Sinful identity
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so handsomely procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
infantile cry; overflowed with unfathomable oceans of
glittering gold,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
baselessly rejoiced and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; miserably dithered in my
impoverished life to carve a philanthropically
blissful identity of my very own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so majestically procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my
first baby cry; had an endless inundation of sparkling
currency coin,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
parasitically feasted and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; pathetically staggered in my
diminutive life to carve a synergistically blazing
identity of my very own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so wonderfully procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
incoherent cry; remained perpetually embellished with
resplendently enamoring diamonds,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
derogatorily marauded and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; dismally stuttered in my truncated
life to carve a celestially vibrant identity of my
very own…
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so marvelously procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
nimble cry; contained every speck of prosperity on
this timeless planet,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
indiscriminately terrorized and took all their
hard-earned wealth for granted; meaninglessly quavered
in my destined life to carve a beautifully magnanimous
identity of my very own…..
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so amazingly procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
inaudible cry; had its foundations resting on an
insurmountable mountain of pearls,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
savagely massacred and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; horrendously trembled in my
penurious life to carve an iridescently kingly
identity of my very own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so gorgeously procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
incongruous cry; solely diffused the fragrance of
everlastingly priceless richness,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
satanically splurged and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; gruesomely faltered in my
pecuniary life to carve a spell bindingly righteous
identity of my very own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so divinely procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
evanescent cry; harbored countless trees from which
gloriously fructified currency coin instead of leaves,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
ruthlessly blew and took all their hard-earned wealth
for granted; disdainfully lost in my flickering life
to carve an enchantingly vivacious identity of my very
own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so Omnipotently procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
meek cry; was the hub of all state-of-the art
businesses that unfurled on the trajectory of this
fathomless planet,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
insanely trampled and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; flagrantly wavered in my limited
life to carve an ingratiatingly altruistic identity of
my very own…..
And it wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so blessedly procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
nervous cry; was the most indefatigably serenaded
castle in the entire world since times immemorial,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
cold-bloodedly spat and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; unscrupulously dithered in my
indigent life to carve a harmoniously distinct
identity of my very own….
(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Pricelessly Impregnable Humanity
You’ve taken my very own scarlet blood O! heavenly son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my astoundingly pristine and timelessly priceless; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own venerated milk O! beautiful son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my bountifully blossoming and unabashedly impeccable; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own intriguing brain O! enamoring son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my celestially amazing and mischievously bouncing; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own silken shadow O! stupendous son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my wonderfully untainted and jubilantly ecstatic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own uninhibited smile O! majestic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my inimitably magnetic and fabulously effulgent; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own inscrutable destiny lines O! effervescent son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my incredulously handsome and victoriously unimpeachable; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own inimitably humble name O! royal son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my poignantly iridescent and eternally fructifying; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own romantic artistry O! blazing son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my triumphantly unfettered and symbiotically innocent; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own mellifluous voice O! charismatic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my bounteously emollient and euphorically fearless; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own towering height O! regale son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my indisputably peerless and synergistically truthful; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own passionate eyes O! resplendent son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my fearlessly humanitarian and tirelessly discovering; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own chocolate brown color O! holistic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my invincibly wondrous and spell-bindingly ecstatic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own ebullient body contours O! benign son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my immaculately benevolent and magnanimously humanitarian; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own fiery breath O! rhapsodic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my blissfully unadulterated and interminably bubby; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own optimistic face O! vivacious son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my timelessly flowering and melodiously rejuvenated; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own broadened shoulders O! magical son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my gloriously unprejudiced and nostalgically rueful; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own princely dimples O! victorious son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my spotlessly unbiased and surreally panoramic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own compassionate heart O! unshakable son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my adorably sensitive and ubiquitously indomitable; duplicate,
So whereas it was absolutely natural and nothing great that you were my exactly astounding duplicate O! heavenly son;
The greatest of all virtues; the greatest of all gifts; the greatest of all endowment; the greatest of all power; the greatest of all virility; the greatest of all divinity; was infact given to you by the Omniscient Lord; who miraculously blessed you and every organism alike with the pricelessly impregnable religion of “Humanity” to symbiotically survive for an infinite more of your destined lifetimes…
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Material Things Are Not Permanent
Whatever wealth I’ve accrued in this world,
Whether hard-earned or by the easy route;
Whether in kind or currency wads, curled,
I must leave back to someone else like loot.
