Yearly Archives: 2018

Labelling Culture

a poem by Amshudharsai K

As, I come out
You hit me lord
My both hands raise to respect
Because you’re labelled as god

Thanks for your beauty
Its pleasant, pure and perking
I enjoy it
And I discover the unknown

But see my story lord
She was a badass
Not by her nature
Only by nearing labels

My foot moved as a biological machine
He waved from upstairs
And said I love my car
Don’t make it down

It was an effect of my view
The day back

Whoa, this is great
Human respond his earnings and material
But not his fellow livimgs

It’s only a freedom of expression
Not a freedom to label

Papaw’s Demise

a poem by Randy Johnson

You died twenty years ago today.
On February 7, 1998, you passed away.
You were born in 1910 and died at the age of eighty-seven.
Twenty years ago, you left this Earth and went to Heaven.

You became a widower in 1957 and had your kids to finish raising.
You finished raising your kids by yourself and that was amazing.
When you died, it was something that I hated.
You were my Papaw and you were appreciated.

(Dedicated to Burkette Greene who died on February 7, 1998.)

What is troubling me?

a poem by Shubh Rana

What is troubling me?
I am confused completely
Is it the heart breaking stories?
Or something faded in my memories

Is that something I never cared about?
Or the myths screaming all around
I am tensed of learning sound
Whatever it is it is all upside down

Are the lyrics troubling me as a reason?
Or the rebellious ways of gun
Am I worried about 2a-1?
But it reflects me I am just done

Are my studies troubling me?
Or my dreams and fantasy
Are the cause bank balance and money
But I am so young I got it

Are the social media gaining my attention?
Or I am addicted to my passion
Are headphone and music my sensation?
I am on my knees begging for a solution

Kindled Night

a poem by Satish Verma

Put off the lantern.
I am waiting for the moon’s
primal face. The lesser flamingoes
were going to shed the pink color.

Nude as a python, the kiss
of pomegranates, kills by asphyxiation.
I suffer in the hands of protests.
The black ice now enters the eye of a needle.

A barefoot noun feeds the junta.
The butter babies will serve the poetry
of poor on the mats of principles.
I will remain unslept on straw.

A newspaper eats the story this side.
After the bloodbath surgeons weep.
An armless lover hugs a priest
for not calling the gods.

Rape

a poem by Arnab Kumar Roy

Walk,
Road ahead,
The leering hyenas (rapists) waiting,
To taste a piece of meat (human flesh),
They are thirsty,
Rolling tongues,
I can see.

A nasty stare,
At my body,
I feel so dirty.

Taking a step,
I walk back,
Are they coming for me?

Fear,
Strikes my heart,
Run, run
All I hear.

I try my best,
To run away,
But those weak legs,
Give away,
I fall down.

I lost my sense,
They have conquered me,
They throw water at my face,
I open my eyes,
To see their face,
Are they humans or a pack of wolves?
I ask myself.

Celebrations have begun,
I am lying on the ground,
Nowhere to run,

I plea,
To let me go,
I scream,
However,
To no avail,
They took off my shirt,
Naked I Lie,
At their hands,

They taste my flesh,
Taking turns,
Again and again,
While I lie,
Tasting my tears salty taste,
Drops of blood,
Oozing out from my flesh,
They take a bloodbath,
At my expense,

Just before,
I close my eyes,
I see the moon shining bright,
While the stars calling me from behind.

(O! Maniacally perverted men please do not rape.)

Inadequacy

a poem by Satish Verma

A silence speaks up at ungreen
age for an unknown, finding
dark matter in hiddenness
of sleazy light.

A dove in the valley of tulips
stops a flight for a wayfarer.

What was that persists,
in envioronment and bunkers?

Queen bee will decide for a spliced
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup.

The stings were the torchbearers.

A smile comes out with a walker. The
vitals were dysfunctioning.
The end does not need any comma.

Juggling

a poem by Satish Verma

Standing in a milk line you were
talking of depravity, of blood lines
and the breast enhancement.

A teenage fringe bomber wants
to sew the civil society and explodes
himself before the empty bakery.

A young gal throws her son
from the ninth floor and then jumps
to get the justice from indifferent god.

Can we talk and wash away our
guilt? Crossing the river was
not enough, we need drinking water.

Bits of human flesh are plastered
on the walls. The death wears a
face of daddy to kill the times.

Clustered

a poem by Satish Verma

Was busy
Carving out the white clouds
Like stanzas, unflawed.
Now I begin to fall apart.

No meaning was left in a drink.
You could see only your image
Drowning in a scented charity.
At last I am watching myself.

