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Mother Freedom Poems | Mother Poems About Freedom

These Mother Freedom poems are examples of Mother poems about Freedom. These are the best examples of Mother Freedom poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Ballad | |

The Definition Of A Real Woman

(W)- A real woman knows that the wages of sin is death so she is not concerned about the wages of a real man, because money comes and goes like day and night; but true love comes just every blue moon. A real woman isn't loud and doesn't have to be the center of attention. Money is a gold-diggers virtue, while patience is a real woman’s virtue. A real woman is always wary of the image she displays to the world because she knows her children are watching her every move. A real woman’s wisdom comes from the teachings of her elders and the experiences and hardships life brings. A real woman is the wings that help a broken man learn to fly again. When you become the object of a real woman’s affection, winning is the only option.

(O)- A real woman’s main obligation is to better herself, before she attempts to become someone’s better half. A real woman is very obliged with all that God has blessed her with. When a man takes a real woman for granted, she makes up her mind to put him away into oblivion. A real woman is use to jumping hurdles because overcoming obstacles in life keeps her on the right track. A real woman doesn't spend her time worrying if failure is around the corner, because she occupies her freedom chasing her dreams in her most comfortable running shoes. A real woman is a hopeless romantic ready to be wooed with an odyssey of love with a real man by her side.

(M)- A real woman’s presence is magnanimous and captures attention because of the poised and elegant stature of her classy nature. A real woman is like the magnet of ecstasy. All women don't attend college or hold prestigious employment, but for many being the Valedictorian of mothers everywhere is the major of their lives. A real woman respects the art of marriage and believes in monogamy. A real woman’s life is the motion picture of sophistication. The mythology of a woman began within a man’s ribs and ends in the beat of his heart.

(A)- A real woman sticks to her man like glue and never abandons his side. A real woman has the ability to do anything a man can. A real woman has the power to fill the abyss of a man’s pains with joy. A real woman prays with her other half because faith is the key of remaining on one accord. A real woman will amaze you with the way she adapts to changes in her ambiance. A real woman is the architect of her own destiny.

(N) A real woman needs a man to understand and love her for everything she is and for everything she is not because a good support system is a leading factor in longevity within relationships. A real woman is the nexus between love and happiness. When you converse with a real woman you will realize that she is nimble with her every response. No man can ignore the nymph of a real woman, because it is in her D.N.A to be notable.



Details | I do not know? | |

Hugs

Teenage Girls clad in the latest fashions,
Do it whenever they meet,
Grown men aren't afraid to show some passion,
When their team's comeback is complete,
They can say hello, they can say goodbye,
And anything inbetween,
If you open your arms and crack a smile,
There is nothing that a hug cannot mean.


Details | Rhyme | |

Thank you

Thank you – Zamreen Zarook

Thank you is a sweet word in the nature,
You may be a guy of adventure,
May be you are a person of agriculture,
What matters is your architecture.

Never forget the people, who guided you,
In no degree neglect who were with you,
Don’t ever overlook a creature, who gave a smile to you,
Because, you will meet them above you.

People forget the past due to selfishness,
They have no time to remember their unawareness,
Society, most of the times behave in awfulness,
They will understand when their lives come in to bitterness.

Be a person to thank and remember,
Don’t consider them as December,
Because, you might need them in November,
So, always be as a good subscriber.


Details | Epitaph | |

The Unknown Soldier

I stand at your grave.
I do not know your name.
I know not where you are from.
Where you fought,
nor where you died.

The horrors and pain you suffered,
were not in vain.
The death and destruction brought you pain.

I weep at your grave,
for the life you gave.
I weep for the Mother,
that gave you that life.

I kneel before your grave.
I bow my head in gratitude to you,
The Unknown Soldier.
Forever Remembered.


Details | Lyric | |

Solipsist

Let the Deicide commence.

You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.

I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
your failure!

I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
 
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways

Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own  personal reality 




Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.



Details | I do not know? | |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Narrative | |

My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess


Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 35 /Many

Patradoot or the Messenger     35/Many……….

