We Are The Adivasis.[India]
We are the adivasis,
Those Mundals and Santals,
Who had lived in India
Before Dravidians did,
Before Aryans came through passes.
We are the adivasis,
Who by Aryans were
Called Rakshasas,
Who by Aryans were
Slaughtered to their whims and fancy.
We are the adivasis,
Like Ekalavya,
Who by Arya Drona was
Disabled to their delight,
To glorifiy Arjuna to our plight.
We are the adivasis,
A chunk of whom
By Aryans were branded
As Bahujans and Dalits
To serve them without touching.
We are the adivasis,
Whose God is not divine,
Nor beyond our kin,
But our own ancestors,
Who were to them devils and evils.
We are the adivasis,
Where there lived
Democracy and solidarity
With no superiority,
With no Brahmin nobility and purity.
We are the adivasis,
Whose women were
Not pawns or on pyres,
Nor a gift with dowries
But ones who chose their own mates.
We are the adivasis,
Who by Hindu Aryans
Were polluted
And by Christian intruders
Were diluted in our values and principle.
We are the adivasis,
Who want back our throne
Usurped by the invaders,
And who want to undo wrongs
And avenge the Aryan chauvinism.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Related quotes
We are the adivasis
.
We are the adivasis,
Those Mundals and Santals,
Who had lived in India
Before Dravidians did,
Before Aryans came through passes.
We are the adivasis,
Who by Aryans were
Called Rakshasas,
Who by Aryans were
Slaughtered to their whims and fancy.
We are the adivasis,
Like Ekalavya,
Who by Arya Drona was
Disabled to their delight,
To glorifiy Arjuna to our plight.
We are the adivasis,
A chunk of whom
By Aryans were branded
As Bahujans and Dalits
To serve them without touching.
We are the adivasis,
Whose God is not divine,
Nor beyond our kin,
But our own ancestors,
Who were to them devils and evils.
We are the adivasis,
Where there lived
Democracy and solidarity
With no superiority,
With no Brahmin nobility and purity.
We are the adivasis,
Whose women were
Not pawns or on pyres,
Nor a gift with dowries
But ones who chose their own mates.
We are the adivasis,
Who by Hindu Aryans
Were polluted
And by Christian intruders
Were diluted in our values and principle.
We are the adivasis,
Who want back our throne
Usurped by the invaders,
And who want to undo wrongs
And avenge the Aryan chauvinism.
19.07.2000, Paralakhemundi
[Adhivasi = the aboriginal tribes of India]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Irony of Things
It is an irony to believe that Ayothya
Is the birth place of Rama, as by the time
When Rama lived around 1450 B.C.,
Aryans never crossed Punjab or beyond.
It is an irony to say that Mathura
Is the birth place of Krishna, as by the time
When Krishna lived around 900 B.C.,
Aryans never reached up to Mathura.
It is an irony to establish that Durga,
A Dravidian origin, fostered later by Aryans,
Is the destroyer of Sura padman,
An asura, a co-dravidian, among Dravidians.
It is an irony that the very Dravidian
Movement has landed in the hand of a Brahmin
And then at a hand who too had mortgaged the interest
To Aryan for sake of his dynasty.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Vedic Conversion
The Veda is sacred; its hymens are sacred.
The Veda is holy; its hymns are holy.
We were told to toe; we were led to toe.
The nomadic tribe has brought it with them.
Buddhism was banished; Jainism vanished.
Natives were driven; Dravidians subverted.
It is the Aryans who conquered the continent.
It is the Aryans who remodelled its culture.
Success in war, stealing of cattle,
Love making, illogical rituals,
No moral codes, no benevolent deeds-
These are all the Vada speaks out
Manu codified Varnasrama Dharma.
Manu glorified kings and their style.
Manu crucified women’s interests.
Manu stupefied Sudhras and Dalits.
The Ramayana, an epic, lofted Rama
To a God Incarnation, who killed
Ravana, a Shiva devoee, thus holding
The supremacy of Aryans and Rama.
The Mahabharata tells godliness of Krishna,
Whose crafts in strategy of war
Belies his Geetha’s teachings of doing
Duties with detachment for the end.
Aryan revivalism rears its head.
They are out to eradicate gods
Other than their Rama and Krishna.
They want to make flourish
The Brahmin’s superiority and nobility
Over all indigenous Gods and culture.
11.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Ancient India
India is ample known
For its three thousand year old
Civilization brought in by Aryans,
Who invaded as nomads.
