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Father Epic Poems | Epic Poems About Father

These Father Epic poems are examples of Epic poems about Father. These are the best examples of Father Epic poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Epic | |

My father is a Soldier

My father is a hero.
He stands so tall and proud.
His hands are firm, But gentle.
He stands out in a crowd.
People stop to Thank him.
For Freedom he does fight.
My father is a Soldier.
But he's my Dad at night!


Details | Marsiya | |

I'm my Daddy Made Over

Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013


I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over

Taught me to fight back 
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over

He gave me my stubbornness 
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over

How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over

Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on 
I may stumble I may fall 
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over


Sabrina Niday Hansel



Details | Epic | |

To My Wife Grandpa Murray's voice

I wandered and travelled
Nor knew where I'd gone .
Life became a problem;
T'was one long cruel song.

My problems seem to multiply;
They came from every side.
I vowed to find the answer;
by this I would abide.

I looked into nature
And tore apart my mind.
Then put them on the table
To see what I could find.

I found that I'de been greedy
and avaricious, too.
Whenever projects of mine failed
I put the blame on you.

I found that I was lonely;
I thought you didn't care.
But what I really didn't know
Was you were always there.

You tried to fill the void
That always was in my Life.
you tried to ease the sorrow
You've been a real good Wife.
 
                           Yvette & Grandpa Murray  
          From James Murray to , Janet Murray ..his beautiful wife.
" In great respect of Grandfather Murray's poem he wrote for my  Grandmother Murray "


Details | Free verse | |

I'm Your King

A burst of white light gamma rays, overbearing a flash of brilliance burns through to my soul everything is like hell the world starts to melt in the blink of an eye just the cold blackness of night I don't care if I am not again what I once was, for at this moment I am greater now than ever before I took the path between teetering, tight roping walking right up to my right divined in my unholy state I thought I told you I am your king still you sit there, hesitating I know you hate me what does that mean? I hate just about everything still I'm chosen I did not wish before now bow down to me refuse me no more for I shall always be your demon until you accept me as your King. I don't even know you though you say we used to be best of friends, you and me the day you ditched me I remember now exactly how it played out back when we were just tiny things even back then I still was King you thought me stupid just a ruse I would laugh inside, you see? not one of you single, mean people ever even knew me in a world, mostly seen to me that is why only I can be your true King and bring forth a new source of light everlasting. As two worlds collide slowly aligned one wrapped in shadows one bathed in white evils swirling in the clouds above I'll always be the king you love to hate or despise as in your blood I thought I told you, I am the one I am the way, the way out shall be shown breathe in my spirit as it carries you away breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough higher than you've ever dreamed of for I am king now, and your in my hell your in my imagination, I'll just never tell you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now if you try and see you were always found the most shared in the light cast upon me the last bright star in heaven. Denounce my name, if you may One year later, still not afraid A black sheep, a darkened spade That's just life, I'm not right I'm in the wrong, follow along Like a piper, I'll pitch a song Mesmerized, the weak wills sing I thought he told you, he's still our king.


Details | ABC | |

Battle of the words

Bravery is the father of fears
Dreams are distant cousins of nightmares
Hope is the sister of prayers
Every night shame lays down and gets screwed by despair
Pollution abuses Mrs. atmosphere
It's a battle between personality and reality 
But obviously nobody cares
Maybe it's because big tough is the uncle of little scared
Planning is deeply in love with prepared
Procrastination is the biggest enemy of determination
Ignorance is jealous of realization
Sometimes strength can get sneak attacked by temptation
Silence can never defeat a great proclamation
When the brain disagrees with the heart
The body dies of complications


Love your self...



Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 29 /Many


Patradoot or The Messenger29 /Many 
  
English version by  Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor


These young boys and girls,  were brought up,  
By their parents, with great love and affection, 
Now they are mad, in love for their motherland,
To show the splendors of their youthful energy.

They are ready even to sacrifice their heads,
What to say of body pains and tortures inflicted on them, 
By seeing such fearlessness and energy of their youth,
Even the enemy gets ashamed of, dear letter.

