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eBooks „freedom“

629 eBooks were found for the search term „freedom“.

Books (629)

Mrs. Wilson Woodrow The Silver Butterfly

Fiction
English
55252 Words
Ages 18 and up
2
0

dith Wilson From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia For the singer, see Edith Wilson (singer). Edith Wilson Edith Wilson cropped 2.jpg First Lady of the United States In office December 18, 1915 – March 4, 1921 Preceded by Ellen Axson Wilson Succeeded by Florence Harding Personal details Born Edith Bolling October 15, 1872 Wytheville, Virginia Died December 28, 1961 (aged 89) Washington, D.C. Nationality American Spouse(s) Norman Galt Woodrow Wilson Signature Edith Bolling Galt Wilson (October 15, 1872 — December 28, 1961), second wife of U.S. President Woodrow Wilson, was First Lady of the United States from 1915 to 1921. She met the President in March 1915 and they married nine months later. President Wilson suffered a severe stroke in October 1919. Edith Wilson began to screen all matters of state and decided which were important enough to bring to the bedridden president. In doing so, she functionally ran the Executive branch of the government for the remainder of the president's second term, until March 1921.[1][2] Contents 1 Early life 2 First Lady 2.1 Marriage and early First Ladyship 2.2 Hostessing and the First World War 3 Unofficial acting presidency 4 Later years 5 Birthplace foundation 6 References 7 Bibliography 8 External links Early life Edith Bolling was born October 15, 1872 in Wytheville, Virginia to circuit court judge William Holcombe Bolling and his wife Sarah "Sallie" Spears née White.[3][4] Her birthplace is a contributing building in the Wytheville Historic District.[5] Edith was a descendant of settlers who came to Virginia early in the British colonization of the Americas.[6] Through her father, she was a direct descendant of Pocahontas, the daughter of the chief of the Powhatan tribe of Native Americans and her husband John Rolfe, one of the earliest English settlers of Virginia and the first man to cultivate tobacco as an export crop.[7] Rolfe's granddaughter, Jane, married Robert Bolling, a wealthy planter and merchant.[7] Edith was the seventh of 11 children,[8] two of whom died in infancy.[9] The Bollings claimed to have been quite wealthy prior to the American Civil War, but were forced to give up their plantation home after being unable to pay taxes on the land following the end of the war. William Bolling settled on his father's property in Wytheville, where most of his children were born.[9] The Bollings were staunch supporters of the Confederate States of America, and Edith was very proud of her Southern heritage. As was often the case with slaves freed after the war, the Bollings believed their former slaves were content with life on Rose Cottage Plantation and had little desire for freedom. It was only after the Civil War that William Bolling turned to the practice of law.[3] The Bolling household was a large one. In addition to the 9 surviving children, Edith's two grandmothers, several aunts, and some cousins also lived with the Bollings.[9] Mos [more]

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Kiki XoXo The Elementals #1

How will she survive if she's FROZEN

Romance
English
89997 Words
Ages 10 and up
4774
70

COMPLETE Everything seemed wrong in Lyra Castir's life. Her parents dying, an over protective foster 'dad', a foster brother who doesn't act like a brother, and her mysterious head injury in which she lost all her memories... just a couple examples for ya. Her only freedom is school, which to her means getting away from her life at home. On her way home from school, on a seemingly normal day for Lyra, she gets stopped by a total stranger. That's when her life gets turned upside down, and now Lyra is not only saving herself but a family she never knew she had from another realm. *** I hang up the phone, and continue walking home. I can't believe Sean would do and say something like that during school! I'm trying to shove my phone back into the phone pocket in my back pack when I trip over the big crack in the sidewalk again. Making that the third time this week! "Whoa, I gotcha!" I heard a boy say, and I feel arms wrap around me. "Gosh where have you been? What are you doing here?" He asked me. Once I was back on my feet I pushed away from the boy. "Hey Lyra it's me, Chase." the boy said. I looked him up and down, I don't recognize him. I take a step back. His face changes from pure excitement to confusion. He has blonde hair, and brown eyes, very thin figure but something about him is familiar. "I ... ah..." I don't know what to say to him. What if he is some psycho? "I've been trying to find you since the accident! Why didn't you come back home?" He asked. I take another step back, How does he know about my accident? "Lyra what's wrong?" He steps towards me, and holds out a hand. "Come on Lyra your parents are going to want to see you, so stop playing and lets go!" "My parent's? What?" I say. He looks defeated, and lets out a sigh. Now this isn't funny. My parents are dead. "Lyra co-" he begins. "How do you know my name?!" I say, I need to run. He is crazy! "Lyra it's me Chase. The last time I seen you was right before your accident." He paused. "You... you aren't playing are you?" he hesitated. "I'm sorry... I think you have the wrong Lyra." I say and walk around him, then I begin speed walking. "No I don't! I've been trying to find you for the past two years. Well, you and the others. You don't remember anything... at all?" he asked behind me. "Leave me alone!" I say. He grabs my wrist, and I whirl around. "My dad gave me pepper spray!" I say and I start digging in my back pack for it, thankful for once about him being over protective. "Your father? Are you kidding me? Lyra your father and mother are trying to find you. You don't remember who you are?" He is talking and I find the spray. "Lyra your not mortal." "If I'm not mortal what am I?" I laugh, he making up fairy tales now. "You're an elemental, a protector of the royal family in Spridge." [more]

Keywords: human, elemental, powers, family, lies, protect, truth, run, life, realms, school, friends, memories, injury, feelings, foster care, brother, parents, ice, queen, king, prince, princess, doctor, love, pain, move [more][Less]

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Fortune Nwaiwu The Unfaithful Bride

A Dramatic Poetry

Poetry
English
6364 Words
Ages 18 and up
0
0

“Yet, you remain like you are,” the pastor admonishes his bride in The Unfaithful Bride. And despite conflicting his-and-her perspectives of what is responsible for their fraught union, it’s evident that both partners can’t help but remain like they are—for better or worse. In relationships we may attempt repairs, many times and to different parts, but what often results from these improvements is the sad fact that “You buy a half-litre of fuel/For a journey of three miles.” When a union is ill-fated, no amount of effort or derision or even begging can make the road smoother.That road is also unlikely to ever reach a beneficial destination. If what’s “Spoken by a Man of God” assails this bride to such a degree that readers question why both partners don’t choose to halt this shared journey in recognition that together they are headed nowhere, intangible elements—in contrast to mechanical—such as attraction and chemistry must be credited for an intimacy that’s both painful and passionate. As the preface asserts: “Both the pastor and his bride are bewitched.” In order to ensure that readers experience a similar bewitchment, however, and as customary practice for poetry collections, a grounding explanation in the form of the preface should be excised so that readers are permitted the freedom to form their own interpretations and reactions to the writing and what it seeks to convey. This content is not without value, though, as you might choose to incorporate it into your eventual marketing and promotion of the book. Ultimately, such a guiding opening detracts from the natural progression of the poems and readers’ considerations of them.When the pastor asks, “But how long must I continue to repair you?” the question's directness is likely to strike readers as a plea; and in this plea, they are sure to perceive emotional depth. The contrast between bride and bike is recognized, but the interior comparison should also be recognized in what’s imperceptible—the pastor’s disappointment in his choice of bride and possibly his personal guilt for being responsible for this choice—and revealed in what isn’t said or how it’s voiced. As an example: How long will you continue to disgrace me, O thou old, rugged KYMCO? The first line is sure to evoke feelings about the pastor’s circumstances, the language compelling yet clear and concise, but the “O thou old” that follows may be perceived as establishing a wall; where in the first line there was intimacy and a spirit of connection, in the second there is formality and even ego. ~ Dr. Mark Weinstein, UK. ~ [more]

Keywords: Bride, faithful, man of God, KYMCO, poetry

$3.49

Shyamal Bhattacharya Bukhari

The saga of Glacier war

Fiction
English
66263 Words
No Age Recommendation
76
0

‘ Bukhari’ (The Hearth) ‘ written by SHYAMAL BHATTACHARYA, translated by SUBHRASANKAR DAS, is a fiction based on the lives of the Indian soldiers who were performing their duties in the untried icy and treacherous heights of Siachen, where not even a blade of grass grows. The novel subtly reveals the smoldering volcanoes that each soldier carries within himself in the unforgiving icy surroundings. The latent desires, dreams, restlessness and helplessness of the characters find an adroit expression in this novel.More than 25 blustery, shivering years, the Indian and Pakistani armies have been fighting a "No-Win" battle on the 20,000-foot-high Siachen Glacier, the world's highest war-ground. On average, one Pakistani soldier is killed every fourth day, while one Indian soldier is killed every other day. Over 1,300 Pakistani soldiers have died on Siachen between 1984 and 1999. According to Indian estimates, this operation had cost India over Rs. 50 billion and almost 2,000 personnel casualties till 1997. Almost all of the casualties on both sides have been due to extreme weather conditions. In spite of this,The word `Siachen` ironically means the place of wild roses. Arduous to live in, the Siachen area is beautiful to look at from the cockpit. Some of the world's tallest mountains fill the landscape, their snowy tops giving way to rivulets of white that glitter against the black and purple rock. It is a moonscape of mesmerizing pinnacles and ridges and drops. Ice formations rise a mile high. Clouds seem at arm's reach. During storms, the heavy snowfall seems as thick as long, white drapery. The wind does pinwheels, and the basic of a hard life gets that much harder.The roots of the conflict over Siachen lie in the non-demarcations on the western side on the map beyond NJ9842. Prior to 1984 neither India nor Pakistan had any permanent presence in the area. Today, Siachen is more important as a test of diplomacy than of high-altitude battle skills. Over the years, Siachen itself has been the subject of seven major rounds of talks under various Governments ruled by various parties, negotiators have agreed that the conflict is futile -- and some have even called it lunatic. But one side or the other has always been too afr. Presently India holds two-thirds of the glacier and controls a few of the top-most heights aid of a double-cross to complete a deal.But what is the guarantee that in future Pakistani general/president will not re-occupy Siachen with ‘freedom fighters’? And in future Indian government will not ask the armed forces to take back the Soltoro ridge? USA and few western weapon manufacturing countries are only interested in selling more and more Fighter Aircrafts, Canons, other weapons and war machines to both the country. Hence, for their business shake the show must go on. If indeed we wanted to hold on to the heights, then why are we talking with each other for the last two decades to demilitarise the area? What of the four thousand soldiers who have been disabled? The cost is not only what is paid out to them in terms of disability pensions. . What of the suffering of thousands of soldiers who spend several long months at altitudes where basic survival is at stake? And finally, what about the effect on the environment? [more]

Keywords: Subhrasankar Das, Shyamal Bhattacharya, Shadowkraft Publications, Indian literature

$4.49

John Milton Paradise Lost

Poetry
English
79865 Words
Ages 8 and up
285
2

Paradise Lost is an epic poem in blank verse by the English poet John Milton. The poem concerns the Biblical story of the Fall of Man: the temptation of Adam and Eve by the fallen angel Satan and their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Milton's purpose, stated in Book I, is to "justify the ways of God to men". Milton's story has two narrative arcs, one about Satan and the other following Adam and Eve. It begins after Satan and the other rebel angels have been defeated and banished to Hell, or, as it is also called in the poem, Tartarus. In Pandemonium, Satan employs his rhetorical skill to organize his followers; he is aided by Mammon and Beelzebub. Belial and Moloch are also present. At the end of the debate, Satan volunteers to poison the newly created Earth and God's new and most favored creation, Mankind. He braves the dangers of the Abyss alone in a manner reminiscent of Odysseus or Aeneas. After an arduous traversal of the Chaos outside Hell, he enters God's new material World, and later the Garden of Eden. At several points in the poem, an Angelic War over Heaven is recounted from different perspectives. Satan's rebellion follows the epic convention of large-scale warfare. The battles between the faithful angels and Satan's forces take place over three days. At the final battle, the Son of God single-handedly defeats the entire legion of angelic rebels and banishes them from Heaven. Following this purge, God creates the World, culminating in his creation of Adam and Eve. While God gave Adam and Eve total freedom and power to rule over all creation, He gave them one explicit command: not to eat from the Tree of the knowledge of good and evil on penalty of death. The story of Adam and Eve's temptation and fall is a fundamentally different, new kind of epic: a domestic one. Adam and Eve are presented for the first time[citation needed] in Christian literature as having a full relationship while still being without sin. They have passions and distinct personalities. Satan, disguised in the form of a serpent, successfully tempts Eve to eat from the Tree by preying on her vanity and tricking her with rhetoric. Adam, learning that Eve has sinned, knowingly commits the same sin. He declares to Eve that since she was made from his flesh, they are bound to one another ‒ if she dies, he must also die. In this manner, Milton portrays Adam as a heroic figure, but also as a greater sinner than Eve, as he is aware that what he is doing is wrong. After eating the fruit, Adam and Eve have lustful sex. At first, Adam is convinced that Eve was right in thinking that eating the fruit would be beneficial. However, they soon fall asleep and have terrible nightmares, and after they awake, they experience guilt and shame for the first time. Realizing that they have committed a terrible act against God, they engage in mutual recrimination. [more]