However much wealth I have earned on earth,
By sweat of brow or by my playing dice,
It will not help me gain an extra-breath,
Except a coffin made of teak wood nice.
Whatever treasures, I had to my name,
As gems or diamonds, silver or gold-form,
I leave them back intact in life's earth game,
In known or unknown places as per norm.
Then why this haste and frenzy for more wealth,
And that too at the cost of one’s own health?
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fu Manchu
You heard about
A criminal man of virtue
Is there any doubt
His minimal strands would suit you?
Is a hard earned way
Is a hard earned way
Ill never lose
My fu manchu
My fu manchu
Let them grow out
In time youll feel so better
The vanishing pout
Now youre a real go-getter
Is a hard earned way
Is a hard earned way
Ill never lose
My fu manchu
My fu manchu
Is a hard earned way
Is a hard earned way
Occidentally tic-tac
Occidentally tic-tac
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just listening to my beats
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably gauge the profound sadness
enshrouding my countenance; by just ethereally
glimpsing at my shielding eyelashes,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably prognosticate the hunger in my
stomach; by just sighting me restlessly gnawing at my
bohemian nails,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably sense the maniacal desperation in my
trembling visage; by just the infinitesimally changed
tone; in the nimble cadence of my voice,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably comprehend the wave of bizarre
mortification enveloping my soul; by just the
capricious tinge of poignant scarlet; on my
impoverished cheeks,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably narrate the experiences of my day;
by just feeling the transiently cringed lines; on my
diminutively frazzled forehead,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably guess the thunderbolts of tumultuous
anger encapsulating my blood; by just witnessing that
inconspicuous iota of frantic vacillation in my
dwindling stride,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably feel the insatiably nostalgic child
in me; by just gently caressing my innocuously
vivacious lips,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably soliloquize the first day of my
birth; by just kissing my rampantly fluttering and
daintily gorgeous eyelashes,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably understand the diabolically
obsessive agony in my life; by just sighting the
augmented redness in the interiors of my palm; and
withering body skin,
She hadn’t give me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably analyze the state of intriguingly
inexplicable mind; by just staring for mock seconds;
at the ludicrously staggering curvature of my spine,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably construe the vibrant philosopher
entrenching my senses from all sides; by just inhaling
the scent that drifted; from my profusely wandering
countenance,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably conceive the insurmountable
reservoir of fantasy circulating in my blood; by just
kneading my pulse a minuscule trifle,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably perceive the tumultuous electricity
in my compassionate visage; by just the poignant
magnetism that radiated on every step that I gently
tread,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably apprehend the unfathomable carpet of
dreams in my eyes; by just witnessing the
resplendently shimmering twinkle that lay; therein,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably assimilate the unrelenting euphoria
in each element of my persona; by just tracing the
tiny globules of sweat; that ran down my chest,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably discern the ardent believer in my
body; by just witnessing the resiliently unflinching
contours of my chin,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably grasp the artist fulminating
inexorably in my ecstatic veins; by just feeling the
astronomical propensity in my fireballs of passionate
breath,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably realize my uncontrollably escalating
desire; by just cuddling the fantastically zealous
moistness; which engulfed every trajectory of my
flesh,
And she hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably define my immortal love for her
divinely grace; by just listening to the marvelously
impregnable beats of my small; but perpetually craving
heart…..
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Choose
I choose focus
I choose freedom
to be happy, to have fun
to have a wonderful life
to be young, light and bright
I choose health, wealth
lands, treasures
I choose to trust, love
commitment, faith,
I choose to enjoy life
I choose the lord
I choose...
poem by Johnny Walks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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It is our destiny
Sorry it wasn’t your fault and neither yours, it is our destiny that we met in middle of the road, our eyes shack hands, our hearts mumble to each other, our footsteps banded together, our breath touch each other's, our lips sticks, our bodies get merged, our souls winded, then our roads separated, our bodies disengaged, Sorry it wasn’t your fault and neither yours, it is our destiny.
