Poems on "People"

Humans or Puppets

a poem by

Death Pawn

Who are we?
Puppets of someone,
Or Puppets of something.

Perhaps Puppets of something
Dreams’ desires
Lust’ greed
Virtuality of happiness
Reality of pain
Stupidity of emotions
Providing the driving force
To run the hollow, shallow system.

Maybe our assumption is wrong.

Perhaps its Puppets of someone,
With interesting, amusing expressions
Stalking you
Judging you
Watching fom sidelines.
Giving you choices
Giving you hope
With satire in the eyes.

Playing with a page
First line starts with birth of Puppet
Last line ending with death of Puppet
And leaving whole page blank
With satire of fireworks.

Maybe both of our assumptions are wrong
Or we can fill the middle blank page
With puppet of something
Completing the whole page
Completing the fate of puppet.

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Homes out of human beings

a poem by

Karen .

They say don’t put all your eggs in one basket
It’s the same with humans too, don’t ever forget
The more you trust only one person
The worse the pain when it all comes undone
Don’t fall for the charm, words and promises
You’ll end up alone trying to put together the pieces
Love yourself first; only then others embrace
You never know what lurks behind that innocent face
You can’t make homes out of human beings
They too are human – different outside, different within

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My Men

a poem by

Alok Srivastava

Living in a foreign land of aliens,
I desire you, I desire you, my men.

Men who are silenced by sunrises,
who make noises at car races.
Men who teach their children bicycle,
who make love like angel Michael,
I desire you, I desire you, my men.

Living in a foreign land of aliens,
I desire you, I desire you, my men.

Men who shed a tear for their neighbors,
injustice who fight with their labors.
Men who earn a living with justice,
who give up their lives with bliss,
I desire you, I desire you, my men.

Living in a foreign land of aliens,
I desire you, I desire you, my men.

Men who live with love in my heart,
who with patience wait for the Lord.
Men who wash their souls all the day,
who go to churches in order to pray,
I desire you, I desire you, my men.

Living in a foreign land of aliens,
I desire you, I desire you, my men.

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More than you know

a poem by

Sunil Rajagopal

Do you know me, sir?
I speak not of the colour
of my face and hair.

Do you know me, sir?
No, not by the tongue I speak
Or where I am from.

Do you know me, sir?
I meant not the name of my
God or what I eat.

Do you know me, sir?
Not by where I live and work,
Or my golden hoard.

Do you know me, sir?
I ask not how loud I talk,
Or my love of stage.

Do you know me, sir?
Not by how much I know and,
how fast I can run.

Do you know me, sir?
Never by what you think of
my man-woman-hood.

If you think you know –
This is but a bit, I am
more than all of these.

Know me when my heart
is in what I say and do;
By the paths I take.

I am how I treat
the old and poor, weak and meek,
And other men’s gods.

Know by how I let
my friends and better half fly;
By my dear folk’s pride.

Read me from thoughts in
my head, the flowers I smell;
By how I know you.

If you still must know,
We are all rivers that must
once end in the sea.

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Growing up as a Butterfly

a poem by

Tanvi Gadikar

Excited to get out of
My egg of childhood,
Willing to know
And travel this world,
Experiencing life
As full as I can.
With a bite of
Every problem,
I grow,
Better than yesterday,
A little to work
For tomorrow.
And with every new
Problem,
I get better,
Better in growing,
Better in flying.
Just like the people
Within my life,
I first crawl on
Those Green leaves
And try to judge
Their taste.
And then,
I eat them
With their sour
But admirable flaws,
And slowly,
I learn that
None of them is flawless
But everyone is different
In taste.
Then I notice
The stalk,
Of the plant
That I live on.
It is full of
Spines and Thorns.
And I also learn
To get past them
Without letting myself hurt.
But I am imperfect.
Some of them do hurt,
And hurt deep,
Leaving the scars
And the broken skin.
They are like some
Of the situations
I had to get past through.
And as I get hurt,
I heal,
And grow.
But
When I feel weak and exhausted
With the times I tried to
Embrace myself,
I cuddle myself up
Into a cocoon
With a promise to
Get up as a
Butterfly in the
Morning.

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Sometimes I wonder whether it all matters

a poem by

Devaki Purohit

Sometimes I wonder whether it all matters
The efforts, the suffering,
The hopeful eyes;
The prayers, the pleads
All asking for better deals
When all it takes for the privileged few
Is a flick of a finger or the click of a call.
Life is unfair they mercilessly say
Yes, ‘they’ are the ones who have it all
And the ones on the other side just wait and watch
Not all are silent though
Discontent brews through and through
Challenging situations and status quo
Organizing, agitating and questioning the power flow
Being the eternal pessimist that I am
I revert to my earlier question whether it matters at all
Structures and misgivings are so deeply entrenched
Easier it is may be, even mountains to be moved
Beyond social action, revolution, subaltern theories and all such paradigms
Lies a higher emotion which has been furthered by many a wise man
My humble attempt is to repeat it here
Not to copy, ‘plagiarize’ or claim authority mere
It is of love, love for humanity, love for each other
Look beyond social constructions which are but external
Do we recognize it, do we realize it… we are all of the same flesh
Are we willing then to keep aside our egos, our ‘positions?’
And come together by the virtue of our very being.

