The cause of the guilt
I put to death mosquitoes and rodents.
I caused deaths of goats and fowls.
I brought down falls of enemies.
No sense of guilt has prevailed on me
As it did when I cornered petty things
Of my parents, unknown to my siblings.
19.10.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Related quotes
Man can…
I don’t feel I kill when I take
Antibiotics to kill germs.
I don’t feel I kill when I kill
Rodents, mosquitoes and serpents.
I kill fowls, goats and fish for food.
This’ the way I’ve been brought up
And I do it for my survival.
Terrorists don’t feel that they kill
When they kill innocent people,
Without which too they can survive.
Man’s mastered all his predators.
Terrorists are his predators.
It is time he annihilated them.
31.11.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The identity and its cause
I did for parents as I stood by parents.
I did for siblings as they stood as my
parts.
I did for my wife and children later
As they are seen as my branches.
I did for women whom I wooed and
Loved,
With the hope of getting them.
I was the net loser, losing happily.
Identity with one makes you that one.
04.10.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Identity
I like and take sides because
They are my parents,
My siblings, my wife,
My offspring, my clans
My religion, my nation,
My race or my whoever.
Without identity, no activity.
16.02.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Does Man Create His Gods?
Does man create his gods or do gods create themselves in likeness to man?
Was it not death that fist stirred in man a curiosity of his greater self?
Was it not death and knowing our loved ones and enemies to fall into the dust
That caused us to pray and pour libations in there honour?
Was it not the unknown that caused man in curiosity that would make
Alice proud, to ponder the shades of his intellect in an attempt to shed light
Upon a truth concealed within the looking glass ripples of fresh water springs?
poem by David Lacey
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Understanding Late
I understood about my parents
Only after their deaths.
I understood about my siblings
Only after their parenthood.
I understand about my children
Only after my invalidity.
In case I am reborn,
I would not do wiser.
(30.01.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Accustomed to the pain
The innumerable funerals
Witnessed give me hope that after my death
My children will do likewise for me too.
Throwing away people and things valued
By their parents, on their deaths, gives me pain
That mine too will meet the same fate post death.
13.05.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Eagles in a Canyon
soaring past the canyon walls
the babies hear their familiar calls
The parents are returning, synchronizing a stunt
to supply their babies with food from a hunt
This time the food was easy to fetch
for the goats were pushed, off the canyon's edge
To the rocks below, they fell to their death
now the pair zoomed in with no shortness of breath
bringing back to their babies, this elaborate catch
two baby goats for their chicks, a perfect match
Now they soar again, through the canyon walls
passing cascades of watery falls
To reach the tree, they call their own
and the beautiful home, they've always known.
(Charlie vergara/06.25.2009/15112)
poem by White Tiger
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It took us a long time to find out that we had been lied to by our parents' generation. The moralities that were followed during our parents' generation were basically arbitrary. This caused a rift between the two generations, which was brought on by the beatniks.
quote by Peter Fonda
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mosquitoes
If mosquitoes were not there
To draw blood from your capillaries
You would have to visit your doctor
Every week to get rejuvenated
For Gods sake donot destroy the vale of tears
Where mosquitoes breed
Mosquitoes do not take fees
But the doctors do
If doctors replace mosquitoes
The global market will no doubt expand
For the benefit of man and the USA
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Pro-life…
I thank my mother,
Who brought me forth
Into the world,
God made, so bold.
And my dear father,
For doing his worth,
To raise me up,
With love-filled cup.
I admire them
For such strong faith,
And duty-minds -
Both rare are finds.
I was their child eighth,
Of ten children!
God blessed them well;
Their work was swell.
But had they stopped with
Just one or two,
Like how some did:
Oh, God forbid!
What lovely parents
They turned to be,
And lived all life,
Despite much strife
If not for them both
What would I be?
-An abortus
Or dead fetus!
The love of Maker,
Good parents give
To children all,
When they are small
Such children bring them
Blessings from God,
And intense mirth,
Right here on earth.
I thank you parents;
I thank you God,
For gift of birth,
And lovely earth.
Just think of parents
Who do abort,
Against God’s will,
By their weak will.
Their life will be filled
With emptiness;
Their guilt and sins
Makes life non-sense.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-28-2008
poem by John Celes
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A Petty Pebble
(Written on the sad demise of Haji Khalil my friend)
He was my friend,
Who ever defended my cause,
Spoke he in my favour
With the words of flavor,
He was bold and ever told
The truth in the face,
Resolved he worries of others,
Regarded friends his brothers.
He partook in the drama of life
By moving around the town,
By sharing woes and worries,
Of the troubled beings;
He was humble, and had a heart
Pity packed, mind charged with faith.
He was yet unknown
To the plagues of jealousy and pride:
The scissors that cut bonds
Among fellow beings.
Ah! One day at noon, he was shot thrice
By prevailing Wickedness,
For the deed undone,
In the country where law of forest rules,
And blood bounteously flows
In the streets.
He was victimized
By ears-plod suspicion,
His death shocked no one
But his sons, daughters and friends.
On the day of deed before
The evening fell,
He was entrusted to the Mother Earth,
Where he will sleep undisturbed,
But my heart will ever weep,
Grieve on his death
For the wound his death caused
Will ever remain gaped,
With bleeding ajar lips.
