eBooks hell - Search Books

Ayodele Ajileye The Roots and the Fruits

Understanding Human Behaviors

Self-Help
English
46907 Words
Ages 16 and up
46
0

Don’t judge me that I hate my daughter, she reminds me of my mother who collected money from her mate to defile me. Don’t judge me that I’m not sound academically, every sound keeps me awake at night with the fear that it’s not another fight between my parents. Don’t judge me that I sleep in school, my brother never allows me to sleep at night because he is homosexual. Don’t judge me that I had sex with him, he was going to sack my husband from work if I do not. Don’t judge me that I patronize prostitutes, my wife also demands for money before or after sex and she holds back if I don’t give her. Don’t judge me that I’m homosexual, I don’t even know how to be a man. Don’t judge me that I divorced him, you see him as a sparkling white angel but I always see a seven-horned devil. Don’t judge me that I’m always out of the house, my home is hell. Don’t judge me that I don’t regard my in-laws, my spouse has not left them to cleave to me. Don’t judge me that I don’t want to marry, I don’t want to be the kind of wife to any man that my mother was to my father. Don’t judge me that I kept it secret, my love ones did not believe me when I told them. Don’t judge me that I talk too much, I’m scared of the pictures that silence brings back to my mind. Don’t judge me that I have this bad habit, I really want to stop it, and Ive tried, but it overpowers me. Don’t judge me that I attempted suicide, nothing seems to make sense anymore, its the end and I’d rather end it myself now than wake for someday. Don’t judge me that I’m too quiet, nobody listens to me. Don’t judge me that I’m promiscuous, isn’t sex what we are made for?! Don’t judge me that I’m a lesbian, men irritate me because of my experience with my father. Don’t judge me that I don’t love or trust, I don’t even know what they mean because I never experienced them. Don’t judge me that I’m gullible, I’ve always been called “stupid”. Don’t judge me that I don’t like my brother, he stole my mother’s love from me. Don’t judge me that left her, you’ve only heard too little of the whole story and she is playing the victim. Don’t judge me, you don’t know my story. This book explains the roots of human psychology, and reveals how human can be managed, even dysfunctional ones. [more]

Keywords: Psychology, therapy, family, relationship, media, fashion, religion, finance, money, education, entertainment, personality disorder, abuse, domestic violence, stress, emotional wellness, self-esteem, temperament, personality type, codependency, human psychology [more][Less]

$4.99

Oluwatosin Ogidan, Olusola Coker Prayers for my Wife

Powerful prayers to change my Wife for better

Bibles
English
6873 Words
Ages 16 and up
90
0

Presently, the home is under serious attack, and in most cases, wives in every home are always a prime target. The devil's number one enemy is the godly home. The home is therefore a primary target of the devil. Are you experiencing turbulence in your marital life? Is your wife frustrating your marriage up to the point of divorcing you? Is your marriage a nightmare? Are you a Man and you are facing the following problems in your marriage? Is your wife demanding for money anyhow, without budgeting? Your wife doesn’t want more kids but you just want one more? Do you discover now that you are not sexually compatible with your wife? Do you discover that your wife doesn’t spend time with the kids? Is your wife not telling you everything that happens to her daily? Is your wife snoring as loud as a freight train and you don’t know what to do? Your wife doesn’t respect your career goals as much as you do. Your wife is not showing interest in going on a date with you anymore. She is not always around you; at times you feel you are single. She is not showing interest in sex like before. Then this book is for you. It is my prayer that the good Lord shall certainly use this book to turn the situation around in your marriage. With this book, you’ll learn about: Prayers to arrest your Wife’s bad behavior in your marriage. Prayers that destroy the powers promoting marriage destruction Prayers to judge the enemies of your wife Twenty-one days prayers and fasting for your wife Marriage is God’s will for man. The first man He created, He provided a wife for him and blessed their marriage. Satan hates marriage. He brought a marital crisis that made the couples start trading blames for the causes of their failure in obeying God’s command. From then till now, divorce and promiscuity are reoccurring events from the pit of hell which was introduced in marriage by the devil. Jesus taught that it was not so from the beginning. Besides that, the devil also introduced barrenness which he is using to wreak havoc in many homes from then till now. The Devil knew that marriage is God for man doesn’t want this will of God to come true in the lives of marriageable men and women. Through poverty, spell, etc. he had hindered many from enjoying this purpose of God in their lives. But thanks be to God, who through His miraculous power broke such bondage in the lives of numerous individuals and families. [more]

Keywords: praying for your wife, prayer points for my wife, marriage prayers, prayers against enemies of marriage, prayers against marriage destroyers, prayers that destroy bad behavior in marriage, deliverance prayer for my wife