Black paper. The ink was white.
Speechless. No body language.
Only you will discover the space
Between the unspoken words.

Only buttons know the hollowness
Of a floating gun. Meeting you in
An empty glass. Future will always
Talk of a setting sun.

Breaking the Rules

a poem by Satish Verma

Graveyard of stillbirths.
I am walking on severed legs.

She was pushed off a moving train.
Could not be raped.

No I don’t see any sickly aberration.
It was ossification of stunted intellect.

Who was desperate to exit the hazy
flesh? Peel off my skin. It is dirty.

You are becoming furniture. Drunk.
Immovable. The bed was moving.

Holding the breasts of mannequins
you walk down the stairs for a rejoinder.

I am an Artist

a poem by Rheanne Mlq

I am an artist
I paint wildly and abstract
I use the blood of people to paint with
And I do not regret what I have done
My work is usually colourful
Different shades of red
The blood I use is not from people I kill
But people who have fled
I can sell you a painting
But it will cost
Not diamonds nor rubies
But blood that you have lost

Saga of Change

a poem by Abhay Chhibber

There was a little girl who lived near the banyan tree,
A small hut in the forest, and all over nature to see…

Her morning would start with birds chirping around,
and night would end with howling of the hound…
In the afternoon, she would walk in the field and play,
trying to catch butterflies was how she spent rest of her day…

Her aunt was always worried whenever she went out alone,
and that is why daily she got followed by her uncle stone…
A gun is what her protective uncle always carried,
which was gifted to him by the woman he had married…

It was a bright sunny day, when she got tired, sat and wanted to do nothing more,
and that is when she heard a lion’s roar…
She started looking around and tried to see,
Instead of being afraid, excited was she…

A glimpse of those big eyes was all she got,
Before her uncle took the lion down with his shot…
Her uncle then told her to run back home and hide,
Because other lions were about to come hearing the gunshot in that field wide…

She reached home and told her aunt the same,
They both then hid and prayed the Lord’s name…
Hours passed, then slowly the days,
But he never came back from that maze…

The girl blamed the lions for her uncle to be lost,
She vowed that she’ll take revenge at any cost…
She became a good hunter with her growing age,
She caught many lions and put them in cage…

Torturing and starving them was what she would daily do,
It was now her routine in her own home made zoo…
But one day a shocking news she had received,
Uncle stone returned home, he never was deceased…

He shared the tale of those lions big brown,
Whom he had hunted with help of men from another town…
They were great hunters who came to his aid,
They saved his life and were about to go to next raid…

He then said “I owed those hunters my life”
And “with them I had to leave, but I couldn’t tell you or my wife…”
A misunderstanding this big of the incident that day,
Had changed the girl totally, that’s all she had to say…

With many regrets and sorrow now in her eyes,
She cried and her mistake now she had realised…
She left the cages open and animals were now free,
But no, she was no longer the girl who lived near the banyan tree, whose only hobby was to play and enjoy the natural beauty she would see…

Come to me

a poem by Sujata Pawar

Come to me, when you are lonely,
I will be your friend and companion.

Come to me, when you are hurt,
I will take your pain and heal you,

Come to me, when you are low,
I will raise your spirits and energize you,

Come to me, when you have no one,
I will be your friend and lover,

Than come to me, for you miss me,
And I will enliven this world for both of us.

Hangover in early morning

a poem by Amshudharsai K

I met you unfortunately
Your talk feel me like fog
Inconvenience was my sayings
It was before
Now my glimses of my past
hit me when I fail to match your arm
Babe just hug my looks by your
Turns of walks
Don’t turn this hard
Just drop out of my glimses
I can’t handle this hangover
And moreover you’re my angel

Sole Soul

a poem by Abhay Chhibber

He kept telling himself
it’s about who stays with you
not about what you choose to keep
they gather
they vacate,
they crowd you and leave you to suffocate
they are a herd
who won’t walk the path that steep.

Afraid he was,
with no guidance or any lead,
that’s when he stood up strong and took a leap,
like a Lion walking for-lone,
knowing the rest following are sheep.

They don’t care,
they don’t understand,
as they never took the path that steep
it’s he who walks alone wanders,
and triumphs his own grief.

Always you

a poem by Garima .

Its always your comfort I seek
Its always your heart I sneak
Its always your page I write
Its always your memories in white
Its always your arms I look for
Its always your talks I want more
Its always your hands I wanna hold
Its always lovely when you scold
Its always your lips I wanna kiss
Its always your words that I miss
Its always your shoulder and my head
Its always your unbreakable thread
Its always your beliefs I rely
Its always you for whom I try
Its always a thing between two
Trust me its always you… only you