Che
Che
(On behalf 14th June of the birth day of Ernesto Che Guevara)
Instinct wind of injustice
Universal smell of humanity
Mixing colors of identity
Symbolic indelible revolutionary
Constant threat of breath death
Challenging forwarded minimizing the life
Death was defeated by soft of honesty
Left you forever name of majesty
Poetic character and cinematic story
Ended in Bolivia giving exemplary history
Shooting to so called nations of boundary
Fighting to topple the devil of capitalist
Blossomed the red flower spreading dignity
Lit up the candle of revolutionary humanity
Present and future for most of validity
Sacrificed the life for others of identity
Stylized visage waving over the globe
Become a ubiquitous shadow of symbol
Created universe insignia of our time
Start together with promise comrade Che
Udaya R. Tennakoon
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Identity Of I
Identity is not what I promise others
Identity is what I do when I am alone
Identity is what I think of others
Knowing all the hatred they've shown
Identity is what every wound reminds me
Identity is what I learn and what I pass by
Identity is what I see in the mirror
After giving my best try
Identity is what I make out of my given chance
Identity is what I accept and what I deny
No one else has control over me
Life is about me, and what I identify
poem by Abhiraj Rajadhyaksha
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Refugee Moon
You are like me
Who haven't a way to go
And to stay
Wondering aimlessly
I have seen you
In my home country
Even before sun set
Hiding and peeping
Watching out to encage
Into the growing darkness
But I couldn’t identify
You are as a refugee.
At the terrible time
Escaping from my death
During the swash buckling things
Happening in white nights
I turned up to
City of Katmandu in Himalayan valley
Getting a cheapest room
In a top of a dirty and dusty old building
Suffered from the fever of loneliness
I opened the window
To hear of the outside sound
As I was being at my home
It was a surprise
You was there too
Rambling behind a cloud
Like me as a refugee
The moon
I never identified before.
Without specific place and space
Universal camp of the out sided world
Giving light to the dark
Try to awaken from the blindness
Of the humanity
Now you are like me or I am like you
Udaya R. Tennakoon
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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The narrative constructs the identity of the character, what can be called his or her narrative identity, in constructing that of the story told. It is the identity of the story that makes the identity of the character.
quote by Paul Ricoeur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At the risk of sounding ridiculous, a true revolutionary is guided by great feelings of love.
quote by Ernesto Che Guevara
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eternal Creation
The Parent’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to the child; but to irrefutably ensure that the infant was nourished with their breath and blood till the time it could unflinchingly fend for its symbiotic survival; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created them for,
The Sun’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to light; but to irrefutably ensure that the rays optimistically enlightened even the most infinitesimally lugubrious cranny of remorsefully cloistered earth; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Rose’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fragrance; but to irrefutably ensure that the majestic resplendence ebulliently blossomed into the lives of countless haplessly beleaguered and bereaved; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Peak’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to victory; but to irrefutably ensure that the royal triumph peerlessly massacred even the most ethereal iota of devilishness form this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
Nature’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to newness; but to irrefutably ensure that the evolution metamorphosed every bit of egregiously stagnating ghoulishness into a sky of rhapsodic freshness; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Cloud’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to rain; but to irrefutably ensure that the water stupendously ignited vivaciously iridescent life in every ingredient of hopelessly dying soil; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Conscience’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to truth; but to irrefutably ensure that the righteousness insuperably conquered every trace of diabolical lies on earth and the atmosphere; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Ocean’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to salt; but to irrefutably ensure that the tanginess wonderfully illuminated every treacherously spiceles and deliriously lackadaisical moment of life; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Poet’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fantasy; but to irrefutably ensure that the dream spellbindingly impregnates the winds of Omnipotent romance into monotonously monstrous robots; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,