It is little known for its prior
Civilization lived by Dravidians
In Mohanjo daro and Harappa,
About five thousand years ago.
It is little known at all
For its ten thousand year old
Civilization planted
By Mundas and Santals,
Now tribes on hillocks,
Branded the most backward.
18.07.2000, Plkmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Hindus are not Vedic.
The Vedic concept is the Hindutva,
We are led and made to believe.
See the Gods the Hindus worship.
Most of them are not Vedic Gods.
See their custom and practice.
They did not originate from Veda.
Muslims and Christians converted
The people in India.
Aryans converted the gods of tribes.
Tribes followed their gods
To be sheltered in the Hinduism.
Hindus are not out and out Vedic.
But still Aryan Brahmins are their cowherd.
14.03.2001, Pomdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Supremacy is the beauty
Chubby lips, plump cheeks, massive breasts, fleshy buttocks,
Blunt nose, hairy skin, coarse hair and black eyes
Are the features the Dravidians inherited from the Negros.
Thin lips, flat cheeks, rounded breasts, slated buttocks,
Long nose, pale skin, silky hair and brown eyes
Are the features Aryan inherited from the White race.
Aryans are held beautiful by their cultural supremacy.
30.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Conversions dilute
The tribal god was made as Lord
Jagannath,
Dravidian Murugan was smeared as
Lord Venketesa,
Buddhists’ Buddha was declared as Lord
Ayyappa, the son of Hari and Haran.
Aryans employed conversion on other gods,
Who in turn brought their worshipers.
Thus, Vedic religion becomes the Hindu Religion.
Islam did conversion in replacing the Vedic gods.
Christianity did conversion through service.
Conversion of conversion dilutes conversion
10.01.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Double Ballade Of Primitive Man
He lived in a cave by the seas,
He lived upon oysters and foes,
But his list of forbidden degrees,
An extensive morality shows;
Geological evidence goes
To prove he had never a pan,
But he shaved with a shell when he chose, -
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.
He worshipp'd the rain and the breeze,
He worshipp'd the river that flows,
And the Dawn, and the Moon, and the trees,
And bogies, and serpents, and crows;
He buried his dead with their toes
Tucked-up, an original plan,
Till their knees came right under their nose, -
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.
His communal wives, at his ease,
He would curb with occasional blows;
Or his State had a queen, like the bees
(As another philosopher trows):
When he spoke, it was never in prose,
But he sang in a strain that would scan,
For (to doubt it, perchance, were morose)
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!
On the coasts that incessantly freeze,
With his stones, and his bones, and his bows;
On luxuriant tropical leas,
Where the summer eternally glows,
He is found, and his habits disclose
(Let theology say what she can)
That he lived in the long, long agos,
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!
From a status like that of the Crees,
Our society's fabric arose, -
Develop'd, evolved, if you please,
But deluded chronologists chose,
In a fancied accordance with Mos
es, 4000 B. C. for the span
When he rushed on the world and its woes, -
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!
But the mild anthropologist,--HE'S
Not RECENT inclined to suppose
Flints Palaeolithic like these,
Quaternary bones such as those!
In Rhinoceros, Mammoth and Co.'s,
First epoch, the Human began,
Theologians all to expose, -
'Tis the MISSION of Primitive Man.
ENVOY.
MAX, proudly your Aryans pose,
But their rigs they undoubtedly ran,
For, as every Darwinian knows,
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Rhiad & The Behovins
Oh, Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh, Oh-Oh
Rhiad and the bedouins
Got a plan and walk right in
But I don't feel that ???? from them
That I-am-crazy
Oh, my salvation
Oh, my frustrations
Caught in the lies
No one I love is there
Somewhere in time
When will I, get there?
Ohhhh
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh, Oh-Oh
Rhiad and the bedouins
So that's the world ????
But anybody ????
Who can't blame me?
Half the time they're bedouins
Nomads and/or Aryans
You'll never take me
Oh, my salvation
Oh, my frustrations
Caught in the lies
No one I love is there
Somewhere in time
People will like me there
Oh, sweet salvation
Oh, my frustrations
Caught in the lies
If you ignore this world
Somewhere in time
When will I, get there?
Ohhhh
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh, Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh, Oh-Oh
Oh, my salvation
Oh, my frustrations
Caught in the lies
If you ignore this world
Somewhere in time
People will like me there
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh, Oh
Oh-Oh, Oh
Oh-Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh
Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh
Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh
song performed by by Guns N' Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The good breed hardly dies.
With advent of democracy and literacy,
Went in decline the Brahmin authority.
