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Elegy People Poems | Elegy Poems About People

These Elegy People poems are examples of Elegy poems about People. These are the best examples of Elegy People poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Elegy | |

Angela's Right Hand

The function of a human hand?
Writing a message, making a bed,
Opening a jar, dialing a phone,
Putting on pantyhose,
Touching the face of a child,
Or a lover.

And in its absence?
Yawning space and phantom pain,
And an oddly-shaped bandage
At the end of Angie’s arm.

PFC Hernandez, home in El Paso,
Watches her family watching her,
Writing awkwardly with her left hand,
Brushing her black wavy hair,
Watching Dr. Phil
Wearing an old gray-green T-shirt
Bearing the faded words
“Proud to be a Marine.”

Gasping and choking,
She wakes from thick, dusty dreams
Of shimmering, endless sand,
Unfamiliar words
Echoing hollow with hatred,
And the feared but half expected
Roar of fiery amber heat,
Breaking the angry stillness,
Searing through the night
And Angela’s right hand.



Details | Elegy | |

My Return To Normandy

High on the Normandy cliffs
Looking out over Pointe du Hoc
As cold Atlantic winds whisper out
The names of the brothers I left behind
Now only fine marble monument shadows
Dot the trenches and empty emplacements 
As the final testimony of the fallen
Still ringing frightened with those desperate voices
Proclaiming both their lives and death
That they were ever here…

In the emerald hills of Collville Sur Mur
I can still hear the phantom naval shells screaming
Underneath the crying of men
Pulverized and dying in their comrades arms
All for the belief of the land from which they hail
While the roaring waves wash the still bloody sands
In and endless and rending cycle
That silent cacophony of brother and foe
Call out to me still for comfort and aid
Asking only to be remembered…


Details | Elegy | |

His Legacy

Up into the sky 
he soared 
like an Angel

With us 
down here-- 
at Soupland, watching him as he soared 
like an Angel;

So gentle… 
and brave 
he was,
a strong love he had, sharing it till the end, yet

His breath
could not resist the resounding call 
of Heaven 
and he left, 

Leaving us his poetry, for 
when great storms come in, his laughter 
will dry our tears like rain.


--

for Tom Bell, a great poet who taught us all-- 
to laugh and to smile…to learn… and to give.    


Details | Elegy | |

Moon Walk on Your Grave

Moon Walk on Your Grave

A life begun in stardom,
now, ending up in shame.
Relentless media, cruel world,
who then is there to blame.

A sadness inside,
no tears on your face.
The pain all but over,
mass confusion erase.

In wonder we watch,
can a life be explained?
Can't surface your agony,
under facade you remained.

Let's focus on the talent,
musical joy that you gave.
In peace now I pray,
moon walk on your grave.

© Rene' Brady 2009


Details | Elegy | |

Farewell to voice

Hearing the voice of thousands notes, 
By the concrete melody, I have been votes.
Lighten the cordial deeps,
Broke the silence that keep.

The orchestra sounds so clear, 
With a voice of melodic dear
She presents the tone of happiness,
When people hear the boldness:

Tick of a clock goes by,
Time confess the lonely bye
Thou abusing of drug flow,
That controls the body into low.

Thou a voice still conquer,
Thy of her silence frontier
Fans fight the battle awe
To control the hatred oh;

Night came a dead body found,
By a witness shock in pound
At last, her family knew
The tragic awake the world few.

The world stops the news,
And satellite comment every hues
Trying to construct the brick,
There and here, connect the trick.

Superstars wear the death sick,
When the clock stop to tick
Though people admire the voice, she has,
By listening of a track, she does.


Details | Elegy | |

A Farewell To The Travelers

A Farewell To The Travelers (On The Bhoja Airlines Plane Crash)
 
With pace does darkness conquer light,
when mounts the sun the dying toll,
spied an aura grim my wistful sight,
for had poisoned all, a single bowl;
captive of death as it life betrayed,
the awakened --to the resting prayed,
"Oh! Farewell the mornings vanished pole".
 
Life comes with such a temporal mien,
has it plucked the wings of future how,
though pillows of respite --I had seen,
but these feathers do no sleep allow;
do fly swift! The binders of this cause,
your pause of age, is our ageless pause--
"So, farewell the birds of heavens now".
 