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Free Flowing

a poem by

Devaki Purohit

Walking down a winding mud path
A stone here and a stumble there
A virgin forest beckons me;
Beyond the meandering brook
Away from the city nooks
A people and their untouched forest
Beckons me;
Layers of trees, a rainbow of greens
A dash of butterfly wings
A forest deity, the people and their legends
All entice me;
The wilderness and the ‘Wild’ welcome me–
Unconditional and unreserved
Would my shiny world do the same, I wonder
My own thought mocking me, questioning me.
I trudge along the mud path;
Feeling like an intruder in a pristine world
I cannot give back what I receive, what I take…
Knowing also that I will never belong.
I halt at this thought.
Retrace my steps – back to my high rising world
Leaving with memories and a sense of loss
Loss of something I never had
Loss of something that never will be.
The virgin forest still beckons me
I make do with virtual view now;
Dreaming of another life
Where there would be no boundaries
No guilt of stealth, of intrusion
A life where I could flow like the meandering brook–
Unobstructed and free flowing!

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Few people in my life

a poem by

Sangeetha Mohan

Like each day’s dawn
People come and go in my life
But only a few remain permanent
Like the evening sky
Even when the wind doesn’t blow
And water refuses to flow
My heart will melt and beat for them…

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My Teachers

a poem by

Anu Pillai

Oh! my teachers,
You are the paragons of knowledge and love,
You are the temples of light,
You are the wings to protect me,
From the snares of life.

You are the one I can hold on,
You made me stand,
To show my breeding.

In distress and confusion,
You are a great force,
To turn on.

Teachers, I was your child once,
Can’t I be forever?
My teachers, let me take your footsteps.

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Thank You

a poem by

Ardhendu Bhatia

Between the Diwali shine,
In the arms of newly dressed bride,
Rambagh Palace
A couple of hours
With your hospitality
Became a joyful ride.

A journey embossed in our heart
Don’t think it will tear apart
With your tender smile
And your warm hospitality
The elegance and fragrance
Does mark up your beauty.

Thank you “Prarthana”
For all the pain you took for us
We wish you a great future
Which is obviously conspicuous.

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The Farmer

a poem by

Mabel Annie Chacko

The dawn is here! I climb the hill;
The earth is young and strangely still;
A tender green is showing where
But yesterday my fields were bare…
I climb and, as I climb, I sing;
The dawn is here, and with it- spring!

My oxen stamp the ground, and they
Seem glad, with me, that soon the day
Will bring new work for us to do!
The light above is clear and blue;
And one great cloud that swirls on high,
Seems sent from earth to kiss the sky.

The dawn is here, I climb the hill;
My oxen too seem to thrill-
To feel the mystery of day.
The sun creeps out, and far away
From man-made law I worship God,
Who made the light, the cloud, the sod;
I worship smilingly, and sing!
The dawn is here, and with it – spring!

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The Green Eyed Monster – II

a poem by

Ramesh T A

Shameful persons do shameful things under the shadow of power always;
Power in the hands of wrong persons lead world only to wars forever;
Even now miseries of men increase in the hands of cruel persons in power;
So, unless the fangs are plucked out snakes go on spewing venom to victims!

The stories of justice by well known authors abound in the Book Markets;
Even Cinema and TV series preach about morality often to the people;
But Vedala goes on climbing the tree and Vikraman has to bring it down
Answering the puzzles continuously to prevent the head from pulvarisation!

The stories of Kings in exile due to the usurpation of power by wicked men
And the recoveries of Kingdoms with the help of good men still go on now!
Jealousy and greediness of men get the blessings of the green eyed monster
To achieve Onida type pride so as to excite envy to their neighbours around!

Jealousy men spoil the good works of sincere and honest men in public;
But envious men imitate the great models of the public cherished by most!
Original classics have got their own lasting values in the world of men;
But, romantics of duplicates may achieve supremacy but not last longer!

Jealousy degrades and destroys but envy increases competition sans quality;
So, it is a duty to identify and avoid the disciples of the green eyed monster;
It is better to close the door before to keep the wolf away than to suffer later;
For, the green eyed monster is the disciple of Satan born to destroy, you know!

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The Green Eyed Monster – I

a poem by

Ramesh T A

O Green eyed Monster! How many dreamers have you destroyed!
I am horrified to know this going through the pages of human hearts!
Only Almighty has to save the good society from further destruction
Designed by the disciples of this monster when it reigns supreme!

According to one’s qualification one should desire what one deserves;
But if the desire transcends qualification all dreams only end in lunacy!
Political support rowdies use to dominate over the poor people sometime
But unfavourable results will certainly send them to jails permanently!

Power users should be careful about their position in public to save face;
Official power bureaucrats use to assert their authority on the people;
Power can be used only within the frame work of the law of the land;
For, misuse of power will make one shamefully lose one’s position soon!

Use of power without the knowledge of authority will make one poor;
A leader with the full support of the people enjoys real power in full;
But a person with knowledge, intelligence and wisdom has true power
And has the capacity to hold any position to accomplish one’s mission.

Complex men seek power to enjoy sadistic pleasure or satisfy their ego;
They indulge in violence, terrorism and wars to force men to sadness;
They enjoy sadistic pleasure at the sight of men in desolation or despair;
And till they end in tragic death they forcefully drag all to untold misery!

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We shall learn

a poem by

Trinath Gaduparthi

One day we shall learn
That there is nothing we had to earn
Everything was there
But we went on a quest in full gear
Finally reached the grave
And epitaphed ourselves to be brave!!!

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Footprints on unknown seashores

a poem by

Pancholi Nandlal Kanjibhai

I have not shaken hands with celebrities on stages
In dazzling razzmatazz of light and sound
Nor have bowed my head to kings seeking accolades for my art
But have met nondescript men in mofussil towns
Whose footprints on unknown sea shores
Shall not be wiped off even by stormy winds-

I have not lined up to garland MPs on their vain trip to their constituency
Never have I been present during demagogues euphoric addresses
But have listened with rapt attention
Symphony of songs sung by shepherds

I have never wasted my inks in praise of emperors
But have showered flowers of admiration on artists
And for the rights of unsung heroes
For ever shall I fight

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