Yet, the rest submit to their purity and nobility.
The well reared are not the well bred.
08.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Valour and Power
A man of virtue was Yudhirsta.
A man of strength was Bhima.
A man of volour was Arjuna.
A man of looks was Nakula.
A man of wisdom was Sahadeva.
Arjuna won Draupati.
Bhima held Droupati.
Women admire the valour; [Arjuna]
Women succumb to the power.[Bhima]
Women enjoy the beauty. [Nakula]
Women revere the wisdom [Sahadeva].
Women value the virtue.[Yudhirsta]
18.12.2001, Pakd
[Perceived from the Hindu Epic Mahabharata]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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About Yet Another Diwali Woe
Yet another Diwali has come with its entire glow,
Nay; its fury of sounds and flames
And the masses go crazy upsetting the tune of a happy time
Here in India with minds cracked down and deafening sounds raving on.
They buy crackers and rockets and blast up the regions calm
And they call it celebrations colourful with a difference
And go on burning the little bombs and shooting the tiny missiles.
The diyas* and the sweet dishes take a back seat
The pious women go unseen and their chants go unheard.
Diwali is all sounds and sounds and nothing else at all!
The demon king`s defeat and death at the hands of
Krishna**, the deity with a flute on the mouth
Reverberates with the message of victory of the good over the evil
Down the generations since the Aryans descended.
A baby being nourished and moulded in its mother`s womb
Wakes from its slumber and lies scarred and doomed
Its nightmare of future terror has just come true!
A septuagenarian oldie puts his hand on the heart and falls down,
He has just been out of the surgeon`s dark chamber
After a by-pass surgery done at his son`s mercy.
Then a crippled man struggles to reach his home.
How will all of them go on these tracks ever blasting?
The Diwali casts a spell of joy and happiness knit together!
But terrorizes all the animals and birds, the ones without
Gods, scriptures, castes and religions
And they flee from their small homes and nests
To reach nowhere they can breathe and lie un panicked.
The human civilization once threw them from the throne of equality
Man`s supremacy chained and caged them up for ever,
His religions re-animalised them further.
A blinded cat and bleeding mongrel line up next!
And man`s celebrations ever continue to cripple them for ever….
See, a dozen rodents lie with broken heads,
Feel it for yourselves, a hut has been on fire for long,
And an old camel has got a burn on its haunch.
A small kid on prowl has lost his vision
And two girls were crying after burning their palms both.
They were too celebrating the festival of Diwali!
All go frenzied with the logic of sounds
Of bursting crackers in all ecstasy!
A cracker manufacturing factory gets blown up
And the inferno kills tens and scores every time.
Hundreds of imprisoned pets
Shiver with dread and their small hearts
Pound and pout for hours together.
The sky too shakes and vomits sparks of fire
Innumerable feathered friends flutter aloud
And fly unto lands less populated.
Why this frenzy at all?
Is a festival here to destabilize a few
Even while cheering up many?
Do we have any right to instill fear and fright
In the small minds of our puppies and kitten?
Do we have any common sense at all
When we celebrate a festival this way madly?
An alien writing from the space stations above the earth`s reach
Will begin to wonder about the folly of this noise
Imposed on all the living stocks
Without any discretion or empathy
And he/she will report to the masters anxious
About this fury and sound ever emerging
Signifying nothing but a soon-to-be lost speck of life
In India on this peninsula of past glory!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Men of Honour!
Fourteen years in forests he lived
For in honesty he believed;
And ‘Rama’ in hard turf thus forayed
His father’s words he had obeyed.
When with might he takes the aim
Puts the greatest archers to shame
His teacher showed a bird on tree
Nothing but its eye, ‘Arjuna’ would see.
Out in the lawns of his school
The sage had his pupils busy,
A tiger attacked, to ‘sala’ he called
And the tiger was stabbed brutally.
A Brahmin scholar of intensity
Faced the corrupt kings atrocity,
Undid his braid and he did swear,
'Chandragupta' rose, 'chanakya' tied his hair.
poem by Seema Aarella
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The Decline of the West
Now it is not good for the Christian's health to hustle the Aryan
brown,
For the Christian riles, and the Aryan smiles, and he weareth the
Christian down;
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white with the name of
the late deceased,
And the epitaph drear: "A Fool lies here who tried to hustle the
East."
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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I have lived
I have lived through being
Neruda's mermaid, feeling
Every cigarette burn.
I have lived through being
The African Princess,
Where the Prince turned
Back into a Lion.
I have lived through being
A ballerina, dancing gracefully
Upon the stage.
