A Tryst with the Terrorist
The Prologue
'The terrorist began to speak...'
'How can a terrorist talk
When his only words are bombs? '
'Well, he did speak all the same...
In my haunted dreams, of course:
The Monologue
Does a lion dialogue with his prey?
He just charges and strikes his quarry.
Why should I tarry?
I'd simply finish off
Anyone whose face I detest.
I should be the master
Of all I survey.
The universe is for man alone
Strongest of them only reign here
The rest have no place,
So them I'll put to rest.
I am the only best
To decide what is right.
One thought only should do the rounds
In the world
And that should be mine
I'm a one-track hero.
Sword is mightier than word
Force is greater than friendliness
Terrorism is superior to humanism
This is my credo
I'm an iconoclast.
A single sweep of sword
Puts my enemy down;
Words would take eons
Yet might not change my foe.
I can't be patient
I'm a bloodhound in a hurry.
Anyway, words are damned duds
They are for sissies
Who have time to waste
I am a he-man of deeds.
I take my victims off guard
And hit them on the sly
Like a slithering cobra
Aren't I from the Devil's line?
The Epilogue (With Double Acrostic)
Terrorising nations and people with devilish delight
Eliminating, side by side, all reason and dialogue
Reckless in deeds, hell-bent upon undoing all order
Rearing their explosive heads all over like a meteor
Only to impose their sadistic tyranny with frenzied aggro!
Reaction to terrorism, as Nature's law, is bound to occur
In terms of eschatology, 'Hells-where, ' if not on earthly loci.
Symphony of divergent notes, symbiotic existence of all beings
My dear brothers, is the Divine Design, whatever be our (sch) ism!
[Jan 10,2009: : Hyderabad - 500 056]
poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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Related quotes
Terrorism: War Of Today
TERRORISM, WA OF TODAY
mELVIN bANGOLLAY
This world we lived outlived many war
The war against nation's tyranny
Racial vindication for the weak country
Has made volumes of war history
Of terrorism against all humanity.
Today the war against terrorism
Still waging as a way of showing idealism
By some groups of people with dynamism
To take the lives of innocent victims
By the power of their goons extremism.
Everybody should be aware today
That terrorist knows no limit or boundary
To put the lives of many at their mercy
In their desire to see death everyday
As their joy and ultimate trophy of victory.
We should not let this be an act of patriotism
For the terrorist believes in this idealism
That to take the lives of Christians and Muslims
Is an act of greatness and noble living
For Allah or the Father God dislike this offering.
Along with all Poets in every land or country
I fervently appear to wage war against terror's fury;
I strongly believed that through our pen today
We can heal the wounds of war and tyranny
And light terrorist minds to stop their advocacy.
poem by Melvin Banggollay
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Who is terrorist?
Is it a state of mind or thy ambition?
The friends of past are now foes,
Who nourished these thorny plants?
They have taken the form of huge trees.
Thy double standard has put the world
Into the furnace of destruction.
They are terrorist or crusadors,
The world peace has been spoiled,
By thy dubious definition.
Millions of children were orphans
And women widows,
In the name of terrorism.
The whole universe belongs to
Almighty,
Let Him decide what is to be done,
In this way balance will be maintained,
And terrorism will be checked,
But whom He will punish?
Why fear thou?
Thou dost call thyself innocent.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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The One Who Lasts
God is the one who lasts forever,
His kingdom is designed and everlasting.
The effort of a design is only twice,
Yet his effort is never like slumber.
The day is of night, and the nights speak,
Forming new words for us to cheat.
The effort of this design is not stupid,
It is greater for the men who walk
And they continuously talk and converse,
Opening the chapter full of divine words,
Kissing their pages, killing the enemy
And their verse is not of women who dance
According to music.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Conversation
Look at me.
Don’t talk back.