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



The moment she would notice during her plays,
She would shout   ‘ltter’  ‘ltter’* in her broken voice,
Showing the expressions of amazing happiness, dear letter,
Because you would be arriving, from her father’s place, dear.

Her innocence would come out from her expressions,
And from the melody of her broken words, dear,
When, she in her lisping sweet and broken voice,
Would express her affection for her father, dear letter.

While adoring and loving you in her sweet little mind,
She would take you towards east, dear letter,
To tell her mother that you have come, she would,
Convey that in her broken sweet words to her mother.

Filled with the happiness given by the girl child, 
In the garden, you keep moving towards the door, 
Till you reach and see my beloved sitting there,
Singing a lullaby for her darling child, dear letter.

Keeping her eyes on the front door with hopes,
She was praying for me from police atrocities,
With wishes and hopes in her mind, dear letter,
She would be waiting with love in her eyes for me.

Ravindra

Kanpur India      Sept 2010                     continues in 35.


*Ltter.     Letter.

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 | Rhyme | |

I Know Of Someone Holding Unforgiveness


I Know of Someone Holding Unforgiveness! I know of someone holding unforgiveness! This has led to a life of much bitterness! Toward his brother, he’s held on to a grudge. From his viewpoint, he won’t even “budge.” No matter what God’s word has clearly spoken… He’s walked with a heart that’s been broken! His son prayed that God would speak to him! That he would forgive, so God could heal him! Forgiveness is a powerful thing to do! If you want God’s mercy to flow through you! We’re not called to “hold back,” the love God’s given! Through Christ shed blood… We’re all forgiven! May the love of Christ come and touch us! It’s no secret how much God really loves us! Please come Lord Jesus! And touch our soul! May we express your love, wherever we go! May God’s gentle love, be what always binds us! HIS words; “love one another,” do remind us! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Free verse | |

Will We Know Him

Will We Know Him?

Will we know Him if He stood in front of us?
If He walked by us on the street?
Will we know Him?
If we have a chance to meet Him in our  lifetime?
In that split second that we meet Him?
Our eyes met for the first time?
Will we know Him?
Yes reading the moment we stood side by side?
Our smiles are very clear
Our heart jumps around
Yes we do know Him?
That look, and that feeling
When we know we've found our home
Yes we do know Him
Yes we know what to say to Him
As we walk away together
Yes we know Him as He knows us His children
We are finally together

Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


Details | Lyric | |

Nature's Sigh

The Black butterfly waves away her adorations
All she seeks is seclusion, subsuming slave to mortification
The Dear Air is all she can breath, captive of imaginary dreams
The Beacon resonates, but the hope isolates
The Wasteland's silky fingers caressing the virgin's face

So she is now, the covet of the damned
Programmed to every victim's pain
Carrying the weight of every sorrow
Drowning in wrongs she does not know
But paradise is at loss; she must go

Nature sighs after the bite
All my hopes fading
Don't look at me with those sorrowful eyes
How do you know exactly what I'm feeling?
I'm just the ghost flower passing by
And you can hear nature's sigh


Details | Concrete | |

Observer

A serpent underneath blue sky,
in shade of man, in twinkle of an eye,
above brick wall, in the structure, at the floor,
venom of white dove; contaminated food, undrinkable water,
misguided youth, pregnant daughter, unfaithful father and hateful son,
mothers do pray while we walk through Babylon;
on teli and in the press, on top shells,
price none the less, in bedroom and at your door..
dawn of a new day seemed to be dark,
after all.


Details | Haiku | |

What People Were and What People Are

People were
Many things.
Strange or not

People were
Different and
Odd and fun.

People were
Monsters but…
That’s not all

People were
And still are
Strange and odd.

People are
People. For
life is life. 

Yet not.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from

Every mouth
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move

But somehow
Lies prevail.
Lies are life.

Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.

Lies are truth.
Yet somehow.
Truth prevails.

Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.

Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.

Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Nevermore.

Truth will live.
Truth will be.
Forever.