$2.99

Rene Winter Mumienliebe

Fantasy
German
91885 Words
Ages 18 and up
0
1

Da es auch explizite sexuelle Beschreibungen gibt, sollten es nur Erwachsene lesen. Netiri ist eine Leibwächterin von Königin Kleopatra. Beim Untergang des ägyptischen Reiches durch den Sieg Octavians gerät Netiri in die Hände des Amun-Hohepriesters Heisthinos. Der will sie für sein Leben im Jenseits auf besondere Art als ewige Sklavin präparieren. 2000 Jahre später wird ihr Sarkophag gefunden. Schmuggler verkaufen die Mumie nach Amerika. Bevor sie in den Gewölben eines Sammlers verschwindet, werden die Artefakte von der Polizei entdeckt und sichergestellt. Dabei wird ihre Hülle beschädigt und sie erwacht. Bei ihrer Flucht wird die junge Frau von Ken Jordan aufgegriffen, der ihre Herkunft aber nicht erkennt. Die Frau schweigt über sich. Er muss erst verstehen lernen, mit wem er es zu tun hat, während sie die aktuelle Zeit begreifen muss. Nichts ist mehr so, wie sie es kannte. Und sie trägt neben ihrer Herkunft noch ein viel größeres Geheimnis mit sich herum. Als jemand begreift, was diese Frau wissen kann, beginnt die Jagd auf sie. Auszug aus dem Buch: Tief atmete sie ein. Sie fühlte sich schwach. Kein Wunder, wenn dieser Auswurf von Apophis mir kaum etwas zum Essen gibt. Sie tastete vorsichtig um sich herum. Niemand sollte merken, dass sie wach war. Ihre Fingerspitzen sagten ihr genug. Sie lag auf Holz und auch an den Seiten neben ihr waren Holzwände. Eine Kiste? Ganz dunkel erinnerte sie sich, dass sie für das Jenseits vorbereitet werden sollte. Erst jetzt spürte sie die Gewichte auf der Brust und anderen Körperstellen. Sie entschloss sich, die Augen vorsichtig zu öffnen. Krampfhaft unterdrückte sie das Aufstöhnen, als die Helligkeit ihr wie Messer in die Augen stach. Ganz vorsichtig versuchte sie es erneut und nur sehr langsam gewöhnten sich ihre zu schmalen Schlitzen geschlossenen Augen an die Helligkeit. Sie hatte das Gefühl, im Sonnenlicht zu liegen. Dabei war ihre letzte Erinnerung die Fackeln in Kellerraum gewesen. Mit dieser Erinnerung fiel ihr auf, dass Hände und Hals nicht mehr von Metall umschlossen war. Sie war frei. Frei? Wohl nicht. Irgendetwas hatte dieser Bastard doch mit ihr vor. Und freilassen würde es mit Sicherheit nicht sein. Dunkel erinnerte sie sich an die Drogen, die man ihr verabreicht hat und die daraus resultierende Bewusstlosigkeit. Sie lauschte in sich hinein. Nein, da gab es keine Beeinträchtigung mehr. Ihre Gedanken flossen normal und waren nicht mehr in dicke Watte gehüllt oder liefen zäh wie in halbtrockenem Nilschlamm. Wenn nur dieses Gefühl der Steifheit und Schwäche nicht wäre. Sie öffnete ihre Augen weiter. Langsam erkannte sie, dass sie tatsächlich in einer offenen Kiste lag. Weit über ihr war ein Dach. Aber so ein Dach hatte sie noch nie gesehen. Es war zwar silbrig hell, aber Metall konnte es doch nicht sein. Wer würde auch schon ein Dach aus Eisen bauen? Wer wäre auch so verschwenderisch? Dächer musste leicht und stabil sein. Holzbalken, Bretter, Schilf und Lehm waren bewährte Techniken. Und diese grellen Flecken. Gab es da Löcher und die Sonne schien herein? Hatte man dort etwa auch kostbares Glas verwendet, um das Licht zu verteilen? Sie strengte ihr Gehör an. Nichts war zu hören. Da zwitschern keine Vögel, da sind keine Stimmen. Wo bin ich hier? Auch die Luft riecht anders. Bin ich nicht mehr in Alexandria? Da fehlt der Geruch von Herdfeuern und Salzluft. Wo bin ich? [more]

Keywords: Liebe, Beziehung, Vertrauen, Mumie, Geschichte, Auferstehen, BDSM, Verfolgung, Fantasy

