Greate Freedom
nation flag fly
child cry
hunger
mother chest
no milk
good morning india...?
bad morning for poor indian people...
and poor freedom...
every wear...
not full fill the poor
indian stomach.........
what a great...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Related quotes
A true Of universal
Some budy
Told
I am india...N...
S ome budy told...
Some time i am indian...
On school
Prayer time time told
I am indian...
But...
I did not feel
Indian...
India is
my birth place
ok...
But...
I am not a indian...
Why...?
I am...
I did not write hindhi...
I am Live in tamil nadu state
My mother also speak in tamil...
Sourindings peopls all are
Speak tamil...
So...
I am not a indian...
It is very poor word for me...
I am tamilan...
It is ok...
For me...
But...
This think also
Not good...
I am a one of world city zen...
That always unversel true...
Thats i want...
Thats i love and like...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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India’s 63rd Independence Day – a Pledge
India is our land, our Motherland!
Sacred are the soil, water and air;
All Indians are our brothers, sisters;
We love our nation great and care.
Our nation is not rich but isn’t poor;
We love its vastness and its heritage;
We are proud to be called Indians;
We will usher a golden new age.
We love our home where we were born;
We trust in God and work for global peace;
We want amity among nations all;
We pray to God that wars may cease.
We want to live in harmony;
We want to progress very fast;
We want to help all those who need;
Our bickering is things of the past.
We will not force nor allow foes;
We toil to reach the moon and stars;
We stand united in joys and woes;
We pledge our lives for nation’s sake.
The Indian heart has love for life;
The Indian soul is kind from birth;
The Indian welcomes any strife;
The Indian brain is best on earth.
We are a nation proud and good;
We want to share our love and peace;
We brook not outside interference;
Impenetrable is our nation’s defence!
Jai Hind! Jai Bharat! Jai Indian!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 15-08-2009
poem by John Celes
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Great Grandma
Great Grandma married Great Grandpa
poor Irish girl and poor Indian man
Great Grandma
used to get beat by Great Grandpa's mom
Great Great Grandma
because Great Great Grandma only spoke an Indian
language and not English.
She got hit by a train.
Lots of us Indians got hit by trains in one way
or another, but this was
literal and not metaphor.
poem by Smack Thompson
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Kaw-liga
Hank williams
Kaw-liga was a wooden indian standing by the door
He fell in love with an indian maid over in the antique store
Kaw-liga just stood there and never let it show
So she could never answer yes or no
He always wore his sunday feathers and held a tomahawk
The maiden wore her beads and braids and hoped someday hed talk
Kaw-liga, too stubborn to ever show a sign
Because his heart was made of knotty pine
Poor old kaw-liga, he never got a kiss
Poor old kaw-liga, he dont know what he missed
Is it any wonder that his face is red?
Kaw-liga,that poor old wooden head
Kaw-liga was a lonely indian, never went nowhere
His heart was set on the indian maid with the coal black hair
Kaw-liga just stood there and never let it show
So she could never answer yes or no
Poor old kaw-liga, he never got a kiss
Poor old kaw-liga, he dont know what he missed
Is it any wonder that his face is red?
Kaw-liga,that poor old wooden head
Then one day a wealthy customer bought the indian maid
And took her oh so far away, but old kaw-liga stayed
Kaw-liga just stands there as lonely as can be
And wishes he was still an old pine tree
Poor old kaw-liga, he never got a kiss
Poor old kaw-liga, he dont know what he missed
Is it any wonder that his face is red?
Kaw-liga,that poor old wooden head
Kaw-liga, kaw-liga kaw-liga....
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I were dead
'IF I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!
poem by Coventry Patmore
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a new Gandhihood
You gave us a simple man, full of kindness
humblest and with godly bless
not a lord
owning his own soul like power
you like us, we poorest of poor
the real Indians..........
we like you Bapu, you only know us....
(they not know us... we are really Indians..)
the father of poorest of poor
the light still delight us...Bapu.....
and then we have many 'gandhees'
but the Indira we loved her
a worthy heir of a ablest leader
Blooded to the battle
Born to for fight
Sowed the pride in our soul nation
Not to thrill of the fight
To die for a cause
Honour and the great glory
To win without a great life
lived for India.......
the great Rajiv...
the' new' India wants glory.....
he made a new vision for this nation
and Sonia the mother....
without a power
but all these great sacrificing.....
poem by Thampi KEE
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The Gandhihood....
You gave us a simple man, full of kindness
humblest and with godly bless
not a lord
owning his own soul like power
you like us, we poorest of poor
the real Indians..........
we like you Bapu, you only know us....
(they not know us... we are really Indians..)
the father of poorest of poor
the light still delight us...Bapu.....
and then we have many 'gandhees'
but the Indira we loved her
a worthy heir of a ablest leader
Blooded to the battle
Born to for fight
Sowed the pride in our soul nation
Not to thrill of the fight
To die for a cause
Honour and the great glory
To win without a great life
lived for India.......
the great Rajiv...
the' new' India wants glory.....
he made a new vision for this nation
and Sonia the mother....
without a power
but all these great sacrificing.....
poem by Thampi KEE
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Think Back, O Indian!