But, soul a machine that does not cease,
yet it fools us from our time of birth;
pass on, move towards the restful peace,
but, secluded stays its pensive worth;
Until the day, we shall meet again
at some wondrous unknown valley then.
"Ah! Farewell the travelers of this earth".
 
R.N.Khan, © 2012


Details | Elegy | |

The Lost of Love Sent to Me

Vigorously crying, feeling like I'm dying in the midst of mourning under the rain fall and tall mighty trees.
All I can hear is a shout of, "Why God, why did you take him away from me."
The hurt and the loss of it all will always be with me.
Flashes of moments, all in memories.
The life we had together is now history.
As they put the coffin into the ground while I stand on graveyard land.
It really became clear to me.
My lover and friend was a guardian angel sent to me.
Swiftly walking to leave this cemetery place with friends and family.
In God I trust my memories will never be erased, emptily.


Details | Elegy | |

The Earth is really in Danger

The Earth is really in Danger  


I know with our limitations, 
we cannot reach there to wipe tears from the eyes of all those, 
who have lost everything in this great tragedy of Japan.  
Still I hope that few of these words would wipe their tears or 
may give some consolation to those, who are affected 
by the Tsunami of Japan. Sympathy creates more healing touch 
than the concrete helps every country should offer for the people of Japan.  
As such a tragedy may take place anywhere in the world...Ravindra

In support of the people of Japan


Often the disaster comes, without knocking the door and
Takes away the most precious from the Earth.
We claim we are going to land on Jupiter,
We claim we would live on the surface of new Stars,
We claim to make a flawless colony on Moon
Where the inhabitants of this Earth would live in splendors.

But, we have failed to live even nicely on Earth,
We do not even care much for those, who are facing the disaster,
For those who have lost their love ones on Earth,
For those who need our sympathy, care and love.
Today they are helpless before the grave calamity of disaster and
Need badly their brothers and sisters to wipe their tears.

The Tsunami of Japan has wiped out,
Not only the buildings, trains and cars but
The Homes and love ones in several thousand of numbers, so far.
It has left marks so deep and disastrous,
Years would be required to replenish the loss
O’ God, please wipe the tears from those eyes,
Who have lost, all their family members and hopes on earth and
Are waiting in vain for their dear ones to come again.

Ravindra
Kanpur India 13th March 2011



Details | Elegy | |

Where are you

You flourished and blurred
like a spark on wind

Gracefully and quickly like a frightened hind
in pursuit of light

You harvested through bushy meadows
taken by blight

In struggle with plight
had you lost your might

And gave out
although never you gave up.

Where are you?
For you must be still there.

For I still can feel you
somewhere in the air.


Details | Elegy | |

Poem written near a Cemetery 2 of 2


Poem written near a Cemetery  2 of 2
On 13th February 2012

But nowhere in that cemetery I could find,
Flowers smiling on any Stone, Tomb or grave,
Whatever big may have been,
The status of those, who were buried there, 
With or without any pomp and show.

Some of these yester year stars, 
Were laid here with a simple stone, 
Standing as a symbol of their death, 
Without telling their simple stories and 
And without telling much about their lores, 

I came back again after searching a lot,
On the grave of this noble soul, 
The small flowers were still busy in,
Swinging and dancing, 
On the stone of Sophia Rees. 

Those wild little yellow flowers,
Had called me from a distance,
Perhaps to convey the story, 
Of this unknown noble soul.

I counted those tiny yellow flowers 
They were six only all swinging in the air, 
To find on whose stone they were blooming,
I started reading,
The faint and dim stone lines,
Where the engraved letters had lost their ink,
Wiped away by the passing of time.

But the first three lines, 
Made me to stand on my toes, 
I could read very clearly,
In the clear upper lines it was written, 
“Sophia Rees Owen 31 years old 
left this world on 27th November 1834, 
Leaving her husband and six children. 
She was a sincere friend and 
Truly attached wife and Most devoted mother”.

Something told me silently in my mind, 
Why on this grave only,
The Nature had bloomed,
A bunch of smiling and dancing flowers, 
This unknown lady of yester years 
Was perhaps a noble and kind hearted soul.

May be Sophia was a lover of Nature,
May be a Poet, a Philosopher, a Painter or 
May be she was a wonderful Singer,
Who wanted to sing some beautiful songs,
But before she could have tuned her instruments,
Was called by the God in Heaven. 