My heart cannot speak-
My eyes can feel
Do not threaten-
You are all I have-
The skies are screaming outside-
In this instant, I hear my name called,
Talk to me with your words, misconstrued,
As threatening as
A winter storm from hell,
Listen:
I hear you- and I know
You can hear me too-
Your words are senseless, though at times
Comforting,
Warm,
Scintillating,
As a soul afire –
Quiet as a cat tiptoeing upon a cloud or
A symphony of drumsticks, muffled, or a
Single snowflake falling without rhythm upon a
Field of dandelions-
Outside,
The sky is calling me-
I do not hear,
Only your words, can I hear?
Every day and night we meet in this room,
Dark as fear, or light as a ray of agonizing and heated…
Fury?
My eyes can feel pain but
My heart cannot speak or feel-
My ears are deafened to the words of the people
Who intimidate,
Menace,
Wish to harm me?
I can hear the voices of people talking,
Conversing about me,
Those, whom I cannot see,
Although my eyes can feel the pain,
My heart won’t speak as
It cannot feel-
Speak to me
Your senseless words,
Do not look at me,
Your eyes could be daggers of death and ill fated-
Outside, the sky is calling-
Snow is falling
Flake by flake,
I cannot see, although
If my heart could speak, it would say
“I love you”
I feel safe with you-
You are not real, and
Your senseless words are a symphony,
Your garbled messages are poetry,
Do not take them back,
They warm my heart,
Though it cannot speak-
The sky is calling,
Calling?
Me?
I am terrified,
Please help me-
Your chaotic words are overpowering,
Frighteningly beautiful, and almost threatening –
Although safe because
You are not real, and that is the reason
I love you …
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Dying Words Of Stonewall Jackson
"Order A. P. Hill to prepare for battle."
"Tell Major Hawks to advance the Commissary train."
"Let us cross the river and rest in the shade."
The stars of Night contain the glittering Day
And rain his glory down with sweeter grace
Upon the dark World's grand, enchanted face --
All loth to turn away.
And so the Day, about to yield his breath,
Utters the stars unto the listening Night,
To stand for burning fare-thee-wells of light
Said on the verge of death.
O hero-life that lit us like the sun!
O hero-words that glittered like the stars
And stood and shone above the gloomy wars
When the hero-life was done!
The phantoms of a battle came to dwell
I' the fitful vision of his dying eyes --
Yet even in battle-dreams, he sends supplies
To those he loved so well.
His army stands in battle-line arrayed:
His couriers fly: all's done: now God decide!
-- And not till then saw he the Other Side
Or would accept the shade.
Thou Land whose sun is gone, thy stars remain!
Still shine the words that miniature his deeds.
O thrice-beloved, where'er thy great heart bleeds,
Solace hast thou for pain!
poem by Sidney Lanier
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My Words
the art of expression
is what my words are penned down upon
the will of wisdom
and the essence of freedom
to bounce like a king kong
on the ping pong
glad or sad, is from within each or any
stanza of my words
from the top of my head
to the deep end of the membrane under my melanin skin
to the sensory nerves of my brain
coiled upon an ancient pane
my words,
that which mirrors my sense of thought and feeling,
that with an ancestor
that which the blood of my people
was shed for; just so simple
but my words are royal
because ‘am loyal
like an induna
and vocal
to usher-in a focal
point of the meaning of my words.
my needs
and deeds
have a lord
on board
to code my words
and shield my soul from the imp’s sword.
my words are so very simple
to understand
and overstand
‘t was my words
that kept the birds
away from the heads
of my corn
for i was born
and sworn
to live a life upon
my words are so very easy to grasp
the fewer that discern
the nobler i become
I need not to wonder
and ponder
over yonder
for such is unknown to you
and therefore you have no knowledge of me
nor are you, about my words
yes! my words is what i like
to write
for i write
what i like
to strike
a balance between
the psyche
and the mic
such is my words,
the art of penning down what is from
the mind
and rewind
to remind
my words to decide
my words
such is my words,
the art of expression
against deception
but inception
and intersection
of my words
i now tell you that
my words are the words from the art
that which i chat
to match what my heart
tells me; roger that
the art of expressing the knack of expression; my words!
