Have your day now.
Every birth has its growth,
Witnesses youth and glory
And unfailingly meets its death.
The mortal and the immortal are not exempted.
Gods and Kings not omitted.
Temples and religions not excluded.
The dead once had a day.
The one with a day soon is dead.
Have your day before you decay.
02.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Decay Lives
Behind the void - Where darkness fills black to give birth to the shade of grey - Fear is being stalked by Decay - Predatory sickness which morals onto nothing - Transfixed by the stench of the dead - Alive by feeding for millenium on death - Purer by the extreme conditioning where there is nowhere to find - If you do, you will find decay - Next to the living, alive in death - Alive by being dead.
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Is the end death?
For one that is born,
Death is certain.
For one that is dead,
Is birth certain?
Many religions profess-‘Yes’.
Then, to die why is there fear
Death being a sleep?
25.03.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Illusion is due to mind.
A death at home is not like deaths anywhere.
A murder nearby is not like murders anywhere.
The death of the youth and the old are not alike..
The event gets its colour by one’s mind.
04.02.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Grief makes the beloved proud.
You were taken off my embrace.
I grieve and deeply grieve on your loss.
In grief, I experience solace.
It soothes me like your grace.
How proud you can be to notice!
As you are alive, taken of me,
I shall let you know this.
The dead are grieved over by survivors.
The dead have no recourse to surmise.
But you can. A gift to you, my beloved.
05.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Flesh Hand
Gods breathe everywhere
Fragile leaps across the Earth,
Subtle alterations
Creation's in birth.
Clowns construct, destruct, instruct
Belief in a flawless way,
Behind masks chaos unravels
Glimpsing birth while the dead decay.
Imagine beyond
Sense a future cast,
Seek living greatness
In dream worlds of the past.
Gods lay perfect plans
Inside every flesh hand,
Some accuse
And misunderstand.
poem by Darren David Weaver
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Im-Mortal
Dead and rotting like man
Immortal I am
An Eagles eye as far as i can see
destroyed by the masses
immortal to be
A sea of pain flushes over me
a nervous breakdown in me
The knowing of what to say
and the sun's rays
play two roles in my amends
Above a sea of fire and chaos
pain the only sound
my halo falls
falls to the ground
Dead and rotting like man
Immortal I am
The eagles eye can see farther than me
destroyed by masses
Immortal to be
And fire will rain and fill the sea
fire will rain...
reign over me
My skin feels like a suit
rip out my tongue
Making me mute
This fire is my master
making me see like a boy
a crippling disaster
No drug can numb this pain
no faith can break this grasp
but immortal i am.
dead and rotting like man
Immortal I am
Blinded at last
overpowered by fire
i cant...
The truth is, i am-Mortal
poem by Marley Magic
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Today... 'The Faithful Witness
Faithful Witness from before creations birth
The greatest ruler of all the kings on earth
He's the firstborn to have risen from the dead
The King of all kings is now our Living Head
The world is changing and people drift away
Yet still the Faithful Witness is here today
Firstborn of the dead, Ruler of God's kingdom
He's the One Who was and is and is to come
To Him may all the glory for ever be
For by His blood He cleansed us and set us free
Solemn words are spoken from the Great Amen
As we hear Him speaking to the church again.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Mother only is taken for granted.
A mother can’t bear her son’s death
Even when it happens so late
A son wishes her mother’s death
When it is to delay too much.
Yet, posthumously he mourns for her loss;
In her only he sought his birth right shelter.
10.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Free State!
Birth, growth, decay and death
All living beings undergo sure!
Hunger and old age make all
Depend each other for survival!
Sans discipline, rationality and
Control freedom can't be enjoyed!
To have carefree freedom from
All worries man should be birth-less!
Birth fixes death for all beings;
Birth and death are for body;
Body with mind and heart
Man lives life with all things.
Spiritual state is the free state
All have to strive to overcome woes!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Indians are converts
Some religions converted the people.
Some religions converted the shrines.
Some religions converted the kings.
The Vedic sect adopted local gods.
I am a descendant of forefathers
Who might be converts to many faiths.
If I segregate one on one's religion
It'd mean I insult my forefather's.
05.05.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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An Angry Poem, Because So Many Flags Are At Half Staff
The wreaths are piling up on the curb. Coffins line streets swept and stainless. Some one asks why, there are murmurs in the crowd. I am beyond curiosity, tired of the story that begins with Blood and ends in Glory. Glory, worshiped in the streets, feared in our hearts. Glory, bought with sin, greed and the end of innocence. Glory, balm for the living because the dead do not need soothing. Glory, an epithet hammered into gravestones. Glory in death -wrap that lie in a flag and praise it to heaven. We are false prophets and our blessing has cursed the dead with the Blood sacrifice.