Details | Free verse | |

In My Community

Our Ancestors fought to the death,
Just so we can live a brighter day,
So before you light up that blunt of meth,
Think about what you’re giving away,
It was a glad day in history when Obama rose to victory,
The first black president was all we knew,
Dark skin is in!
Haven’t you heard?
That even in our community, 
You can get burned,
It’s a sad day when people would rather stay home and “Crank That Amber Cole”,
Than get up and run to a poll,
In our community,
Rockin’ Luis V is better than having a college degree,
And teen pregnancy is not only a trend,
But the single motherhood that follows should end,
Young girls learn of a wonderful prince to take them away,
Nothing should change thought their mothers prince didn’t stay,
And as the tears fade away,
She grows stronger every day,
In our community,
Fighting is no longer a word,
You argue with someone and shots are heard,
Girls showing places the sun don’t show,
So how do they expect the community to grow?
Where love is a figment of imagination,
Making a young child question her creation,
Young mothers would rather buy the iPhone 5,
Then satisfy her baby’s cries,
While her new man’s eye,
Wander up another girl’s thighs,
In our community,
Where #team dark skin vs #team light skin,
Makes others not love the skin they’re in,
Love, lust, hate, and trust,
Giving a rose on Valentine’s Day is no longer a must, 
Where bad is good and good is bad,
Who would think to see their grandmother sad?
Her hurt and pain,
Shows how our community has lost everything her parents fought to gain.


Details | Rhyme | |

Jesus My Life Is One HUGE Embarrassment


For many years... My life has been an embarrassment! Filled with hopelessness and discouragement! Many things I thought I had enjoyed... Have left in me... A large and empty void! Many nights, I would cry myself to sleep. Knowing the hole my life was in, was very, very deep. Then one day, I called out to God! I wasn’t sure if he’d listen! My family, my old church, I was now missin'. My family prayed for me for so many years. I often brought them embarrassment and tears. God... I tried everything else... I want to come back to you! I need you now Jesus! I really do! Please come into my heart, and cleanse me within! Set me free from all addictions and sin! I know that you will never let go of my hand. My whole life, on your word, I shall now stand. Only you can satisfy the emptiness in my soul! I am now complete, satisfied, and made whole! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Ballad | |

Italy

The place where i once dewelled,
The place where my mother and father honey mooned,
the place where i was created,
the place where i now face hardships.
 the place now where i only see and visit graves of those i have lost.
the place  where i have dreamed many dreams.
Now the place i will never see.
Please people in Italy dream big dreams for me.
Even though I am afraid of what those dreams might be.
I know one day I have to face my destiny,
But  I am afraid of what I might become and what I might bring,
upon myself.
so i have to stay out of the rain,
and  thank mother earth 
that i have not become,
insane.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)


Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 26/Many

Patradoot or The Messenger26 /Many 
  
English version by  Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor


These Indian women, who were called salves of man,
And even showed as degraded by the writer publisher Ms. Mayo,
You would see, what courage and bravery they have shown,
You can witness and see from your eyes, dear letter.

You will see them fighting fearlessly, dear letter,
While wearing beautiful saffron color sarees,
As if,  the goddess of courage is giving them strength,
To peacefully face lathe's and beatings on them,

Some where you will witness on your way, dear letter,
How bravely these women are struggling, while bearing,
Tortures and lathe’s in love of their motherland,
They go even to jails without fearing cruealities.

Such was the courage faced by brave and bold Indira,*
The only daughter of Kamla* on Zero Road, dear letter,
When she saved the honor of national flag,
While fearlessly struggling to carry on the procession.

Ravindra

Kanpur India 6th August 2010                                 to continue in 27

*Kamala …Full name Mrs. Kamla Nehru. The reference is for the mother of Mrs. Indira Gandhi or the late 1st woman Prime Minister of India.. Kamla Nehru wife of Jawaharlal Lal Nehru. She was a great social worker and Freedom fighter. My mother or the writer's ( Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor ) wife to whom the entire Patradoot is dedicated used to go with Late Kamla Nehru,  as her regular companion to awaken the women and men living even in poverty and slums areas of Allahabad

* Indira   or Mrs. Indira Gandhi. The reference is of Mrs. Indira Gandhi, who later on became the Prime Minister of India. She was taking part in the non-violent movement of Mahatma Gandhi, even while she was quite young. Indira Gandhi was also from Allahabad.