€2.99

sumani ibbott A Rich Girl

A Paid Girl

Romance
English
1 Words
Ages 8 and up
1224
4

“Definitely not your fault,” I shook my head. “When, where, who and why?” “Tomorrow night at seven at my uncle’s estate. Family reunion. Sexual orientation will be questioned again if I fail to come “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” “Definitely not your fault,” I shook my head. “When, where, who and why?” “Tomorrow night at seven at my uncle’s estate. Family reunion. Sexual orientation he asked hopefully, large chocolate brown eyes pleading with me. will be questioned again if I fail to come without a date,” Scott had a pained expression on his face. “I’ll pick you up at your dorm. I tried not to laugh. I was two years older than Scott who, by the way, was not gay. He was just too shy to actually talk to girls and I was the only exception because he’d seen me as a business deal in the beginning. He was one of the few that actually stuck around to become friends with me. “Aw, Scottie,” I gushed, ruffling his hair and earning myself a flat look. “You know I’ll do anything for you baby,” I cooed, making him go red. He was so adorable; if he wasn’t too good for me, I’d keep him and screw the money. “Thanks, Shawna,” he muttered, whirling around and walking away with his hands jammed into his jeans. Like I said: adorable. But the next moment I sighed, feeling the familiar tears prick my eyes. Sometimes I really hated myself. I knew exactly how tomorrow would play out: when I got back to my dorm after classes I’d cram in some information into my brain before starting to get ready at five. I’d choose something pretty and flattering, but not too flashy; Scott had a decent family. I’d put on some make-up, pin up my hair, but I’d ditch the heels, I mused. Scott and I were nearly the same height and it would look awkward if I towered over him. In my mind, I picked out the flats that would go with the sheeny purple dress. Then Scott would arrive at six, probably with an exotic flower he never forgot to bring me. We’d laugh and talk in his car, with Scott getting steadily more nervous the closer we got to his family, despite the fact that we’d both done the process before. He’d walk me in, be greeted by an overwhelming number of relatives before they’d play Noah’s Ark and each of them greet, squeeze and kiss us two by two. Scott would probably get patted on the head more than once during dinner while his thrice-removed cousins would openly hit on him. Maybe we’d share a laugh over it. I’d be sweet and charming, the adorable girl that the mothers wanted for a daughter-in-law and that fathers wanted to control their sons. Then, after more promises to visit soon that neither of us meant unless it could be humanly avoided, we’d leave and Scott would pay me. I sighed again, blinking fast. This was so humiliating, but it paid well. And the benefits were always amazing – dinner or some prestigious event with incessant male attention nearly every evening and at every holiday. I just wished the attention wasn’t fake. That the kisses were real. That the arm around my waist would send thrills down my spine and the secretive smiles we exchanged meant more than I can’t wait till this is over. Looking around I realized that I was alone in the enormous auditorium. I walked outside past the bulletin boards advertising used textbooks, a good time, job applications, more good times with less than good girls, and of course, there was his name. I shook my head, not even bothering to come up and read all the comments underneath it. Adam Ferrell’s name was covered in hearts, lipsticked kisses, and I could only imagine the things written underneath it, having read several of these posts before. His name and picture were all over the school. So delicious. Sexy!! Mouth-watering. I jizzed my pants when I saw his name. I know, right?? Lookin’ good, babe! And then there was my personal favourite, Oh my god Adam, PLEASE EAT ME! It stopped being funny after I tried finding a spot to put up Wildlife Fund posters and got them torn down because it covered his name. Now I had a personal vendetta against the guy. But honest to hell, there was no bare spot in this school that hadn’t been Adamized. He was treated like a god. And he wasn’t even a celebrity or anything, just really good at sports with a really good body and a really sexy face. The infuriating thing was that he was a jerk, player and a heart-breaker. I’d had the misfortune to run into him once. Literally. After making a humiliating comment about controlling myself in public around him, he’d shouldered past me and said loudly, “Sorry, babe, but you just don’t do it for me.” Scowling at the memory and altogether feeling downright awful, I leaned back and karate-kicked the swinging door open. I hit someone in the face. “OW! Joseph, Mary, and sweet baby Jesus!” someone said in a muffled voice. They sounded furious. i had squeezed my eyes shut when I’d kicked, and now I kept them that way. I heard footsteps approach and then a dangerously low voice sounded from right in front of me. “Look at me, dammit!” I cracked a single eye open and then closed it again. “Oh, dear God.” “Normally I’d ask what you wanted, but this isn’t normal,” Adam Ferrell bit out. He had a bruise forming underneath his left eye. It made his landscaped sculpted face look even more dangerous and hot, but I wasn’t all that happy to claim responsibility for his face modification. “Whoops,” I said neutrally, staring at him like an idiot. “Whoops?” he repeated, livid. “Do you know who I am?” I levelled my gaze at him, not sorry anymore. “Nope.” He looked at me in disbelief. “Are you a transfer student?” Figured he wouldn’t remember. “Yep,” I nodded, playing dumb. “Where is toilet?” But something was dawning on his expression and he pulled his phone out to check. He looked up and down from my face to his screen several times. His gaze hardened. “Is this you?” he thrust his screen into my eyes. I found myself looking at the picture Joel had taken a couple hours ago. “No,” I lied, enjoying his incensed expression. I never knew he had anger management issues, but boy did Adam need to calm down. I guess smashing the door on him hadn’t helped, but that was an honest mistake. Anyone could’ve done it. Right, I told myself sarcastically. Because people walk around karate-kicking doors open. “Yes it is you,” he persisted stubbornly. “Fine,” I shrugged, “Your boyfriend cheated on you. Beat him up, not me.” Adam closed his eyes for a moment and I heard him counting under his breath. I smirked and he caught it when his eyes flew open. “Excuse me,” he began again, “But are you Shawna Roberts?” he asked me in an impressive attempt at politeness. I narrowed my eyes. Oh, hell no. “Depends on what you want from her.” For the first time that Adam and I had – well, not talked – I saw him smile and I finally understood the reason that so many girls were jumping off bridges for this guy "A Date" [more]