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No One Here Has Been Invited To Do The Boogey
With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
Reminisces up my ancestors.
With a reminiscing up their lives...
And what it takes,
For me to stay...
As I am this day today.
Is a reason why I pride my dignity.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
No time to do a hi-dee-hey!
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay,
To be buzzed around...
From midnight until dawn!
No...
No time to do a hi-dee-hey.
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay...
To whisper gossip,
With a nonstop to dropp it.
Like if I cropped it.
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
No!
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
Like if I cropped it,
With a nonstopping to it?
No!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
'Uh...
You?
The 'artist'!
I like your footwork.
But no one here has been invited to do the boogey!
Got that?
Good!
Now do your chores! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With every beat of my heart
Not even the most voluptuously sensuous of clouds; surreally wandering till eternity in fathomless cosmotic space; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most tantalizingly nubile of dewdrops; profoundly shimmering in nocturnal moonlight like the ultimate queen’s garland of exotic pearls; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most invincibly Herculean mountaintops; unflinchingly towering towards the heavens in the face of the mightiest of attack; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most royally undulating seas; timelessly blessing the pristine shores with gloriously unassailable froth; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most perennially overflowing of treasuries; from which rained solely a torrentially unstoppable cascade of mystically resplendent silver and gold; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most mellifluously rejuvenating of nightingales; perpetuating the unlimitedly dreary atmosphere with miraculously ameliorating sounds; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most boundlessly burgeoning of skies; celestially reflecting an ocean of bounteously virile crystalline blue; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most vivaciously cascading droplets of rain; metamorphosing every tawdrily sinister patch of aridness on earth into a paradise of mesmerizing beauty; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most ubiquitously silken strands of the inscrutable spider’s web; aristocratically glimmering in opulently milky moonlight; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most amazingly vivid of rainbows; filtering fresh rays of optimism and hope in the forlornly dreary sky; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most redolently proliferating of soil; the magical virility which unfathomably multiplied in lightening seconds of time; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most beautifully poignant of roses; synergistically radiating their handsomely scarlet personality to every conceivable cranny of this boundless Universe; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most triumphantly blazing of Sunshine; blistering a path of irrefutably fearless righteousness in the most bashful face of blemishing defeat; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most victoriously iridescent of moonlight; unceasingly enlightening the sordidly hedonistic fabric of the wretchedly incarcerating night; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most effulgently undefeated of blood; indefatigably diffusing the spirit of intrepidly exhilarating camaraderie; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most boundlessly unfettered of deserts; the flamingly impregnable expanse of poignant golden granules; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most tranquilly bewitching of shadows; the uncannily titillating tinge of timeless mystery that they incessantly emanated; had the slightest of inspiration,
Not even the most fierily magnetic of breath; the endlessly insuperable cavern of seduction that it ignited in every tangible and intangible open space which it wholesomely enshrouded; had the slightest of inspiration,
Whilst with every beat of my heart; there unlimitedly triggered unconquerably sparkling fantasy in even the most obsolete dormitory of my brain; and I inevitably and inspiringly wrote an infinite lines of “Immortal Love Poetry”; till even beyond the definitions of veritably ultimate and hopelessly silencing death….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The greatest sin
Having supremely spell binding eyes was simply not a sin at all; but
pretending that you were gruesomely blind; unable to see a step
further even after possessing them right since innocent childhood;
was the greatest sin,
Having robust complexioned feet was simply not a sin at all; but
pretending that you couldn't walk even an inch forward; had not the
slightest of capacity to run even after possessing them right since
innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having tenaciously knotted fingers projecting from the palm was
simply not a sin at all; but pretending that you had grave difficulty
in hoisting objects; didn't posses the most minuscule of power to
defend yourself even after possessing them right since innocent
childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having dangling earlobes delectably cascading from the periphery of
your rubicund cheek was simply not a sin at all; but pretending that