Keywords: paradise lost, john milton, classic literature, epic poem, epic poetry, religious poetry, christianity, the fall of man, war in heaven, adam and eve, satan

$2.99

BAD Agar The Angaran Chronicles: The Ritual

Fantasy
English
13509 Words
Ages 14 and up
201
0

Much to Alathis' relief, he found the training room empty. He'd thought so; it was six in the evening, so most neophytes were busy with study.Alathis ignored the training dummies lining the left wall and the wooden weapons on the right while attempting to avert his attention from the large mirror in the north. Weapons of every type hung there, from daggers to double-headed two-handed axes. In the first few years, every neophyte was encouraged to practise with all weapons. First, to learn how to wield, so if they fought an enemy who used one, they knew how to fight it. Second to choose which one to specialise. Alathis had fallen in love with the long sword almost straight away. It wasn't too heavy or too short. It could stab and slice. Its hilt and cross-guard could be used as weapons if needs must and wielded with one or two hands. In short, it was adaptable, practical. But above all else, there was certain artistry, freedom to the long sword. It could be wielded like a curved cutting blade or even a specialist stabbing blade such as a rapier.Faster than even his eye could follow, Alathis drew his sword and was in a ready stance. Then he launched into it. His every technique, his every step, every cut, stab and parry were perfect. He'd perform a, a downward vertical strike or any other, then the appropriate dodge, block or dart. Then counter. It was called shadow swordplay. He did it by instinct, with no rhyme or reason. It emptied his mind, forced the fear anyway — the anxiety.They'd been taught meditation from a young age. It'd never worked for Alathis: Sitting and humming couldn't calm his forever busy mind. But swinging a sword or punching and kicking the air, did. Alathis wasn't as naive as most of the other acolytes; he knew Hunters were, for all intents and purposes, assassins. And he knew he had to be a damn good one to live even a year of his apprenticeship. That's if he managed to survive the Ritual somehow.He was so lost in his training he failed to notice the vampire enter the room.'Neophyte Alathis.'Alathis leapt so high he almost hit the ceiling and turned to find Kolmath approaching. The once-elf vampire's face was unreadable, her hands behind her back. She was tall for an elf: around 1.77 metres. Like all her kin, she was long-limbed, graceful. She wore plain white robes like all other teachers. Her skin just as inhumanly stark as her robes. She stared at him with large, dark green eyes and her long grey hair pulled back into a bun. She was beautiful, even for an elf she. It almost made him forget his ingrained instinct at recognising the wrongness vampires exuded.'Teacher,' said Alathis.Kolmath waved dismissal at Alathis' formality and approached the wall of weapons.'Karetil came to me,' she said. 'He's concerned about you.''He is?''Indeed,' she said and reached to touch a broad sword. 'You underestimate him, I think. He may act childish, but he has every bit the same training at reading people like you.'Alathis didn't reply, he just cut the air, first horizontally, then upward diagonally.'You know, when you first came to the coven, I was not sure what to make of you,' said Kolmath, while running her long, slender fingers along the haft of a great axe. 'You were so sullen, sulky you more so than the other survivors of the attack. I understood why, after talking with Telric.'Alathis treated her with his most murderous glare. 'I don't want to talk about that, teacher.'Kolmath turned to him. 'You will have to, Alathis. One day. What you went through, what you had to do, is something even the hardiest of us would find hard to cope with. It might be a good idea to speak of it before going through the Ritual.'Alathis couldn't help flinching at her mention of The Ritual.'Ah. So you are afraid,' said Kolmath as she took a small axe and tested its weight. 'Do not be ashamed; it is only natural.'She swung it a few times, but the swings were so fast Alathis couldn't count them.'Every neophyte in your position is afraid before the Ritual.''Well, except Karetil,' said Alathis.'He, too, is afraid, young Alathis,' said Kolmath. 'Again, you underestimate your friend, he is just far better at hiding it. Or you might be overestimating him, from a certain point of view.'Alathis swallowed. 'I don't want to die.''Everything dies,' said Kolmath. 'Even Hunters, even vampires, even the Jaroai. It is nothing to fear. It is just nothingness.''But-''You can back out,' Kolmath interrupted, but without anger or condescension. 'Stay here a [more]

Keywords: fantasy, dieselpunk, diesel, punk, lovecraftian, horror, psychological horror, dark fantasy, trauma, memories, novella, death, psycological thriller, teen, teen story, love, teen love, cosmic horror, cult, teenager, diesel punk, action, teenagers, swordsman [more][Less]

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Saniul Alom Sun The sesame on the lips

Romance
English
2403 Words
Ages 14 and up
17
0

I came home to open the sarees and became busy. Of these, the mother's arrival happened. When I saw the mother, I asked, - Why is it so late? Mother's eyebrows were curved, - What's late? - Late to exit the bride before, but you did not let you come to this house. - Do not worry. Do not listen, I say that the boy likes you? - Hmm. At the moment, the mother is enough, - really? - I will be confused by asking you again and again. - Stay, I will not ask. Alhamdulillah, let's last .... Mother stopped the mother to open the saris completely. His surprise in my eyes, - What! You dressed tiles and t-shirts! - Yes? - So that means! If they saw? - I did not see. Please do not grow up with it. - Only the father came, survived. Other or funly fun with a woman. Mother went to his work to let my reaction. After a while, the father came, and asked to put my hands on my head, read more: Read more: Your sexual life depends on mobile tapping - I knew that this boy would not dislike you. I'm fixed in marriage date as soon as possible. I was reading the book "Me Before You" with a deep attention to sleeping at night. But I could not keep the attention long in the pain of Gemini's phone. I received the call to be annoyed, - Hello. - What's the matter of refined, why are not you receiving my call? - I do not think so. Do not say this way please. Manas, yesterday, you heard a little more strictly. But for that I later said Sorry later. What did I say? - Hmm said. - Then? - So what? - Oops, IF Mihi Pls, yesterday was so much that the work of work in the office was so much that my head was hanged. So what did I say? Please do not get angry. - Shari and Pls say my printing is going to be Gemini. - Okay, I will not say. - Well. Keeping now - You mean? - That means cut the phone's line. Gemini increased his patience level with a sigh, - will meet tomorrow? - Well, come to Bakultali at 11 o'clock in the morning. - Thanks. I kept the phone because I did not think any other answer. I know, Gemini will not call anymore. And I know, he is niche his hand to give a call but can not call for fear. It was a rush when it was ready to get rising from waking in the morning. After the Shower, the green saris of Georget's green sarees later left the wet hair well or went away. Rickshaw rises and noticed that the glass bracelet, earrings, kajal, lipstick were nothing worn. Vanitybags are always Kajol, so the rest of the time can be dragged in the eyes but the rest of them were incomplete. But I do not have any headaches. I know, Gemini will look at me in this random situation and look at the fascination of the past. At that time I reached Bakultali at 11.20. I saw a lot away in front of Ricksavara and went to the cigarette standing in front of the freedom. The black color shirt and Blue Kaler jeans are more handsome in Gemini more than the other day. The shirt sleeve has folded again. However, the day of break-up is the form of all the boyfriends. When I saw me, I took the hand of Gemini cigarettes and I did "no" from a distance. Asked and asked, - I did not "not" leave cigarettes? - Did you But you will harm the smell of cigarettes. - Whether it's you? I like the smell of cigarette. - So when it is good, then you can pull yourself. I looked into the eyes of the eyes, gently, Gently drag, - let's leave, let your father finally broke your anger. - Who broke the anger? - That's still angry? - Who said angry? - Oops' mihi ... - I have not yet breakfast. The hunger is too much. - All right, sit down. I have been buying something. - UN, do not buy anything. I'll eat foam. - Now? - Yes, when or when? - Well, you will eat fuke. Take some other before. I went to Fukkawala and went to Fukkawala without giving me Gemini. Gemini is also coming back. - Mama, give a plate faster. Solder will give more. When I heard me, Funkyarda Mama started to make the smile smile. I forgot to pin to sarees in the hatred. Now I can not eat fox in the barber and peace. Seeing this situation, Gemini said, - I'll eat? - No. There is no peace ate in the hands of others. Rather, keep m [more]

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Original:Perugu.Ramakrishna Flemingo