I have lived through trying
To be a poet, but frosted
Out not knowing rules.
I have travelled places
So beautiful, I still go
Back for more, no fool.
But best of all, I can say
I have lived,
Because of you.
poem by Harriet James
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An Acceptable Way Of Life
Even though there are thieves and deceivers,
And everything imagined corruptable and crooked...
In these days now lived and...worshipped!
To be exposed as they are amongst us.
It is in the pomp and circumstance of the doing,
That treats those delighted...
Who have found they have become addicted.
To allow a wickedness to thrive.
And those opposed against what is now valued,
Are regarded as traitors to an acceptable way of life.
Becoming the ones now accused,
To making drastic changes,
With a restoring of those lost values.
Attempts to correct those wrongs have been protested.
Exposing them for what they are has people outraged
How can anyone eliminated those wrongs uplifted.
To make again those things remembered,
That once had been great and lived as right.
'We will fight to protect our interests that are valued.
We will fight to spread the decadence,
We so love and praise.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Uncommon Reality
I never lived in your world.
I never knew what it was like.
I have no real conception, of what normality is?
I never had to take drugs to escape.
I already lived in a world of my own.
I never aimed for or earnestly sort the high life.
I lived an artistic life, of the mind of the soul,
forever separating my life, from the common life.
From the common man and the common clay.
Everything was so sharp and clearly in focus.
Everywhere I saw and heard and knew too much.
I lived upon a heightened vibration rate
an awareness; as incredibly focused intensity.
I lived with such dynamic, personal passion,
I did not know; what it was like; to be passionless.
I knew that some people lived husks of life
but I; did not fully know; what it was to be a husk.
I always had somewhere beneath adversity
which afflicted me; the redemption; of artistic insight.
I guess this explains why husks gather,
so many possessions, to prop up their lives.
Husks are so empty, they often get blown away,
by the soulless wind, generating materialistic values.
I bequeath
a sacred gift
to enhance
enrich such lives.
Come live within
spirit of creativity
one spirit almighty
our divine creator.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Thieves Like Us
Ive watched your face for a long time
Its always the same
Ive studied the cracks and the wrinkles
You were always so vain
Well, now you live your life like a shadow
In the pouring rain
Oh, its called love
Yes, its called love
Oh, its called love
And it belongs to us
Oh, it dies so quickly
It grows so slowly
But when it dies, it dies for good
Its called love
And it belongs to everyone but us
Ive lived my life in the valleys
Ive lived my life on the hills
Ive lived my life on alcohol
Ive lived my life on pills
But its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
And its the only thing thats worth living for
Its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
Yes its called love
Oh, love is found in the east and west
But when love is at home, its the best
Love is the cure for every evil
Love is the air that supports the eagle
Its called love
And its so un-cool
Its called love
And somehow its become unmentionable
Its called love
And it belongs to every one of us
Its called love
And it cuts your life like a broken knife
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Had I lived another life
Had I lived another life
~
Had I lived another life
What would I have to show in equal years
Would I be loved instead of just loving
And know the lasting secret to another’s heart
How would I then count my mistakes
Would my company be welcomed not accepted
It is a fruitless thought to be considered
For the never will be a known answer
I am but the sum of all my years combined
I harbour my guilt and shameful pride
Those words I wish to take back
And the others I now wished I had now said
Had I lived another life
Would I carry these same regrets
Would I know sorrows of yet another unkind
There are things which have shaped me
That I would happily go back and change
Perhaps in another life I may well feel the same
For all the unknown reasoning’s
One thing stands out as a certain
That life is a gift, a gift to the living
poem by Matthew Holloway
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There Once Was A Man...
There once was a man, they called brave
Who lived in a hole, called a grave...
Well, being the host
To many a ghost,
He arranged a big bash, called a rave
There once was a man, called a knave
Who lived in a hole, called a cave...
Not being too keen
About keeping it clean...
Well, he took on a wife, called a slave
There once was a man with a stave
Who lived in a holy enclave...
Maintaining a grin
While absolving the sin,
He assessed wicked tales and forgave
There once was a monk with a wave
Who wanted a head with a shave...
The barber was such
That she cut back too much
Thereby leaving his globus concave
There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious he could not behave...
They paid him no mind,
'Caus his name was maligned,
Simply being a sinner to save
There once was a man quite depraved
A voluptuous life was thus craved...
Well, continuous sin
Ended doing him in -
On his tombstone they carved ‘Misbehaved'
poem by Terry O'Leary
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