you couldn't bear the tiniest of sound; floundered miserably to
decipher the intricacy of voice even after possessing them right
since innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having a perfectly throbbing heart palpitating in marvellous
synchrony inside your chest was simply not a sin at all; but
pretending that you just didn't have the power to love; the virtue to
embrace other humans of your kind even after possessing it right
since innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having dual pairs of luscious lips was simply not a sin at all; but
pretending that you couldn't speak a single word; abysmally stuttered
to convey the most infinitesimal of message to your compatriots even
after possessing them right since innocent childhood; was the
greatest sin,
Having ravishing clusters of hair on your scalp was simply not a sin
at all; but pretending that God had kept you disdainfully bald; that
your head shivered uncontrollably in cold even after possessing them
right since innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having boundless lines on your glowing palm was simply not a sin at
all; but pretending that your entire life was ruined; your progress
had come to an abrupt standstill even after possessing them right
since innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having pompously bulging muscle in your arms was simply not a sin at
all; but pretending that you were as feeble as a mosquito; couldn't
lift your very own body even after having them right since innocent
childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having thousands of voluptuously tantalizing eyelashes extruding from
your lids was simply not a sin at all; but pretending that your
vision was horrendously impaired because of their presence; the world
seemed to be an obfuscated blur even after possessing them right
since innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having nails as long as the lanky mountain was simply not a sin at
all; but pretending that you were unable to make the most diminutive
of indentation on soil; simply couldn't scratch the faintest even
after possessing them right since innocent childhood; was the
greatest sin,
Having breath as passionate as sizzling fire was simply not a sin at
all; but pretending that there wasn't enough air in the atmosphere
for you to inhale; that you could suffocate to death any minute even
after possessing them right since innocent childhood; was the
greatest sin,
Having a bucket of sweat trickling down your armpits was simply not a
sin at all; but pretending that it was more satanic than a pool of
ghastly blood; incessantly complaining of cold and clammy skin even
though you possessed it right since innocent childhood; was the
greatest sin,
Having an astonishingly spell binding memory was simply not a sin at
all; but pretending that it was your mind that killed you every
unleashing second; the brain was the cardinal culprit behind your
demise even after possessing it right since innocent childhood; was
the greatest sin,
Having scarlet rivers of blood circulating through your veins was
simply not a sin at all; but pretending that there was no life in
your nerves; not a trifle of energy left in your demeanour even after
possessing them right since innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having a salubrious sparkling belly was simply not a sin at all; but
pretending that your digestive system was diabolically corroded; the
conglomerate of curled intestines in your stomach were strangulating
you like a festoon of ominous snakes even after possessing it right
since innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having a sturdily sculptured nose extruding from your face was simply
not a sin at all; but pretending that your entire persona was
brutally mutilated; the nostrils disgustingly disrupted your flow of
harmonious breath even after possessing it right since innocent
childhood; was the greatest sin,
Having an insurmountably hard skull was simply not a sin at all; but
pretending that it was the main cause for transforming all your
philanthropic thoughts to as hard as incorrigible stone even after
possessing it right since innocent childhood; was the greatest sin,
And having an enchantingly blossoming life was simply not a sin at
all; but leading it listlessly; trudging your way through just for
the heck of it without basking in the stupendous glory of the
resplendent moonlight even after possessing it right since innocent
childhood; was the greatest sin...
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Born To Be Lucky
Some people are born to be lucky,
having riches and wealth by the score.
There are others born to be lucky,
and have a wealth of friends evermore.
The question now arises,
which person would you want to be?
If you choose money,
what kind of life would you see?
You would never want for anything,
and friends you might have to buy,
to be at your beck and call,
but they might all disappear if you suddenly fall.
Now just suppose,
you chose the other life
what would you see?
A league of smiling faces,
with arms outstretched to save you,
in case you were ever to fall.
So if I were born to be lucky,
the second choice I would choose,
Friends to be at my side, by choice and not for pay.
Because I’d know if I came across fear,
a pair of helping hand would be close by,
to help me to steer clear.
So I ask again,
which one would you choose?
Only one as you can’t have both.
Would it be a wealth of money, or a wealth of friends?
The choice is always yours my friend.
Choose very wisely as you will have it until your dying day.