Translation:Jagadhaatri

Poetry
English
3399 Words
No Age Recommendation
670
3

FLEMINGO..(lONG POEM ON MIGRATED BIRDS) Time is infinite Time is a canoe Time is a winged dove Time is desert silence Time is the rumble of the oceans Time is the showering rain droplet It is the tremor of the heart Time is the lingo of history Time is an eternal test A non stop journey is time A ceased path is time Time is life Time is a flow Time is death Time is the opportune right Time is a tide Time is the breath Time is invisible Time is tangible Time is a scene of beauty The breath of an atom is time The tune of an iota is time Time is the play of life and death Time is the envoy of peace and terror There is no shore that the time has not touched And no ray of light untouched by time Time is the manifestation of the ancient Brahman The modern interpretation of duty is time Time is earthly and heaven Time is eternal Time is the river of life Life is a journey In the stream of time! (2) Journey Is a feature of instability The flow A lively spirit Flower voyages Pollinated From flower to flower The bird travels As love From shore to shore As a lineage Procreation Is the maternal instinct And desire for procreation Is the essence of the expansion of the soul Copulation Is it only pertaining to the man alone? Justice in creation Flourishes in plural Many rain droplets do make a rain Umpteen leaves do make a tree Millions of cells do make one creation Loneliness is not the trait of the world Embossing fetus in the ovum The bird blows the warmth of breath The cosmic universe is Perceived in totality by the inner eye (3) Every move is a journey Every death is a journey Every birth is a voyage Flight is the winning spirit of the migrating birds The effort of the ocean of love Is to procreate As the oceans run With the feet of waves As the air flows In wavy winds As life continues With the unending breaths As the world rounds in Non stop news In wings and wings Do fly and arrive these birds The creatures with passion and patience Thousands of kilometers of restless journey To the destination afar In search of wonderlands A partly witness of the Irrepressible instinct The soaring birds flying Like hunks of the rainbow Like the seven colored sankranthi(pongal rangoli) The flowing sea of the bird flock Floats on the treasures of the blue oceans The jingling song of the migrating birds Is a travel A stopover A sojourn A libido All are the traces of the moving time…. (4) The bird is the Infinite freedom with sprouted wings The eyes filled with a fear And a shiver As the soldier of the border forces The bird is a being, all time alert Onlooker with a quest It is the bird that Smears a mosaic of colors To the ends of the wings And tips of the tails The bird is the one Which casts net and Catches hold of the Jet velocity And the splendor of winds In the moment of hunger It is the bird that Surgically operates the available food And feeds on it as a fork Welcoming a dawn The bird is the Wake up call To the society Crossing a cold night Slivering the foggy morn With its beak Flying fast with its legs apart Runs the bird in prey hunt Testing the air contaminated From the farthest branch Of a tall tree It is the bird that removes the pollution On a sunny afternoon On a choicest water meadow It is the bird that Jumps and thumps And somersaults Playing water khabaddi Fluttering the body Dries its wings Measuring the distance of thousands of miles It is the migrating bird That carries The history of the other side of the world To the culture this side And the race of that land To this generation here The bird is the flying goddess of passion A flying message of peace Completing the journeys By the twilight of dusk Gathering near the tree It is the bird that gets ready for a chorus concert It is the bird that reflects The mynahs of poesy Gandharvas (divine singers) of music And the doyens of music Hunger, sleep, love, and passion Are similar to all the living beings Between birth and death Birds too have relations They are not promiscuous Birds too have a social life They do not know social betrayal The bird that unfolds its broad wings of vast feels Seldom knows selfishness It does not contract with narrow mindedness To the lady bird That sits over in hatching With all balance and patience The snacks of Pulicot Brought tucked in the bags beneath its nose Is fed in pecks and perks by the male The bird is beyond jealousy and hatred To the villagers who saved it from Any one shooting a bullet The bird as a good Samaritan in ardent gratitude, Makes the land fertile with its drops Gifting a three times crop and leaves the land The bird must be a role model for the man..!! For sincerity and commitment And discipline. (5) Exodus is an unending journey Migration an age old fete When the hues of life’s backdrop change Exodus is a weapon When the clouds anger Making scarce a droplet of rain The village turns an exodus To the anna datha (farmer) The farmer’s life turns a coolie Exodus transports a generation Exodus changes the way of life At times migration in life Encircles as a whirl pool At times drowns as a typhoon It makes you travel out to the continents For the sake of the tiny belly There is no race and no religion The hunger’s language is universal It may sojourn over anywhere Will make you do anything Stretches its hand until the belly is filled From a dark continent On to the dais of light From an icy country To the warm place Builds the bridge of the seasons (6) The pelicans moving on the wings of time The flamingos that ram in the air car The Painted storks flown in like kites Fluttering on the Konkanai Sails of the waves are the black cranes As the ambassadors of many countries Have taken part in the international conference The nature is all over colorful messages of love All the festivals of love of the bird tourists Are happily celebrated by the youth On all the branches of the land are the happy resorts In whichever village lost is the eye It is the hustle of the moving colorful dreams Are the goods of the empires of Manmadha(god of love) The secrets of Mithuna rasi(Zodiac sign pertaining to love) The hundred puzzles of the colorful flying boats All over the Pulicot lake is the congregation of romantic heroes All over the sky of Pulicot are the airs of emotions Each bird is a hoisted flag of poesy The colorful parrot is a short poem of dreams The dark legged crane that has soiled its feet in the dirt of darkness Washes them in the blue Pulicot The myriad colored sea-parrot Dives into the waters as the water drawing pulley Alone a great sage Stands on single foot in penance When in the shades of waters narayani(heron) appears He chants the manthra of gutakayaswaha(i.e. to swallow it) Folding its wings to the sides of time Gudaswami(the paddy bird or pond heron) Takes thrice a dip in the Pulitheertham(name of a place) As if thousands of women Are stilled as a picture In the postures of classical Indian dances On the dais are the postures of the imitating flamingos The everlasting fight of the usurpers for the water treasure And for the enticing damsels As if the Nelapattu has blown the snake charm Every now and then they journey to the home Naughty kids being the waves, Floating are the winged boats The structure that has turned The Pralaya Kaveri(stormy Kaveri) Into pranaya Saveri(lovable Saveri(a raga)) In the radiant jugalbandi of the jalatharangini Is the passionate shower of dazzling ragas As soon as it dawns in Pulicot Spreading the colorful carpet Entwining the hues of spring and winter Flows as a soaring garden of blooms Watering the mouth of the awaiting sea. (7) The bird guests under the boundless skies Are the messiahs of universal brotherhood The romantic tales carried over by the great poets The Manmadhas(gods of love) who well knew the secrets of love Lovers they are, who have left their family and place With an ardent desire to beget off springs Though in the size of a seed, but vast are their hearts Their eyes are like lamps without wicks To spread light is their message To perceive life is their philosophy Life is a penance Life is radiance Life is a dawn Life is providence Life a tune of the creation From generation to generation pervades life From earth to heaven is the debate of puranas Life is an eternal stream of time! The birds are the flags hoisted by the King of time!! (8) There – On each branch is a concert In each nestle, a sonata Every tree a cluster of myriad hues A bird fete all over the lands Chirps and tickles Coos and laughs Many a confluences of umpteen springs of ragas Many a sum of joy With the exciting songs of the round eyed ones The climate is delighted In the highways of power filled skies A colorful dream unfolds The milky-way Turns a rosy hued stream In the time of saran navarathri Saphari Theerdham(name of a place) Relaxes in the conference of arts The banjara(wagabond) birds that have come Croon the songs of coos They spread out the treasure troves of love Onto the nest of the worlds To the noises of the love making birds All the stars peer down to the earth The ways of love of the romantic hearts Breathe out the passions in loneliness Stretching his hands of rays, sun of the dawn Applies henna in stealth Unfolding the doors of their hearts The blooms color themselves in serenity Color is the manifestation of spirit of life! The lands that were not greeted till the day before Today are, the life of the birds summit The trees that were faded till the day before Are today the strings played veenas Thousands of flute songs of Krishna Now the morns of Nelapattu Are the wavy streams of sweet melodies Now the evenings of Nelapattu Are the springs of songs of the elixir of love A pelican tucks in its lover Into the nestle of its wings A painted stork nearing it Woos its beloved with its long snout The sabari crane in the tune of passion Loses himself to the sweet song of its lady love Turning its body into breath the wood pecker Smears all over the body of its heart throb Not only the floods of milky bosoms But the ardor of sperm too flows In the great yagna of the Santhana Lakshmi(the goddess of children) Millions of lives are dawned (9) Not only the Devakakulu But all the birds are the ancient kith and kin! All our visiting birds are Manvanthara purandharas!(the age old lords of Heaven) We assume the Bulbul to be an alien When have we seen it as a peace monger? We feel the blind crane as the evil spirit Have we ever counted it as the Charioteer of virtue? Though the python is black in color It is as good hearted as the dark lord (Lord Krishna) All the beautiful dances of the red breast are The festoons of light of the happy family ways In the life rituals of the branches Pour in the fuel of lively smiles In the bright journey of procreation, both the branches Ignite the lights of new radiances Numerous tales of love, umpteen loves Each branch is the cottage of Vathsayana(the author of Kama Sutra) Every nestle is a sound of music No creation, no rains, no destruction No progress of the world is possible without the family life Children are to the man, seeds of time And the ovum is the radiance of dynamism for the bird From the seed the tree and from the tree the seed Is the first step to the world’s progress To the yagna(ritual sacrifice) of the migrating birds The flourishing Kadapa tree is the dais The tree is the green flag hoisted by the nature The tree is the comfort to the exhausted mankind To the alien birds that crossed the oceans The tree is the temple of conjugal bliss To the on spreading bird dynasties The tree is the temple of the secret of creation (10) Time is always an open book All are open truths that are snuggled into it Time is a teacher that seldom taught anything to anyone Time is the emissary that tells every one everything The foreign birds are the prophets of yoga of life They are the bosom friends that do not know the hatreds of the borders They are the alien yogis that do not have lust They are the enlightened ones that have seen the secret of the kala chakra(the cycle of time) Greets in the universal lingo, and ecstasies They are well cultured ones that conduct unity camps Holy souls overflow in joy To the emigrant flock with the touch of this land In the lush green shade Appear the dreams of morrow’s generation That’s why I say bird is the indication of time It is the symphony of the past, present and future The holy fire of confluence is the endorsement of trikala tantra Bird loves a bird Soul copulates with the soul Nelapattu is the dais of the perseverance of Poundarika Nelapattu is the indication of age old yagas The sowing of seeds of life from generations Nature is the balancing measure here It is here that nature takes another breath And here the world gives birth to another creation This little land after crossing over the oceans Is a living home for a race It is a pillow of the joys and sorrows Where the dharma of Buddha has excelled It is the stage of dance for the danseuse Rathi Devi(wife of kamadeva, the lord of love) That knew the mystic tune or the tune of mysticism It’s the moment that seeks the justification of the soul Having understood the inevitability of the mortal body Forgetting the body pleasure, and pleasure of the body Manmadha becomes a passionate yogi here It’s the nature that fulfils it’s duty on this land Turning to be a man, it furthers the creation Congregation of birds that have no disparities An egalitarian equality The fragrance of passion to the ones who open eyes And to the eyes closed sages The liberation of the soul Time, changing colors as seasons For a minute, ecstasies as birds It’s here that begins an end To the time infinite The foundation is laid here From the end to the endless (11) Flamingo offers with love to its lady The bedisa(silver fish) that it brings with its nose How much it longs for its lover When it succeeds to fly in whirls Catching the vanjaram(the scomber or the seer -fish )in the net of its nose Fluttering its wings dreams of off springs Who must have taught so many tunes to these birds? How was such passion adorned to these round eyed ones? Which bird was that have shown way to this place? That results every year in this compulsory family fair The ecstasy of life in the foreyard of Nelapattu Wings sprout to the nestlings The tiny fish school, become their food grains Pulicot is the field of water crop The tiny shrimp is the fruit of the crop Fluttering its wings the blue flamingo Hounds the snake fish The crooked nose lakumuki(king fisher) bird Chase the mattagidasa(the sucking fish, called the Echeneis)) Having shattered the line of the girasa(short) fish The baby paraja(Rasica) crow feels joyous The sky seems congested To the nestlings that got wings The blue lake is the food store To the red breast that has learnt to fly In the battle for food To the shouts of hunger and The dance of the Bharatha(Titlark or Pippit called in Dakhini Chendul)) bird Searching for prey Bulbul is the food Hunger is the age old enemy to all the living beings To gratify hunger is peace for any being Even the gods of heaven savor elixir in hunger When big fish is swallowing the small ones Why is it wrong if birds feed on fish? As if the rainbows had bathed As the Apsaras (divine courtesans of the heaven)cast their charms Festival of colors on the waves of Pulicot A divine game of the baby sparrows The water meadow filled with children Looks like a conference of joy and gay In the eyes of the bird watchers Reflects a kaleidoscope of colors From Nelapattu to Pulicot This bird festival Flows like a stream of water colors The celebration reaches the skies Neither trap nor net, and no hook Beak is the mere weapon The battle of hunger seldom stops Even in tides and in the nets of waves and typhoons All the expertise lies in hunting However a great jalapushpam(fish) The test is to catch the prey with its beak Is the sanguine trait shared Pulicot is the resort for a change of climate For the progress of the breed the trunks of Nelapattu are the residencies The Pralaya Kaveri is now the grace f love Every nestling born here is morrow’s bird The yester born narayana(the common heron) The water parrot that fed on this land Having breathed his first in the nest of this tree Can the alien Sabari ever forget? The colorful dreams of the pelicans The blooms of hope of their beautiful nights The cool breeze and the odor of the soil of Nelapattu Can the red breast ever lose memory of this honeymoon? The ecology of India echoed with The divine violin notes of gratitude The land is infinite and sky vast As the flow of time the ocean too is boundless The one who called these foreign birds as aliens The one who made immigration as inheritance If he goes from this village Begets a child in that great nation Earns a green card and citizenship But how can the egg laid here be an alien? Can the way of pariga(the rose colored Starling or theCholam bird. Pastor roseus) brought up in the Pralaya Kaveri be changed? This soil is remembered by every bird And hence every year it turns up to its motherland! (12) The scene of the skies blooming in myriad colors On the branches of the rubber trees is The sweet home of the flamingo and pelican Reflects the groping families of man In the spreading apartment culture In the shades of the hoods of the waters of Pralaya Kaveri Joyously bathes the Siberia Forgetting the tiresomeness of thousands of miles As the armed forces of navy The meghmalhar(a raga that invokes rain God) song of the bird How many brushes of the artist must have bowed in reverence? To this sea parrot Umpteen canvases must have lost their faces In the symphony of the chirps of love birds is The still picture of the happy NRI doves The music of sarigama (the seven music notes)that teaches the soaring music to the heart At least once in a year…… The passion for the embrace of the motherland The longing to kiss the soil of birth The son of the soil who lost his inner face Forgetting the roots of life in the battle Having turned into a machine At least …now Have to transmigrate into the bird! Conclusion All the souls become one The cosmic treasures become divine souls In the confluence of the water treasures of India Taking a holy dip turn to be the holy souls What may be the divinity of the migrating birds They always worship Narayana in waters. Telugu original: Perugu Ramakrishna Eng trans: Jagaddhatri [more]

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Dr. Sonnet Mondal. Fusion Sonnets of 21st Century