The Lip’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to smiles; but to irrefutably ensure that the happiness altruistically perpetually perpetuates into every dwelling incarcerated in chains of murderous gloom; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Rainbow’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to vividness; but to irrefutably ensure that the color timelessly enshrouded every gruesomely befriended orphan; miserably deteriorating on the globe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Shadow’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to tranquility; but to irrefutably ensure that the peacefulness granted celestial reprieve to every bizarrely estranged soul squandering on this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The philanthropist’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to unity; but to irrefutably ensure that the oneness miraculously coalesced every spuriously staggering and cold-bloodedly fighting caste; creed and tribe into the unassailable religion of humanity; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,
The wind’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to freedom; but to irrefutably ensure that the liberation unequivocally freed every element of torturously enslaved earth till times immemorial; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The night’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to sensuality; but to irrefutably ensure that the passion brilliantly transformed every speck of infertility into the chapters of everlastingly Omniscient procreation; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The eyelash’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to flirtation; but to irrefutably ensure that the mischief serenely catapulted every fretfully frenetic organism into realms of impeccable childhood; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The soldiers job just doesn’t end at giving birth to martyrdom; but to irrefutably ensure that the valor to timelessly serve the mothersoil; throbbed fearlessly in every chest; even centuries after his veritable death; was what the Almighty Creator had created him for,
The breath’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to life; but to irrefutably ensure that the exultation inexhaustibly transcended over; even the most inane anecdote of baseless corruption and demeaning death; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
And the heart’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to Love; but to irrefutably ensure that the compassionate togetherness tirelessly bonded the entire planet into a paradise of Omnipresently unshakable strength; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for…
©copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. All rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Seasonal Birds and rejected refugees
Crossing borders
Breaking rules
Flying birds
Having a hope of life
Entered into their kingdom
Where the freedom is
From region to region
And season to season
Singing and flying
Enjoy the immigrant life
No one ask from where they come
Fruits and nectar warmly welcome
Immense sky freedom to fly
Differentiated man question why
Crossing borders secretly
Violate rules willingly
Creating stories so strongly
Refugee life hopefully
Having taken finger prints
Identity in data bank
Scanning the life so sharp
Bounded freedom granted
Here and there question is freedom
Freedom and life relatively different
Human beings of highest wisdom
Borders still are so apparent
Seasonal birds are free to fly
Failed identity compel to fly
Dream of freedom going to die
Rejected humanity of world so why
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Man Beyond Nothingness
A particle afloat in the ocean of infinity,
Yet, so conscious of self in profuse vanity –
Lofty though his thoughts may be, they’re all profanity.
Man is nothing, made of nothing, that’s his identity.
Emptiness craves for sensation beyond sanity,
Like a black hole eating anything in its vicinity,
Such is the tale of empty, chaotic, gravity;
Man is nothing, made of nothing, that’s his identity.
Lost in a world of baneful, belligerent brevity,
Filled with protests of ignoramus sincerity,
Tossed between lines lacking any clarity,
He lives, dies, and is buried in utter poverty.
The Son of God came down from His celestial city,
He left Heaven and donned the garb of humanity.
He lived, loved, and served in all simplicity,
Then died by the hands of those professing religiosity.
But, He arose the third day, breaking death’s jaws of fatality,
Alas, the shame of those who die in their hostility,
For the Son of Man is ascended to the Throne of Supremity –
And all knees will bow before the Name of His Majesty,
Before the One who is given all authority,
Because He stooped down, emptied self and defeated vanity –
God girded His loins to serve sinful humanity!
What is man but a finite speck of futility,
Driven o’er surges, surrounded by fests of calamity;
Unless the Son of God had loved us, we wouldn’t have any identity!
“For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren.” (Romans 8: 29)
poem by Domenic Marbaniang
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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death death death death death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My Bag
My bag with me like shadow
Comes without a word
Hanging on my back
Bearing burden inside
Wherever I go
Behind me
What I put into it
Never got angry
When I have a rest
Keeping aside it
Until the destination
It has no rest
Strength, shape and beauty
Dwindles and fades gradually
Heartfelt mate and buddy
I cannot throw it away
Carried out past of me
Dug up memories of me
Never told secrets of me
It is a witness of me
Being a part of my identity
Stayed with an inseparable life
Many time I felt so pity
This is the way of insistent life
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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The Lonely Spider
The lonely spider reaches out
For what, you might ask?
If not to spin his web then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
The lonely spider calls out
For what, you might ask?
If not for his mate then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
The lonely spider waits
For what, you might ask?