24 May 2007
poem by David Harris
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My identity
What defines my identity?
Being the son of my father and the torchbearer of familial legacy; possibly...
And what does my identity task me with?
To indistinguishably seed the next generation of the genealogy chain; perhaps...
Life is life’s longing for itself,
It may conform not to any preset moulds of traditions and definitions,
In the endgame, my epitaph would only bear testimony to where I ended – not where I started,
And my progeny, when it arrives, may not even tarry with my today; forget my parents’ yesterday...
So, it may be then – no one belongs to any one,
Identities get chiselled by one’s own voluntary doing,
Yet my soul dwells in that house I grew, the hearth and my family,
Publicly – I may be what I am; but privately – I am still my father’s son....
poem by Ram Josyula
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The Right Address
I know it's not all about me!
But that part of me that is affected by 'it'
Is going to get my many visits.
And seeking acceptance or approval
For my concern...
Is something that I've earned.
It wasn't given for me to be driven,
Into insanity
Because someone has not granted me approval...
To be me!
'God,
I don't see where they believe You are with me,
At all!
Are You sure You gave me the right address? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sonnet: Choose The Things in Your Life
0 choose your friend who must be good as you;
And choose your spouse better than you; make sure;
And choose the one best as your Teacher too;
And choose ambitions that suit your nature.
0 choose the profession thats truly best;
And choose the hobbies that ne'er interfere;
And choose your Time to begin work, take rest;
And choose your enemies, you surely fear.
0 choose your food that gives extended health;
And choose your garments -comfortable wear;
And choose the honest way to added wealth;
And choose the burden right, body can bear.
0 choose the people who deserve help most;
And choose good principles, yet never boast.
poem by John Celes
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We the unforgiving
and we’ll never quite forgive our parents
for being our parents
and we’ll never never forgive that one
we thought our best friend
for stopping being our friend without
an explanation or anything
and we’ll never ever forgive our first lover
our first for heaven’s sake
for dumping us and ruining our whole life
and we'll never quite forgive -
no, let's not go there; that's
too close to home...
and we’ll never forgive God for,
oh everything, if we knew
how to not forgive God
and secretly we’ll never forgive ourselves
for all the things we wish we hadn’t done
although of course we deserve to be forgiven
for it wasn’t really our fault was it..
how could we forgive ourselves, when there’s that
that dark figure lurking behind us saying
don’t you dare forgive yourself,
you ungrateful little…
and if you forgave everyone, you wouldn’t
know who you were… it’s not
as easy as that, oh no
oh yes it is. oh yes it is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Forms of Wealth
To money is attributed wealth
But the open truth of wealth
Is, It is not the only kind of wealth—
There are also other forms of wealth!
Good health is the best form of wealth
Forging rich links in relationships is wealth
Spontaneous love for all life forms is wealth
To have enthusiasm in life is wealth.
Acquiring life-long learning is wealth
Experience and wisdom in life is wealth
Meeting new people is also wealth
Visiting new places too is authentic wealth.
The quest to explore something is wealth
To have a positive mind-set is wealth
Existence of deep internal peace is wealth
Early morning waking up with joy is wealth.
Possessing high self-respect is wealth
Having strong spiritual connection is wealth
There exist so many types of wealth
Constitute all these and you're with full wealth!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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It's hard now to imagine that kind of travel and the daily tasks they simply took for granted. If a wagon axle broke, you had to stop and carve a new one. To cross a river, you sometimes had to build a raft.
quote by James Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let us create wealth for me..(the investors)
Creating wealth is very simple:
If you have three pay slips,
You can buy that expensive car,
Drive through the street on par.
You can buy an apartment in down town,
Where you can find people of your kind,
Electronic gadgets are inexpensive,
And you can change them as you wish,
Fancy restaurants are too many,
Where you can spend your hard earned money,
Creating wealth is not a problem to me,
As long as people like you around me,
I am an investor with huge oil money,
He is an accomplice to steal the honey,
We are the people behind the curtain,
Creating the wealth for certain,
Keeping you as indebted as you are,
We create the wealth,
Above the ground,
Creating wealth is very simple,
If you have three pay slips.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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