For Free

Irmgard Borgmann Sternenkinder

Bruno und Stubs die Seelentröster

Juvenile Fiction
German
806 Words
Ages 3 and up
336
3

Als Bruno, der kleine Teddybär mit der roten Schleife, an diesem Morgen aufwacht, hat er schlechte Laune. Er stolpert über seine eigenen Beine und schimpft vor sich hin. Warum Bruno schlechte Laune hat weiß er nicht, aber er beschließt den Tag brummend zu verbringen. Nach einer gewissen Zeit will Bruno seine schlechte Laune aber mit jemanden teilen, und deshalb macht er sich auf den Weg einen Schlechtelaunepartner zu finden. Er läuft durch die Straßen, eine Allee entlang, und trifft in einem schönen Park einen anderen kleinen Teddy. Dieser Teddy sitzt auf einer Parkbank und zappelte munter mit seinen Beinen. Hallo, sagte Bruno, hast du auch so schlechte Laune wie ich? Warum sollte ich schlechte Laune haben, antwortete der kleine Bär. Es ist doch herrliches Wetter, die Vögel zwitschern, und ich bin gesund. Bruno überlegte, eigentlich hatte der kleine Bär ja vollkommen Recht. Wie ist dein Name, fragte Bruno weiter. Ich heiße Stubs, und wie heißt du. Mein Name ist Bruno, und ich bin heute nicht gut drauf. Oh, dass tut mir sehr leid, antwortete der kleine Stubs. Komm, wir laufen gemeinsam eine Runde durch den Park. Hast du einen Grund für deine schlechte Laune, fragte der kleine Stubs. Nein, nicht wirklich, aber ich fühle mich manchmal so nutzlos. Ach so, dir ist langweilig, dagegen kann man doch was machen, so Stubs. Und Stubs redete und redete, und steckte Bruno mit seiner guten Laune an. Bruno, siehst du das große Haus dort, fragte Stubs ihn. Ja, was ist damit, wollte Bruno wissen. Das ist ein Haus für kranke Kinder, Kinder die sehr mutig sind, und trotzdem fröhlich. Ich leiste ihnen oft Gesellschaft, und ich würde dich gerne den Kindern vorstellen, natürlich nur wenn du Lust dazu hast. Bruno war etwas beschämt, Kinder die krank sind und trotzdem mutig und fröhlich sind, davon hatte Bruno noch nie etwas gehört. Wie dumm er nur war ohne einen Grund schlechte Laune zu haben. Bruno und Stubs öffneten die große Eingangstüre, liefen durch den Flur, und betraten das erste Zimmer. Die kleine Lea lag in ihrem Bettchen, der Apparat hinter ihr zeigte Linien die mal rauf und runter gingen, und Schläuche führten in ihren kleinen Körper. Lea hat Krebs, sagte Stubs ganz leise. Stups und Bruno krabbelten ganz leise und vorsichtig auf Leas Bettzeug. Was machen wir hier, fragte Bruno. Wir machen jetzt nichts, antwortete der kleine Stubs, wir sind einfach nur da, dass hilft schon. Dann schliefen sie tief und fest ein. Sie wachten wieder auf als sie das Weinen des kleinen Jens hörten. Jens hatte große Schmerzen und wollte sich nicht behandeln lassen. Bruno und Stubs wollten Jens trösten, aber Jens war zornig und schmiss den Bruno in hohem Bogen vor die Wand. Au, Bruno sah Sterne und hatte eine dicke Beule am Kopf. Sei nicht böse auf Jens, sagte der kleine Stubs, ich habe das auch schon erlebt, wenn es den Kindern hilft dann soll es so sein. Was ist schon einen kleine Beule gegen die Krankheit die die Kinder aushalten müssen. Erst jetzt bemerkte Bruno wie schön bunt es hier war. Regenbogen in allen Zimmern, viele bunte Blumen an den Wänden, und tolles Spielzeug für die Kinder. Die kleine Bea fuhr mit einem Fahrrad über den Flur, als sie Burno und Stubs entdeckte, steckte sie die zwei in den Fahrradkorb und lächelte. Bea hatte wunderbare dunkle Locken. Stubs erinnerte sich noch genau an die Zeit wo Bea keine Haare hatte, und sie sehr viel weinte. Aber Bea ist ein tapferes kleines Mädchen und hat gekämpft, jetzt ist sie wieder glücklich, und fast gesund. Der kleine Stubs besaß in diesem Haus ein kleines Zimmer, da konnte er sich ausruhen und in seinem eigenen Bettchen schlafen. Bruno und Stubs waren jetzt richtige Freunde geworden, und liefen Hand in Hand über den Flur. Natürlich teilte Stubs sein Bettchen jetzt mit Bruno. Sie lagen in dem kuscheligen Bett, und konnten die Sterne am Himmel sehen. Du, Bruno, sagte Stubs, siehst du die hellen Sterne dort am Himmel. Es sind die Sternenkinder. Sternenkinder? Bruno wusste nicht was Stubs damit meinte. Es gibt hier Kinder die schaffen es nicht mehr gesund zu werden, sie sterben. Sie gehen dann über den Regenbogen und sind dann im Himmel, und dort leuchten sie ganz hell für die Kinder die hier in ihren Bettchen liegen. Bruno erschrak, setzte sich aufrecht, und weinte. Der kleine Stubs tröstete ihn, nahm ihn in den Arm, und erinnerte Bruno daran, dass es keinen Grund gäbe schlechte Laune zu haben und Unzufrieden zu sein. Wieder war Bruno sehr beschämt, und versprach von nun an den kleinen Stubs bei seiner Arbeit mit den Kindern zu unterstützen. Dann schliefen sie zufrieden und auch ein wenig glücklich ein, sie mussten ja ausgeschlafen sein wenn am nächsten Morgen ihre Arbeit auf der Station beginnt. Gute Nacht kleiner Bruno,gute Nacht kleiner Stubs. Alles wird gut! [more]

