soul, it won't be very fun
And it will change everything about you even the wat you act and dress
And you won't be able to stop it as your life becomes a mess
And everything inside you will scream to hide the cuts
No more tee-shirts no more swimsuits, no ifs and or buts
And you will cringe when people lay their hands upon your skin
As your very essense within fears they'll find your sin
And you'll say you'll never cut deep because you never had
But wait untill things get tough, I mean really really bad
You'll lay that blade against your skin and push with all your might
And as you watch your blood flow out you'll begin to shake with fright
And you'll curse and scream but it won't help, you've sealed your fate
Because by the time help arrives, it is already too late
Your body lies there cold and still in your bloodied bed
And there is nothing you can do about it cause you're already dead
So here for first time cutters is a warning frome me to you
Cutting is not the answer for the pain you're going through
Find a reason to go on, to live and take another breath
Because a painful as your life is, it's nothing compared to death
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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If Tomorrow Never Comes
Sometimes late at night
I lie awake and watch her sleeping
She's lost in peaceful dreams
So I turn out the lights and lay there in the dark
And the thought crosses my mind
If I never wake up in the morning
Would she ever doubt the way I feel
About her in my heart
If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her
Did I try in every way to show her every day
That she's my only one
And if my time on earth were through
And she must face the world without me
Is the love I gave her in the past
Gonna be enough to last
If tomorrow never comes
'Cause I've lost loved ones in my life
Who never knew how much I loved them
Now I live with the regret
That my true feelings for them never were revealed
So I made a promise to myself
To say each day how much she means to me
And avoid that circumstance
Where there's no second chance to tell her how I feel
If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her
Did I try in every way to show her every day
That she's my only one
And if my time on earth were through
And she must face the world without me
Is the love I gave her in the past
Gonna be enough to last
If tomorrow never comes
So tell that someone that you love
Just what you're thinking of
If tomorrow never comes
song performed by by Ronan Keating from Destination
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two at last Twin Win
Time's sickle hooked life's fickle flow
While trickle seeped through lonely plain
Of trials and tribulations, wane
As climate change unrhymed with glow.
The season's reasons we'd not know
Lovelorn lingering, hope's pane
Alas tight locked - block clocked sharp pain.
Seminal happiness remained 'no show'.
Then, unforeseen, see cupid's bow
Tired vertigo's free-fall refrain
With soaring soul replace! Again
Is life transformed, may undergo
New metamorphosis to find
WIN/win exchange, scales fall from blind!
(c) Jonathan Robin - robi3_1744_robi3_0000 ASX_LZX 14 May 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Log Blog
Seasons hot and cold conspire
together to perpetuate
a fire ice cycle whose attire
in trice turns bark to dark ash - fait
accompli by Dame Nature's lyre
whose runes tune life, strange change dictate.
No paradox. In town and shire
from dream of steam to solid state
all stays the same, though minds require
the wherewithal to integrate
four elements linked by fey wire
whose strange range can incorporate
life's fractal fantasy entire.
Sodden logs around the fire
soldier like await grate fate,
ramrod stiff and hourly drier,
fiery end anticipate.
Trees which bore for man's desire
timely fruit of goodly weight
are sawn stacked staves on suttee pyre
condemned to ash, rash fate berate,
cackle together, crackle choir.
What once bore blossom's stumpy gate.
In stead see hedgerows trim require
incessant training. Speculate
on human vanity, the sire
of most misfortune early, late.
Dust to dust both lust, desire,
first gust then rust disintegrate.
Men burn, but seldom calculate
their pulse iced, fated to expire,
past wealth their heirs swift dissipate,
their envy, anxiousness, and ire
all self consuming! Man and mate
earn little praise, soon merge with mire,
while in a circle congregate
wood logs around a winter fire.
Who seeks for answers must inquire
within, take time to contemplate
conundrum woven - truth and liar,
hot cold, earth air, fire ice restate
real dream reel, skip trip. Seller, buyer
are twins identical whose weight
depends on introspective gyre
like tree bark witness of Time's wait
on Time to circumnavigate
the contradictory crossfire
of surface assumptions which create
their own momentum, karmic tyre
around impressions which abate
as atoms realign. Ice, fire
reflect extremes intemperate.
Reality and dreams combine, their quest -
through Time condensing from initial jest -
is thus to banish contradictions, span
creation vast, past, present, big bang's van
till request and inquest converge in gest
arresting surface difference with zest
from tao trip evolution's also-ran
to space displacement through one thousandth dan
Atoms avoid void, spin tails till trail's lost, rest
here contest, contestants, distance, uber plan,
From mess congestive to suggestive test
of chaos, universal fractal fest
patterns pitter patter, matter must
invent itself from, to, through, into dust.