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 father late
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932, when he was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. 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 | |

The Bird that is Loved and Loathed

It burns and it stings.
It hurts.
More than drowning beneath 
the ice.
More than remaining in a 
kindled flame
She hits and I no longer cry.
Why mother, why? 

It burned and it stung.
The markings remained, 
returned, and were relived
Looking, loving, and little 
known loathing were the known 
ways of living.
Never was their pity for the 
child that cried
Never was their relief for the 
child that tried

You were that lovely bird that 
understood the complications of 
felicity 
Nothing looked the same in 
those dewy browns of yours.
My everbeating would cry tears 
of joy.
The others-they were yet to 
appear.
Caring Mother, o' so fair
 You were that beautiful bird 
filled with care.

The others came and were not 
alone. Their two suitors sat on 
the throne.
Rampage and rage why did you 
come?
I began to wither and wither 
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a 
human raceme. 
The droops of the Lily of the 
Valley became the slumping of 
my heart.
My lovely bird the enemy had 
taken you and the person you 
were is far from near.
For that divine nature left its 
intricate self and you became 
irretrievable my big bird.
All of your fairness died.
With that went my pride.
 
Mother, Mother what moved 
you so? 
Your intense spirt vanished only 
to supplement a monster. 
Mother, Monster and your tar 
filled lungs. 
How did I kill that liver that was 
so, so strong?
The lesson of pain was one you 
came to learn.
My darling bird why did you 
turn?
 
My lovely bird and your big 
brown eyes
I'll tell you once, but never 
twice.
Pain is only a flower for it 
blooms and dies
And a mistake can be killed as 
quickly as lice.
 You dear bird hurt me well. 
Though, haven't you heard?
Weakness is a souls greatest 
strength.
You brought me up, then you 
brought me down.
You haved helped, hurt, and 
hindered my blazing spirit.
A hero in my heart-I left you 
down in your deep black 
slumber. 
Escaping those terrible nights
To go for the town of delights. 


Details | Senryu | |

The Kids of Divorce

Mom and Dad divorce; the kids are damaged for life; but some are relieved.


Details | Free verse | |

Cold Shadows of Subconscious

Cold shadows form
Blacker bars from locked window
Fall upon the remaining light and I
Wake caged memories as animals
Metaphors arouse the senses
Silence louder grips regret
And all I can do
Is think to run
But, instead I again hold on tighter
To my waning sanity
No signs insist on warning
Moments like rocks are falling
Always continue to pile up images within
That now stirs the soup thick dark 
And begin to play out
An unspeakable act 
Every year upon this very day
I watch from balconies, stuck 
In tragedies portrayed
And now I see…
What I forgot
Mother, lying
Covered about her sins
Beneath, I’m a child crying
Guilt turning always finds its way 
Around the coo-coo clock
Of hands and helpless
To time’s army, life’s ending, ticking, plot
If, but for an instance
I could be free
Free from what
A reality without her
And her needed love
When is enough, enough!
Please, subconscious just let me go…
And I promise
I’ll keep on… going and forgetting


Details | Rhyme | |

What's Happening to Marriages Today

What’s Happening to Marriages Today?

I was listening to someone just the other day…
And I couldn’t believe what he had to say!

He had left his wife and children for another!
She was young enough to be his daughter!

Here they were, “in love” and holding hands!
Hoping to soon, get their “wedding bands!”

They were pretending that this was so “cool.”
Living now by their own “set of rules!”

How sick and disgusting this is getting to be!
Is this something that many can’t see?

God gave us Adam and Eve to become one.
To bear fruit through daughters and sons!

He gave us marriage as holy vows are made.
Not to march in an “adulterous parade!”

We are treading on very dangerous ground!
Faithfulness and commitment 
are scarcely found!