For Free

Deniz Civan Kacan Zwischen Himmel und Ozean

Short Story
German
4213 Words
No Age Recommendation
420
1

Vor ihnen gab es das Schimmern des Ozeans, jetzt mit der Farbe von Stahl oder gewaltigem Eisen, ewig und kraftvoll, mit der belagernden Kälte dieser Zeit. Er befand sich mit weiteren Passagieren auf der Tragfläche des Flugzeugs inmitten des schimmernden, eisigen Wassers, doch nahe der Küste und den gewichtigen, bedeutenden politischen Verwaltungsgebäuden, unweit das Sekretariatshochhaus des UNO-Hauptquartiers. Der Himmel und der Ozean waren in diesen Minuten wie ewige Souveräne. Den Zivilisten und Geschäftsleuten gegenüber übermächtige Räume und Flächen, unbeeindruckt, besser, kolossal, ungeheuer, duldsam, abgeklärt, achtunggebietend, scheinbar ewige allgewaltige Größen der Welt und Souveräne. Er blickte vom Himmel wieder hinab zum von Eisschollen übersäten gewaltigen, eisenfarbenen Ozean. Vor ihnen das gewaltige Schimmern des Ozeans. Beinahe wären sie alle beim Aufprall auf das Wasser getötet worden, dachte er. Es war vielleicht wegen des Politikums im Nahen Osten, dachte er, denn es gab keinen Sturm an diesem Tag und keine Gewitter oder irgendein grausames Unwetter, dass sie wie ein strafendes Instrument hier nahe der Küste und den fortgeschrittenen Stätten der Zivilisation hätte richten können. Wie ein der Technik und den Menschen überlegener, allmächtiger König. Doch die Technik hatte nicht den Kräften und Gesetzen im Himmel standhalten können. So blickte er wieder über die kalte, stählerne See zur Küste mit den Lagerhäusern, Wohngebäuden und hell leuchtenden Hochhäusern und Kränen und Wolken dahinter, und links über das Wasser zu den Barkassen und Touristenbooten wenige Kilometer weiter entfernt, während er rauchte, auf dem Tragflügel des abgestürzten Passagierflugzeugs und weiteres verstehen wollte. Vielleicht waren es Terroristen, dachte er. Denn beinahe wären sie alle getötet worden, ausgeliefert wie in einem jähen Kriegsmoment. Beinahe ein Wasser voller Särge. Furchtbare Härte, ein Schimmern von Dankbarkeit und Ahnen der grausamen Wogen und Wellen des Eismeeres. Vielleicht war es ein Terroranschlag und hing zusammen mit einem Politikum und dem militärischen Einsatz der internationalen Staatengemeinschaft gegen das Barbarenkalifat des IS? Vielleicht sind auch die Industriestaaten verwundbarer geworden durch die Anti-IS-Politik, die die gesamte internationale Staatengemeinschaft weiterhin heftig beschäftigt wie Boten eines grässlichen Krieges, dachte er. Es sind wohl US-Militärbasen zwischen Mossul und Kobane, der Stadt der Wende, errichtet worden und wurden amerikanische Kampfflugzeuge gegen den barbarischen IS im Nahen Osten entsandt. Das war ein wichtiger Schritt gegen die Fanatiker, so wie einst die Alliierten die Faschisten bekämpften, und eine rettende militärische Weichenstellung, aber vielleicht sind unsere Flugzeuge hier und anderswo noch mehr zur Zielscheibe geworden. Es lockt vielleicht noch mehr zur Schlagader, wie tollwütige Hunde, die Blut lecken. Es war ein sehr seltsamer Himmel und Tag. Der Tod war empor gestiegen und lauerte wie ein Schafott zwischen dem Himmel, der Zivilisation, der Millionenmetropole und dem Schimmern des ewigen, gewaltigen Ozean. Beinahe wären wir alle zerrissen worden auf dem Wasser. Das Flugzeug war am Himmel wie aus einer Ordnung geschlagen worden. Vielleicht war es hier auch ein Versuch durch verfluchte Terroristen und Fundamentalisten, die ihren Hass mit der mörderischen und selbstmörderischen Falle über den Atlantik trugen. Das war eine These, die rasch durch seinen Kopf flog, inmitten dieser unwirklichen Zeit auf dem schwimmenden Flugzeug nahe der Großstadt und fortgeschrittenen Stätte. Von Fluggästen hin zu beinahe Schiffbrüchigen nahe an der Stadt, dachte er kurz. Er rauchte weiter seine Zigarette. Es war von einem Kilometer zum anderen zur Falle und ungemeinen Gefahr für die Insassen und Ausgelieferten geworden, sagte er sich. Unter ihnen das ewige Meer mit den Eisschollen und der bald wohl belagernden, bedrängenden Kälte. Unweit die Kongresszentren und das Gewimmel der menschlichen Zivilisation in den Straßen, Fabriken, Vierteln mit den Arbeitern, Aufsteigern, Armen, Reichen, den Abgeordneten im Senatsgebäude, den Unternehmern und dem Volk in den Straßenbahnen, unweit des machtvollen Ozeans, Himmels und der allgewaltigen Natur. Über ihnen der plötzlich zuschlagende Himmel und an ihren Füßen das Wasser des Ozeans, dass jetzt wie eine graue, brechende Wand und ungeheure Kraft schimmerte, souverän, hart, allgewaltig, silbern, ewig, unbeeindruckt. Bald blickte er wieder zu den anderen Leuten des Absturzes, unter denen manche über den Kapitän staunten. Sie hatten nicht ihr Leben und ihre Familien, ihre Welt, ihr Sein verloren und waren froh über die seltsame Landung auf dem Ozean. Manche sprachen über ihre Familien und über die Landung wie über eine irre, glückliche Fügung. Neben den Verstummten, die nichts vom Staunen und nichts von Vergleichen des Piloten zu Kommandeuren oder Anführern hielten. (...) [more]

