Power
power has built itself
permanently on citadels
you, an ant, cannot take
the place of
their monuments,
look for wood, conspire
with the friendship of the
termites,
the timid worms,
live on dungs, and
begin the song of sorrow
time listens
the storm comes,
tsunamis multiply,
earthquakes, and
floods,
you, the ant, takes only a leaf
to survive,
a grain of rice
will be too much,
a dew for survival,
soon the citadels of power
crushes to the ground
including the king and queen
and their servants,
they all rot,
and you, the ant,
and termites long hiding
on rotten wood,
and worms surviving
on the humus of dung
shall build
for a beginning,
a hill, a path,
a throne of dung.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
They Cannot Harm Anymore
mother was writing her lesson plan
and i was watching her
beside a lamp, that was then when
there was no electricity yet available in the barrio
the sound of the cicadas were loud and the
lizards keep eating the moth on the ceiling
i touched a wall eaten with termites and asked mother
if termites could do us harm or the wood
finally giving in to the hollowness of their skin
all substances she said have their terminals
wood surrender to the greed of termites
and termites build their own empires under the earth
so she said do not complain if this house
that we live in soon fall to the ground and be nothing
but flanks of rotten memories
the law of nature is there
we are all temporary
nothing lasts forever
those that eat and those that are eaten
are but part of their
paths to destiny.
fate cannot harm, they serve the law
and everything has a purpose unique on its own.
i look upon my blank sheet of paper
and then i begin to write again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Situation Like Here....
he enters a door
the frames are eaten by termites
he goes inside
where the chairs have only three feet
the sofa is like a stomach with intestines getting out
the roof leaks
there are stains of dried liquid on its corners
blood of a woman
the ceiling is like some rotten leaves
without stalkers
the floor is rough like a rocky shore
mud plated on some surfaces
he looks at the pile of papers
people are always quarreling
and there are endless litigations here
no one wants to shrink a little
and give way to something
perhaps bigger
the setting itself is unjust
the aircon is cracking like some hot oil
where water sprinkles itself unnecessarily
or inadvertently
i do not like to be here
but here i am
learning to live with injustice
dirt and rotten system
turning into humus
on the other hand, there must be a time for change
a fertile ground
after so much leaking and wetting and
rotting
worms eating themselves
bats evacuating
leaving feces on the floors
airy space, silent halls, and children giggling
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Loneliness
Have you seen
How loneliness
Gnaws at you
Like termites
In a wooden
Body…
You are
Not an
Old piece
Of furniture
That can be
Replaced -
With a body
New.
So,
Helplessly
Hopelessly
You let the
Termites…
Chew into you.
On second thoughts
Even if you had -
A body refreshed
And new, wouldn't
Those termites…
Still find you?
After all,
As long as
You live,
Loneliness
Lives with you.
It's only those
In between
Fillers of
*Joyous*
Excitement
That come
Visiting you,
But they soon
Bid you adieu.
Loneliness
Stays.
It's your
Lifelong
Enemy.
It whips you
Haunts you…
Threatens you
Bullies you.
You try
Scaring it away.
It never
Leaves you.
It thrives
Within you
Like a termites'
Colony and keeps
Eating into you…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Socially An Accepted Activity
Does it really make a difference,
If carpenter ants or termites...
Are responsbile for the effects,
Of a crumbling structure known?
Both can gnaw galleries,
In dead or decayed wood.
Termites are often pale colored,
And live in colonies.
Maybe because they are called white ants...
And the carpenter ones are black.
Perhaps that is the reason,
When they destroy with ultimate devastation...
It is socially an accepted activity,
Than 'if' their presence had been of color.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Of Things Not Words
a puppy
beside a door
on a rag
a dung of
termites
outside
magnolias
are blooming
a snake escapes
from summer
heat
on the thicket
of moist grass
the green turtle
nothing depends
on someone
else
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Great Man Who Ate Cow Dung All His Life (secretly)
everyday
he feeds himself
with cow dung
but this is done
discreetly
for who in this
normal world
would like
to satisfy
himself with
dung
who in this
society would
love a man
who eats and
smells like
cow dung?