21 Lines

Poetry
English
1 Words
No Age Recommendation
493
2

Sonnet 1 The white clouds, in black theme; Hidden daylight on the Eastern earth, For Great Poets a dreadful dearth, For the poetic vegetation to take birth ; The spotted moon shining upon its seam- Without vitality, fragile against the agile clouds, Heading towards it to spread the shroud, No star in the scenery, no men to cry aloud; Where’s the smile, where’s the gleam? Where’s the hope where’s the dream? The billows will fall as water vapours Upon the wish of the Lord! If not poetry will form itself in the dark- Fighting to shape its form. The white clouds in the black theme ; Perhaps the fault of the painter… Colors spreading toward the subject tower; A new shade to be brushed To save it from being crushed; Or a few drops upon the face with a pull on the edges will form- The spotted moon, shining upon its seam. Sonnet 2 Oh, Old, Bold, kingly building… You stand here for the fifteen decades of transition- So many changes in thoughts travelling through sensation- Of wars and treaties, cries and cremations; Oodles of the century in your stoic ceiling!!! Your eroded body with weathered paint- Must be turning you faint, Without a space to launch a complain, all constrained. Are you not bored standing here, then why are you smiling? I know you have whims; still why aren’t you appealing? The day isn’t far when the circulating air in your galleries- Will break open the blockage of the ministerial ears, And will force them to dress up with new color perhaps white- Then the parties and dances will kiss off your boredom. Oh, Old, Bold, kingly building… Are you not jaded with the age old architecture? No more does it winch your structure. The people residing have pinned loads of pegs in your skin – Haven’t your soul ever wanted to move out of this sin? Still from where do you gather the power to bear- Oodles of the century in your stoic ceiling!!! Sonnet 3 Hours of waste heaped beside your shores; Nature started you with the touch of purity perhaps from the hands of a priest, With glaciers creating you and flakes creating mist, Boulders standing on the way showing you fist; Still you flow, form and find inspite of the infected core. People say you to be life and still treat you as dustbin, Curtailing the ability of the moving fins- To move about, live or swim, Above is it layer of smoke and over you, the oil pores? When would men realize, actions will cause sores? The sores would rise above the skin to expose themselves; The children would scream in pain- Perhaps then the guys would realize And clear your feet and drop flower on you. Hours of waste heaped beside your shores; The human blood overburdened with sorrows, Showing the step of the fellows, Anxiety, grief abound in veins- Layering it the hidden pains… Scores of ups and downs in the course- Still you flow, form and find inspite of the infected core. Sonnet 4 The mother sat with hanging tongue, brooding over conscience; The puppies in their own world of Natural toys; above the cawing ravens, Bits of stones comprise their castle, their heaven… Stolen splendor, innocent appeal, thoughtless vitality – all woven; The platonic smell in mystic hairs within immortal science. The new-borns were lessened by one in number, The very next date, after the time of human supper, The mother seemed fresh, her stomach looked fatter; Was it her who did it in some shallow mines? You were the cause of production, then what led you break the charming rhymes? Must be to reduce an extra burden of – Or to cure someone off the circle of existence; Perhaps the soul will go to merge into the supreme soul- Or the hunger would never return again. The mother sat with hanging tongue, brooding over conscience; The burning heat had vaporized the saliva of the mother, The hanging skin of her belly had arose a blood hunger, That supplemented her crooked eyebrows towards a female child- And lured her towards becoming savage and wild. Perhaps crops and economy would improve and prepare you to conceive- The platonic smell in mystic hairs within immortal science. Sonnet 5 The steel cages rusted, rotted yet strong and bold, Inside them lies a separate world of wild limbs limping- And turned inert with torture and malfunctioning, Their bloody flesh exposed a slapdash attitude with distressed feeling. Excitement in eyes, pleasure in heart, wonder in minds from sufferings untold. The fierce paws perhaps waiting for the head, One chance will kiss alive the daring dead! They are here cogently none of them are well fed. What makes them stay here for hours in heat and cold? What if God decides to move them to eternity from these nuts and bolts? The crowd is increasing with the number of days in earth’s calendar, Perchance some eyes would feel the ensuing death- And scream in protest, close the doors- To provide zeal to work and vigor to our pulse. The steel cages rusted, rotted yet strong and bold, The values disgraced and degraded in an ever-sinking trough- The well born meant to rule and the ill born destined to plough! The hunger forces them to spread their hands and bow their heads- Possibly one lord would see the angry eyes desiring to weave wreaths- And would start heaping red soil in the gulf of separation to change the world of- Excitement in eyes, pleasure in heart, wonder in minds from sufferings untold. Sonnet 6 The signs of the past signaling them though the walls of the museum- Ancestral figures sleeping inside glasses; A nostalgic journey embedded inside multifaces; Moving in and out, the sorrowfully happy masses. The bridge which leads to our much coveted past’s stadium. The plaster over the stony bones undergoing depreciation, Unnoticed or willfully derelict till the boss comes for inspection. Most of the doors have been closed under the poster of renovation! When will the gates containing history open in open fluid medium? Is it also ordained to face the delaying court of law, in this millennium? Beside the central entrance, bamboos have been erected, The floor is dusty but to support the roof; The work has started, the contractors engaged, the workforce is on- Perhaps that could smell breathe into the sleeping statues. The signs of the past signaling them though the walls of the museum- Fated to be silent in reaction of the course of detrimental activities, Carried out by those still figures with cavities- They didn’t care to save their past- Then we are far better in saving them in any caste. We will still care without anger and act to preserve, The bridge which leads to our much coveted past’s stadium. Sonnet 7 The two sparrows fluttering feathers in the mud water- The summer heat outside raging over the northern tropic; The folded leaves, dozing crowns, piercing sunlight caught in the camera’s click. The shot captured the lifted tails, squashy feathers, twinkling eyes and the insect in the beaks. While the thirsty earth begs for some juice, nature seems to be interested only in its care. The camera turned to jail more of such scenery- The dusty structures all around surrounded by ironical greenery; No where a second such beauty; what a slavery! Have all other sparrows left the bower? Why didn’t the scene act as an inspirational shelter? Some rays have acted worse than the scorching sunlight! They must end soon, for more lovely views to be viewed; Or they will turn to iron falcons To take up the reign of survival. The two sparrows fluttering feathers in the mud water- Want of water all over the thirsty city, Still fumes are up over the trees; what a pity! The realization yet to be dawned and distributed- Or the living brains would turn to boiler heads; The water pumps of actions are being cleared to prevent the rule of insects- While the thirsty earth begs for some juice, nature seems to be interested only in its care. Sonnet 8 The shirts and pants hanging from the ropes crisscrossing the room- Perhaps they were washed today; the last drops still appear on the floor; They are yet not dry, held together by something in the core, One of them appears red, indicative drops, apart from those dropping from pores. Below the roof a new world has bloomed. Sleepy eyes, sinking figure, loose fingers upon different brands of wine and fusion, Hallucinations cutting towards flattering illusion, The smoke rising and curling up to create a new creation of destruction. Are they heading towards perfection in passion or ultimate doom? Have the labeled bottles perforated their body or they find happiness in gloom? Addiction will vanish in another six months- Vital forces of the drunk, will end in water- The dying whim of employment would turn them loyal; The compulsion to perform will certainly speak in favor of betterment. The shirts and pants hanging from the ropes crisscrossing the room- The yes failed to see those burning veins- Whither no blood but alcohol drains! Neither parents nor teachers interested for their survival- The sensed out bodies with the red color tearing through eyes-What a carnival? They will spin to ashes and then the renunciation will make the scholars utter as if- Below the roof a new world has bloomed. Sonnet 9 Peace all over the pitch black abode of the sleeping souls- A faint weep could be heard, mysterious yet sad- A half burnt man sat on his grave, over his head a tattered hat A symbol of his success that turned his enemies mad. Triumph or collapse both being part of life, harmony was packed into holes. His lament was for what he failed to complete- His annoyance was that he was competent to compete, Yet was shot dead before his works could reach the country fleet. Why did they tell then that ‘you aren’t applying for big goals’? And when he did why did they stole his discoveries and tear his brain’s poles? A figure rose from behind, awakened by his daily sobs- That world is a punishment, the graveyard is serene; You have worked a lot and now the Lord wants you to wait, Till those assassins finish their span and come here with no bed to sleep. Peace all over the pitch black abode of the sleeping souls- The moans of the dead specify his failure to satisfy himself- Even with huge money and innovations in his shelf, Still he didn’t wait but tried to run with wrong associations- That led to his untimely fall, and post death frustrations. Now, it’s the hour to realize the world’s way- Triumph or collapse both being part of life, harmony was packed into holes. Sonnet 10 The time has vanished when I used to rely upon my branches- I am now, just like a tree whose lithe boughs have congealed, Enduringly bent and rotten without the sap inside that have been sealed Somewhere else, for someone else’s to be filled. The provider of shade is now herself craving for calm benches. The yearning in psyche is still strong yet has lost poise, My opinion doesn’t matter anymore owing to my faint voice; I fear placing my words to prevent creating noise. Shall the doctors be able to cure me to early stages? Or shall I be forced to be like this for the rest of my ages? I will stay in this form, but will not groan in pain- When my children are enduring me, shall I not endure them? Let my branches fall and let me turn cripple, Till I have the verve in the nerves of my eyes, I must see them idyllic. The time has vanished when I used to rely upon my branches- Perhaps I have disused the forming element of my cadaver- This had left me like a brittle glass upon the soft bed cover; I have no clout to enjoy but smirk occasionally- When I see them laughing in joy, those who care me blissfully; Let this be my life now, contended with all I had over the years and forget that- The provider of shade is now herself craving for calm benches. Sonnet 11 Outside the lights are up, the grand fiesta of lights has stepped inside halls- But they have botched to skulk within me. My eyes are wide open to seize the brightness and feel the glee, Yet times and over it is murkiness and tedium, what it could see! The large bursts crashed against my ears, crackers burned in my eyeballs… Over two decades ago, it was the similar night, same as today Two kids at the doorsteps, behind them their father was about to join the play- I had evil commitment and my spiteful arm shot him to taste the clay… Is it my turn now to cart the heavy death’s shawl? Or should I wait for heavenly calls? The peccadillo I had adhered to blinks each moment, Let me spread my hands to be taken away by the handless, Let my only dwelling be temple! Let me wait before I sleep. Outside the lights are up, the grand fiesta of lights has stepped inside halls- I was a sincere murderer; I was bound by profession; The ferocious sounds have provided a base of my frustration; The reason may be my wobbly fingers and meager eyesight, That pulls me back, say me no and deter me from having my fight. Can those children without senses, with slaughtered father be my now…? The large bursts crashed against my ears, crackers burned in my eyeballs… Sonnet 12 Tension crawled and prevailed over the creepers in the mangrove and vineyard- The other day witnessed the death of the grasses; The army with spades and machines moving in masses, To trample upon herbs, chop down the mangrove without any traces. Nature is silent perhaps dumb to see the greenery turning to a grey graveyard! The land that swelled amongst leaves now presented waterless soil, As if the human race choked in a python coil; The huge figures were cut into pieces, loaded in trucks and the wastes were boiled. Was there none to choose barren yards? Now who will provide fruits of life and shelter to birds? The last one was left but covered by worms of hundred types- Their only home was left- not an inch without a group of them; The green hue emitted the color of industries- The spades dropped from the hands, now looked at the seeds, the basis of creation. Tension crawled and prevailed over the creepers in the mangrove and vineyard- Unwanted, undesirable minds moved their arms without perceiving thoughts- Depending upon the sales of those destroyed and the deceiving papers they got. The mute worms made them look into themselves and kindled thinking power- What if there’s neither rain nor the life sustaining showers! They will now take up their tools and dig the ground to cremate the notes, still Nature is silent perhaps dumb to see the greenery turning to a grey graveyard! Sonnet 13 The deformed woman, in her eightieth revolution round the sun, Like thin black rotten skin pasted upon a skeleton frame; She came out of the crowd and called out to blame, For the dirt were uncared by the juvenile bloods-a terrible shame! The gaze through the spectacles looked spectacular with the stick, as if preparing to run. With a broom in her hands she brushed the floor, Fifty men and women all standing without thinking to adore, No one humble enough to share with her before she pushes the dust out of the door. What she thinks of such person avoiding their turn? Or does she take it as her old-age fun? She is not worn out but looked most carefree still in