Logs
Sodden logs around the fire
soldier like await their fate,
ramrod stiff and hourly drier,
fiery end anticipate.
Trees which bore for man's desire
timely fruit of goodly weight
are now sawn logs upon the pyre
condemned to ashes in the grate,
crackle together as a choir.
Where once they blossomed, now a gate
and hedgerow trim tending require, -
incessant training, - speculate
on human vanity, the sire
of most misfortune, soon or late.
Dust to dust both lust, desire,
must gust to dust, disintegrate.
Men burn, but seldom calculate
their time soon fated to expire,
their wealth they tend to dissipate,
their envy, anxiousness, and ire
all self consuming! Man and mate
earn little praise, soon merge with mire,
while in a circle congregate
wood logs around a winter fire.
(12 January 1993 revised 27 December 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pick, Choose, And Refuse
Pick, Choose, And Refuse
Written by: Wilfred Mellers Monday, September 6,2010 @ 12: 18 PM
They hate, debate, castrate, and then try to eliminate you
They dictate, humiliate, and try to penetrate you
They calculate, deliberate, delegate, and then frustrate you
They congregate, close the gate, and keep you off the great estate
They agitate, commensurate, hesitate, and deflate any of your achievements
They get high-rate, never letting you participate, and make you wait for an update
They truncate, terminate, and vacate the workplace
They narrate then locate a mandate that they notate for the people
Prices inflate with the excitement they create
On you they fixate and their words they filtrate
They want to make you an inmate or see you lay instate
They want to see you not participate so they convince you not to graduate
They hydrate while the disease planted will mutate and migrate
Bees no longer germinate, embryos no longer gestate, and we all become dead-weight
Wars they instigate to control the birthrate
Death and destruction was their classmates
Poison was the feast they ate
Eyes dilate as billions they donate to those who already have too much
The economy procrastinates and madness for goodness they equate
We tolerate as the world vibrates to the insanity these primates concentrate on
Redemption for mankind no longer waits
Rain-checks we except for our rebates
Ourselves we segregate for the truth we can’t separate
Words need not to translate for ourselves we are going to obliterate
The truth is never straight and the constitution they violate
Backwards the clocks rotate for their toilet’s they gold plate
Destroy to clean the slate as wars comes to a deadly stalemate
Recognition comes too late for the masses they didn’t hesitate to sedate
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Ch 01 Manner Of Kings Story 09
An Arab king was sick in his state of decrepitude so that all
hopes of life were cut off. A trooper entered the gate with the good
news that a certain fort had been conquered by the good luck of the
king, that the enemies had been captured and that the whole population
of the district had been reduced to obedience. The king heaved a
deep sigh and replied: 'This message is not for me but for my enemies,
namely the heirs of the kingdom.'
I spent my precious life in hopes, alas!
That every desire of my heart will be fulfilled.
My wishes were realized, but to what profit? Since
There is no hope that my past life will return.
The hand of fate has struck the drum of departure.
O my two eyes, bid farewell to the head.
O palm, forearm, and arm of my hand,
All take leave from each other.
Death, the foe of my desires, has fallen on me
For the last time, O friends. Pass near me.
My life has elapsed in ignorance.
I have done nothing, be on your guard.
Breath Of Death
Death is not death,
It is life without breath,
Life on earth is life that is blind,
Blinded by stress and the curse of time,
True life is life that remains untied,
Pure life is life that has honor and pride,
The cold breathe of death actually guilds,
It guilds to a place where darkness subsides,
Passed the shadow a secluded warmth is seen,
Benevolence and compassion becomes pristine,
The Floor is cover with clouds of gold,
An eternal joy that never grows old,
They wait for you to come alive,
Trumpets waiting for you to arrive,
Sitting there is the humble Lord,
Guarding the gates with his shield and sword,
All your loved ones and all you've known,
How can this love even be shown,
Reach out your heart and give him your hand,
There is nothing to fear so please understand,
He knows you believe but now you must try,
You must understand that to live you must die,
Yes, this death is death indeed,
A death of pain and an unheard plead.,
However this death is truly not death,
Only new life that lives without breath.
poem by Bradley Lomeli
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Clouds Of My Life
There moves the cloud
with the wind that blows
So bright and white
like the pages of my life…
I sit near the window
and watch those clouds
That shows me the way
my life is being shaped…
Never was I able to
see the clouds
Have the same shape
in every minute of my life…
Why does this happen
is what I think
But everyday is not the same
is what it says to me…
I see the winds
blow off the clouds
Which makes me think
when will my life be blown off? ...