O Indian, O Indian!
Why not you think awhile?
How came your freedom?
How came this soil?
How came your brothers?
Why do you toil?
What’s your heritage?
What’s your love?
What’s your advantage?
Just think it now.
O Indian, O Indian!
Why don’t you muse awhile?
What makes up India?
What are its states?
What are its rivers?
Who are your mates?
Whose blood in you flows?
Who are your neighbors?
Why fight with brothers?
Just think it now.
O Indian, O Indian!
Why not you brood awhile?
What are your dangers?
What integrates?
What are your misgivings?
How do you solve?
Where’s your heart now?
Where is your soul?
Where’s your peace of mind?
Just think it now.
poem by John Celes
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Vande Mataram
India, my native-place, is a land of spirituality,
A symbol of great culture and civilization,
Where a host of people visit to quench their thirst of knowledge,
And to learn a lesson of love, truth, non-violence, peace and purity,
I’m proud of being an Indian, a child of Mother-India:
Who shelters all—friend or enemy, and,
Always a source of devotion and inspiration,
And I'm proud to be an Indian,
Now my heart and mind shout 'Vande Mataram'.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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Poverty
I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.
Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a hovel so dismal and rude;
And though gnawing hunger they felt,
They had not a morsel of food.
The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother they’d run;
‘Oh, give us some breakfast,’ they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.
She viewed them with looks of despair,
She said (and I’m sure it was true),
‘’Tis not for myself that I care,
But, my poor little children, for you.’
O then, let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this,
That in a poor cottage of clay
They may know what true misery is.
And what I may have to bestow
I never will squander away,
While many poor people I know
Around me are wretched as they.
poem by Jane Taylor
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Hollywood Holiday
I rode my motorcycle through a watermelon patch
Right on the california freeway
I took my holy Bible on my blessed boogie woogie drive
Cause I know I know I know
Where I go oh lord theyre gonna bless me jive
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
I parked my motorcycle on hollywood and vine
And sang till my red blood turned boiling blue
I took my sole survival and bore my cross on a string
Cause I know I know I know
What I dear I bear my charm to king
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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India’s ‘I’m Anna’ Movement
With eagle’s eyes
And staunch a mind
And heart of love
For common man
A Gandhian true
Fast undertook
None could predict
Repercussions.
He donned a cap
And kept vigil
For twelve full days
On mere water.
He scared the rich
Men in power
Who misuse it,
And cheat the poor
He minced no words
spoke out his heart
in plain language
to all Indians.
His wake-up call
was clear and firm
Corruption should
end in India
A Bill must come
In Lok Sabha
To include all
Both high and low
Jan Lokpal Bill –
He authored fast,
And broke his fast
When promise came.
This was Anna,
An Indian,
Whose one good thought,
New Freedom got.
He showed the world
That corruption
Should be contained
For nation’s sake.
His act was brave
And defiant
Till success came
By polity.
This was the start
He aimed for now
Fight will go on
On more issues
Anna was great
His slate was neat
He was simple
And most humble
He shook India
On ruin’s verge;
He convinced crowds
That came to hear.
A new Gandhi
A modern one
Who wars with hearts
That destroy peace
His arrest, fast
None can forget
His stamina
Aided his feat.
‘We need to change
All things around,
And common man
Needs faira share.’
Jan Lokpal Bill
Would do the trick –
The game-changer
That people want.
The Parliament
Saw well his cause,
And passed a good
Resolution.
Anna made it:
His plan had worked;
His fast pulled off
A victory!
His win was great,
Exemplary;
He changed the fate
Of polity!
He moved a sea
Of Indian hearts
Within, abroad,
Uniting all!
Oh, what a way!
Oh, what a win!
Non-violence
Had won most hearts!
“No scams or shams
No shame or blame,
No corruption,
In people’s rule! ”
'Democracy,
If good, will be
The ideal form
Of governance!
Where power comes
From people’s votes
And corruption
In shackles stays!
God bless India
God bless Anna
God bless Lokpal
God bless all men.'
(Dedicated to Anna Hazare and His Team Against Corruption
in India/28-08-11
poem by John Celes
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Kaw-liga
Recorded by hank williams
Written by hank williams and fred rose
Key: e capo: 2nd play: d
Kaw- [dm] liga, was a wooden indian standing by the door
He fell in love with an indian maid over in the antique store
Kaw-liga - a, just stood there and never let it [a7] show
So she could never answer yes or [dm] no.
He always wore his sunday feathers and held a tomahawk
The maiden wore her beads and braids and hoped someday hed talk
Kaw-liga - a, too stubborn to ever show a sign
Because his heart was made of knotty pine.