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Words Like Pebbles
Words like pebbles
Thrown down a pond
Will cause some ripples
That go around.
Words like pebbles
Never come back
They sink in people
That they attack.
Words can create
A thousand circles,
Pain resonates
As hurts unfurl.
Words released
Like pebbles drown;
The friendships cease
As they go down.
Hold your words
Hide your pebbles
You cannot afford
To cause the ripples.
The pond is calm
So be blessed
Be friendship's balm
Speak what is best.
'Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise
brings healing.'
Proverbs 12: 18
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Written May 11,2009 Tarlac City Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Deeds I Seed and Sow
We all have made our decisions.
And began taking paces,
Towards our fates.
On selected paths.
With eyes we hoped were clear.
To afford our desires,
An unregrettable pass.
Undeterred and focused.
Many wished it easy for themselves.
And followed upon a certain,
Obstacle free smooth surface.
Less bumpy of sweat and grind.
To prove those who sought to be challenged...
Would find they've been left behind.
And the ones overwhelmed,
With a process thought ridiculous...
Chose to live lives of deception and tricks.
Hoping to lick,
A system that would award them with triumph!
Quick.
To impress with appearances dressed.
And finding an acceptance,
From those addressing polished images seen.
'Be patient with yourself.
Do not look down in depression.
Or to the side for anyone else.
If your abilities merit attention...
There will be little,
From your lips you will have to mention.
Your deeds will speak,
For themselves.
Within your mind keep this repeated,
'Deeds I seed and sow...
Will speak for themselves.'
'Deeds I seed and sow...
Will speak for themselves.'
'Deeds I seed and sow...
Will speak for themselves.'
Within your mind keep this repeated.
Do not allow defeat be seated!
'Deeds I seed and sow...
Will speak for themselves.'
We all have made our decisions.
And began taking paces,
Towards our fates.
On selected paths.
With eyes we hoped were clear.
To afford our desires,
An unregrettable pass.
Undeterred and focused.
Within your mind keep this repeated.
Do not allow defeat be seated!
'Deeds I seed and sow...
Will speak for themselves.'
'Deeds I seed and sow...
Will speak for themselves.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Is Said
How could I ever tell you how important what you say
can be
that the words of any man in a day
can affect a life, millions, or even me
our words have so much power
so do not cower
and do not shy away
do not hold back what you want to say
because your words affect a lifetime
speak your mind
all shall be fine
do not fear rejection for the reward is sublime
to save life or cause a turn
to help the world, or save one destined to burn
but forget not that words destroy and create
break down and perpetuate
the power of words and their force of love
the power of words and their capacity for sadistic destruction
forget not that you hold inside this death and life
the power to create argument and strife
or peace and tranquility
remember, remember dear child that each word can kill
each word can fill
with love and joy
or malice and contempt
so don't attempt
to downplay their importance
and play the fool
because its those words that are a part of you
its those words that yours my child
now use them wisely, say what must be said
for with all my years of experience i have learned that what's most important
sometimes...
is simply
What's said
poem by David Knox
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One Thing We Should know About Terrorism
There's one thing we should know about terrorism it will not be beaten by force
But we can lessen the threat of it by treating it at it's source
Like in our attitude to those different to us since the sort of a Human World we live in we help to create
Since racism and cultural divisions only does give rise to hate
For to rid the World of terrorism there is not any plan
For if people wish to harm you they most certainly can
Why do some people hate us so much that they want to do us ill
That they even sacrifice their own lives in order us to kill?
This is the question we must ask ourselves and the answer well may be
That those we choose to Govern us create for us an enemy
And in order for to cling to power fear and paranoia of those different they do spread
And their awful war on terror have left a million people dead
But by treating the source of terrorism we may well be on our way
To a more peaceful World to live in on a not too distant day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Cliche
One more game, one more chance
One more orchestrated song and dance
Hed be up front and speak his peace
And ask for her time
To put their heads together
And try to make the knot unwind
And it strikes home that its time to make his move
Or its time to turn and walk away
So he plays that old clich
Silent tears, bleeding heart
Well our prima donna plies her art
Defenses of defenses of faultless design
Still shes only asking him
To help her make the knot unwind
And if the very next words
Leaving her lips could decide
If hed go or if hed stay
She would play that old clich
Who makes up the rules for the world?