What a strange thing it was, 
To come and to watch in that graveyard,
Those little flowers and the grave of Sophia Rees, 
Which I had noticed unknowingly,  
From across the boundary,
While I was passing on the road.

These lines are my homage to that noble soul,
Who is  spreading her smiles even to this day,
As if through these flowers, 
She was singing some of her most dear song.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 13& 14th Feb 2012
“Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen”
“In the memory of Sophia Rees Owen 
The beloved wife of H T Owen Esqr. 
Of the H C Civil Service, who died on the 27th 
Nov.1834 aged 31 years 11months and 18days.
Leaving her husband and Six children to lament 
Her loss. She was a sincere friend, a truly 
Attached wife and a devoted Mother...


Details | Elegy | |

Poem written near a Cemetery 1 of 2

Poem written near a Cemetery  1 of 2
On 13th February 2012

While moving near the walls of a cemetery, 
I saw the glimpse 
Of a bunch of some tiny wild flowers,
Blooming in the golden Sunlight falling on them, 
They were waving their simile, 
With every gush of wind,
On the monument of a deserted grave.

For me it was a new and exciting experience, 
To enter in that cemetery of eighteenth century,
What had brought me to that spot,
Where those wild flowers were still smiling,
Remains a mystery
Every time, I think and rethink. 

I saw hundreds of monuments and tombs,
After entering in that preserved cemetery, 
Some were telling the story,
Of the grandeurs of its dwellers,
While others were there,
Standing without a crown or a story.

The grave on which, I saw those flowers,
Was not showing an appealing face, 
Age had withered its luster and charms,
And time had left its marks on its face.

Being in the last line of that cemetery 
It was waiting in the long queue,
For some kith and kin of Sophia Ress,
May come some day and  
The face of that noble soul’s grave, 
May once again obtain its lost glory and grace.

There I found those lonely wild tiny flowers,
Still blooming and smiling and dancing,
With every gush of wind,
Telling silently a beautiful story of its dweller,
As if, they were paying their homage,
While remembering her lost songs and images.

In the morning hours of the Autumn,
The tree leaves were falling, 
Everywhere on the ground,
And some were even falling on me,
Either to tell the universal truth, 
Of the inevitable departure of everyone’s one day 
Or perhaps to accompany me, 
In that graveyard of all those,
Who were totally strangers for me.

After watching that grave and 
Appreciating those tiny flowers,
I explored each and every tomb and monuments,
Standing in the memory of those British,
Who had lived a royal life during those days,
When they lived here and ruled my country, 
For a very long time. 

Ravindra 
Kanpur India 18th Feb. 2012  concluded in Part 2



Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen

"Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen
In the memory of Sophia Rees Owen 
The beloved wife of H T Owen Esqr. 
Of the H C Civil Service, who died on the 27th 
Nov.1834 aged 31 years 11months and 18days.
Leaving her husband and Six children to lament 
Her loss. She was a sincere friend, a truly 
Attached wife and a devoted Mother.......







Details | Elegy | |

On The Road To Heaven { Mom's Elegy }

<                    We are gathered here today to celebrate Bernadine Goerlich's life
                      Though taken from us to soon she has now risen to be with the Lord
                      Do not fret for greif and sorrow shall pass too
                      Let us bow our heads and pray 
                      In thy name of the Father Son And Holy Spirit  {Amen }

                      At the tender age of 70 she lived her life to the fullest
                      Raising a family of 10 she always had an xtra room
                      For she loved her God family friends and her beloved pets
                      And even heard of her always baking cakes cookies pies and italian foods
                      She really must of had her hands full with 5 boys and 5 girls

                      For Lord please cradle her in your everlasting arms
                      Wash away her sins and lift her spirit to you
                      For she has earned her wings of golden tone
                      And  now can rejoiced with her own Father and Mother
                      In God's jubliee Kingdom  Let us pray {Amen]