of course, he
feared
that soon if
society knows
he shall be
another ostracized
ostrich
electrically fenced
and monitored
and segregated
at Ward 8
for social
rehabilitation
he didn't like dung
reason and logic
so tell him well
but he couldn't resist
the smell of dung
even if it is kilometers
away
there is simply this
obsession for
cow dung
and he begins
to salivate even
for the word
dung
and for so many nights
he prayed
that his mind-set be
changed
so that he can prefer
steak
medium rare
than watery cow
dung
life has its own
idiosyncrasies for
he prefers dung
than barbecue
despite his
genius for good
food
and so
not to deprive
himself of what he
really loves
in his whole life
he eats cow dung
stores them in his
refrigerator
and eats cow dung
regularly
savoring every
fiber and enjoying
that rotten
sticky smell of
rotten grass
and leaves or
hay
how he wishes
that the shrink can
teach him to hate
dung
but this never
happened
he never referred
the matter
somehow
for fear of information
leaks
for modesty aside
he is
a great man
in his field of
endeavor
no one knows this
this is his secret
and i have known this
only about a year & a half
after he died
when i found his
black diary hidden
under the
old creaky bed
because it
smells dung
itself
in his
luxurious house
beside
a river
you know him
he is one of the greatest men
in our history
a philosopher
writer
philanthropist
scient ist
artist
sculptor
a genius
who ate cow dung
all his life
well adored by history
a hero for all humanity
the Renaissance man
as they dub him to be
the man who ate
and secretly loved cow
dung all this life
do not bother
let us keep his greatness
history is always right
do not argue
great men
revered the cow
ate cow dung
and become
famous
throughout the life
of history
their names
written in the pages of books
like sticky
piece of dung
but shits
unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hill slope
Down on the hill slope a tree was there with flowers on it,
Season came and season goes,
it remain there with shade and fruits to give,
Small wood pecker or big owl,
all were there as it was there home to live,
One day a wood cutter found it useful to him,
he thought it to cut and takes its wood to sell in city,
birds and squirrel on tree helplessly saw the tree,
they tried to make noise,
but it didn't affected the woodcutter in the need
he cut down the tree to take the wood,
the tree on hiill slope became log of wood,
weak protest of bird and animals,
on it was not enough,
to save the tree.
tree full of life became silent as saying what was my fault,
is it only there right to live,
but yes its true only humans here,
are powerfull and can do anything to live and win,
hill slope became barren and dry like desert
poor tree however it was home for many
didn't found the place on to live on earth.
the reason it don't understand
why it is weak and meek.not able to
survive and get its right to stay alive to give shade and life to others.
poem by Hemu Gupta
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London Tube Trains (Are Like Worms!)
London Tube Trains are like Worms,
They are even shaped like worms,
They live underground like Worms do,
Eating into the heart of the capital,
Like worms eating into an apple.
poem by Rachel Porter
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The idea of an incarnation of God is absurd: why should the human race think itself so superior to bees, ants, and elephants as to be put in this unique relation to its maker? Christians are like a council of frogs in a marsh or a synod of worms on a dung-hill croaking and squeaking "for our sakes was the world created".
quote by Julian the Apostate
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When You Dump Dung
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
I said,
...
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When you dump dung,
With a stinging that stuns...
It only closes up eyes.
It doesn't open up a mind,
To empathize...
The reason or the why for the doing.
When you dump dung,
With a stinging that stuns...
It only closes up eyes.
It doesn't open up a mind,
To empathize...
The reason or the why for the doing.
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
I said,
When you dump dung...
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When a dummy does a dung dumped.
Nobody stays around but runs to hide.
To leave before the spreading of the stench comes.
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When a dummy does a dung dumped.
Nobody stays around but runs to hide.
To leave before the spreading of the stench comes.
With a finding they've been brushed aside.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Citadels Of The Prairies
The citadels of the prairies
stand majestic in the horizon,
their white fingers
beckoning out to heaven,
as they stand silent
for all the world to see.
Some men have climbed them
to get closer to heaven,
others have failed
and their bones lay bleached white
wherever they fell.
The air is cool and crisp
around the citadels
that stretch up to the sky.
They are a home to many creatures
including little birds that fly.
They are at war with no one
as they stand silent and still
fingers beckoning to heaven
as evening begins to chill.
6 August 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Power
A king is crying from his throne
He had a queen but now shes gone
What is this magic that we seek
The mighty strong turn mighty weak
Every good girl hears it
Every bad boy fears it
No matter what I see
I believe, I believe
Chorus:
The power touches me
The power helps us see
The power holds my hand
The power drives me crazy
A flower grows, an old man dies
And through it all we still survive
A poor man screams but no one hears
Aint nothing changed much through the years
Every bad day needs it
Every good day breeds it
No matter how it feels
When its real you know its real
Stronger than any bomb that any man has ever made
(repeat chorus)
And it wont take long to understand
Just how amazed I am
Hey, hey
Open up your eyes and see
It wont take long to understand
Just how amazed I am
Every good day needs it
Every bad day needs it
No matter what I see
I believe, I believe
Stronger than any bomb any man has ever made
(repeat chorus twice)
The power drives me crazy
If I believe and you believe
And we believe everything is gonna be all right
All right
It just might
(the power)
(the power)
(the power)
(the power)
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Power
The king is crying from his throne
He had a queen but now shes gone
What is the magic that we seek
The mighty strong to mighty weak
Every good girl hears it, every bad boy fears it
No matter what I see, I believe, I believe
Chorus:
The power touches me, the power sets us free
The power holds my hand, the power drives me crazy
The flowers grows an old man dies
And through it all we still survive
A poor man dreams but no one hears
Aint nothing changed much through the years
Every bad day needs it, every good day breeds it
No matter how it feels when its real
You know its real
Its stronger than anybody any man has ever made
Chorus
The power touches me, the power helps us see
The power holds my hand, yeah the power drives me
Crazy
It wont take long to understand
Just how lucky I am
Hey, hey open up your eyes and see
It wont take long to understand
Just how lucky I am
Every good boy needs it, every bad girl breeds it
No matter what I see I believe, I believe
Its stronger than anybody any man has ever made
Chorus x 2
The power, the power, the power
If I believe in you and me
Do we believe that the powers gonna be alright
In just my mind, yeah, yeah
In the power, the power of love
I believe in the power, the power of love baby
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Men Are Killing The Life Of The Air....