her senescence – The servant suddenly arrived to fall to her feet and take the charge- Of cleaning, staring with surprise at the crowd who never knew- Who was combing the ground was a landlady. The deformed women, in her eightieth revolution round the sun, Sunburns and distortions in form were a result of her long service- For days to serve the people gathering at her office; This was years ago, but still now God has kept her strong- While travelling and cleaning places all along- The natives were dormant but now buoyant to take up charge of reformations while- The gaze through the spectacles looked spectacular with the stick, as if preparing to run. Sonnet 14 Falling heavily, the rains barred us from moving out- My thoughts boarded upon the boat of chimera and rowed to my land, Crossing the oceans to reach the shore where stands my dwelling of sand; My nostalgia played a mischief upon my beliefs with a magic wand. Waiting beside to see the waves pull down the structure setting laws of timeout. O Ocean Fluid you are perpetual flowing with the same pace, Then why are you so fervent to crack away my heart’s case? I endure the groaning pain which for the mankind absorb no place. Will it persist drizzling and create unanswerable doubts? Out should I move, prepare myself for a bout? By the time the showers will stop, may be all of a sudden, But the colorists will get some time to complete their work- To paint my home, and all along to paint my gloom; They must be working hard; the nature has lent his hand. Falling heavily, the rains barred us from moving out- Grueling me for my actions through its own measures, I was wrong to make someone cry for my own pleasure- To leave address and set up a new, But destiny desired failure for me amongst my crew. I hope Mother Nature indubitably will exonerate me or I will be- Waiting beside to see the waves pull down the structure setting laws of timeout. Sonnet 15 The girls came to me, each with the opinion of being diverse in their own tales- The first one with the policy of ‘to be for one is to be forever’; The second one with the principle ‘to love I belong never’; The third one with the words ‘to head towards love is a daring endeavor’; Confusion prevailed over my musing wits with those terse lines from the females. Spending a night with each will increase my awareness and compel, All of them were to be my lovers to compete swell, to lift me up from the baffling well, The second one came, she lost; the first one with a pre-relation, she too failed; The third one tried to be safe; wasn’t all swept in just a gale? Was this their commitment to lips or was there more for fake sales? The will power of women didn’t lie in words but they are like volatile chemicals, Touch and vanish without informing, sometimes leaving a trace- To fall into them is like digging deep in a well, Still I would experiment, if not the purity of words then the purity of pelt. The girls came to me, each with the opinion of being diverse in their own tales- Experimenting was just a filthy cause, lust lasted in heap, Unsatisfied with one that led to two and three and seep- The beauty beneath the blood; the feeling of ship in a storm, Perhaps I chose those girls changing their norms; I fell in love through yearn, but they seemed to scorn… Confusion prevailed over my musing wits with those terse lines from the females. Sonnet 15 The girls came to me, each with the opinion of being diverse in their own tales- The first one with the policy of ‘to be for one is to be forever’; The second one with the principle ‘to love I belong never’; The third one with the words ‘to head towards love is a daring endeavor’; Confusion prevailed over my musing wits with those terse lines from the females. Spending a night with each will increase my awareness and compel, All of them were to be my lovers to compete swell, to lift me up from the baffling well, The second one came, she lost; the first one with a pre-relation, she too failed; The third one tried to be safe; wasn’t all swept in just a gale? Was this their commitment to lips or was there more for fake sales? The will power of women didn’t lie in words but they are like volatile chemicals, Touch and vanish without informing, sometimes leaving a trace- To fall into them is like digging deep in a well, Still I would experiment, if not the purity of words then the purity of pelt. The girls came to me, each with the opinion of being diverse in their own tales- Experimenting was just a filthy cause, lust lasted in heap, Unsatisfied with one that led to two and three and seep- The beauty beneath the blood; the feeling of ship in a storm, Perhaps I chose those girls changing their norms; I fell in love through yearn, but they seemed to scorn… Confusion prevailed over my musing wits with those terse lines from the females. Sonnet 16 It was the autumn festivity, liberated joy marked by a day of desires- Desire for good shirts, good food, good friends, good journey- Amongst the sea of wishes, there’s some, infact too many – Glance at the season not as their means to toil but to earn money. The alluring ladies enjoying the victuals, while server is in frayed attire. Standing with his small child washing the crockery, the man behind the counter- Occasionally he looks at his son, wipes off his sweat and tries to work faster, While his son look at the merry-go-rounds; a vain dreamer. To one it’s everything, to another it’s nothing; isn’t it a satire? Will they earn enough capital to leap out from the poverty fire? They are avoiding outlay, being ambitious towards some aim, To stop the customary conditions in the rich and poor- They want brotherhood, we too- But the self-seeking people, let them value labor now. It was the autumn festivity, liberated joy marked by a day of desires- A freefalling object lightened the sky premises- The mesmerizing night had made so truthful promises; The astronauts too sighted the object and tried to track it, Who should it belong; it fell to one of the hunger stricken feet; The world has watched this through technology, no one to do injustice yet- The alluring ladies enjoying the victuals, while server is in frayed attire. Sonnet 17 Sometimes the sizzling sun, sometimes the blinding rain in the muddy plot, Thwart my lazy veins to depart for daily classes, But my poetic psyche begins its research ogling through the glasses- Not at youthful lasses but at the blissful Sun, White sky, and growing grasses. The Sun and Moon in their reverse course performing their duty to capture snapshots. So many four years have passed; I will also go by- The hazy metaphors of these days, some prominent yet among them, will surely make me cry; I will earn a lot but will these things available for me to buy? Where does the past passes and clot? Is our sorrowful mind only facet of elucidation that we have got? Lords must have fixed the sky to register and clouds as informer, Wherever we go, leaving our land, to foster peace in our life, Thinking or forgetting our times of yore to which we covet to come back some day, The chronicle will keep on working; we’ll posses the criterion to see them. Sometimes the sizzling sun, sometimes the blinding rain in the muddy plot, If I went to class I couldn’t have travelled to the billow, May be I have a different world like all others; yet I reside in a hollow- Memories and mirrors, reflect a melancholic song when viewed closely, We have our closed fingers yet outlets are many through which they escape simply; Nature like a King fixes work for its subjects and has his own cameras with which- The Sun and Moon in their reverse course performing their duty to capture snapshots. Sonnet 18 The passing days enhance my loneliness, among pen and papers; I talk to the two lizards- Who too try to hide apart- To escape from the smell of my unwashed body and dirty shirt. I long for someone of any gender, somebody of any culture. The door bell rang; she came inside my room- A fairy out of nowhere, kissed away my gloom! Time went by; she came closer, still I refused to turn myself to a bridegroom. What do I want; to be like the solitary reaper? Why my feelings wished a companion when I preferred tear? I was barmy from within who failed to know his fancy; Let me talk to the walls and books, I love that more than speaking to robots; They will listen all my words without protest. The passing days enhance my loneliness, among pen and papers; God should not have created me at least, Let me now turn to a theist, I may have challenged him- To spend my life without fulfilling whims- I now think of growing stronger, let me desire none yet, I long for someone of any gender, somebody of any culture. Sonnet 19 With the toughness in figure, sanctity in intellect, clarity acquired over the days- He stood on one leg as the a stilted log, adamant in deep meditation, Without food for a hundred days in the same condition; Below his feet, woods have been stacked; a fire-stick has been ignited under stipulation. The hermit stood upon the fire; unshaken by the blaze! The day before the sage stated himself to be sacrificed in the fire of purity, For the sake of peace and principles among degrading humanity; No administrator took a step, though all gathered from the city. Couldn’t the sage utilize his divine powers for civilizing the phase? Couldn’t those idiots stop this or they wanted more of such plays? May be some godly influence paralyzed the people and policemen, Leaving their eyes to watch, Conceivably this was to make them see the naked truth all around, To make them act, for benevolence and be strict with rules. With the toughness in figure, sanctity in intellect, clarity acquired over the days- The religious norms yet not done away, we still wear them as gowns; As the saint burnt without movement, his parts fell down. The scene should have caused a shockwave But all bowed with joined hands, fell to their knees but none dared to save. Today I realize rationality has lost in religions, which forced the bold people stand as- The hermit stood upon the fire; unshaken by the blaze! Sonnet 20 The greatest Epic of all times had so much to teach, though followers are fewer; The plight of women indicated though the pages of Mahabharata, ‘Panchali’ born in the lap of King Dhrupad; in the kingly strata; A princess for whom gold was like water; coins could be treated as excreta. She sat upon barbs, in spite of her glorious image and backing power. She longed and dreamed of Arjuna but got four of the brothers along, She didn’t complain; but which woman would act so strong- When the evil hands fell on her clothing while her husbands sat in the throng! How strong was the deal that the dignity of a woman fell lesser? Just a game of dice; does it suit to the princely ears? The squashing of a princess occurred in a time when God had incarnated, Then are we not better at present? At least the laws are… Or the epic ought to be an indication to future scenarios, Written by some wise man from his vision. The greatest Epic of all times had so much to teach, though followers are fewer; ‘Panchali’ perhaps tried to be teacher of the women cult- This made her endure so many curses and insult; Made her a women of respect but after centuries – Still how many think of these and her glories? Perhaps the wise man would take steps now, to spread the message of the lady who- She sat upon barbs, in spite of her glorious image and backing power. Sonnet 21 I called upon platonic love upon knowing you; I proposed you first then persuaded you to conceive spirituality- The night assisted with its serenity and tranquility, Of romantic breeze carrying the smell of concealed beauty. I was mad in passion or mad in illusion, upon the reflection from the dews. She spoke, perhaps the nature had dawned similar effects at her place- It seemed we were familiar from toes to face, We roamed in heaven; she blushed, my eyes glazed. What if a strong wind blew? Will I not be brought back to those dozing few? I had my wife yet she was like an obligatory being, The poetess for whom my poetry will flow, Beyond the wildest imaginings and thoughts- Inviting readers from the superficial world. I called upon platonic love upon knowing you; Nasty eyes looking at the figure formed by brain, Like a tree I fall upon your breasts; now to give pain- My carnal desire of lust you have to fulfill, Let me pour the immortal juice in you without any appeal. My hunger is satisfied now, the sun has risen- I was mad in passion or mad in illusion, upon the reflection from the dews. Sonnet 22 I thought myself to be the central spark of a diamond, a rationalist; But never realized to be centre of pastime for the hackers of heart, I was brave and bold but now I dare not act smart, For I have been deceived detrimentally mingling me with dirt. I have exchanged blows but they are too many, the modernists. Was I really suited for a scornful behavior laid upon my core? By those who call themselves intellectuals of the shore; They want us to butter them, or else burn the core. Why don’t they bear us with their list? Why do they act as the arrogant, ancient priests? Perhaps fear, the only reason of dumping the good, They know us to be better, suitable for the age- Yet enforce rules, but how long will they succeed? Time is now ripe for them to leave poetry and join politics. I thought myself to be the central spark of a diamond, a rationalist; The old fashion might not match the present period; much less to share- But the philosophy does, the style too if nurtured with care. Respect arising from foolishness will now turn to disdain them- Uncover their functional courtesy, rip of their wallet of fame. But shall I be alone again to protest? I have exchanged blows but they are too many, the modernists. Sonnet 23 The Bamboo framework was being put up for the fest; Freedom was blowing like soft breeze though the branches of a ‘Gulmohar’, While the workers worked as red ants before the ensuing winter, The sky seemed to bop and bloom with white cotton flowers; The frame made of the bare bones of a tree that couldn’t protest. Waiting hearts would be so glad to see the completion, Four days of delight, with desires to show up oneself; nothing but infatuation- Towards neglecting the dark days of decimation. Do we love to adhere to wastage of time and neglect the test? Or are we machines limited to our capability of taking rest? Perhaps some think that the population of flora has increased, And some seek to derive delight from shortcuts deserting the fact. Whatever may be, the bustle is just like crackers- After they are fatigued, we are back again on our toes. The Bamboo framework was being put up for the fest; The following day would bring new apparel, Noise from the performers and beggars would run parallel; Just a sputter of hope in a petite fraction of time, In a tasteless water sugar and lime; Cherishing them would help us, or we all will be like- The frame made of the bare bones of a tree that couldn’t protest. Sonnet 24 My