Entry For
Dr. Ram's
Elegy Contest
G.L. All



In Loving Memory Of Mom
{1934 - 2005 }


Details | Elegy | |

What a Beauty-Full Life

Beauty is in flowers, and the petals
Bathing in the early morning dew

Beauty is in the eyes of a father
When his son takes the first step

Beauty is on the face of a baby,
Sleeping in mother’s lap

Beauty is in freedom,
When you fly high on the wings of hope

Beauty is in the expressions of a poor man
When he gets food after eternity

Beauty is in the pride of a teacher
When his student supersedes

Beauty is in the compassion of a devotee
When he finds solace

Beauty is in the innocence of a child
When he asks you questions

Beauty is in the sips of laughter,
You share with your friends

Beauty is in the springs of desire
that arrive after a prolonged autumn

Beauty is in the cry of a woman,
Whose womb succeeds

Beauty is in the silence,
When you don’t speak, and you say a lot

Beauty is in the warmth of passion
That builds around the arms of a lover

Beauty is when those small fights,
End with tears of joy

Beauty is when the first raindrop,
Kisses your cheek

Beauty is in perseverance,
When the world’s showing off

Beauty is in the enigma,
When everything’s certain

Beauty is in a poem,
Where poetry meets prose

Beauty is in little chunks of life,
Filled with joys and sorrows

Beauty is in your eyes,
your heart, and in every single breath

Beauty is when you say,
“What a Beauty-Full Life...”


Details | Elegy | |

My Kashmir Burns (Part 1)

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze

I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.

Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.

From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.

On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.


Details | Elegy | |

My Kashmir Burns (Part 4)

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. I see Kashmir through deserted eyes.
I am writing an elegy. While my Kashmir burns.
My blood has contents of a coward. 
What results my thoughts will forward.
Tears have dried. Heart has cried.
My pen drops dead. Its enough, there is nothing to hide.

It’s his anniversary again. I forgot this day again.
I pray for his soul. While my Kashmir howls.
I can write no more. My pen drops dead.
But mouj Kashir wails:
Bullets won’t stop
Young souls will depart.


MEANING OF SOME WORDS FROM PART 1,2,3,and 4

Kashmir: Usually called "Switzeland of east".A disputed state. Presentely annexed by
India. There are almost 1 million army personals in kashmir. People are fighting against
their opression and anarchy. UN still declares kashmir as indepent country.

KL : Kuala lumpur. Capital of Malaysia.

Karbala: place in Iraq where grandson of Prophet Muhammed(PBUH. prophet of Islam) and his
followers where murdered.

Imaam: Person who is incharge of a mosque(muslim worshipping place)

Patan and Sopor: two districts in Kashmir

Kupwara: A district in kashmir were Indian army violates human rights at its best.

Mahjoor: Romantic Kashmiri poet

Khayam’s: A place in kashmir known for its barbeques.

Jhelum: a river that flows through Kashmir

Shah-Hamdan: A scared place to kashmiri's.

ninder yee nai. Gahas Kormakh Khudayas Hawale: kashmiri translation of "Let you
sleep.Goobye May God protect you" 

Madrasa: Place where children are taught Quran(holy book of muslims)

Gulistans: gardens of exquisite flowers

kaasmir: Kashmir in Indian accent. Usually people from other states of India pronounce
like that.

Dastegeer’s: scared place to kashmiri's

Maisuma : a place in kashmir where confrontations with Indian army are common.

Azadi: freedom in Urdu language.

Jinazah: a prayer offered when a muslim dies

khansaib-bun: a village in kashmir. known for its hills.

mouj Kashir : kashmiri translation of " mother Kashmir"


Details | Elegy | |

Stop writing Literature, You garrulous Indian

 for Eric Mottram (1924 - 1995)*

 a life of toil for the man in the centre
 a hub in the peripheral tireless wheel
 
   where he go then where he go this working man
   he go on waking people   working at waking man
  
no words cling now no words meant in blame
the tongue  he lash the words  they now tame
 
no shock of blast open laughter rock the hall
everyman there say    there sure were a man
 
a man  no fear cowed    in communion to other
made for no gods   made for no demons either
 
all men he know best when he see just once
no second thought resurrect the man if bad
 
so go tell the magi   no trek in sight in sky
here a man be born  here he so sure die
 
other no like see one so bright stand up high
other no like feel like sky fall low into ocean
 
what make ‘m i say with feeling so just
is sure he different  he force hisself work
 
work work work   work an’ again work
he work nite an’ nite so 50-hour in day
 
   where he go then where he go this working man
   he go on waking people   working at waking man
 