this early morning
i take my walk
on the path leading to the
rice-fields
the men are killing the worms
with Japanese pesticides
the white herons feed on
poison
what else could that be?
the national geographic makes
the news
that eggs of herons easily cracks
and fledgling do not survive
agricultural teachers die
of colon cancer
and the causes remain
undisclosed
there is no cure
for men killing air
for companies making poisons
the herons still fly and catch and
eat the double dead worms
the air is foul and
turn back from the walk
i cannot carry my heart
it is heavier than
steel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Waiting For The Worms
Oooo you cannot reach me now,
Oooo no matter how you try.
Goodbye cruel world, its over.
Walk on by.
Sitting in a bunker,
Here behind my wall,
Waiting for the worms to come. ( worms to come. )
In perfect isolation,
Here behind my wall,
Waiting for the worms to come. ( worms to come. )
Waiting, to cut out the deadwood.
Waiting, to clean up the city.
Waiting, to follow the worms.
Waiting, to put on a black shirt.
Waiting, to weed out the weaklings.
Waiting, to smash in their windows and kick in their doors.
Waiting, for the final solution to strengthen the strain.
Waiting, to follow the worms.
Waiting, to turn on the showers and fire the ovens.
Waiting, for the queers and the coons and the reds and the jews.
Waiting, to follow the worms.
Would you like to see britannia,
Rule again, my friend?
All you have to do is follow the worms.
Would you like to send our colored cousins,
Home again, my friend?
All you need to do is follow the worms.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stinging Reply - 1915 - to Ogden Nash The Termite, Harry Graham Ruthless Rhymes and Hilaire Belloc
When termites knocked upon ants' door
they thought to conquer larval store;
how lucky vicious fire ant queen
nested above poor Auntie Jean,
for when upon the latter's bed
it fell and stung her quick and dead.
Her Will, found sound, Judge Jonas swore
that I'd inherit more and more!
From this one may gay moral glean,
auspicious chance and pastures green
fall to man mean who plans ahead,
blind termites leads to where ants bred.
(9 September 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Rain Songs....
i have figured the sound
of tears
its rhythm from the moment
you turn red
and sob
and then i hear again
the songs
of rain
from that faraway
forest mountain
i, too, was all alone
figuring out myself the song of sorrow
how leaves fall
how grasses wilt
how the termites build their empire
upon the bones
of tree trunks
how the ants
eat the monkeys'
failures.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Disrespect
that early morning i take a walk
on the path beside a ricefield
on the other side about ten meters away
a man is spraying the ricefield with
pesticides
the birds are too innocent for poison
and begin to eat all the worms that fall
from the leaves of riceplants
i am breathing poison but the man on the other side
does not really know what he is doing
the air cannot complain, i could, i know,
but i am too busy about a lot of things and thoughts
the birds are feasting on the dead
worms, and
i left the place at once.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Musing on mortality
Musing on mortality.
Though we all start on equal terms
Your life experience will affirm.
All finish up as food for worms.
Some will win whilst others lose
We have no choice we can’t refuse
All finish up as food for worms.
Although we strive to stay alive
By any means we can contrive.
All finish up as food for worms
Some settle for cremation
An act of desperation.
All finish up as food for worms
Although the ashes are broadcast
They mingle with the soil at last.
All finish up as food for worms
That is the way it’s meant to be.
There is no doubt eventually.
All finish up as food for worms
The only true equality
Is found within the cemetery
ALL FINISH UP AS FOOD FOR WORMS.
SUNDAY,11 DECEMBER 2011
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Carbon
As organs are built up on carbon
Organs are nothing but carban.
Humours are built up on sorrow.
Humour is nothing but sorrow.
Sorrow is wood, that humour burns.
After a glow, the wood turns ash.
26.03.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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