first night of gig; I was presented as an elocutionist for poetry recitation; Days of hard work must turn fruits of success in fame, Of understanding verse to make others do the same. I was primed, yet it was the first instant; I didn’t realize it to be a game. I never knew if, for my voice, my image to be set into aberration. The culture of city was great sitting in its historical chair, As I stepped into the stage, the lights were off, what a fear! Lights in front were off, I finished my lexis, but no but no claps rang in the ears. Didn’t my tone overflowing with feelings create any sensation? Should I have refrained from appearing in shows; should I have been down in frustration? Look at me today, thousands fight for tickets, I shall not deprive them of their wish, for any revenge; But shall smile while I perform, those day are over, Left for stories while appearing in interviews. My first night of gig; I was presented as an elocutionist for poetry recitation; I was dire at reciting the lines, I feel at present, The lights were off perhaps to encourage this peasant, I cried outside; the feelings in it were more than the poetry I said, A memory that is still waiting to fade. Like the knife, I go sharper each time my lips shudder, but days ago- I never knew if, for my voice, my image to be set into aberration. Sonnet 25 We two brothers brought up in the same cradle of care; Separation was not meant for us; Hand in hand even in tightest mass, For we were the seeds of the same grass. The love was intended for a short time- I was left bare. I wore a coat given by my mother, A bracelet from my father, Those were the only gifts in these long twenty years. Did they prefer one than a pair? Are brothers not meant to share? I was possibly one hour older, I guess- I had to bear for the younger one, People knew me more than him, Perhaps they wanted both to be blessed equally. We two brothers brought up in the same cradle of care; My wits are confusing me in my own thoughts, For the job I have done and adore he has got; I see no tension in his eyebrows, While my forehead and figure shows, The anxiety of being adopted; no place for tears, I should be grateful though- The love was intended for a short time- I was left bare. Sonnet 26 The train moved calmly, as the slayer wheels proceeded for a crime... I was on another track, waiting for that to pass, It was amusement watching the movement, like the rounds of compass- Upon it travelling thousand people of a hundred class. The mail, a minister, with its subjects on both sides, but none upon the lines! The wailings of my mother, slapped me twice, For the joy I tried to receive from that who had cut my brother into taciturn slice, A mean of transport, inevitably strong, yet criminal in disguise- Was I paying for the butcher’s shine? He committed suicide; where lies the fault of mine? We felt sorrow, perhaps due to the loss of an essential life! Covered by magic and everyday findings, No scope for exceeding grief, or I will be the cause of another as such; He was liable for what he did in his senses; why should I shake! The train moved calmly, as the slayer wheels proceeded for a crime... A dog was barking in tremendous restlessness-index of concern, For below the massive engine, was one of his son - For a moment he was seen, the next his flesh was carried away, The mother looked at her other brood, and took them to play. A striking similarity and a possible solution upon the dubious kindness of The mail, a minister, with its subjects on both sides, but none upon the lines! Sonnet 27 The hospital looked overburdened with patients, a place to shed tears of sorrow; A little child with broken leg passed by, An old man whose veins seem to turn dry; Sleepers spreading infectious dust against the warning board which seems to be a lie. The jail teaching humanity, through the art to lend and borrow... In a place where one wants nothing but support, Though the hours of patience; as if the people bored- In a ship trembling upon life-taking waters to reach the port. If this is present, what is waiting for tomorrow? The healers breaking beliefs; will they prolong hiding in burrows? The natural medicine will enhance to accrue, And ignite the germs within; While the science of yoga establishing strong, Weaving to cure the ill-treated. The hospital looked overburdened with patients, a place to shed tears of sorrow; The young boy, like an official during day and lamp at night – Striving to cure his father- a damaged body creating fright. That made his studies a bud in a plant full of roses, Still to bloom, till his father wins over the daily doses. Oh! If we were tough before proceeding in- The jail teaching humanity, through the art to lend and borrow... Sonnet 28 I wasn’t any versifier; you were, among the few; Your philosophical ride wasn’t truthful, Taking me as a loving fool; Look, your gifted floras have twisted into plastic tools. I searched your awarded creation to have a first sincere view. What is it? My muse questioned me times and again- I had thought of penning but it has all gone into vain- The themes that were mine thrilled him with fame. Why did I share with you the story of my dead son Andrew? Why have you committed theft even from my stored dews? I am your inspiration; my sad heart feels proud, You had words to trim them; stud them with jewels. What an expert observer and listener you were! I fall to your knees, here lies your greatness. I wasn’t any versifier; you were, among the few; You were in the front greatness was behind- The cause beheaded and then reflected in your canto of typical kinds... As I bent like a bow, you appeared with a glow, To take me by a rope and pierce me with a glint of an arrow- Never did you try, but your action meant studying me; I knew as... I searched your awarded creation to have a first sincere view. Sonnet 29 The landscape that my imaginations drew upon the canvass of joy, philosophically, Made me travel as far as the chariot of my mind took me to- Feel the unfelt before being touched by the blue, Lost to find a new world, to examine if it was true! All the while reality was becoming blurred; smiling maliciously. I had no feet neither weight, Before a pond in which lilies have been drawn like plate- A man on the other shore, handless, giggling upon fate. Whose fate- mine or his, seemed deadly? Has he read or foreseen some ensuing fury heading furiously? The man must be another dreamer- Painting upon something aesthetic, unreal, unwanted! An escapist, let not be so- The warning is turning red; let me sprinkle water upon my face. The landscape that my imaginations drew upon the canvass of joy, philosophically, Was for few hours of night- The day wasn’t so bright, it demanded fight; The man must be an incarnation- Showing his hand lost to crocodiles in motion. The water lilies like traps towards the end, I have now realized- All the while reality was becoming blurred; smiling maliciously. Sonnet 30 The tapering of feet was heard as I waited below the bridge; The place hasn’t changed, but none seems to be bothered, To see the new encroachments revolutionizing their lives, providing a machine guard. I waited with bags of questions for my parents who must be still old colored. They should see me and think of covering the gravel of peach... Another hour marked no special entrance, My dad as if marked by marker; my joy enhanced- For my mother, another eye was waiting for a glance. Where’s the connection to my ridge? Was I wrong in replacing my inventory cartridge? It had been so many days that I had waited and they too, To see each other but she wasn’t there; Brimming watery observation now thought, Whether there was any need to change; perspective rules. The tapering of feet was heard as I waited below the bridge; I was born, perhaps for this day- To learn that grief lies veiled behind being gay; Stumbling into truth, I removed the curtain- My face tuned red, to see hell in certain. I fell to my father’s chest, he told- I’m still living; my heart still gave a statement- They should see me and think of covering the gravel of peach... Sonnet 31 A flower that sprinkled drops upon my cursed face; Spreading binding variety like a television program, Like trumpets of victory upon wooden drums- Love accumulating in unbreakable lumps. Let me smile, the time is ripe, of fruits and grace. I screamed for her, the tall buildings broke my echoes, I began moving my feet, the soil warned my toes; She blinked through her waving hairs, but no care did it show. Did her stem demand a stronger base? Did she think me to be a toy in her showcase? For some wayward moment, I thought her to be mine, I wasn’t wrong, she too was not, The gap betrayed us, yet left memories in the sediments, Of gone days, to make us wink remembering cries A flower that sprinkled drops upon my cursed face; She had hr her dearer for being older, I couldn’t leave impressions upon her style, I being newer; I succeeded in tying a thread connecting our life- This was cut by her sharp tongue that acted as a knife. Sadness molded by joy of forgetfulness; Let me smile, the time is ripe, of fruits and grace. Sonnet 32 The bucket flooded with the rain water dropping from the roof hole- Swelling water raged in the river; A flickering lamp quivering at the corner, While the four members shared two breads with no drinking water. The hunger was overpowered by the rising death toll. The wires of communication by the flowing devil fate; They didn’t cry to save vitality, as the water touched the gates, In no time the flooded bucket was floating beside a piece of bread in the plate. Was it due to the bending of earth’s poles? Or was the wrath, each moment going out of control? The jammed silt are now being removed, Helicopters spreading food, insufficient yet appreciable- The anger of the river will calm down soon, To provide grains with its kindness. The bucket flooded with the rain water dropping from the roof hole- The palpitating mothers beside her motionless child, Restlessness in her turning mild; Like a life containing egg, broken without protest- The people and cattle stopped their breathe, the birds without nests. The giant will feel sad now and try to make amendments for the day when, The hunger was overpowered by the rising death toll. Sonnet 33 Neglecting the arts how far do you artists intend to proceed with virtual humanity! When you are called to inspire the falling youth with ethics- You say you are incompetent showing your competence beside politics! Sometimes blaming even the new creative tricks. We grew up with your stories; hereby we respect your creativity. You were bold enough to stand up against odds, But never to nurture a pod, Of talent left for the mercy of God. Do you fear healthy competitions filled with purity? Or do you still crave for self popularity? While thinking of this I saw some policemen, I was pushed into a hypothetical place of gunshots, One of them pierced my arm, my wife coming down towards me- Was shot dead; perhaps you were right. Neglecting the arts how far do you artists intend to proceed with virtual humanity! We know you all as authors, not as social workers; When you don’t write, that makes me suffer. When we asked you for guidance in confrontation, You said the decades are now for self formation. We witnessed an execution, which confused us; if art was for service... We grew up with your stories; hereby we respect your creativity. Sonnet 34 The red radiance upon the distant tower was no more- The cold season that left a pockmark upon my face pulled me in its cart. I visualized the day when my regret knew no bounds in ceaseless flirts- Signified by vexing tears from a torn heart. Faithfulness betrayed by prettiness in a forsaken sea with no shore. Her lotus breasts and nectar crammed lips- Aroused in me the desire to take a sip, And immortalize my romanticism; long and deep. Was it necessary for my destiny to carry me to her door? What was the women attraction that I urged to adore? My physique needed satisfaction, With nearing creation in any form, But love took birth within the want- This perhaps encouraged me to choose another after her. The red radiance upon the distant tower was no more- We crept into each other like creepers, She hided her thorns-the blood suckers; Blood flowed through the saline waters wetting the eyebrows, Leaving me half baked in half baked world of sorrows. Today I stand; I have strength of another lady to save me from- Faithfulness betrayed by prettiness in a forsaken sea with no shore. Sonnet 35 The flighty Daisies winked and shook in the cold weather- Pending works to be finished, The oneness to be relished, Upon the branches brought together; revered like a fetich; They wanted to be released from being torn, to live together forever. The petals closed, then opened to look straight; The wind stopped; the stillness looked great, A sudden gale scattered the pollen, even upon the leaflets. Shall they be alone to live together? Or will they wait in some posy to share the death beauty with others? Their span is short, as hours for us- Is to help them grow and kill them, Yet that keeps their honor- Perhaps this is their pride. The flighty Daisies winked and shook in the cold weather- Like the girl and boy of same cast; Still like a handshake in the background of an atomic blast, Pulling them apart without reason, A cold war undergoing fission. They won’t curse those hearts, but will wish goodwill from them… They wanted to be released from being torn, to live together forever. Sonnet 36 I have saved a tear in my pocket, As a testimony of the injustice inflicted and imposed- Upon me, spitting upon my candor that closed, The honest reflection of which I could boast. No one in this place except a spider web with a hanging cricket. I don’t think about the food, infected by insects- But the wrongful acts and oily tongue infects Me with the plague of incurable prospects. What that puts my brain to receive shocks from the electric socket? When will I see the freedom facet? Thank you judge for releasing me from death sentence, But you should have done that- For I am free now to take guns, To save the convicts from illogical orders. I have saved a tear in my pocket, To show the physically challenged class- The blinds, deaf, lames, as they pass Me to be surprised, while they see their unrevealed cruel reflection, To be jailed in their own spotted complexion. And I will be free, though old but now… No one in this place except a spider web with a hanging cricket. Sonnet 37 The crystal gave a thousand shines as if thousand smiles- Inside the glass case, Greedy guys looking with wonder; one reflecting face Ready to entertain the cost but ‘Not for Sale’ written at the base! Unseen beside the door, the gateman thinking about his domicile. Saluting the gentlemen and ladies he stands from morning- Controlling his boldness to look at the gathering, Masses who have enough, but being deterred from buying. Is he meant to sign only the