where you go from word born here now
turn and twist   all whoring the alphabet
 
‘don’t write anything you can get published’
so publish only what you can’t call your own
 
writing like reading’s a public coital act
so showing your work is exhibitionism
 
‘why don’t you send your stuff around
keeping it to yourself’s sheer masturbation’
 
reading-watching-listening’s just voyeurism
so sending wares around is prostitutionism
 
    where he go then where he go this working man
    he go on waking people  working at waking man
 
he it was in minesweeper capture aurora borealis
message from extrasensory enter into he word
 
in Bengal waters alone he hear No-man cry
only in deepdown psyche water drip drip dry
 
then on land he no see reason to the fight
so he let he wrists spill he guts to the fill
 
then he take the world on all by he torn self
he spare no skin in dug-Malayan-jungle-out
 
what he do  what he think he do   he no tell
everybody meet man an’ no see albatross hang
 
he no tell story like ol’ mariner in dream
he go wake people from dumb dead trance
 
many many people high up no like this act
some call him stuckup other just ‘im damn
 
is all he do then     what kind of working this
is big work man ‘cause most body dead sleep
 
    where he go then where he go this working man
    he go on waking people  working at waking man
 

* The late Eric N. W. Mottram, made Chair Professor of English and American Literature at King's College, University of London, in 1983, was appointed Lecturer
in American Literature - the first such appointment - in the University of London. By then he had already taught English literature in Zurich, Singapore, and Groningen. He obtained a Double First in English Tripos at Cambridge University after serving out the Second World War (in the North Sea and the Bay of Bengal) on a mine-sweeper. He edited 22 issues of the Poetry Review in the seventies, the organ of the Poetry Society in England. He published some 35 books of poems and some fifteen books of criticism and was the recepient of the American Learned Society's Award for 1965. He also taught at Northwestern University and in New York University at Buffalo. In 1994-1995, he was recommended for the Nobel Prize in Literature, but he passed away on January 16, 1995 while a E-meritus Professor at London University. 


 © T. Wignesan 13-15 October 1995. Pub. in "Radical Poetics (Inventory of Possibilities)", London, 1997.
 


Details | Elegy | |

My Kashmir Burns (Part 2)

Another son is dead, until five he lived.
For his long life at Shah-Hamdan he had threads tied
“Shehij ninder yee nai. Gahas Kormakh Khudayas Hawale”, his mother cries.
No news can penetrate across the mountains. Satellites work here no more
My Kashmir burns. And no one knows.
An old woman with torn scarf sits besides fire. While feeding her neighbor’s child
She sighs. Is my son dead or alive? She silently cries.
In Madrasa I hear children reciting Quran. A girl’s come out dragging her feet.
I remember her from somewhere. I remember her seeing naked. 
Oh! God she is the one who was raped.

Nights have turned pitch black. My eyes are losing the habit of sight
Midnight soldier’s set another house ablaze. At least there is some sort of light.
Many letters have been written to God. Postcards posted of those raped girl’s 
But its curfew again. No post office deliver’s the message again.
Death comes from everywhere. Close your windows mother
For bullet respects no womb. It turned Gulistans into tombs.
From the plains the visitors come to visit their God’s
They are our only witnesses but hypocrites at heart.
They say paradise is kaasmir. While my Kashmir is ablaze
They testify against us. Is anybody witnessing this? No one at all
Be witness to at least this. Open up your eyes my Lord!

When paradise is painted with colors of hell, certainly divinity loses its grace
In the news the reporter is beaten. Bamboo sticks are hungry for human blood.
Let Kashmir go to hell. A new promise in their portfolio.
Threads have given up at Dastegeer’s place. Even they are horrified at our fate.
In Maisuma boys are dragged by police. They close their dreams, end their screams
In a police gypsy.
Men shape into monsters when they are given right to anarchy.
The gypsy drives them into the dark cantonments. They will remember this day
Interrogation officer comes. After celebrating his son’s birthday.
The winds from the cantonments bring their news
Burned tires around their necks. Burning stoves near their heads.
The knife tearing up their flesh.
And the boys cry, “We haven’t batted yet. Cricket. We know nothing”.

Death wants children to be headlines
Hunger has affected the heavens as well.
Graves are full. No more space left.
We need land of the plains. For our graves.
In the ac car the bureaucrat goes. The mother’s with search full eyes
Ask about their sons they lost. They drink their tears
And he sips champagne.