Triloki was one of these young boys, 
Who happily took bullets on his chest, dear letter,
And kept on moving ahead without withdrawing,
Keeping the dignity of our nation and Satyagraha.

DESCRIPTION OF MY CITY ALLAHABAD

You will find my beautiful city Allahabad,* 
In an ecstasy and full of rapture, flowing in it’s air,
When you will move on its roads and streets,
Along with the Postman, dear letter.

Ravindra

Kanpur India 12th August 2010                        to continue in 30

Clarifications:

* Allahabad		Also know as Prayag or Triveni is the most ancient city
                                    of India, where river Ganga and Yamuna now meets at
                                    the holy place called Sangam.


Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around  1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. 















  




Details | Epic | |

The Father Wants His Children Home

I died for all the nations, because I came to die
The father wants his children home again; in case you wonder why
Because of what the first Adam did, I, the last Adam had to come
Not just to save you from your sins but to make sure the Father's will is done
The Father wants his children home again, in case you wonder why
I  came in the flesh, born to a woman and dwelt among you; just to die
And now all you appreciate is the day that you think I was born
Not reverencing that it was for you that I was beaten and my flesh torn
I love you so much that I paid the price, that you, yourself could not pay
I laid down my life before mortal men that you may live to say...
The Father sent his only son to die upon a cross
That I may make it home one day and my mortal soul be not lost.


Details | I do not know? | |

Slow

Slow was the logo he had been wearing since he was born.
Born into a world of poverty and scorn. They look at you funny when your mom is 
destroying her fetus and it's not even born yet. 
9 months of pain in a bubble of insanity. Slowly fading. She didn't know how much you 
were going to be. 
So when the day came and she lied down on the table screaming and breathing. Cussing and 
fussing. Wondering why she didn't keep her silly legs closed.
But then you come around and your eyes were enough to tame her. No more stripping to make 
a dollar, no more crack pipes she wanted to be the perfect mother. She raised you right, 
though she made some mistakes she was really trying. 
Your first day of school she held your hand and cried because you were becoming such a 
little man.
She didn't yet know the hardships that were to come. The boat was solid now but the waves 
were sure to crash it.
The little boy strutted to school he wanted to make his mother proud but he didn't yet 
know he was going to be made a fool. 
First day of class and he could barely read. Teacher's crucified him because he didn't 
know his ABC's. 
From then on he was labeled slow. Got left back in the 3rd grade for him their seemed no 
hope. 
He went from being so determined to blaming his mother, the stress so enormous she 
started the pipe again.
The boy couldn't imagine how much he had hurt her. But he knew hurt as well and for now 
he felt he deserved to be selfish. 
Kids teased him every day, stole his lunch money, called him " slow" and a dummy. He had 
no friends and one day he turned to his mother. 
He said mom why is that every day I go to school and they tease me and I come home and I 
tease you. But you’re silent, you don't ever belittle me. Why is that mommy? He stared at 
her with intelligence in his eyes. The mother was silent for a second and then she looked 
into her baby's eyes and said " Because to me you are golden and even though they might 
not see it I surely know it".The boy looked at his mother and said but how can I be 
golden that's not what anyone says they all say that I’m slow. 
The mother looked at her son and reached out for his hand and slapped it. Didn’t I tell 
you never to listen to what other people say it only matters what you think? What do you 
think?  
The boy gazed into his mother's eyes and said " I think I’m really bright, if you can see 
it and I can see it than that's all I need to know. The mother smiled as he left her that 
day the future seemed bright.


Details | Narrative | |

He Loved You

He loved you, you know
Loved you like his very own
In away you were
You came into his life as my friend
Through the years you grew to be my brother in arms 
Along the way you became the son he never had

He loved you as a friend
He loved you even more as a son
A son he never had
When things began to spiral out of control
You stayed when so many others ran away
You helped when I couldn’t

You meant a great deal to him
You never looked at him differently 
Nor did you treat him differently
You stood by his side
When he fell, you stood by his side and mine
You were willing to help me fight his battle for him 
You were there from the beginning 
You were there until the bitter end
Always remember my friend, my brother
He loved you more than you’ll ever know


____________________________________________________________
Dedicated to close Family friend Rodney Howard. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.