It's hard to see
black clouds coming in between
Making my worst fears
strike into my mind…
It rains day and night
making me feel happy and sad
Happy to see the black clouds fading
but sad about losing the clouds…
Dreams of mine takes
shape in the clouds
Always showing me the face
of the person I like…
It always reminds me
my life is in world's hands
No matter how hard I try
can't change the fate of my life…
It's nice to see the clouds
every morning I wake up
This reminds me there is still a day
because I see the "Clouds of my Life"…
poem by Sowkoor Nischal Shetty
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Swirling to Hurl
Life...
Brings with it,
Mystery and miseries.
Some live entire lives,
In the state of denial and disbelief.
Confronting challenges,
With despair and grief.
Life...
Also is the wind.
Beginning gently...
And sometimes swirling to hurl,
Devastation until it ends.
And it does!
To reveal much change before our eyes.
Under the promise of Sun and clear skies.
Rising hope with faith connected.
Life...
Is a dance and song sung heard.
A step in the wrong direction...
Off the beat.
Off the mark.
Off of the rhythm that was there,
When a flair to feel free began!
None can play life safe.
None can detect to avoid what comes next in life.
When life starts the experience one has with it...
It will flow.
Just like the different winds upon us,
Life blows.
No lullabys come to soothe...
Those denying the naturalness of this rhythm,
One living life pursues.
No shoulder comes to quiet,
Those with constant fears.
No one seems to listen closely with attention.
Those with fears held dear.
Collectors of heartbreaks to keep as souvenirs.
This is not the life to like!
Or pretend..
Tears falling do not come from a sadness felt!
A sadness wished to end.
None can play life safe.
None can detect to avoid what comes next in life.
When life starts the experience one has with it...
It will flow.
Just like the different winds upon us,
Life blows.
Life...
Brings with it,
Mystery and miseries.
Some live entire lives,
In the state of denial and disbelief.
Confronting challenges,
With despair and grief.
When all things that life brings...
Breezing like the winds that do not stay.
And just as life is the experience lived.
We are the experiment,
That never stops evolving.
None can play life safe.
None can detect to avoid what comes next in life.
When life starts the experience one has with it...
It will flow.
Just like the different winds upon us,
Life blows.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Gnat
A long-legged gnat with airy wings, a dart
Sharp as a needle and a searching tusk,
Was flutt'ring round my lamp, clung to my bookshelf,
And wandered over papers. Then I blew
On it, to chase it far away. But no,
Beneath the tempest of my breath it clung
Still faster to the paper's slender shelter
And moved not, till I thought my breath had killed it.
We watched each other; then it flew away.
I thought how Fate and we thus ofttimes watch
Each other, till Fate blow us into atoms,
And we remain in some weak place, in Death's
Suspense, not knowing if again the storm
Will blow. But Fate is careless and will let
Us go, if but the wings that are to take
Us hence are still untorn, unsinged, uncrushed;
Or else we creep along and die unseen,
A wingless worm, not understanding what
Those papers and those shelves contain that are
No revelation, nought but a grave, whilst others
Suck life and food, from where the storm of Fate
Hath torn us, unresisting, meaningless,
And watching with an instant's careless glance,
If we are really dead, or still may fly.
Cheat cruel Fate, keep still like Death, move not,
Flutter not; then unfold thy wings, and go
Thy way, the coming morn is full of life,
Bury thy head in flowers, in the dew,
The sun is rising and thou art alive!
poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Leftovers
LEFTOVERS
We know that we were meant to be -
we know we feel we feel we know.
Once free, at sea now, few find key
decoding life’s vibrating flow
‘until no more of me and thee’
is sought within united glow
of what forgotten history
omitted from Man’s archives - so
little left to memory.
Today here, see tomorrow flee,
earth's limbo, over, only crow
enjoys leftover pickings – tree
of life’s vain strife. No merry-go-
round but mirror fragility.
For fleeting hour before we go
who tunes into the mystery
of life’s timed rondo fast and s[l]ow
with some degree of certainty?
The past: lost in primaeval sea,
whose glory stony strata show
has hardened like an artery
fossilized when vertigo
toppled pride's ride which paid fee
for crass complacency. Below,
find species seeking primacy
that suffered an extinctive blow,
untuned to evolution's key.
Grim future looms. Eternity:
climactic challenges' gloom grow
daily greater globally,
imbalance plain to friend and foe.
Origins enigma, we
beyond time spectrum seek although
no proof forthcoming teaches free
will span from slime of long ago
to rhyme sublime humanity.
25 June 2005 revised 16 January 2008
robi03_1289_robi03_0000 XXX_ENZ
for previous version see below
LEFTOVERS
We know that we were meant to be -
we know we feel we feel we know.