Blood is paid for with youth, salvation, faith -everything, all they have and ever will. Blood is given (taken) in our name and we can only offer up sorrow, prayers, songs, statues. Blood should bring guilt, shame, truth, but we deny, deny, deny, and deny the abomination we have become. 2,000 suicides,3,000 dead,130,000 killed,6 million murdered,60 million casualties... the numbers do not lie. And we will go on counting the dead while rain polishes their headstones smooth.
So do not ask me why so many flags are at half staff. I will not give you the answer you want to hear. I will not mock the dead with vainglorious praise, Glory Glory Hallelujah! They are the mothers, fathers, sons and daughters who paid the price of Blood and I will honor them with the truth.
poem by Ronald Shields
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Birth And Death.
I who have known thee, Birth, must know Death too:
As old, old men their children's children fold
In their gaunt arms, and though their blood be cold
Feel their own youth burn in them as they view
The features that were theirs — each sign so true
To their own breath and blood, 'tis as retold
Their very youth was, when they are so old,
By those who nothing of their childhood knew.
So even Death but a new birth may be,
And in some other star beyond to-day,
When we have put the use of Earth away,
E'en like those old men's children's children we
May see ourselves rise from our own decay,
The very offspring of our verity.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Retrieved Poetry
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
But the inspiration keeps coming,
But the memory keeps living.
Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
It dies only if it is not poetry
And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
And nothing more, until that day,
Until we start thinking he is inspired,
Until we stop thinking for the poet;
He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument.
Even as we cut from the same tree,
Even as we speak same universal language,
You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
We can never speak from same mouth.
You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument,
If poetry is dead killed by death,
If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
The corpse should be in our front.
We should know how to bury it.
We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
If poetry is really dead,
There is cause to weep bitterly,
There is cause to think deeply
For the world has been stripped naked.
For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
At the burial we must remain emotionless.
poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
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One lives with hope of not dying.
Death may come when you’re asleep,
When you’re ill or by a snake bite,
Or by fire, by flood, or by a crash,
Anywhere, any time, and in any form.
You may witness innumerable deaths,
Now and then, near and afar,
But, are least disturbed and perturbed,
And live as though you are immortal
Claw of death is afar as you think,
Every deed you do with utmost faith.
Any moment you may die, if you reason,
No deed can you perform with verve.
Thanks to God.
05.02.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The wise discriminates lanes.
Women may take interest in you
From proximity, in your neighborhood.
Roads to them are not leading to Rome.
They are dead end lanes in a hamlet.
Have a stroll for instant pleasure.
10.5.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do You Fear?
Do you fear you have faked your emotion in an elaborate illusion of truth?
Do you believe that man is lucky in his limitations? As an eternity upon
This plain would shower upon any man the suffering of the years,
The death of all he would see and never join back within the circle,
He would never know the third realm, for before birth is the past of
Our souls, the mortal realm is a present whole, just as death is the
Undeniable future for us all. So do you believe that man is lucky?
For if a god is immortal but forgotten unto the achieves of mans history
Does it mean that they suffer an eternity in silence when no mortal
Shall offer libations for them until some ancient relic is found beneath
The surface of some red dirt desert sand? Are we alone the hands that feed
The gods as they walk throughout the realm of man jealous of his ability
To die and be one with all? Are we not they who would fall upon our knees
To know all there is to know? Restore the volume of your hearts first sigh.
poem by David Lacey
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Ghosts of Dreams
We are all of us dreamers of dreams,
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
From childhood to youth's but a span,
And the years of our life are soon sped;
But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man,
When the first of his dreams is dead.
'Tis a cup of wormwood and gall,
When the doom of a great man is said;
And the best of a man is under a pall
When the best of his dreams is dead.
He may live on by compact and plan
When the fine bloom of living is shed,
But God pity the little that's left of a man
When most of his dreams are dead.
Let him show a brave face if he can;
Let him woo fame and fortune instead;
Yet there's not much to do, but to bury a man
When the last of his dreams is dead.
poem by William Herbert Carruth
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Life is not A question, But It is an experience!
Life is not a question that to be
solved,
it should be experienced!
Life is that experience of facing
and solving problems,
toughest is to know the one who experience.
The evolution of life itself is story
of trial and error!
life itself is that greatest observer
of itself!
The vision of invisible viewing through mortal eyes,
hearing the silent eloquent by mortal ears,
touching the one beyond touch by mortal skin,
Smelling the one odourfree by mortal nose,
Tasting the one who is tastefree by mortal tongue
Immortal showing up as mortal!
Life is an experience between birth and death,
coming here as nothing,
Learning to love and hate,
Learning to work and expect fruits,
developing skill to use senses and devices,
Learning to use mind and intelligence,
Learning and conveying message,
The message of immortal to mortal,
The truth itself in pursuit of Truth!
Life itself is that truth,
looks like an experience
that constantly puts
its own existence
on trial...
The one who had born has to die,
But one who is eternal continues his eternal play!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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