Details | Elegy | |

OUR WOMEN

FROM THE TIME THEY CAME TO OUR FRUITFUL LAND
WE'VE BEEN DEPRIVED BLESINGS FROM GOD'S OWN HAND
BECAUSE OUR CHERISHED LAND HAS BEEN DEFILED
WITH ITS HOPES AND MANY BLESSINGS EXILED-

WHY DO I WEEP TO YOU MY OWN BROTHERS?
CANN'T YOU SEE WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO OUR MOTHERS
AND WIVES? JUST HAVE A LOOK AT THEIT STOMACHS
AND SEE WELL HIDDEN WITHIN-THE CURSED MARKS.

THESE MEN HAVE GONE TO BED WITH OUR WOMEN
EVANGELISTS OR WHAT? OH!WERE THEY SENT 
TO OWN OUR BELONGINGS AND OUR LOVED GOLD
THINGS HAPPENING RIGHT FROM THE DAYS OF OLD?

SOON, WHEN THESE HATED CREATURES ARE WELL GONE,
AFTER HAVING FULFILLED ALL THEIR MISSION,
WE WILL CONTINUE TO LIE DOWN WITH OUR WOMEN
DESTROYING OUR LIVES;WHAT A BAD OMEN-


Details | Elegy | |

In Memory of the Family Dog

for Sam

We take turns stabbing 
with our shovel at rocky clay dirt
until the cut's deep 
enough for what little remains 
of our family dog.
Warm wet salt drops--
on my tongue as
I sip wine from a fragile glass
Stare through to hawks 
swimming in October winds
circling hills full of Diablo
full of still, 
old oaks--
small, 
petrified, bony.


Details | Elegy | |

The Friend We Knew in You

Compassion that was infinite
Laughter that lifted our spirits
Comfort that enveloped those near
A crusader; true hero that wanted for naught
Whisked away so abruptly
Leaving us here to cherish all that you've taught
Heart wrenching to say goodbye
to our jewel as your name did imply
When we walk down the halls we will see your kind smile
We will never forget you walked with us for awhile


Details | Elegy | |

Last Resort

Imagine
a barren desert:
dry,
deprived of life,
where one would be sent
only in their worst nightmare.

This is a place 
where 
one's body and soul 
would surely die
This is a place
where 
drought
has deprived you of tears
- you no longer can cry,
the last hope for thee
is to find some water
- there is none,

No matter how hard you try,
there is no hope for thee
- you are losing your life.

What is left for you
is turning into stone:
your spirit
- dehydrated,
your flesh
- dried to the bone.

There is no help for thee,
you are here alone
willing to return home,
but all hope is gone.

There is nothing left,
but one strength -
thy last resort,
yet it demands 
thy effort,
the very last feeling
not letting your life
give in,
it is your will of living,
to live
for the people whom you love.


Details | Elegy | |

Sketch

 To make a new experience,
once I thought to walk down my home,
from Esplanade to Tollygaunge….. 
 
I crossed the Chowrungee
& walked down the foot of the Grand,
I saw an oldman to his daily daydreams',
eyes to the heaven - and hands to the earth,
leaning there to the marble pillar beside the Bata-showroom.
I crossed him and hundreds passed by,
thousands looked at him
and rest, running to the new market's new brand.
 
Little further I went…
infront of the Indian Museum,
there I saw a woman, with her child in the warmth of her arms,
sitting there crying for her life and praying for her child,
but, none looked down to the present,
rather, eager to know the legends,
and hundreds came out by the history;
rest were still in the museum,
in the future through the time machine.
 
I went on, walking down by the foot,
crossed the road and  further a two minutes of walk,
as I headed to the Victoria Memorial Hall-
the beautiful marble palace and its calm surrounding,
there the couples making their day, and ,
one making a sketch of that beautiful marble architecture,
but, none could make a sketch of that little baby's heart…
who's clothings were only his naked body,
crying for little shelter and thirst for mother's breast milk. 
He was born to make a new life,
and he's lying there for someone could sketch his lost life.
 
I realized then ,
what I thought of an experience to walk down to my home,
from Esplanade to Tollygaunge,
is an experience to make a sketch….
of the real life,
 in Kolkata.