attendance files? What prevents him from being mentally agile? He must have been bored, Or he talks to the diamond while closing the gates; They must be having some secret pacts, While they laugh at night. The crystal gave a thousand shines as if thousand smiles- The real was stolen; the present substitutes the past, may be wrongfully; A human creation too attracts blissfully! The cost has been removed as it doesn’t cost much- Perhaps this magnetizes the rich crowds as such. The real cost would have scorned it; the idea possibly is from someone… Unseen beside the door- the gateman, thinking about his domicile. Sonnet 38 The dawn was greeted by me amidst heartfelt song of birds; My hairs as if brushed by invisible hands- The disturbance still to blow the sands- In this capillary of the forest land. I was walking towards the village to wake her up and take her away from the guards- Suddenly, tension in affection flared, as it prevails- Supplemented by the cries of the foxes, like sharp bells, As if biting sharks attacking sails. Should I have started the journey afterwards? Should I have run through the yards? The friends of nature wanted me to be fast, To obtain spring out of summer, To foster peace in the world of turmoil- At least in me in the forest area. The dawn was greeted by me amidst heartfelt song of birds; The dogs barked, as I passed, without cause- As it seemed to me while moving without pause; My love must be dreaming of me, I felt restlessness within- Neither policeman nor cadres, neither leader nor Maoist, I’m none in the political bin. I care not, you bark, you will you will know when I bring her; I thought while… I was walking towards the village to wake her up and take her away from the guards- Sonnet 39 Devotees fell straight upon the marble floor to call upon the Almighty, Few people knew it to be a temple, a worshiping site, That looked like a five star hotel from outside! Turning away the willing people, who are befuddled by the bright light. The gray color of religion seems to cream out here; a lost identity! The men entering with their hands up, as if to dance- To show themselves and give attendance And then stand close to the idols to have a longer glance. Do they have reverence to lie on the uneven floor, unmaintained and dirty? Does polish of the walls decide sanctity? At least the genteel floors do well for the urbane class; At least it makes them feel existence, even a bit, To thwart misery in the winter of life And while remembering crimes. Devotees fell straight upon the marble floor to call upon the Almighty, Comforts crossing limits while praying, To get God, so easy a way existing! In the very town of heat and sweat, Perchance the root is the bequest behind the gates. Whether it is honest I know not, I too cheer, but- The gray color of religion seems to cream out here; a lost identity! Sonnet 40 The three friends gossiping beside the shores of the big Ganges River, So many ships, so many businesses, so many lives upon it, Clear calm waters yet mysterious in every bit To fulfill the black and white needs. Through the blue color, a red hue could be seen at the centre. The living world floats above while the dead below the surface; Cruel intensions behind a graceful face, Lucid from the floating necklace. Are you that whom we worship for triumph in endeavors? You are vast we know, is it obligatory to depict your power? Instructed by the omniscient to kill the sinful people, To purify their souls, You must be working hard- In spite of tears over-feeding you. The three friends gossiping beside the shores of the big Ganges River, Recalling their friend’s body being pulled up, a year ago- With the same river that seems to overflow with ego; The parents blamed them, who were like their sons! While the shrill laugh sounded like firing guns. Maybe he wanted to die, he was helped… Through the blue color, a red hue could be seen at the centre. Sonnet 41 Centuries of creation instills creativity in me, to think and act along- Boldness through the saved pages of history, Mind and soul joining hands to decipher mystery- Prevailing as a result of downfall of readers in each country. Readers preferring ease in literature, as if preferring drums than lyrics in songs. Unreformed writers’ society coming up with daily workshops, Of gossips devoid of heritage and creative crops- To turn in films of fantasy; what a flop! Should I bring in the renaissance spitting on the wrong? Should I not learn to create being formally strong? Let my birth be for you, oh literature and loving men- Let me refrain from copying but receive inspiration; The heaven shower blessings upon my pen, give in ink- So that it can form the cascade of creation. Centuries of creation instills creativity in me, to think and act along- Perhaps the founders were egocentric to dedicate them to one- Yet they were meant for all underneath the Sun; As the manuscripts were like the notes of music, To be molded into any rhythm to heal even the sick. Revive, restore, recreate, and then form a formation of my name for… Readers preferring ease in literature, as if preferring drums than lyrics in songs. Sonnet 42 While standing below the tree shade- Destroyed in lightning, The grasshoppers were heard singing, The mind was out of trade, away from any dealing. The fever of sleep has gripped the forehead. My legs and arms were paralyzed, With a disease in disguise; A beggar dying for want of rice. How is this startling world made? What’s the need of creation without ensuring food and bed? I sank to the ground, A rain drop wetted my eyelids, Lifted me up to look at my utensil- Some coins have gathered there! While standing below the tree shade- Pockets were seen hanging with coins and notes; They are for make ups and coats. The disease of neglect is a cancer, The doctors seem to promote it further. Lift me up men or mature will push me into the grave- The fever of sleep has gripped the forehead. Sonnet 43 The cell vibrated twice- Like while arrival of any other message; The sender knew I was engaged, Still made up sit upon a sharp wedge. Best friend or lover, or lover turned best friend- it was dice. Confusion gave rise to dilemmatic thoughts, While nice feelings were being caught, And stored in a lot. Was my love now suitable for a tag price? Did I think pastime and passion to be nice? Save me, my turmoil is turning into fire, To burn me and give me pain; I must be direct now- To save myself for my love. The cell vibrated twice- I realized that I liked him, For my present had least concern for my whims; Yet I can’t be witch- To seep blood of care like a leech. Let me suffer, it will revive me; Still attitude makes me think- Best friend or lover, or lover turned best friend- it was dice. Sonnet 44 ‘Come on’, I said, ‘the dawn is calling’- Through the softness in breeze and coldness in atmosphere, Let us walk to the bridge very near To our house; where life can be felt through water fear. His ears being deaf in laziness, the eyes preferred sleeping. I was alone; I wondered why! The roads those shines in everyday dew has turned wry- I feel so sad; the dryness made me cry. Why the nicest part of the day is dozing? Should I wait in the woods or move to my housing? Let me walk ahead- To see the magician performing hypnotism Upon the trees and vapors, And have a try to wake it up. ‘Come on’, I said, ‘the dawn is calling’- I sighted a dead sparrow on my way- And a man beside lying dead in clay. All pedestrians were there but the bird which was still alive- Was left to leave its life- My friend was right; perhaps dreams have warned him- His ears being deaf in laziness, the eyes preferred sleeping. Sonnet 45 The smoke curled up from the ashes- Of my two brothers and sister; Innocent victims trapped in a civil war, Was now focused in the media center. The judges were either unknown or temporary in such cases. I broke my skull hitting against the stone, The house that echoed in laughs is now alone; Anger from the smoke accruing in bones. Will you now blame me countrymen for wearing Maoist dresses? Shall I not breathe revenge at all places? I will save the rest; I will take arms for the cause- To shoot out the curtains That covers the naked truth. The smoke curled up from the ashes- My beloveds were going up in a chariot,- I could see them happy leaving the earthly lots. I couldn’t cry but was taken to stillness- The sight injected an incurable illness… If I wait, more of such chariots would leave the land as- The judges were either unknown or temporary in such cases. Sonnet 46 The newspapers cornered in the room- Once lured us into them, While sipping coffee, before going for games; Sources of knowledge from companies liable for blame. News those were stories are transformed now into news yet to bloom. Money makes articles, wine impresses reporters, The scientists are neglected, the cameras upon gangsters! Even they are two teams holding political bars. Doesn’t it seem to be a gloom? Does it pronounce an ensuing doom? I still prefer old papers, But time won’t allow me. Yes a new paper is in demand- To be published with honesty; let me start it. The newspapers cornered in the room- The rulers would kill their rivals, Stopping the flow of finance at all levels. They are not prepared for greatness, But for a secured life without busyness. I can work out, there is still a willing mass; they have realized- News those were stories are transformed now into news yet to bloom. Sonnet 47 The Sun peeped through the banyan branches- At the glasshouse where the stone hearted Board of environmentalists have headed, To find out the cause as why the plants in an area have been beheaded. The director was himself peddling herbs growing in inches. He has authored books about greenery, Yet actions spoil the scenery- Of your genius and pull you to the level of primary. Don’t you feel warning pinches? Is it you or the chair- whose values have been buried in beaches? One of them looked- And placed a concept of a new plant community. What a relief that papers were signed- Which too were on our skin; we will have a family now. The Sun peeped through the banyan branches- As if the sun has come down to help the slaughtered woods! Through its reflections upon the spectacles to perform some good; To pour energy in the old bones- And make them remember their loans They had soaked for years; the interest was due too while- The director was himself peddling herbs growing in inches. Sonnet 48 The eagle swooped down- The small rabbits recently born, May be in some morn, A week before was now out in the lawn. The danger was coming down in a black gown. The jungle rules had driven the mother away- Though she must be on her away, To look at the sky, too see her son disappearing as prey. What are these rules to turn blood from red to brown? Who is maintaining these, who is wearing the crown? None but rules for survival; The food being less- The remaining kids were benefitted; A perfect balance moving in a pace. The eagle swooped down- The mother rabbit preferred one to die- For the other to live in the weather that was dry; The eaglets must be starving too – For them some food was brought into. The birth of one of the sacrificed must be meant for this; and fixed when- The danger was coming down in a black gown. Sonnet 49 Beside the costliest restaurant of the city- At about hot midday, The dusty hands working in clay, Picked up a fist of boiled rice to carry on his stay. As a human he ate once in a rotation; what a captivity! A waiter came outside and threw chicken legs; Inside, sounds were heard of glasses and pegs- An airplane flew over; he saw it but held his broken keg. Has the flame of thoughts extinguished from his body? Has his mind been plastered with cements and bricks of pity? A lotto ticket could be see beside, That shows hope; He still has ambition, Luck will guide him. Beside the costliest restaurant of the city- A car raced beside- No jolly but more dust accumulated by his side; His shirt was dirtier, So he was unmoved, still fascinated by the car. He had neglected jobs before, now- As a human, he ate once in a rotation; what a captivity! Sonnet 50 The university roads and lanes- Witnessing degrees for one and a half hundred years; It hasn’t seen one without tears, Brought by work, exam or love losing fear. The rare exception was the boy with a bag with a smile insane! Confidence bubbling out through laughs and giggles Sorrowless lives persist in no lifelong tales; They are not born but penetrate; he as if has shells. Is it deliberate that a boy taking life truly as a game? What’s his cult, what’s his name? Upon the breasts of psychology he replies- Laughing all the while Has failed to teach him what happiness is, These laughs are his sorrow… The university roads and lanes- Cursed a boy to be happy forever, In success and failures and in all endeavors. The odd one out is never favorite; to be adored, With his smile he was bored. The rest enjoyed being happy winning over the odd time- The rare exception was the boy with a bag with a smile insane! Sonnet 51 Tearing roots, which stem dares to float in the sky! Fear has grasped their hearts- The videos of the bloodshot shirts, Laid down in media pages of dead bodies carried in carts. They prefer bathing in dew than blood; they prefer smile to sigh. They have seen daring men- With farsighted and wise ken, But have sighted the same turning lame. Why is the ambition being curbed with the fear to die? What souls are these preferring fruits without cry? The invention and innovations Must be going on; though hidden; Waiting for the perfect ruler- To patronize those… Tearing roots, which stem dares to float in the sky! The creativity has become dumb- In response to overwhelming luxuries under the sun. The feet are too clean to be placed upon the floor, But the heart is uncombed even more. The sadly ended biographies may have to carry the responsibility Sonnet 52 The drunken river of Amazon, Flowing in a zig zag way, With often hunters becoming prey; Night prevailing even during the creamy day. She knows her destination, no matter hills or lawns. Away from its consciousness, It prefers bitterness- To see brutal hunts in wilderness. You will not change; is this you pawn? Do you want more bottles in your million ponds? Exceptions are no exception, She is one among the Nile, Ganges or Mississippi; The reason why the jungle has been allotted to her, May be as a punishment of her mind-set. The drunken river of Amazon, Turned greedy of blood wine, As of the deaths, without any sign. She had a bunch of slayer pets as captives, Of deadly reptiles and aquatic lives. She has being jailed among glaciers and oceans, and now- She knows her destination, no matter hills or lawns. Sonnet 53 Mother you just leave me starving with five grains of rice, I cry yet you frown, I wipe off the salty waters and bow down, For I do nothing in the town. I would like to be small to be well fed, as small as lice. To reduce my stomach, my