Chorus
[d] poor ol kaw-liga, he never got a kiss
[g] poor ol kaw-liga, he dont know what he missed
[d] is it any wonder that his face is [a7] red
Kaw-liga, that poor ol wooden [d] head. ... [dm]
Kaw-liga, was a lonely indian never went nowhere
His heart was set on the indian maiden with the coal black hair
Kaw-liga - a, just stood there and never let it show
So she could never answer yes or no.
Then one day a wealthy customer bought the indian maid
And took her, oh, so far away, but ol kaw-liga stayed
Kaw-liga - a, just stands there as lonely as can be
And wishes he was still an old pine tree.
Chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Poor
How poor we are
How poor our India.
We are not ok
India tired
India shattered.
Where to go
How to go
It is not known
And it is not known
How poor how
Different India.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Freedom
Written by stevie nicks and mike campbell.
Dim and wavering
On a wind-blown night
Whose honour, whose anger
Cold and quivering
As was the wind-blown night
Into which shed fallen, fallen
Freedom, well its a thing that is fleeting
Freedom is standing next to you
My intentions were clear
I was with him
Everyone knew
Poor little fool
Beautiful as you are
With that high spirit
Morning star of evil hit me
Cut me like a knife
Cool and collected
She became that with time
Totally rejected
Freedom, well its a thing that is fleeting
Freedom is standing next to you
My intentions were clear
I was with him
Everyone knew
Poor little fool
Its all in the eyes
Its all in the way that you look
Its all in the way that you say very little
Its all in the way that you talk
Look at me with daggers
It wont do you any good
All the looks that youve used on me
Dont work now that youve fallen, fallen, fallen
Freedom, well its a thing that is fleeting
Freedom is standing next to you
My intentions were clear
I was with him
Everyone knew
Poor little fool
Look at me with daggers
It wont do you any good
All the looks that youve used on me
Dont work now that youve fallen
All the looks that youve used on me
Dont work now that youve fallen
Freedom
Freedom
Everyone knew
Poor little fool
Poor little fool
Poor little fool
Freedom
Come with me
Poor little fool
Freedom
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Patriotic Indian
I’m proud to be an Indian:
I’m glad to a Christian;
I love my every fellowmen;
I prefer things just Indian.
So great is India’s heritage;
The world is thrilled by its image;
Our culture is so very good;
So are our spices and our food.
’Tis not well-developed, our nation;
Our democracy’s worth mention;
We are peace-loving citizens,
Hard-working with much common-sense.
We do not want any factions;
We want brotherhood of nations;
We love to have peaceful neighbors,
And hate declaring futile wars!
We have achieved so many things;
Our glory world-over still rings;
We have problems to face, fiscal;
We got our freedom by struggle.
India is our great motherland;
We have great faith in Maker’s Hand;
Our population is so vast;
United, we can hold it fast.
We pray to live in amity;
We do not want enmity;
We wish to spread peace everywhere;
We love to breathe our country’s air!
poem by John Celes
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Bit News
Donkey milk
Is...
Good for health...
This thinking for
South indian poeple's...
So...
New born baby
Given for donkey's milk...
I also drink for
Donkey milk at childhood...
My gran mother told for me...!
Donkey milk is for
Only at donkey...
But...
People idea is...
Donkey's milk is how is
Help full for human health...?
I don't no...!
Miss or mrs univers
Celeo patra also
Take bath for
Donkey's milk...
For his beauty...
It history bit news
How much true
I don't no...!
You know...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Corruption in India
In the sacred land called Bharat
Corruption has become a habit.
From top brass in authority
To the lower sections and aam aadhmi!
But the menace has gained strong roots
Into every sphere and profession;
All the good that is being done
Is offset by corruption.
Blame corruption for many evils
And vices that plague society;
It is the cause for democracy
Being unable to deliver its fruits!
It is reason for rich becoming richer,
And the poor turning poorer;
It is the cause of price-rise,
And taxes exorbitant!
It is why black-money grows
And black-marketing prevails;
This is why India remains quite poor,
And under developed among world nations!
If only corruption can be curbed,
India will become a paradise;
A billion souls can live in peace,
And prosperity will dwell upon all!
Thanks to one great Indian soul,
Anna Hazare for awakening Indians
Against corruption – root cause of poverty!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 28-08-11
poem by John Celes
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Lough With Nude
poor boy
with out dress...
walking
on the road...
with cry
collage girls
see...
with loug
the boy nude...
that boy is
not sexy for india...
one and only very poor india
collage girls lough also
very poor...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I Go For Simplicity My Friend
i go for simplicity my friend
because i am poor
i do not go for sophistication
because i am poor
i do not complicate matters
because i am poor
i do not want you to misunderstand
because i am poor
i do not want you to think some more
because i am poor
i do not want to convince you
because i am poor
i do not want you to be with our side
because we are poor
i want all things in their simplified forms
because we cannot afford
any other form of convolutions
we cannot afford another revolution
it will be expensive
and we have no more years to give
to pay for the sponsors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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