Details | Epic | |

We Lost More Than a Dad

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost half of how we came to be
We lost we four girls first love
We lost our Best Friend

We lost more than just a Dad that day
Our Mom lost her Soul Mate, Her other half 
Our children lost their Papaw
We lost our family’s foundation 
We lost the glue that held us together

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost the Strongest man we ever knew 
We lost the man we looked up too
We lost we four girls Teacher of many things

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We four girls lost our Hero
We lost some of our Light
We lost part of our Heart
We lost part of our Soul

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost some of our Courage
We lost some of our Strength
We lost some of our will to fight back
We lost some of our will to carry on
We four girls lost more than a Dad
We lost more than just a Dad that day


Details | Munaajaat | |

Tell Me

I'm lost hurt and angry
Why did you take his life
I want, No I need to know
Tell me, Tell me why
I deserve to know

Haven't you done enough to him
What'd he ever do to you
He suffered his whole life
Suffered more than anyone deserved
Tell me, Tell me why you did it
I have a right to know

Why'd you let him born to them
Born to worthless parents
Parents who didn't care
They threw him away like garbage
Pawned him off on someone else
Tell me, Tell me why
Explain how you could do that

You gave him Polio
You let others treat him like disease
You took away the full use of his legs
You warped his hand and foot
Tell me, Explain to me why
I deserve to know

You let others think he was crazy
You let it go on for over year
You didn't stop it, Why
Tell me, Give me your reason
Answer me, Help me to understand

You go and make matters worse
You gave him Cancer
You didn't give him a chance to fight back
You just jerked him away from us
Tell me, Tell me how
How you could be so cruel

How can others not question you
When others do it, It's murder
But when it's by your hand
It's your will, Their fate
Tell me, What makes you so different
Your no better than the demons knocking at the door

You heard me beg and plead
You know I'm not afraid to die
I was willing to carry it all for him
I was willing to take my Daddy's place
You didn't even let me say Goodbye
Tell me, Tell me why I couldn't 
Answer me, you owe me that much



Sabrina Niday Hansel
~Niday40873~

(motif) Spiritual


Details | Elegy | |

An Elegy For Noah Tuckwell

As tears flow from my reddened eyes
I can see what I have purely missed
As I look up to the dark grey skies
I will always remember our first fist

I sit here and think of your face
The first time I saw your light fluffy cheeks
I always wanted to lay my head on that place
Even when I was buried in my girlfriend’s twin peaks.

You never knew my love for you
I waited until it was too late
I often yearned for a way through
Both your heart and your front gate.

But now you’ve passed away
Slipped through my limp and lifeless fingers
But I still yearn for that fortuitous day
And the smell of your tobacco colour coat still lingers.

As I stare at my homage dedicated to you
I can feel a heart shaped hole called ‘Noah’
My body is conflicted, I don’t know what to do
It’s such a shame that you were found in pieces underneath a lawnmower.

So many holes, and opportunities now
I feel my body grow harder
For you Noah would only allow 
One hole to be ventured in farther 

As you led there erotically 
on the grass that day
with your legs so lovely 
I couldn’t take my eyes away

So I didn’t see 
The lawnmower draw near
The blades running free
And beginning to career

Ever closer to your toes
To impoverish your heart
I’m the only one who knows
How a love like this does start 

To think I won’t see you again
Striding majestically down the Bath Road
And, protecting your shoulders from the rain
Your little tobacco coloured coat

I wish I had been able to say 
All this to you when you were alive
I came so close once, that fateful day
When we were standing outside the Beehive

Your hair was golden in the glow 
Of the solitary standing streetlamp
Yet still, you couldn’t ever know 
My feeling for you or my heart would cramp

And now you’re dead you selfish thing
You’ll never hear me speak these thoughts
You’ll never feel me ‘flap my wings’
Or ogle me as I cavort