Havent we been down this road before?
Isnt anything peculiar here?
Certainly there must be something more
Where are the words, where are the words,
Where are the words
Where are the words, where are the words,
Where are the words
And its almost not worth singing about,
It seems so everyday anyway
Still we play that old clich
And here sit i, one man show
I vivisect and then pretend to know
All it ever gets me is an ache in the mind
Cant somebody help me to try to make the knot unwind
And I say what I say when I know
Theres really nothing left to say
Then I play that old clich
Throw away that old clich
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Love That Never Changes
It was 3 o’clock in the morning
The telephone rang and she was awakened
With her closed eyes she grabbed it
She found him on the line speaking
He's as angry as a lion roaring
She can’t speak at once for she's choking
With those words she feel like she is drowning
Her own world stopped on spinning
“This is not a big thing to deal with
Darling, can you please be attentive
Hear my side before you nag
We can talk politely and never fight.”
These are the words she wants to utter
But he did not permit her to have it
Seemed that he was blinded
By his jealous heart to nothing
She really had the hard time
Thinking over what he has said
She did nothing against him
Her conscience is clear, she can assure him
What more can she give him?
All what she has, she offered it to him
She had lost and sacrificed her dreams
For he is her world, her everything
Thanks God, He’s always around
All of a sudden he became tame and kind
Now he has realized
He has nothing to worry about
Even though he has hurt her
Her heart can’t ignore its saying
She loves him and nothing can change it
He will be her man forever and ever
poem by Rose de Ramar
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(Better) Done Than Said
(better) done than said
the sounds between the lines
of the words i speak
reminds me of the lines
i spoke in thought and trials
and the lines
within the sounds of spoken word
touched mine heart
mine dreadlocks started skanking in joy
of the music in mine thought
but til done, i thought
next to mine were time and rhythm
for less than never it were missing
the sense to do than say
and mine legs kept me in transit
mine hands touched to pick a way
whence my eyes long seen
besides, talk were amass
done; far less
than which that caught mine
til done, i do and did
done than said
the inner mine person done me
a thought to catch mine power
and grab to proceed a synergy of our
own belief to mine self and stronger
than the sounds behind the lines
of the words i speak
but from the deep lines
of the metaphor, line by talk
with mine hands holding that thought
to keep it moving and done
long before said, as done
opn01112012/0849
poem: (better) done than said
'roots of mine tree' book no.12 of 2012
november 2012
ntema's unique poetry
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Words.... (Poetry Itself)
words do not heal the broken hearted,
words do not end wars.
words do not change the face of indifference,
words do not impress god!
words do not feed the hungry,
nor set the captives free.
words do not give shelter to the homeless,
or hope to those ridden with despair.
words do not stop discrimination,
words do not bring justice.
words do not bring forgiveness,
nor do they bring understanding...
words do not fill the empty,
nor erase the scars of love...
words do not define dialogue!
it is only then,
the hands and feet of the human heart...
and poetry itself is nothing more,
than the action of involved compassion!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Signs of Age
Fireworks in the sky blue flowers
splitting evening
signs spread joy
worldwide
in the dark
some people
the spread bombs in churches
who kill innocent people
lying in the bottom of the cross
next to the mosque
which has been side by side
not disturbed in his peace
What this means:
for our mutual suspicion
draw one's sword
and kill each other
to become a member
your group
as terrorist
poem by Prasetya Utama
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As The Spirit Fills
Verse by verse and line by line; The Spirit fills the heart and mind.
The Spirit moves on a scribe, to pen the words down deep inside.
God uses men to reach the world, with a message for us to herald.
Some may speak while other men, The Lord above uses their pen.