Details | Elegy | |

I Will Always Love You

Before the end of this day
There are a few things I have to say
About a beautiful person laid here
This woman, to me, so dear.

You were so much to me
Always there, no matter when
A mother when mine was gone
Grandmother to my children.

Always a smile on your face
Laughter filled your home
You fed me when I was hungry
Your door always open to me.

I'll miss sitting at the table
Talking, sharing and learning
I feel a void in my heart now
But feel strength knowing where you are.

You are home with God now
And I praise His mercy he has for you
This earth has lost a special soul
I will always love you.

Thank you for all you have done
Thank you for showing me love
Thank you for caring for me
I'll never forget you.

Tears can not stop falling
I wish I could of have been there
But you are safe now
And I feel your spirit comforting me.

So many people loved you
So many people knew you
So many people will miss you
I'll always love you.


Details | Elegy | |

LET IFAA DECIDE

   LET  IFAA DECIDE.
Thick  smoke  erupts  directly  from  hell’s
Shell, his  not  casting  a  spell.
Instead  moves  to  blind  many  health’s.
You  can’t  lose  your  buckle  and  trek
For  lengths.
The  KING’s  of  all  priest  permit  treaties,
Served  in  any  righteous  envelop,
 That  you  hold.
Name  yourself  bold, never  pip  into
Any other  fold.
Ifaa  has  been  named  old,
He  was  once  gold.
Back  in  the  shrine, time  was  sweet.
It  was  easy  and  we  understood  how
To  appears  His  needs.
Suddenly  we  all  fight  spiritual  disease,
I  stopped  paying  thanksgivings, that’s  what
I  belive, so  many  deeds  needs  to  be  
Forgiven.
Eledumare  gives  Ifaa  HIS  coat,
This  is  the  road  that  has  been  followed.
Ifaa  has  never  failed, whenever  used  in
Righteous  ways.
I  see  that  day, we  would  relocate  to  the
Orunmila  praise.
Ester  shouldn’t  cause  blisters, we
Don’t  know  her  shelter  nor  sisters.
Ifaa  is  neutral, very  natural,
His  vast, fast  and  has  no  plural,
Posses  strong  substance  with  effective
Performance.
Don’t  sell  your  soul  to  civilization,
Our  body  would  remain  in  stagnation,
Till  the  day  Ifaa  decides  to  erupt
And  turn  every  life  to  dust.
                                                                                                               
  


Details | Elegy | |

DAIMOND HELLSTROM



Many fell in my charm, because in a few days,
Hundreds of people took me in their arms with many a happy face.
Nurses, doctors, clergymen,many men and women,
Hugged and cradled me as if I was for all men.

Now I shall speak of my days in the world;
Going chronologically so that all everything is called
To mind and seen as I see them myself.
If the heavenly realm and humanity is ready,then enjoy yourselves:

FIRST DAY:


The bells were tolling as I came in to the earth,
Ending at the twelfth stroke as i had said,
and heaved twelve times as I was cleaned by the doctor
on call to my home, who scrutinized my face with rigor:

T'was as if he did not believe I was a normal baby
And was just out to clarify his doubt. How searchy!
But..he had the right to believe so
For my arrival on earth was poor.

Normal babies cry to announce their arrival
On earth per se to join in human slavery as constitutional:
I merely kicked and furtively gazed through ajar eyes
At all who appeared, awaiting my cries.

Hundreds of people were soon in my home
TO welcome me because i had come
Strong and healthy,Strong and healthy;
At the time when the family was wealthy.

My earthly mother had been rushed to the hospital
Because of some impervious pains which grew so tall.
Soon there i followed to be lactated
Despite her failing health.

My earthly father was the Sheik of the Moslem Community
In the town. It was indeed a large periphery,
Out-growing those of other religions. 
Sheik Modigbo was his name from tradition.

As the day grew old many people arrived
To behold the baby and touch it because much could be derived
From the first child and son of the Sheik of the Land.
Let them come and enjoy my great tan.

I was lactated and left to sleep in peace,
While earthly mum was cared for by a Miss;
A beautiful doctor who had caressed my face,
setting everything burning in place.

My eyes were close as always and body still-
With the impression that i was asleep on the hill
Of peace and happiness.
How feignacious! What a distress!