The very definition of marriage is changing!
As the family unit is always rearranging!

Our only hope is in Jesus!  And him alone!
Let’s promote his love! Into our hearts and home!

Let’s allow his love to be our heart’s glue!
And bring new meaning to the words; “I love you!”

May his love bind our hearts and lives together!
And remain faithful to each other forever!

By Jim Pemberton    


Details | Acrostic | |

HANNABELLE

written 22nd March 2001


H  is for the many "hearts you will break
A  is for the "appreciation you feel for love
N  is for the "never endless laughs we'll have
N  is for the loving "nature that radiates from you
A  is for "all the happiness you bring to my life
B  is for your "bubbly smiles
E  is for our "endless memories
L  is for all the "love you give
L  is for a "lifetime we have together
E  is for the "eternal freedom I give to you


         "Mummy's Thought's"

           So bubbly and bright
        You alway's have to be right
        Compassionate and sweet
          To everyone you meet 
           But never comparing
  To the mum, you are forever sharing

                                          with love


Details | Quatrain | |

Safe

It's like a weight lifted off of my heart;
I am no longer torn apart.
Thank God you are safe;
Everything is okay.


Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 2nd of Many

Patradoot or The Messenger  2/Many
Originally written in Hindi by my late 
father Dr. Amar Nath Kaporr around 1932


English version 

Being a prisoner I can bring my beloved,
In my mind through meditation only,
Due to separation from my beloved,  I can sing 
My expressions coming out from my heart,
Before you only, my dear letter.

Ravindra

Kanpur India  10th May 2010		to continue in 03/Many
Patradoot or The Messenger 5/Many

English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor

Background of this Epic 

The Patradoot was written originally by my late father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India became free in 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman & 
Gandhi’s non-violent soldier. For many times he was 
imprisoned for many months and sometime, even for more 
than a year. He dedicated the entire writing work to his 
dear wife, my late mother, who was also a co-partner with 
him in the freedom struggle in creating mass awareness. 

During one such imprisonment at Faizabad jail, he wrote 
this epic and sent it to my mother secretly as a gift for her 
and to get it printed & circulated among the masses to 
create awareness for India’s freedom. The book was 
printed by my mother in Hindi and some of this epic were 
circulated also, but the British confiscated the book and the
press of my father around 1933. I was born in 1950 in a free 
India. I am trying to bring this great writing of my father in 
English which portrays more than the translation of the epic, 
so the world may come to know about this otherwise lost 
and forgotten great great writing and the sacrifices of my 
parents towards India’s freedom struggle.

Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 
and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature 
and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics etc. All his 
other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class works could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.

Ravindra


Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.


Bundi Buna Huaa Mai Kewal,

Dhayan Magna Ho Ja Ta Hun,

Priya Viyog Ke Madhur Gan Ko,

Tere Sunmukh Gata Hun.

By Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Freedom Fighter and writer, Poet & Dramatist
(1889-1994)
He mainly wrote all his other works between 1950 -1990








Details | Free verse | |

That's Where The Lord Lives

I walk outside to see all that I can see.
Over there is our house, our home,
In the distance, you can see.
And that place of hallowed happiness
Forever has been our home
And forever will be so evermore.
That house is small but raised us tall,
From the perfect parents who loved us so
To the perfect sister for which every man would want.
The house built us all up strong.
More than a mere building,
It is a place to love and be loved,
A place that hands you hope that you give right back, 
And a place of everlasting faith.
This home is where my parents taught me about God
And opened me up to Jesus.
They opened the eyes of the blind for all to see,
And the blind included me.
They taught me to be the best I can be;
The best things in life are free.
They have taught us so well,
And they all have saved my soul.
Even if I am not there now,
I carry Him with me.
I carry them with me.
I carry Their values and Their teachings with me.
In this house, this home,
We reside.
We cannot forget this.
This is where my Mother lives.
This is where my Father lives.
This is where my Sister lives.
This is where We live,
In this loving, caring, beautiful home
They made just for us.
We cannot forget this either.
This is where it all began. 
This is where the hunger and thirst was created;
This is where we are fulfilled.
We cannot, we must not forget this:
This is where God lives.
This is where Jesus lives.
This is where The Lord lives;
The Father and The Almighty.
This is where We live;
This is where We reside.
We must not forget this.
We must not forget this:
What a beautiful and perfect life this is.


Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 5/Many

Patradoot or The Messenger 5/Many

English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor



If there wicked hands will ever catch you,

Your body will be mutilated in pieces,

And then, you would never be able to see,

My beloved to convey my message, dear letter.

Ravindra

Kanpur India. 13th May 2010                           to continue in 6



Background of this Epic 

The Patradoot was written originally by my late father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India became free in 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman & 
Gandhi’s non-violent soldier. For many times he was 
imprisoned for many months and sometime, even for more 
than a year. He dedicated the entire writing work to his 
dear wife, my late mother, who was also a co-partner with 
him in the freedom struggle in creating mass awareness. 

During one such imprisonment at Faizabad jail, he wrote 
this epic and sent it to my mother secretly as a gift for her 
and to get it printed & circulated among the masses to 
create awareness for India’s freedom. The book was 
printed by my mother in Hindi and some of this epic were 
circulated also, but the British confiscated the book and the
press of my father around 1933. I was born in 1950 in a free 
India. I am trying to bring this great writing of my father in 
English which portrays more than the translation of the epic, 
so the world may come to know about this otherwise lost 
and forgotten great great writing and the sacrifices of my 
patents towards India’s freedom struggle.

Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 
and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature 
and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics etc. All his 
other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class works could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.

Ravindra



Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.



Kutil   Kuron   Me  Pur   Kur   Unke,

Aunga  Bhunga  Ho  Jayega,

Purna Roop  Se Priya   Darshan  Ko,

Phir  Tu   Kabhi  Na  Payega.


Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 










Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
countless
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
brighter
hopeful
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift

freedom
inkululeko
swatantrata
liberte
azadi
vhudilangi
libertad

they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
today
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more


Details | Rhyme | |

One Mother's Sons

She bore five sons, strong young men,
All volunteered way back then;
The youngest lied about his age
So he could join, engage
The enemies of freedom's band,
Threatening the peace our land
Holds precious. They said good-bye
To fight on land, sea, in sky.

Part of the greatest generation,
They fought the Axis federation.
Many brave men did not return,
Their grieving fam'lies left to yearn, 
Longing to find, to know one spot
That is for them a sacred plot.
Thousands of graves were never marked
Save in a mother's or wife's heart.

Somehow my grandmother's boys were spared;
Death did not take them unprepared.
Safely home came all five sons;
The job complete, the war was won.
But, it's never done for those who fight,
The horrors in their minds recite
Round and round for scores of years:
Price exacted of our volunteers.

July 6, 2014


Details | Free verse | |

Last Poem To Maya Angelou Part I

You were so
beautiful
Standing in front of
the
President and the
First Lady


I didn’t really
understand
Your Pulse Of
Morning 
Presidential
inauguration poem
I kind of got lost
in the dinosaur
theme
Poems about
Mastodons usually
Don’t instantly
inspire Black dreams

But those Harvard
and Yale Bullies 
came out the next
day 
To criticize your
Iambic feet
How your syllables
are too short
Too long or don’t
repeat

But in the South
We were taught to 
protect our
Grandmothers
And help them cross
the street


And I wish you had
just read And Still
I Rise
Would have loved to
see 
The look in Bill
Clinton’s eyes

 Your Calling Of
Names poem
That would have
given Colin’s blood
pressure
A Rise

Dick Cheney would
have just laughed
In the aftermath

And if you had read
the poem
 Chugga chugga
Chigga
Get me one Nigga
I would have grinned

As Hillary’s eyes
got bigger


And part of me was
hoping
For  And Still I
Rise Part II
But since you are
gone now
The Dinosaur poem
will do