Apostles would speak The Word, and men believed as they heard.
It was God’s Word they received, that would lead them to believe.
As New Believers they would go, and share so others could know,
The saving Grace of Jesus Christ, so they too could have New Life.
As The Truth began to spread, many would use parchment instead.
And The Truth many would heed, from words that they would read.
Either way, God’s Truth we share, with all those for whom we care.
Allow The Spirit to move your heart, so God’s Truth we can impart.
My friend, God will use anyone, to share The Truth about His Son.
Using any form of communication, to reach the lost with Salvation.
Join the Apostles and Prophets of old, sharing Truth till all are told,
About The Lord and Savior above, sent to all by The Father’s Love.
God still moves upon men today, helping us with the words to say,
For me the verses seem to flow, while The Spirit helps me to grow.
As I write the words aren’t mine, for my source is above and Divine.
It is The Spirit who fills my pen, and to this friend, I just say Amen.
(Copyright ©01/2006)
The Real Poets
THE REAL POETS
The real poets are few in number and largely known by name
The rest of us are endless frustration in aspiration
Words upon words upon words
Dreams upon dreams upon dreams
Getting and going nowhere forever unheard
The real poets find their anthologized place
And we know them over and over and over again
The rest of us just appear this only once
If we appear at all
And our words and our hearts and our minds
Do not encompass and inspire the endless rereadings
Time and Time’s Wounds make again and again and again
We are once only always forever losts
Nothing will save us
These words too coming in the wake of a long night’s reading
Of the poems of others
Cannot sustain and redeem
Cannot be what they would be
Cannot help and cannot save
Me or you or anyone we love
Even as poetry.
God Who Knows All
And in the End Decides on Everything
Has made us smaller even than the Angels
And our place in the Divine Song
Is not as far as we know
Anywhere heard at all.
Goodbye world
We are going
We have done what we could
We have written and written and written
Oxymandias’ poet will remain
And we will not
The lone and desert sands will stretch away
When we are not even a single grain.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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An upright soul
Thoughts must conform to words
And words to deeds to give peace.
Good thoughts and bad words: one is
raw.
Bad thoughts and good words: one is a cheat.
Good words and bad deeds: one is
cruel.
Bad words and good deeds: one is a
barker.
Thoughts, words and deeds must not
be
In conflicts to ensure an upright soul.
25.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The real damage from terrorist attacks doesn't come from the explosion. The real damage is done after the explosion, by the victims, who repeatedly and determinedly attack themselves, giving over reason in favor of terror. Every London cop who stops someone from taking a picture of a public building, every TSA agent who takes away your kid's toothpaste, every NSA spook who wiretaps your email, does the terrorist's job for him. Terrorism is about magnifying one mediagenic act of violence into one hundred billion acts of terrorized authoritarian idiocy.
quote by Cory Doctorow
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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O Naughty Child! [ Part -8 ]
[Part-8 ]
Unmindful of my mood
Or my preoccupation-
Whatever it may-
You hurry to me
In happy hops
And jolly jumps
And tipple on me
Your total heart!
Lo..!
I am unequal
To your language divine-
Corrupted by my dialect inferior-
Which bursts out of you
In spluttering fireworks!
O..how can i say
I can comprehend none!
Chestful of surprises!
O..how significant each..!
How huge..!
How fresh..!
All thoughts stampede-
Which to be first..?
What next..?
What last..?
How to prologue..?
How to dialogue...?
How to epilogue....?
Steaming thoughts!
In their utter melee
And in excitement
You mix up all-
And with swinging arms,
Broken words
And with supreme gestures
You burst out all
In your emotional storm!
I powerfully nod
In all ten directions
As if I understand
Every word of
Your surging storm!
Would it be proper
Weeds of deception
To raise their heads
In the gangetic plains
Of your holy heart?
Pure-hearted you are!
Laughing heartily-
Like greenery in winds -
Stand swelled up with pride!
A juicy story well- narrated-
With that joy
In your tiny claps
You run along your happy way!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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