Keywords: Flug, Allmacht, Leben und Tod, Nahost-Politik Glück, Stadt Himmel Meer Zivilisation Angreifbarkeit Demokratie Sein Nichtsein, Schwangerschaft Geburt, Allgewalt und Allmacht der Natur, Leben und Kampf

For Free

Irmgard Borgmann Teddy in Italien

Eine aufregende Geschichte

Juvenile Fiction
German
1032 Words
Ages 3 and up
401
3

Eine Abenteuerreise! Der kleine Teddy hatte die ganze Nacht tief und fest auf Julias Kopfkissen geschlafen, doch jetzt kitzelte es im in der Nase. Eine kleine Feder aus dem Kopfkissen hatte ihn gestreichelt. Die Sonne schien schon so hell in das Kinderzimmer das der kleine Teddy sich die Augen reiben musste. Zuerst mussten die Spuren vom Sandmännchen beseitigt werden und dann musste er sich zuerst an die Helligkeit gewöhnen. Jetzt war er erst so richtig wach und es fiel ihm auf das seine Julia nicht in ihrem Bett lag, sicher hatte sie schlecht geträumt und war ins Elternschlafzimmer gelaufen. Aber warum ohne ihn? Sicher kommt sie gleich mit viel Getöse ins Zimmer gelaufen und dann würde sie ihn so richtig fest drücken. Der kleine Teddy mit der roten Schleife wartete und wartete. Es war mucksmäuschenstill im Haus. Kein einziges Geräusch drang an sein plüschiges Teddybärenohr. Das war nicht normal, seine Julia war doch so ein Wirbelwind. Er war sich sicher, hier konnte etwas nicht stimmen. Er überlegte und ließ die Menschengespräche mal Revue passieren. Da war doch die Rede von Urlaub gewesen, von Italien, vom guten Essen und viel Sonne. Die werden mich doch nicht so einfach vergessen haben, ging es ihm durch den Kopf. Niemals, dass würde seine Julia nie machen. Sie kann doch ohne mich nicht einschlafen, sie muss doch immer noch mit mir kuscheln bevor sie ein schläft. Er schüttelte seinen Kopf und suchte nach einer Lösung. Er krabbelte rückwärts aus dem Bett und hielt sich am Bettlacken fest, dann purzelte er auf den Boden. So ein Kinderbett war ganz schön hoch für einen kleinen Teddy. Er würde ihnen einfach hinterher fahren, Italien konnte so weit ja nicht sein. Dann setzte er sich in das kleine Puppenauto und rollte los. Er kam aber nur bis zur Kinderzimmertüre, die war nämlich verschlossen und an die Türklinke kam er nicht heran. Er legte beide Ärmchen an den Kopf und überlegte. Das Telefon, ja das war die Lösung. Er hatte es immer genau beobachtet wenn seine Julia telefoniert hat. Da gab es eine Notrufnummer. Julia übte immer für den Notfall. Er wählte diese Nummer 110, aber so sehr er sich auch bemühte, er hörte keine Stimme am anderen Ende. Nun wusste er nicht mehr weiter. Traurig setzte er sich in eine Ecke des Kinderzimmers und heulte los. Dicke Tränen tränkten sein Fell und seine schöne rote Schleife. Es vergingen viele, viele Stunden und er war so traurig das seine brauen Knopfaugen schon ganz trübe geworden waren. Da, ein Geräusch im Haus, Schritte auf den Treppenstufen, wer kann das sein? Oma, was machst du denn hier? Oma sagte: Julia hat angerufen, in der Eile haben sie dich vergessen, und das Geschrei in Italien war so groß das sie mich angerufen haben mit der Bitte dich auf die Reise zu schicken. Ich schicke dich jetzt per Post auf große Reise, Einverstanden? Und ob der