poetry

Out where the durum wheat grows to
Mill into our daily loaves, not far away
From the fields of waving bounty, reside
Metal gods deep in the plains, modern-
Day trolls armed for war. We never see
These secretive metal deities for whom
We tithe our taxes to house in pricey
Subterranean cathedrals radiant with the
Latest high-tech comforts. In return, their
Keepers, our missileteers, vow to keep us
Safe. Alas, these are false gods heralded
By false prophets. They promise only ashes

so many lives have been offered for
borders, constitutions, ideals, and religions
the number of corpses must have fallen short
for there is still a need to fight–to destroy–to kill
so many soldiers have died
some with honor
some in disgrace
so many civilians have killed and
many more have died
but they lack a tomb for the unknown
so many years since
hominids became humans
developing societies and cultures and dreams
so many years have provided the opportunity for some to be socialized to destroy humanity

redemption starts in a dark nightmare
i can’t forget the light behind my eyes
not only when i sleep but, when i hide
inside, forgiveness bursts a fireworks
display of every choice i made to survive
and its cost in lives
not dying became a muscle memory
living a habit to survive
then a habit to forget
then a habit practiced
in a dark nightmare
tears exploding
i choose not to die
at anyone’s hand
not even mine
and step into the light
and cry: all i did
was to survive

We'll tell you greedy bastards, we'll fight for you no more.
The post Pride, Pain and War appeared first on BSNEWS.

Daayan! Demonetisation!
Destroyer of lives both men and women!
Benefactor to corporates ' paytm'
And much publicised BHIM !

Count the cows & the cakes
of dung, lynch a few men
every time
you get their tally wrong.

He has a busted nose
from twice bumping into Yesterday,
earlier on this very morning.
Those restless ‘Dogs’
inside his backwards looking head
will not ‘Lie’ nor ‘Sleep’
for a moment.
Should be picking himself up
and getting on with the day, really,
yet, he would suicide without her.
Since they cremated
her once argumentative, beautiful bones,
he’s lost all meaning outside of memories.
It’s the Past which keeps him
half-warm in the wee hours…
hope and future planning
don’t even come into it.

and when she staid
above my head
her wings outstretched
as I lay in bed
to all those horses
wild in dreams
to all those spawning
fish in streams
her gaze attentive
below should cast
the future seen
as in the past
then in the wake
of feathers fluttering
careful words to take
for uttering
Angels’ hair
immortal eyes
in loving prophesy
combine
not yesterday
before her birth
nor on the morrow
of uncertain worth
pushed with the wind

The leaves on the trees in the woods have fallen.
There is a misty air to the atmosphere.
I still live my life deliberately, but I am alone now.
Keeping you in mind, I will do what I can to help people in need; people who live with fear; people whose hearts are broken.
I will always fight for peace, justice, and equality.
I will continue to be your poet.
As I light the Jack O’Lantern…
as I distribute the treats…
I will keep in mind the broom, the clothing, and the hat that are near the door.

I want to lick
the open wound
of November
and taste
its gushing blood
as it drains
from a sieve
through the sky
to the tip
of my tongue
with a lustful tease
of what’s still to come.
All the suffering
and sorrow
of a society gone mad
is one quick fix
pill away
from being swallowed
as a hair-trigger solution
toward faux salvation
on the empty stomach
of a collective system.
So buy, buy, buy
the terrible lies
that help to line