It really was a
beautiful poem

I was never captured
by your
Autobiographies

Always struggled
with 
Caged Bird themes
I thought it was
more about women
Less about Black
Dreams

But I did like the
movie

And when it is all
said and done
 White poets will say

You were not as
graceful as Langston
Or Gwen or Rita

And Black poets will
say

You were never as
angry as Nikki or
Sonya
Or as political as
Baraka

And the Legacy
people will scramble
Trying to find a
place in History
For the sweet
dancing Black woman
That stole our
hearts
And sold a hundred
zillion books

Took pictures with
Malcolm and Martin

So I write this poem
to beg their pardon


And of course
they’ll name
A few inner city
schools after you

There will be a Maya
avenue
In at least thirty
Black neighborhoods
This will be good

And I’m sure there
will be 
a Maya Angelou
library
On a Martin Luther
King Boulevard 
Near a Malcolm X
Cemetery somewhere
Where people will
gather and stare

And on your birthday
politicians
Will congregate and
celebrate

Just like they do
for Martin Luther
King
But they still won’t
get
Why the caged bird
sings



For The Conclusion of this poem please see part II


Details | Couplet | |

TRUTH OF THE TRICOLOUR

The Tricolour flutters pompously...
Hiding the truth which we cannot see....
The blood sacrificed in its service....
The eyes that were shut before the final wish....!

Each iota of air that we breathe...
Is their gift that we blindly receive....
The flowers that pour from the flag so lavishly....
Hold their tears and years many....!

Freedom was never a possession we had....
Until they toiled and died a death so sad...
Civilized class that we are today....
We don't have a minute of attention anyway
To stand and revere the national anthem...
But those heroes gave their lives in martyrdom....
Bartering their lives for our freedom....!!!


Details | Free verse | |

The Cruel Raven

Decrepted soul how blind are thee
To see the world so cold and cruel
From the blood shed of lost lives
Like crushed cacoons of butterflies
Not given the chance to take flight.

You judge so quickly
Of what you can't understand
Than given the chance
To see through the mask.

Why must you be cold
To judge things before hand
Than learning their secrets
Seeing no rainbow in the sky
After a rainy storm by day.

Why can't you accept
Things as they are
Let the cacoons grow
So butterflies can flee
From the silky prisons
That held them back.

You the raven
Talons that slice
Butterflies of life
Hope and dreams flee.

The more cruel and heartless
Lesser are the butterflies
Whose only dream is to flee
To go off to live their lives.

As the remaining butterflies
Fly off to distant lands
You sit on your branch
Not willing to take the chance.

Foolish raven are you not,
You are missing quite alot,
Not willing to take risks
There you perch upon the sticks.


Details | Free verse | |

The Capsule of Validity

She trickles and puddles in pools of warped fabrications,
With insipid and sheepish defenses,
She clouds my concentration of clarity and washes away the pitiful pigment—
Swallow.
Swallow the mystic pain of proper awareness,
And as the tremor of repulsive reality flumes over me,
Every sense is sharp, cruel, and plastered on the wall of grief, 
I am catatonic. 
Pop one, two, three down the rabbit hole of ignorant bliss, 
And become conscious.  
Conscious of my role in the game of deception,
And of my inept, used, and trampled body.

The exasperated shades deluge my blind feeble eyes, 
Yet still I yearn for the pill of knowledge. 


Details | Free verse | |

A Fruitful Flight - part 2 of Surreal Love -

Is that enough 
proof to show you that you’re beautiful inside and out?
 
How can I show you that I’m captivated by my love towards you? 
How can I prove to you that you’re a great deal?
How can I wipe away your tears – twinkling blue?
How can I express how lovely you look? – It’s true  
I’m being serious and straightforward definitely – 
our love is pure and so much more…
our love will endure forevermore…
our love is real and it’s a splendid deal…
our love is unreal…our love is made of steel…
Our Love is oh so surreal 
You melt my anguish away…
Our love can heal a broken heart
You nurture me in the month of May 
You throw away winter’s dismay

Our Love burns on…and its warmth shrouds us with love
Our love takes wing…like a divine, elegant dove 
Adoring fruitful flight – 
What a sight…what a delight
Put to death the heartless night  
And fight the good fight 
As my mother would say 
every now and then 
she always turned the night to day
But, she’s not here with me again 
Why would she not visit me in the month of May? 
Didn't she promise that she would give me a call today? 