kleine Teddy einverstanden war, er hatte so große Sehnsucht nach seiner Julia dafür hätte er alles auf sich genommen. Obwohl, aufgeregt war er schon, denn er war ja noch nie alleine verreist. Er wurde gut verpackt, und das kleine Paket wurde zur Post gebracht. Er konnte ja nichts sehen, nur hören und fühlen. Das Paket wurde mit einem Stempel und Briefmarken versehen und ab ging die Post. Es war ein Gerumpel um ihn herum. Das Paket wurde geschmissen, auf ein Fließband gelegt, ihm war schon ganz übel, aber er musste ganz tapfer sein, damit er bald bei seiner Julia war. Irgendwann wurde es ruhiger um ihn herum. Er schlief ein wenig ein, lange konnte es ja nicht mehr dauern. Er wurde wieder wach als er Stimmen hörte, es waren keine vertrauten Stimmen, und diese Sprache hatte er auch noch nie gehört. Er bekam es mit der Angst zu tun, und wieder kullerten die Tränen, es waren so viele Tränen das sogar das Packpapier in das er eingewickelt war, ganz nass wurde. Dann wurde er durch die Luft geworfen. Er landete mit vielen anderen Paketen auf einem Vorplatz eines Postfrachtzentrums, mitten in der Sonne. Das Paket wurde nun von der Sonne Italiens getrocknet. Es war nicht sehr angenehm in einem nassen Paket zu stecken. Ob er seine Julia jemals wiedersehen würde? Die Stimmen wurden laut und lauter. Was hörte er da? Buongirno Signore, come sta? Bene, molto bene grazie. Lei die dové Was hatte das nur zu bedeuten? Dann eine Stimme die ihm sehr bekannt vor kam. Das war Julias Vater, der kleine Teddy hörte nämlich wie er auf die Frage: Lei di dové sagte: aus Krefeld. Jetzt strampelte er in dem Paket hin und her, dass musste Julias Papa doch sehen. Er strampelte so stark das er samt Paket von dem großen Stapel auf den Gehsteig purzelte. Dann hörte er die Menschen sagen: Ah, da ist ja das ersehnte Paket. Wieder bekam er einen Stempel auf seine Behausung gedrückt, und nun war er in festen vertrauten Händen, dass spürte er. Zu dumm das er noch nichts sehen konnte. Das Paket lag nun auf dem Beifahrersitz eines Autos. Laut war es hier in Italien, die Autofahrer hupten ständig, gaben Gas, bremsten wieder. In Deutschland ging es da aber gesitteter zu. Jetzt ging es auch noch eine kurvenreiche Straße hoch. Er musste wirklich ein ganz großes Teddybärenherz haben, wenn er diese Strapazen für seine Julia auf sich nahm. Das Auto fuhr auf einen Kiesweg. Die Fahrt wurde langsamer. Durch das Paket roch er die angenehme Luft, und so langsam wurde ihm ganz schön warm. Wohlig warm. Da, eine Stimme, Julias Stimme, endlich war er am Ziel. Julia riss ihrem Vater das Paket aus den Händen und zerriss das Papier. Ein Jubelschrei beiderseits drang durch das ganze Haus. Julia drückte ihren Teddy ganz fest, und dann legte sie sich mit ihm in den Garten. Sie hatte keine Nacht richtig schlafen können, ohne ihn. Da lagen sie nun mitten in einer Blümchenwiese, es summten die Bienen und es roch nach frischem Gras und guter Luft. Julia setzte ihrem Teddy eine Sonnenbrille auf die Nase und drückte ihm einen dicken Kuss auf die Ohren. Am Ende des Tages waren alle wieder zusammen und sehr, sehr glücklich. Nun konnte der Urlaub beginnen, bellissima! Cover/Rike [more]