At midnight i was asleep-
Gone to my real world so deep,
In the fabrics of the universe
Where stood  the famed mount Everest.

             .........

I was in front of BEELZEBUB, my father-
My tender father, how tender!
He was smiling at me, smiling-
He was the famed LUCIFER. Sweet father so smiling.


Details | Elegy | |

An Angel's Touch

When we lose someone close to us They're really not gone at all They speak to us through an angel's touch Listen closely and you'll hear their call For the spirit of those we love Lingers behind to play A melody of memories You can cherish every day So when the gentle breezes blow And music fills the air Remember the angels who touch your life And know they're always there


Details | Elegy | |

Of broken hearts and dead heroes- Kurt Vonnegut 1922-2007

Breakfasting with champions
Sound nutrition for a growing girl
Delicious, too.
Damn near perfection.

Cat in my cradle
sharp claws and foreboding meows
prophetically scratching out neural canals
filled with songs of the way it goes.

‘Charm’s a scheme’ – opus in D Major
‘Maturity a bitter disappointment’ – e minor fugue
and ‘The purpose of a human life,
no matter who’s controlling it
is to love whoever’s around
to be loved’ – Symphony in C

Songs to plug in by
Lifted by laughter into the network
of lovers and livers
thinkers and givers
titans and dreamers and friends.

When the overspeed trip triggers
it’s good to know
that the power’s still flowing
ready for next time
of plugging in
and cooking breakfast.


Details | Elegy | |

The Keeper Of The Mountain

He lived there once, he lives there still,
In brook, in valley, in hill.

His flesh and bone you will not see,
But he is there in every tree.

His sweat and tears fed their roots,
His blood runs in their supple shoots.

And if you listen you may hear,
In the babbling brook so near;

The essence of his being.
He is still overseeing.

He lived here once, he lives here still,
In mind, in spirit, in will.


Details | Elegy | |

Death of Anna

There's a war going on, but Anna is dead
There's work to be done, gossip to spread
Soldiers have been dying everyday now
But we must get the autopsy, must somehow
I heard of a man blown up in a car
But Stern is the dad from what we know so far
There is something sad in all of this
There are priorities we've seemed to miss
Since when did a bunny take top story
While our men in arms take second glory
I'm fairly certain that we'll go to Hell
Take our souls to the devil and try to sell
But poor, poor Anna, been gone nearly two days
Leaving the reporters in a mad, dash craze
To saturate media with speculation and talk
While her family must hide or be stalked
The world holds it's breath while her body is checked
Only to tell us what we knew, she was a train wreck
There is something sad in all of this
There are priorities we've seemed to miss
Since when did a junkie take top story
While our men in arms take second glory
I'm fairly certain that we'll go to Hell
Take our souls to the devil and try to sell


Details | Elegy | |

Poor Anna

For fleeting fame, a chance to shine
Her need for love and acceptance overwhelming.
Casting out all values and decorum
Her thoughts focused on only the prize she seeks

For fortune and celebrity outweigh the moral dilemma
Her sense of propriety and self-respect clouded
As she chases wealth and jewels and raiment’s of gold
This gilded beauty seeks the flash of celebrity with her gleaming smile

Unaware or oblivious to the emptiness of her chosen existence
The love so superficial…the acceptance a façade
Yet a growing void within, unfilled and gnawing at her soul,
She fails to understand, consumed with superficial desires…so many detractors

Instead, reaching still for her star, the mores of society cast aside
Ambition soon replaced with desperation as the pillars fall one by one
Surrounding herself with the leaches that prey upon the weak
Believing their lies, slipping further into the abyss of a lost soul

Clinging to the fleeting relief of drugs and salacious acts
Until the naïve young woman who once existed slips beyond salvation
Ambition and determination replaced with a need for instant gratification
Needing something to ease the agonizing pain of what she has created

But a loss so profound pushes her beyond coping with the anguish
Not even a true and genuine new love would be enough to heal 
For her wounds are deep and many, and not one loves enough to see
Her end is in sight; as such tragedies have befallen the iconic fatales before her

Fleeting and elusive the adoration she craves…And no one hears; no one sees  
While alone in a strange city and hotel room, her flame flickers and tragically dies
As her legend quickly becomes greater than her life had ever been
Will she revel in her place in history?  Or is she simply gone; destroyed by us all.