If not for his food then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
'A spider doesn't have feelings! '
How should you know?
'A spider isn't that smart! '
That could be true.
'A spider can never have a real identity! '
And neither could you, or any of us
But we try to find one even if we're not looking
And thats our life... after which we die
What have we done with our life up until then?
Either we've thrown it away, gave it up, wrecked it, lived it up to the fullest, took it for granted, or got far in it.
We still had one.
It's up to us what we shall do with it
Just like the lonely spider
Who will probably just end up on the bottom of your shoe anyways
poem by Andreanna Atkins
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Drought in Mind
It is a lake
Dried up
By the drought
Creaked and evaporated
Poetic soul
Lights with thunder
Sky is threatened
Signs, words and metaphors
Conceiving in clouds
Darken the mind
Waken up pen
Searches for
To have a blank paper
To a poetic rain
Stirring up the mind
Ill grown cyclone
Aborts rains
Udaya R. Tennakoon
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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David Bowies Revolutionary Song
When people call us revolutionary
Theyre just tryin to see
All that we choose
When all we want is everybody free
The universe would be one brotherhood
It isnt wrong to be prepared to fight
Together to unite if we believe
In giving everything our heart and soul
Until we reach the goal we should achieve
It shouldnt matter if were brown or white
Yellow or black as night to anyone
Were all born equal with the self same rights
Sharing the same daylight under the sun
If loving freedom makes me quality
Of opportunity is where revolutionary
Constantly, fervently, firmly
Revolutionary
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death - The Gift of Life
There’s nothing certain but death
Nor beyond nor before
We are born and live to die
Death the only gift of life
We fret; make noise, shout and cry
We skid from hills to valley and back
Get torn among home, work and friends
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We fight, we scream, we spurn
We step on each others’ toe
All to achieve and amass
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Walk we straight with pride
Look we people in the eye
Seldom do we stop and stoop
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We make friends, yet sly
Break hearts and water eyes
Too proud to bend or mend
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Each death promise another
Our last breath gives forth life
To another birth to die again
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Never can we live past in life
In death we reach the very start
From grains we come, to grains we go
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
poem by Thomas PJ New Delhi
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Plan for the day
Plan for the day
Ticking the clock
Remind the life
Even it is no sense
Non stop circle
Carry the journey
Seconds minutes and hours
Jump into days weeks months and years
Making plans hanging calendars
Property extends
Without body and soul
Showing openness
Desire to be encaged
Having collected
Talking humanity
Shooting to democracy
Crying for freedom
Acting multiple characters
In the Theatre of Greece
In the mean time
While everything happen
I want to make
A different plan
Early morning I get up
Adjusting my mind
Keeping promises to myself
To have breakfast of hope
Walking through the jungle
Give me the fear and trust
Blossoming flowers and singing birds
Teach me the beauty of unity
Unity in diversity
On the way I meet people
Smiles left faces
They give lesson of empathy
In return I grant the honesty
We have our lunch with
New born happiness
Sharing equal smell of humanity
I am tired and thirsty
No turn back
Even it is rough and tough
Making fresh
Having rest
Drinking pure water by the river
Enjoy the nature little bit
On the way I look back
Guests of trusts
Burden of tasks
Credible challenges
Follow me
End of the sun set
Welcoming to dark
I finish my trip
Unfinished things
Handing over to night
I have the dinner
At the room of lighted candles
It is not the day or the night
Light or the dark
Memorised mind
Stepped back to the past
Collected moments came back soon
Soul of principles with my paint brush
Between the light and dark of feeling
Paint on canvas of the life
With transformed colour of beauty
Udaya R. Tennakoon
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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There’s Always a Dawn
There were spears
There were swords
Made for hunting
Not war
Yet with it, from the blood of the innocent will create a new dawn
But war came
Great battles and fights
Many dead
Few still alive
To face the never ending dawn
A new world made
By the people who were left
Conquerors and Defeated
United in one land
A new dawn created with the help of man
The one land changed
More wars began
Famine and disease
Grew a part of that
But the dawn still remained
It was after these wars that history began
Written by the victors about
The defeated