On the next day a news of four lines
Was published in some local Dailies,
Too tiny to find among the contents,
Then silence prevailed,
And no one talked anymore,
His demise disturbed a little
The rural environ as if someone
Threw a petty pebble
Into the ocean of time.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Death And Me
Death settled onto his dark Cleopatra couch
picking admirers who in black auras
sought immortality in magnificent deaths.
'I have artists, kings, monarchs, and especially writers
who sometimes write their own epitaphs years in advance
who cozy up to me seeking my fame and finality.
I say to them there will be no communiques you know beyond this
but they don't relent
some determined to write their final scene
for sequestration in all of memory
in family
in friends or foes minds.
Some believe, I think,
that a magnificent life
deserves a magnificent death.
But you see, '
said Death
'so many imitators
come to me
using me, yes using me for petty means
to revenge, guilt slinging, and often accidentally.
I forever have to suffer amateurs in this.
Many dress for the occasion
identify stardom at last their last equation
and I raise my cloak
disabuse the few and the many
who seek individuality not understanding that
I death only distribute
rearrangements of individuals
into the future many;
Individuals too; often see their own demise
as death
which of course is not true;
individuals are only conduits
for the what is to come to be.
He sighed.
I am merely the medium
which takes individuality
and re-center it
into the cosmos.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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When I was 14 -years-old, I made this PowerPoint presentation, and I invited my parents into my room and gave them popcorn. It was called 'Project Hollywood 2004' and it worked. I moved to L.A. in January of 2004.
quote by Emma Stone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unknown Girl
You are the unknown girl that i have to make to,
You are the unknown girl sitting alone in the forest,
You are the unknown girl with the fruits of love so sweet,
But there exists s friend sticking closer than your siblings;
So come into my arms my sweet one.
To tell or not to tell?
You are the unknown girl still looking for a lover;
To seek or not to seek?
You are the unknown girl who is still in love with my muse;
To ask or not to ask?
You are the unknown girl with the attractive breasts!
For you need a true loving companion like my type.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Finding Life In Death
I spend so much time doting on earth and what it has,
Enjoying what's mine to use, to take, to squander.
I keep modeling myself to what I think will work,
But for my mistakes there is no remedy.
All my light, no matter how hard I shine,
Cannot overcome these stains of dark, of perversion, of guilt.
I look around and am without excuse, there is success, there is right,
But where does this over powering light, that is not subdued by death come from?
Nothing I have within me can overcome me,
Who is this intercessor that magnetically pulls me towards him?
This light, somehow familiar with death, a death, many deaths,
my death.
How is his death on my hands because of my death?
My death, my dying, my deeds deserving death...
For my death he died?
How redemption suddenly eclipses all other pursuits,
I switch from seeking sin to seeking salvation.
And it is found.
poem by Benjamin Feliciano
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Be in other’s shoes.
With your siblings, don’t fight.
Your mother, dead or alive,
Won’t digest it. Could you
When your children fighting?
03.08.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I'm Reading Psalm 31...
Sin….
what is it? Is there such a thing?
Is it, would it be, a good thing to have?
do I want it? or do I have it,
so deep, it’s more trouble than illumination…?
All that sadness, all that sense of failure,
all that sense of impending doom,
all that guilt in respect of
person or persons unknown…
or that always trying to please persons
known or unknown…
yes, that makes sense…
So, who am I supposed to have sinned against?
Since I’m a bit hazy about God, then
have I sinned against myself?
Memories now of schooldays – Michael,
you’ve let yourself down…and then
of course they have to add, and you’ve let down
your parents, and you’ve let me down
as your teacher….seems I’m some sorta
team player… who picked this team anyway?
OK, let’s just suppose that there’s
some vast, perfect self-balancing system
running the whole caboosh (with maybe,
wholly good intentions) so that
if you steer badly, then there’s
first the hard shoulder, then the grass verge,
then maybe if you’re on the race track,
piled-up tires, some sort of resistant and yet yielding wall..
and after the hospital period, your steering
is rather more careful, rather more attentive…
so maybe, a sense of … let’s call it
good roadsmanship –
‘Paradise Garden Welcomes Careful Drivers’…
would be a good thing … say ‘sin’
but smile as you say it …
just a warning sign - 'Black Spot'; 'Dangerous Bend';
where the other guys came to grief...
and life – the highs and oh those deepdown downlows –
is more about being your very agreeable self,
and somebody else’s idea of sin
very much a thing of the past;
the neighbours wave at you,
and the postman seems glad to see you.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Logic in killings
Tigers and foxes are protected.
They are neither meek nor useful.
Goats and fowls are slaughtered.
Meek and useful though they are.
31.08.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Regrets and curses
Who had not regretted
That they had neglected
Their parents after their deaths?
Who had not cursed
Their children for the neglects
They had from them at their death?
19.12.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Hyperboles and Such
A bubble floats,
Will pass on by,
The cows and goats
Begin to cry.
The balloon falls dead.
The whip cracks dawn.
The frog prince hopes.
The jungle kings yawn.
Until then, the till now plows.
And earth now weeps for goats and cows.
poem by Jesse Swedlund
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