But now you’re in the ground
In the darkness and despair
But I have now created a mound
Where I can collect your hair

My heart is soaked in liquid salt 
My clothes cling to my body
Although I know that it’s no-one fault
Staring at you was my favourite hobby

Now it’s time to say goodbye
My lovely little pet
My heart still yearns, my eyes still cry 
Although we never met


Details | Rhyme | |

Hector

Poiseidon's waters roil and roar
All up and down the craggy coast;
Their winedark waves have brought the host
Of foreign men all drunk for glory,
For the sake of one man's vanity
They traveled to your alien shore
To write with blood and bone a story
Of the Gods' capriciousness towards men,
Of passion's triumph over sanity
Which they shall repeat: again, again.

The men will surge against your city walls
Ten long and doleful years;
As your children, born to violence, shriek, and widows' tears
Appeal to you, their hero Prince,
To drive them back to whence they came
As your father walks the palace halls,
As does his shade now, ever since -
Ever since you went out to face the foe
And pass to time your noble name,
Their legend and their martyr, hope and woe.

It would be asked by what Creed you chose to live
Before you fell to the Fates' perversity,
Before their undeserving Champion dragged you 'round the city.
"Honor the Gods", you said, cruel though they may be.
"Defend your Country", you said, though it be doomed.
"Love your Women", you said, as only they can give
Meaning to the madness from across the sea.
Your father forced to beg for your battered corpse; so many dead,
Their faces still now, 'neath the swaying plumes
Of shining helmets, others waiting in their stead.

     "Honor the Gods
       Defend your Country
       Love your women."

- Oh you grey heads who start your wars for Pride,
Go ask Andromache's ghost
What it meant to her.


Details | Epic | |

Patradoot The Messenger 43

Patradoot The Messenger 43/50

English version by Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor



She would ask you dear,                     in  most humble and  lovely words,
To tell her,                             the true condition of her  beloved husband, 
Removing the anxieties,                which would be mounting in her  mind, 
By telling her the entire story,  for which she would spend the whole night.

Please tell me dear letter, how my most beloved husband spends his time,
With in the dark,   tough  and high boundaries  of  the prison house,    and
How he bears the tortures,          the British rulers  would be giving to him,
As he is fighting,      for the freedom of our motherland     from the British, 

Sleeping,                     in the burning hot and dark cells of the prison house, 
Where mosquitos would be biting,                    during night and  in day also,  
And facing the taunting,                    on the freedom fighters by jail officers,
While bearing the agonies of distance from me and the hard stories of others. 

Please tell me dear letter,       how he bears the hard and fearsome  pains  and 
The sufferings of the jail life,                 which we perhaps cannot imagine here,
Who would console him,         when his is in distress and beaten by the jail staff,
While bearing hard and tough tortures,     they give as a gift to freedom fighters.

When he used to come late in the night,         tired and exhausted,
After passing the whole day, for the cause of the freedom struggle,
I used to bring sleep for him,                   by talking to him sweetly,
And singing melodies to him and consoling him always, dear letter

During extreme  hot summers,                    he would be living without air,
When even the sleep gets stubborn and arrogant, due to heat and humidity,
I used to create air on him,  by moving the hand fan     made of straw grass,
So that my beloved husband,           can get some rest and sleep, dear letter.



Ravindra
Kanpur India   29th November 2010                           continue in 44

Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.





Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 41 / 50

Patradoot or The Messenger 41 / 50

English version by Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor


You will be welcomed by my beloved,  
Amid the cool warmth of her tender breasts,
She would make you her precious garland,
To remove the agonies of her anxious heart.

She would feel shy to read my letter, 
Before the elders of my family, dear letter,
Close to her heart, she would hide you in her blouse, 
While hiding even the pleasures, from her over splashing heart.

Feeling shy before others, she would not hear my messages there
While holding you close to her heart, like a priceless gem,
She would take you to her room to hear you at ease, dear letter and
To love and adore you, since you are from the place of her love. 

Remembering her love, she would take you to the room
Which she used to decorate with the delicacies of her hands
The alluring simple beauty of her charms and of the room 
Used to fascinate me to, get lost in the sweetness of her arms. 