hunger- Hunger that arises out of blunder, Not of me, but of the wicked employer. How long we will be treated as mice? When will we be given the break to rise? I will store my energy in every bit, Of the fat in my body; And wait, to see at least my children- Sitting in chair with an elite meal. Mother you just leave me starving with five grains of rice, I will have half life with these, I demand the worst grown rice not cheese. I will turn to be a robber now, Don’t blame me anyhow. The robbers sit in thrones, he happy or I would like to be small to be well fed, as small as lice. Sonnet 54 I am afraid to open your diary; Once a decade ago I did, It killed the seed Of my existence, tearing me in bits. The day I thought of hating you hating you Mary. Your son was lazy; I was active even when the world was dozy. I think this is why you were crazy. Thinking of him or me did you turn weary? Didn’t you plan for my marriage in a hurry? People are not granted of their every wish, I too was a bad wish for you. Yet I like serving you- As I am of your gender mother. I am afraid to open your diary; I do not like to be weak, With a cause that I know to be bleak. You ancestors are responsible; and you too For neglecting sandals and preferring shoes. I will be an exception; I had pledge to my conscience on The day I thought of hating you hating you Mary. Sonnet 55 Don’t you haunt me anymore! I have ran enough with the pen, Still you are not within my ken- Dulling my memory lane. I know you exist but prefer to hide in wit’s shore. Days ago I had almost caught you in the book fair, But the people I asked turned to be liars, The illiterate buyers. Do you want me to be bored? I want to see you, Have to gather some lore? I will catch you in your game, By developing the power to light the shadows- Under which you hide. My pen is moving faster, be ready. Don’t you haunt me anymore! The days left are less, To leave this mortal dress. I have left my all- house, children and wife, Now left only my life… Illusive breezes cannot befool me; I will get you, or realize you; I know you exist but prefer to hide in wit’s shore. Sonnet 56 Look you have turned your drains into dustbins; The income goes up to hundred thousands, Yet what a brand! Is this that you have developed beside you dwelling land. Oh! Sorry it wasn’t yours; you can grin. But don’t you dare to ask me to cure, When the illnesses you are in to endure- Will prove you to be impure. Why do you wait to commit sin? To invite trouble why are you all so keen? See, you are feeling asleep, As if I have the duty- I have the interest; you are perhaps true- But you will too when I am transferred. Look you have turned your drains into dustbins; I am a pig; you kick me for that, But I clear your drains while you relish my fat. You will have my flu- Not for me but for the work you favor not to do. I am better than you clearing you dirt- Oh! Sorry it wasn’t yours; you can grin. Sonnet 57 The baby was sleeping peacefully in the cradle. Unaware of the fire- Flaring to end desires- And hopes that could have been admired. A scene that pierces life with a poison touched needle. The relatives were outside; The flames got a chance to slide- To eat up and then transfer the chide. Where have the parents gone to peddle? Coming back will their hearts settle? They will perhaps come back soon, And the father will jump in- To save the little bud, Who has not yet developed dreams. The baby was sleeping peacefully in the cradle. The fire must have felt like playing above, To show its affection and love; But in course it may touch it, And end the life with other burning kit. Footsteps have been heard , it will save the situation from turning into- A scene that pierces life with a poison touched needle. Sonnet 58 Still atmosphere, with scorching rays tormenting upon us; I had no identity, Neither sense to consider it as a pity- But a uniform with uniformity. I could smell my sweat and taste it as it dropped on the grass. Eyes waiting to see something, I didn’t know what thing- When only the blank landscape or some living beings. What’s after this that will truss? Is it surprise or fuss? Whatever I care not to think, As I have commitment; To fulfill even if my life goes away- My soul will rest in peace. Still atmosphere, with scorching rays tormenting upon us; My family calls me earnestly, Their faces flash and blink continually; I gave out a breathe I felt danger- Not of me but to make me feel I am a soldier. The gun bears the weight of the Nation, let me hold it firmly. I could smell my sweat and taste it as it dropped on the grass. Sonnet 59 Cries have often blurted out roughly; One day parties and celebration Cheered the station- With music in all forms within the mansion. The gifted bangles have been broken brutally. Once so happy, is now kicked, For nameless reasons that had pricked- The husband who’s cruelty has clicked. Why does the good turn bad, unexpectedly? Is there some way of reviving them pleasantly? Perhaps the work pressure has increased, To be lowered soon. Or might be some problem that irritates him, But not for long; He will calm down. Cries have often blurted out roughly; None tells you to be man! When you hit me with the wand! I do not complain, you don’t allow, Tying me with a rope like a cow. To revive your love, I will not complain that… The gifted bangles have been broken brutally. Sonnet 60 The bulldozer ran over the bricks and plasters; Of the old-age home- Breaking the calm domes, Leaving them houseless without a place even to moan. They aged even disturbed in their time of rest; what a disaster! The rotten skin will not get pills now, They seem to be the cows- Driven away hitting them with dry boughs. Don’t these contractors respect their father and mother? Doesn’t their conscience push them to be kind hearted and better? They have taken money- The feelings have been put behind bars; Still they will set up a similar home- In their senescence, when they have means. The bulldozer ran over the bricks and plasters; Some betrayer has signed illicit piece- In grasping greed than to miss- The opening to become rich, No matter if he is termed as bitch. The goodness will crawl with repeated attacks to sense… The aged even disturbed in their time of rest; what a disaster! Sonnet 61 I am a branded man-eater; I am known for my teeth and paws, To break human laws, And kill one biweekly and eat raw. They set awards for me but not for the hunters. I had the power, the support of the jungle- I will have stronger limbs and voice to rumble- Your guns to me are like bangles. When will you turn as nature lovers? I can repose, but will you punish my family killers? I am no one to forgive you, I am just a cause; If you leave us in ourselves- We will put a pause upon the kill. I am a branded man-eater; I had a family and my younger brother- All were hunted down along with my neighbors; If I sit quiet and chase gales, Curses will seal my after life for the hell. So this is my profession now, and will bid to change but… They set awards for me but not for the hunters. Sonnet 62 The two butterfly mating while the two lizards on either side- Unaware of the peril surrounding them, They embraced each other in the passionate game- If they are killed, then what a shame! All the time they were lost within, neglecting the outside. Sex was to cheat them or their sex was to be cheated! The tube light knew not then who in the depleted- Earth would shake them before their lives are uprooted. Why had they turned blind in spite of the light? Can’t they be rescued with might? The reptiles proceeded, Then turned to their left, Went past the two beautiful creatures- It was their mating season too. The two butterfly mating while the two lizards on either side- The eyes of a boy watching the scene, He took a photo but didn’t clean, It from the flaws- Leaving it to the Natural laws. They were saved; romance was protected; it being in the lizards too but… All the time they were lost within, neglecting the outside. Sonnet 63 Crowds that I never saw in my life of ruling- Blocked the roads and lanes, Some peeping out from window panes, Same hope in all that I will do something for these men. I had papers that had false promises; my tongue will utter them without feelings. My hear empathizes with you dears supporters, The culprit is my chair, Without which I lived once, but now will be bare. What should I do with those voices ringing? Shall I thrash the chair and come down from the ceiling? I owe much to you, I will perform – Not in papers but in will, You can surely be assured. Crowds that I never saw in my life of ruling- A heavy hand of the hidden monarch was in my shoulder, With a lot more strength and power; Let me utter false today, I may be spitted upon after few days. But there must be a way to escape and then speak out, but now- I had papers that had false promises; my tongue will utter them without feelings. Sonnet 64 The old car stood by the garage parking; Cleaning was going on in the floor inside, Doors closed as they chose to hide- The new car like a new bride. What a gift after so many years of serving! The masters and mistresses, Whenever they visited any places; The dust touched the metal but not their dresses. Will the new be as efficient and attached in feelings? To serve you-Does it has a healthy bearing? He is still stronger with these plain tires- To carry the weights for hundreds of miles, And then reach safely to home; They will know once they have climbed the new stuff. The old car stood by the garage parking; Left for one month still, The servants speak of their master’s will- To sell it even in low cost The wounds in the body do no more cost! Still this wounded figure is superior and will be… What a gift after so many years of serving! Sonnet 65 A poor lyricist writing songs for none but self. One thousand songs without music, without name- Without money, without fame, Waiting to burn in flames. Thousand dollars for twelve in the shelf. They have offered him, Resting upon his weakness- him whim, To taste the glass cased cream. Did they want the titles from themselves? From the trap of greed, should I not protect myself? Let them buy, Let me earn; They will think that I can’t write more! While the best is still in my mind. A poor lyricist writing songs for none but self. I will die to see my songs being sung and settle, But will expire if I see them in other’s title. None to respect me for I don’t have birth base, Of jewels and diamonds in case. My creations will never end, never stop its flow; let me now think of… Thousand dollars for twelve in the shelf. Sonnet 66 Exchanging blames were going on in the dining table; For some subtle mistakes, When mom made- The materials for the cake. Idiotic reasons were twisting to harm faith in the blood carrying cables. I and my brother waiting to get them cool- For they were looking as fools, As they quarreled sitting upon the tools. Have they ever thought what reaction in my little brother would bubble? Will he too not learn to wrangle? I laughed to create ease, They were surprised and then ashamed- Of what they were into- Now we ate in silence. Exchanging blames were going on in the dining table; They didn’t notice, That I didn’t even had one bread piece- In my mouth and the fear of my brother- Didn’t make them bother. It will stop as it is groundless but they must realize Idiotic reasons were twisting to harm faith in the blood carrying cables. Sonnet 67 The water gurgled out- As the farmer cut the canal out of the last pool, The last source in this year’s rule- The weather at no time was rainy but dry and cool. One of the working men occasionally looks up at the sky and shouts… Last year was same, The season focused upon turning them lame, In all aspect from food to the sells erasing their name. Where is the excess water swelling out? It knows we want her-yet why she is putting us in doubt? Suddenly a storm started- All took shelter under trees; Far in the distance the sky looks – Its ripe time now to reap. The water gurgled out- Of the pond- But will it be able to maintain the bond! That these reapers have with rain- After two years staying out of brain. It’s like a friend gone away; all eagerly waiting for his return, while- One of the working men occasionally looks up at the sky and shouts… Sonnet 68 The black posters have been pasted yesterday; No one to go out were the admonition, Whether to start business or for education, Which the people seem to follow with caution. Let the war restore democracy today. The hope rings in every ears- The bullets tearing the foreheads seemed to clear, That they had overcome the administrative fear. The policemen, are they not supposed to fill up the bay? Apart from the men in power, does nobody have the right to place their say? It has become a dumping ground of inhuman activities; Yet a leader is there whom people follow sincerely; They do not utter the name- But works accordingly with zeal. The black posters have been pasted yesterday; The smell of the slaughtered bodies, Has been a cause of the jackals’ rhapsodies. The raped women sitting for marriage to be raped again- They will not nag; they have turned harlots of men. The seeping anger gives more power to their chief… Let the war restore democracy today. Sonnet 69 I didn’t want to hear this from you- At least not in my birth-month; never… You didn’t think of my fever, The relation I suppose was not forever. I wanted rain you gave me just drops, that too few… I had always wished to know your mind and figure- But the other girl knew the black spot pressing the trigger, With another fire-pellet from you that tore my tears. Was she the best in the crew? Was love now fixed with screws? I will not cry, You do not deserve it- But another relation, With the one who has proposed me last month! I didn’t want to hear this from you- I was not stone nor the lord- To think not or forgive you in accord; I get the stench of extra affairs- For your pleasure, I can’t form pair. You can go; I will be find happiness in loneliness or in some others, I wanted rain you gave me just drops, that too few… Sonnet 70 I close this book now, and close my eyelids- I have described the night enough, perhaps more; Let me now go out of the roof door, And allow it to describe itself from sky to floor. My test is over your starts now, common water the seeds- Which I have failed to farm, And charm, The readers and book worms. Will you listen or I will have to plead? After writing so much will I now have to read? I have enough wits, you can’t hide- Let the readers and lover of poetry get you- Through my future write ups, To decipher you truly. I close this book now, and close my eyelids- Let me take rest, For creating the best. Your Profoundness; that had instilled so many poets to write- But none could win in the fight. I will write you through you, you can’t say no- My test is over your starts now, common water the seeds. [more]

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