The damned
The dawn was never mentioned- forgotten
These people
The defeated left the land
In search for a new home
Away from the wars
Searching forever for a new dawn
Perhaps they were wise
To leave with such haste
For the empire they once knew
Began to break
The dawn now remembered- the people prayed
The empire broke
The great kingdom now gone
In its place a new world just like the dawn
Still life in the world went on and on
Yet the dawn was still worshiped- never forgotten
The years past
More wars began
Countries discovered
New weapons for man
The promise man made- left to die
Centuries turned
Discoveries made
Technology found
Diseases dead
Still on and on the dawn survives
But for every technology there’s always a weapon
For every discovery there’s always a second
With one disease dead more still arrive
And with every new day a new world is created
Though the dawn still remained
So the world keeps turning
In the dark and light
For every bad thing
There’s always a light
In the dawn
In war it is Peace
In death it is Life
In disease it is the Cures
In the world it is Hope
Disguised as the dawn
Hope keeps us going
Through the bad it is strength
To do what is right, To help the world
In the light it shines, shines for the future, a brighter day
A new dawn
The earth might be in darkness
With a shadow on its edge
Waiting to consume
Till the universe is dead
The dawn still remains
But still the world keeps turning
Like the never ending dawn
Time is forever
And the universe survives
Because of the dawn
It might seem the end
Of the world that we know
But at the end of a day
There’s always mans hope
There’s always a dawn
poem by Carrie Halliday
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Injustice
Injustice is the bone
In the throat of humanity
And it has been giving
Intolerable pain
Through out history
If you swallow it down
It will come more and more in swarm
You make it a breading ground
It will come more and more in swarm
After some hard work
If you are able to throw it out
You get a victory on behalf of all
In the history of human struggle.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Me: The thief of my Identity
The thief of my Identity
To my Friends and Family
My true Identity
Is all that makes me
I stole my identity
My personality
What I live for, What I breath for
What I'd fight for, what I'd die for
If not for my soul,
I would be lost once again
For my True Identity has fled me
Fled me for another
It is the dancing shadow you play with,
The beauty you can see in yourself,
And the hostility.
It wants to see you suffer,
It is most content, when you are in despair.
When I can look into my self
and find the real Identity of my inner self,
Until then I will not blame anyone
for my misfortune
poem by Brad Combs
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Flock together to defeat Evil
Swarming you from out and in
Rising in all around
Come to advance
To defeat the evil
Possessed in the land
The earth including you
Goes into a pit of darkness
In your own land
While painting black oil
On the justice and humanity
Even in impossibility
The Sky brings thunder
The Sea brings storms
The wind brings cyclones
To be convinced the nature
Realized nature around you
Looking at everything
Till comes the time
If you are not a human being
You can see if you are wise and clam
Then you will be said by nature
Only you can change
Within yourself and around you
If you are ready
If you are ready
Put a side your egoism
Evil covets to creep into that
And you are decayed unknown
So you subject
Remove your old clothes and masks
And flock together to struggle
And to drive away the evil
For the freedom
With humanity and dignity
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Star Trek Slumps Into Hollywood Darkness
Gene Rodenberry spun unique visions
we ventured into space in our infancy
virgin birth born in space explorations
Gene Rodenberry spun tales of a brighter future
indomitable will of man to triumph humanity
to succeed against a great unknown evil all odds
in depths of space we faced entropy our greatest fears
good resolutely succeeded against fear impossible odds
across lights years we won dignity respect for humanity
Star Trek Into Darkness slays a fine heritage of visions
since when was going into space not going into darkness
killing off intelligence all of the Romulans and Vulcans
is not part of a 'brighter' future enlightened hopes
what moron sacrificed our glory in a journey of light?
saturates earth in evil colors black bleak grey white
lone semi-silhouetted villain stands before ruined cityscapes
gone is bright dream Starfleet federation of intelligent species
crew of Enterprise is called back home to find an unstoppable
force of terror from within their magnificent Starfleet
organization; has detonated the fleet; everything it stands
for leaving our world in a state of raw ruin chaos crisis
we who embrace spiritual journeys destinies of light
reject fractured Hollywood outline; dark terror fear symbol;
Starfleet is not insignia ominous but our future bright
poem by Terence George Craddock
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