You would see the soft and milky white sheet,
Which she herself spreads on the bed every day,
Here you would also feel, a dim intoxicating fragrance,
Which my beloved used to spray, before we go to bed every day.

Ravindra

Kanpur India      30th Sept 2010                     conti.   in 42

Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994.



Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 40 / 50

Patradoot or The Messenger 40 /50

English version by Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor



After seeing your face, dear letter,
Decorated with beautiful words,
The sadness and gloom of her face,
Would change into a blooming Rose, dear letter.

With great anxiety she would ask,
From where you have come, O dear letter,
Have you brought a message for me from my love?
From the place, where he dwells now a days.

The feeling of love and affection would flash,
On the face of my beloved wife, dear,
And the shine of her beauty would expand,
Seeing the beauty of words addressed to her.

Her lotus like hands will softly open,
Your covered face to bring you in light,
And she would hold to you close to her heart,
To extinguish the heat of her longings, dear letter.

Her arms that uses to garland me dear, Removing 
All my worries and tiredness in her soft enfolds,
You would taste the embrace of those lovely arms,
When she would hold you, close to her heart, dear.

The lovely tenderness of her soothing touch, 
Refreshed and charmed my heart always,
While she was embracing me in her arms,
Tired and exhausted from days labor long,

It appears then, that her two lovely arms,
Like the cool Lotus stems were engulfing  
My body burning from the tortures of summer,
To take away the heat in their cool enfolds.

Ravindra

Kanpur India      16th Sept 2010                     continues in 41

Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994.



Details | Ballad | |

You're Just A Stranger

Why do you despise me
why can't you let me be,
how come you always pestering me.
How come you can not see
I am beginning to turn my love away from thee
Just as you are turning your hate on me.

I proceed biting my words back 
and just nodding my head
you think i am the one to blame
but you'll end up losing me instead.
I try to talk to you, but you
cut me out and shut your ears
where will this get us
in fifteen or so years.
 
You bring down the pressure
while i try to do as you say
Only until i lose, you win
will you stop yelling and walk away.

Here i sit, expressing my stress on paper
only hoping tomorrow will bring
something better
and that i won't lose my life forever.
Please forgive me 
for this paper may be wet with tears
I know this is a stage in life,
I pray will pass in a few years. 

As i write my anger fades
but when i think about you it returns
I hope we both learn from this
For I may lack empathy
but you are always so very stern.
It seems everything I do
has gotten on your nerves
And I know you don't hold it inside
For your anger does surly splurge.

Tonight you have taken my phone
and cut me off from my friends I truly need
your words hit me hard,
and to you I can not plead.
Someday I may realize
what you did was probably right
I will try to understand,
I will try with all my might.
But until that day
or until through my eyes you see,
You are still a stranger
You're just a stranger to me.

Nov. 21. 2011


Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot The Messenger 44 of 54

Patradoot The Messenger 44/

English version by Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor



How he sleeps, O dear letter without even a cot and bed
Resting on a rough blanket, lying on the floor, and 
Who pats him, when he faces such tortures of the Jail life?
When sleeps also does not come.

He must be eating there, the tasteless dry foods of Jail,
That too, without ever getting a chance to hear,
The affectionate words, which makes a food,
 More delicious or tasty, when it comes from your love ones.

O, please tell this also to me, dear letter,
Does my husband ever remember his life companion and
Does his eye ever get wet, while remembering,
His dear wife, who is so much away from him.

What message my dear husband has sent?
Through you, O’ sweetest of all dear letter,
What teachings, he has sent through you?
To tell his loving wife, please tell me, O dear letter.

Do not think an Indian woman,
To be a weaker sex only, dear letter,
She may sacrifices her life, for the one,
Whom she makes her life partner, dear letter.

Ravindra			to continue  in 45..
Kanpur India 06th January 2011

Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994.





















Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboys and Indians

He pulls his hat down low against the chill of the storm,
The numb fingers that hold the reins forgot what it was like to be warm;

     On a grassy knoll silhouetted against the rising sun, 
     Astride his pinto pony sits a Native American son; 

The blowing snow and freezing rain steal his breath away,
But he knows that being a cowboy, it’s worth the price that you pay;

     A majestic, bronzed brave, feathers wafting in the breeze, 
     With arms uplifted in obeisance, the Great Spirit to appease! 

A worn out calf is stretched across his lap on either side,
Her head resting on his thigh just going along for the ride;

     He offers thanks to Him for the grandeur of creation, 
     And for the sun and moon from which he gathers inspiration;

Her momma just like him had been caught out in the gale,
It’s just another story to add to the cowboy’s tale;

     He asks the Great Spirit to bless his arrow and bow, 
     That with true aim he can fell life-sustaining buffalo;

His face is hard and beaten from too many days in the sun,
From early mornings and late nights workin’ til a job is done;

     A tear rolls down his cheek thinking of his ravaged, sacred land, 
     The broken treaties and those who dealt with deceitful hand; 

But being a working cowboy surely has its rewards,
Riding forgotten country that has never been explored.

     With a sad heart he lowers his arms and slowly turns away, 
     Determined that from the paths of his fathers he will not stray. 

By Tirzah Conway and Bob Hinshaw

The cowboy portion was written by Tirzah Conway and the Indian portion was written by Bob Hinshaw
   
     




Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 39 /50

Patradoot or The Messenger 39 /50

English version by Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor



When in the nectar pond of her mouth,
My kiss use to take breathe, dear,
Even the pride of the beauties of heaven,
Seems faded before her charms, dear letter 

When during her extreme laughs and passions,
The rows of her pearl like teeth appeared, 
They use to wave like necklace of pearl, 
In the red shines of her lovely lips, dear letter.

The round mark of her forehead used to disappear,  
Whenever her face shined with luster dear, 
Also during our love making, 
When pride ever came in her mind, dear letter.

Such lovely face, of the moonfaced my beloved,
You would find without a smile dear letter,
The face that never bent in self respect,
You will find  plight full, dear letter.

Her limbs which she used to keep covered,
With the softness and colors of beautiful silk sarees,
You would find them covered now with,
Coarse cotton Khadi colorless sarees, dear letter.

Seeing her motherland in miseries, 
And her people unfed and uncovered,
She must be wearing that coarse clothes,
On her tender body in sympathy of her people,

Ravindra

Kanpur India      013th Sept 2010                     continues in 40

Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994.


Details | Epic | |

Incineration of Love God Madan Cupid 14


Incineration of Love God Madan (Cupid) 14
Originally written in Hindi by my late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
1899 to 1994. The work was written in Hindi somewhere around 1965-70.

Editing and English version by Ravindra K Kapoor.

Hindi Title  ‘Madan Dahan’


A struggle had started on the Himalayan peaks,
Between delusion and penance,
To watch this great fight,
The Sun stopped its motion for a while.

Even consciousness was watching,
Bewildered and astonished.
Who wins the unique struggle,
The delusion of Goddess or the God.

Meditation of Lord Shanker,*
Got disturbed by illusion,
Seeing such courage of Cupid,
He thought over the consequences.

Ravindra
Kanpur India 5th May 2012.
To continue…..

Protected under the copy write provisions of Poetry Soup as per US laws.

Clarifications:
Shanker*- Lord Shiva is also known as Shanker. There are many
Other names of Lord Shiva

IMPORTANT NOTE:
Due to passing of time some of the 
Hindi Text stanzas of this great epic
got lost or right now it is not available.
Even I have also lost some parts 
of the Ist English translation done by 
me, long back, when my father was alive.
They are either got misplaced or lost.  
I am rewriting such missing lines to 
the best of my capabilities to
preserve this valuable writing by bringing
this unique story before the world. ...Ravindra
My Email id for facebook and other readers:
kapoor_skk@yahoo.com




Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 42/50


Patradoot or The Messenger        42/50

English version by Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor



You will find everything here,  disarranged and disturbed,
Like the shining less face of my sad beloved,    dear letter,
When you would reach along with her,             on her bed,
To take a rest,           in the sweet company of my beloved.