For Free

joann harris FEAR OF THE BEAST

A DAY OF RECKONING

Horror
English
291 Words
Ages 18 and up
66
3

The town of Wheatfield no longer exists. Very little of the northeastern part of Fork County exists, except in the memories of those who may have once lived there and were fortunate enough to be gone when the great fireball struck, searing the land for miles. Scientists were stunned by the suddeness of the huge fireball, fir it seemed to materalized out of the heavens, traveling at such a tremendous speed, it was almost beyond calculation. "Where had it come from?" the scientists were asked by a stunned population. "From straight out of the sun," was the reply. "You could not have predicted it?"No.' Why?" The scientists hedged that question, for many of them were sworn avowed atheists. Finally, one man from an observatory in Washington who was not an unbeliever did reply, although not to the satisfaction of all of his colleagues. His reply brought laughter from more than a few of his fellow scientists. How does one predict when the hand of God will fall, and how hard the blow will be? If indeed it had been as the scientists said, the hand of God, it had been a mighty slap from him. By the time various spies in the skies satellites, picked up on the cannoading mass of fiery destruction, it was already on top of the satellites, going through them, and burning them before they could be photographed, more than a one second shot at best, and transmit that to earth. Those pictures that did make it back to earth were immediately ordered to be seized by a presidential order. Some said it was shaped like a Star of David. Others said it looked like an artist's conception of God's face; striking resemblance. The president told the scientists to shut their damn mouths, too, or faced the prospects of never receiving another dime of government money for anything. But many people witnessed the strange blue lights that preceded the crash of the whatever the hell it was, and they asked about those lights. But suddenly all were quiet about the mighty ball of fire, except for speculation. That soon began to fade as the news pushed the holocaust out of the headlines. Only the insurance companies were left to ponder over the crash and dole out large sums of money to the relatives of those who had been killed. An astronomer in California thought he knew what had happened but he kept his mouth shut not out of any fear of the government, but because he felt it was the right thing to do. One investigative fellow did put some rather interesting and curious events together after a bit of prowling. But since he was a career army reservist and did not wish to spend his summer obligations to Uncle Sam cleaning up gooney bird shit on Guam , he kept his mouth shut. "Someday, maybe he will write a book about it, and maybe by them he would believe it himself and be assured of the protection of the Dali Lama in some cave in Tibet. What he had pieced together was that almost at the precise moment of fiery impact with earth, a series of fires leveled a huge man that was seen leaving earth, moving toward the heavens traveling at tremendous speed. No one knew what that thing was or if they did, they weren't saying, and there were some people who still remained unaccounted for after the fire at the mansion. One of them was a young man by the name of Alex Balloon who was a minister in Wheatfield who had died under very mysterious circumstances back in "52" when another disaster had befallen the tragedy-ridden community, butt the investigative reporter wisely closed his journal on both disasters for a time. It had been adnormally hot for this late in the season. By this time in the eastern part of Nebraska there was usually a lash of winter's approach in the air, a bit that brought color to the cheeks of pedestrains urgently but softly speaking of the harsh winter just ahead. But the winds that blew across the plains and rolling sands hills had a torrid touch and brought a sudden surliness to the people of this sparsely populated county, turning most tempers raw and confusing a few as to why. The man knew why. The few would learn too late. And out in the badlands some miles from Wheatfield , inside a fenced-in area where horror sprang to life back in the late 50's something stirred. A creature cautiously stuck its head out of the hidden cave and looked around, viewing its surrounding through evil, red eyes. The beast had felt the hot fingers of the wind pushing through the cave entrance as a probing hand might do, signaling those which serve another master that it was time. The Dark One was near. The wind grew in strength and heat the beast snarling in reply. The manlike creature rose from its sentry position to crawl out of the filthy hole, rising to stand like human bits of dust and twigs and blowing sand striking its hairy body. But to the beast it was a signal of love, a gesture of welcome. The beast roared its breath foul. It held its contempt for that God who occupies a more lofty position than the master of the beast. For the creature knew but one god: the Prince of Darkness, the Lord of the Flies, Ruler of all that is Evil. From behind the sentry came a guttural sound as other beasts rose from their long sleep, surly and hungry . They craved meat and the sweet taste of blood, but the sentry again tested the wind as the wind spoke its reply. The sentry held up one warning paw to those below, holding them at bay. He growled and the others drew back into the darkness of the evil smelling hole in the earth. They knew they must obey the master. Thee growling sentry told them to wait the master will tell us when we may move. Be patient for you have waited more than twenty years. Wait." [more]

For Free

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]

For Free

BookRix

eBooks „hell“

Books (829)

eBooks „hell“

Books (829)

New privacy policy and customized terms