Our love’s a sturdy, majestic ship,
Revealing its glory and producing fellowship 
Our love sprouts with everlasting grace and ecstasy  
A zealous grace that won’t sink down to the bottomless sea  

Put a ring on your finger and soak in my mournful, ravishing rain 
Love me in a flattering, relishing way  
I place a vase of ferns and daisies on your window pane  
I send you my love as I begin my journey today 

I pray to God that the dawn will blossom 
In the month of May,
Pushing away the doubtful, dismal clouds…
making me feel numb
Making me drink in regret and disarray…


Details | Ballad | |

AFRICAN VIOLET

AFRICAN VIOLET

OH LAND OF AETHIOPIA
OH LAND OF ABYSSINIA
OH LAND OF SHEBA
OH LAND OF ABESHA 
Honor thy glory,thou hast braved servants.
Grace hath thy patriot,ye pride oh thee
Glory ye excellence,prime mover oh thee.
Let thee alma mater flourish
Thou hast union,not diminish.
Hoy!  One Country
Equipped with love and bravery.
Shine as one,thy works of ye weaver
Light up freedom,always and forever.
Let ye glory conquer and gleam thy illusion
Exalt thy Aethiops liberty,save us from confusion.
       Hoy!   Thy kingdom
       Hoy!   Thy Queendom
       Hoy!   Thy Cradle
Thy freedom within martyrdom
Thy glory within liondom.
Laureate liberty,laureate light
Thou shalt be ye merit ,insight within insight.
Freedom Alpha liberty Omega
Liberty Alpha freedom Omega
Love Alpha, love Omega.
Liberty in freedom,freedom in liberty
Unity in alma,mater in unity.
YE MILLENIUM ALMA!
YE MILLENIUM MATER!
YE MILLENIUM ALMA!
YE MILLENIUM MATER!
YE MILLENIUM AFRICA!


  


Details | Narrative | |

Freedom before my lost brother

Freedom before my lost brother

They march before the rising sun with guns at six
We stand before sun down with signs of freedom

Who really marches to the same drum? 
When my hand have been blown off for beat
The beat, the beat, the beat

As he races from the explosion of freedom in his chest
For freedom
To escape this tide of hate
That swept us slaves of red, white and blue

And he is nothing like before when hate took him away
He is a man at six and we are still children as adult
War took my hands and feet I am no solider
I fight for freedom not money
You fight so this tide will not cross-oceans and sands

We fight here for food and light
And light, to breathe, to die for family
Across the ocean hand my son an ak-47
And he will march and kneel before God for forgiveness

Hand my brother a ruger and he will stand in the shadows for American greed
Greed in the land of freedom and hope, black in the shadows
And mother can mend wounds here across the oceans she can only dial 
Extensions..... 
Of relief
Mother over there must know how to be doctor and surgeon, and warrior for the 
Next 
Generation to survive, to live

We cannot procreate; we are the ends of mankind
With bombs in the hands of babies
To extend our left hand of hate across the ocean, across towers of hope

We must all be the same here a million mile from each other
My skin dictates that I hate, be hated, I rape, be raped
I bleed red, white and blue
Watching in shock, disbelief as red, white and blue goes up in flames in the 
Ashes of the wind just like you

Freedom can never come to me here before her with that torch 
My mother across  the ocean must be sending me a package of death to kill my 
four father
Your four father because my complexion means that no one can see me
 I am a lost brother, forgotten sister 
 Hated child with no hands, no hands in freedom

March me before television cameras, signs of peace, and words of love
I am still a lost brother............ before truth
But you knoe me so well..
From the the same box that caused my cousins in your land to be hung
Money means nothing here, Money means every thing beside her with the torch
Pass it to me so I may freedom---the truth