That tender girl with a loving heart,     looks after my  patents,
As if, they are her own real father and mother,    O dear letter,
Because of this great affection and  love in her heart for them,
They love my beloved, more than even their precious life, dear.

Suppressing her strong desires, to know more about me dear,
She would leave,        without enjoying your sweet company, 
As she would be serving my patents and her dear sweet child,
With same devotion, as she gives  to me,      when I am there,

Dear Letter, you will get rest and peace,  during the entire day,
While waiting for my beloved to get free from the day’s works,
You would recollect then,    the entire message I gave to  your,
For conveying it,       to my beloved wife,                  dear letter,

When she would retire from day’s long works and duties,       dear,
She would run hurriedly towards you,                         O dear letter, 
With tears of happiness in her eyes,   she would appear before you,
Adoring you  in her mind, since you have messages from her  love,

Ravindra
Kanpur India  31st Oct. 2010 				to continue in 43


Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 


Details | Limerick | |

She really did get this call

I wish I could be a fly on the wall,
  
When my poor old mother gets the phone call,

        “He’s here at the bar
  
        Quick bring us your car,

Your husband just got in a brawl”


Details | Verse | |

Young Fool -To my Father

YOUNG FOOL.

Weren’t you the silly and stubborn young man who came to the land of the Free
and home of the Brave to work for free, starve and get no sleep? How dare you change 
paradise for this?

Once the night fell you got on a tiny boat with a thousand others breaking your mother’s 
heart and making the toughest man on earth cry, your father.

Oh you silly young man... smart, handsome, talented, and humble of only 23 decided to 
risk it all. You had it better than most back home, yet you needed more. You needed to 
set foot on the land of “Once upon a time.”

Days went by, weeks and maybe months, desperation came closer and the toughest 
broke down, the braves returned back home to make it there as if it was meant to be like 
that and the fool like you continued. Even though everything seemed to be endless, you, 
I guess, you trusted God or were too blind folded by your desires that you didn’t back up.

Tierra! (Land!) Was screamed in desperation as a sign of relieve. Tierra! Columbus and his 
men would’ve been ashamed of their cry announcing that they had reached land if they 
would’ve heard you and your companions.

OH, you silly old man, still don’t own a home. Yet, feel that you have accomplished all. 
Like a sleepy baby you got through the days. You made it through with hands that had a 
mind of their own, fixing things, painting, and doing things that still amaze us all.

But you, you didn’t come here for the home, the car of the year, or the Bling Bling but for 
the future of two little girls. Foolishness, ignorance and desire taught you to be the best 
man to walk the surface of the earth, to be tough, to be brave like a soldier and to stay 
humble all the way!

I love you Dad.




Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 36 /Many

Patradoot or The Messenger 36 /Many

English version by Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor


She must have left the door, dear letter,
After my detention in the police custody,
Keeping in mind to serve my old parents* and,
To continue her support for the freedom struggle.

She has been brought up under the teachings, 
Of cultural education and musical cult, dear letter,
And with affection and love, I have imparted in her,
Rare qualities and craze for the freedom of our motherland.

Great love and affection  and selfless service of others,
Are only some of the qualities, she has defused in her,
Dipped with the qualities of modesty and kindness,
Are the favorite ornaments of my beloved wife, dear letter.

She would run to receive and welcome you, dear,
After receiving the news of your arrival from her child,
Her graceful appearance and her simple beauty,
Would charm your heart beyond words, dear letter.

Decorated with super most elegance, dear,
You will find in her a slumber of love,
Her waist bent with shyness and grace,
Would increase the weight of her elegance.

Beauty and luster of her face, dear letter,
Always increased its shine and loveliness,
And the sweet smile of ever refreshing face,
Used to charm her husband’s heart, dear letter.

Ravindra

Kanpur India      6th  Sept 2010                     continues in 37.

Based on the true freedom struggle story of Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

*Here my father Dr Amar Nath Kapoor is mentioning about his parents i.e
   My grand father.
 

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994.