Once free, at sea now, few find key
decoding life’s vibrations’ flow
‘until no more of me and thee’
is sought within united glow
of what forgotten history
omitted from Man’s archives - so
little left to memory.
Life’s limbo, over, only crow
enjoys leftover pickings – tree
of life’s vain strife. No merry-go-
round but mirror fragility.
For fleeting hour before we go
who tunes into the mystery
of life’s timed rondo fast and s[l]ow
with some degree of certainty?
communicates, shows how to grow
from slime to rhyme humanity...
© Jonathan Robin - 25 June 2005
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Virus
Her words almost killed me
First time she used the word “you” instead of we
So much hatred and no love words
I almost sank praying the lords
How one can send the disease and virus
How, all of sudden, love can have minus status
I failed to understand her tears and outburst
It had simple appeal and powerful thrust
Virus had caused tremendous loss
She had nothing left in the name of cross
All her life time work was just vanished
Peaceful aim and meaningful life perished
She blamed all it to me in person
I was no where responsible for the reason
I too lost all my precious creation
Blame game for me was out of question
Everybody may be victim of this virus
No need to cry or create the fuss
It is how we protect and go further
Nothing should deter us or bother
I failed to convince her of my part
I had no way but to say bye and depart
What left behind was only distrust?
One should not bank upon simply trust
It may deceive you any moment
You should keep watch on every movement
Who knows when one may change mind?
Blind faith may lead you to new kind
Life is all about to love and to be loved
It depends on how one has behaved?
It looses charm if lacks integrity
One should have real sense and ability
She begged to know the real truth
I had no answer to speak from mouth
What do I know about virus as layman?
May be answer lying with honest and God’s man
I wished I could cry for her loss
I had every reason to feel remorse
I could feel only sorry for her state
I failed to convince her cruel fate
She blamed all it to me but did not curse
All she wanted to know the truth and nurse
Poems, literature was her only achievement
What was left to her was only astonishment?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pressure
There was a kind of pressure, in the room,
I mean, it wasn't anything tangible but it was there
and he looked about him to try to spot the culprit.
A suspicious character was drinking brandy,
he could certainly be the one, but wait,
there she was, a tall red head with hawk like eyes.
They looked at each other and then she crooked her finger,
"yes… you" she mouthed! "Come here, talk to me"
He slowly walked towards her, settling at her side.
"It's cold for the time of year", he whispered.
"Not cold enough" was the coded reply.
Then she took out a yellow glove from her bag.
"When are you going to introduce me? " she asked
"That's right, " she said, "I'm from the ministry"
and I want you to act as though we're old friends.
"O.K." he replied, "slip me the key first and I'll
take you over. The stooge is that small,
rather portly man in the black bow tie."
"But can he lead us to Nightingales, " she asked
They've killed two of our spies already.
At that she dropped the yellow glove on the floor.
The lights went out and as they fumbled in the dark
the pressure grew……….do you feel it?
Nah, its just that dodgy guy sitting next to you.
************************************* ************
Footnote:
No spies were killed or yellow gloves
dropped during the making
of this episode.
However, some fumbling
did take place.
*********************************** ***************
Next episode:
Dazed and sore, Montague came round,
feeling pressure on his head
which seemed to be warm and comforting.
It was Marjorie's soft hand.
"Are you alright, my dear" she said,
looking concerned and worried.
Blood dripped down Montague's cheek,
he'd been hit on the head with a sharp object!
"Where is she? " he stammered, "She still has the key"
"Leave her to us" said the man in the black bow tie
"We've got it all under control,
Just tell us who sent you! "
Monty's eyes rolled back in his head.
The pressure was all too hard to take
and Marjorie's perfume had
triggered off his allergy.
Or was this a counter plot to extract the truth?
Did they know he was allergic to Channel no 5?
Too late! A sharp pain in Montague's chest
saw the end of him…….
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not too hollow
A promise not too hollow
Relation to grow and allow
No restriction of any kind
As can be seen even by blind
Love is divine gift
It finds no way or shift
It just takes place
There is glow on face
Love is for loving and not leaving
It is for the joy and pain relieving
No matter how much hurdle you face
Nothing should separate us in any case
It is holier than holy to keep the relation
It can find any suitable equation
It is same in hope and despair
One broken can not be repaired
It may find long wait
But can’t be sealed by fate
Let the spring come very late
When flowers zoom I will openly dance and state
I live for tomorrow
Today I may have to lye low
There is high hope for lovely future
I am confident and very much sure
I am very much optimistic
The same position can not remain static
It has to go away for holy reasons
The joy is to be shared by two persons
Hold in arms wherever you go
The wind may also help and blow
As rive has calm and natural flow
Face may might up and find beautiful glow
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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