Long poem by
William Masonis | Details |
Wovoka in the Feverland
In the Dying-Grass Moon came another winter to claim the old and sick.
This was when the first messengers came
To the desolation known as Pine Ridge.
They came riding in at the end of a century of tragedy,
A hundred years that broke an ancient people.
Their world now cold and hollow,
Where no god's voice was heard upon the winds.
Grey clouds scudded across a blank sky
And hung like a shroud over their conqueror's makeshift home for the defeated.
No god's voice answered to their listening hearts,
None heard any god's lament for their children lost,
Lost here, adrift in heart and mind
Beneath the bitter grey skies
Riding over them on chilling gusts, day by day.
The people beneath this sky were weary,
The future hung dim before their eyes
Their hearts dragged down like stones
A sorrow great and silent
Private and unshown,
A shared Eucharist of desperation.
Into this rode the messengers, outriders of a new prophet,
With words to lighten their heavy hearts,
Threads of hope for weakened hands to grasp at.
The one named Kicking Bear had seen this Messiah;
A voice had commanded him to go out and meet the ghosts of the gone-before
Who were soon to return, to walk the earth with their brethren.
He and some other pilgrims rode the Iron Horse as far towards sunset
As the tracks ran, and from there on riding for four suns
Until they came at last to the Paiute camp near Pyramid Lake.
The people there said that The Christ,
Son of the white people's great god,
Had come down to Earth once again.
They said He had sent for them to hear Him speak;
That this was foreordained.
Even now he awaited them two days' ride away at Walker Lake,
Full of important news for all the Indian brothers.
These people were full of a fine new spirit,
Good to all newcomers, infectious with hope.
Together they went to Walker Lake and waited there two days,
An expectant multitude milling about,
The same sort this Christ was said to have spoken to
Long ago, when last he appeared to men.
As the sundown burnt the sky on the third day
The mighty Christ appeared before the crowd.
He appeared, and he was not white, as was expected.
This time he manifested as a brown man like them,
And his words were words of light and hope and love,
Words of life to this dying people.
He was old and wrinkled, scars upon his hands and face
In tattered clothes and a hat too large,
But his eyes cut like flint
And he spoke as a strong man should speak.
These words and more were his:
"I will teach you how to dance a dance, and I want you to dance it."
And with that, The Christ rose and taught them the Dance of the Ghosts.
And with that, The Christ sang and danced with them far into the night.
Come the morning, he addressed them again.
He told them that God his Father had made the Earth,
And sent Him as teacher to the people.
He had first come to the white people, but they had treated Him badly,
Jeering, unbelieving, scarring His body.
So He had returned to Heaven and now He had returned.
His intent to restore things to how they first were,
Indeed to improve even upon that.
Come Springtime, Wovoka said, when grass waves to the knee on the plain,
The world would cover itself with a new skin of soil and bury all the whites.
Come Springtime, Wovoka said, the reborn land would cloak itself
With a brilliant blanket of sweet green grass, adorned with trees and rivers.
Come Springtime, Wovoka said, the vast thundering herds of buffalo,
The many-colored herds of wild horses, beautiful things well known once,
Would return forever.
Come Springtime, Wovoka said, the Indians who danced the Ghost Dance
Would be taken up into the air, suspended in glorious freedom
While the wave of new soil consumed the whites.
Come Springtime, Wovoka said, they would descend from the sky
Among the ghosts of their ancestors to stand on the fresh new world
And all would be young and strong again,
And live in harmony in this reborn time and place.
The Springtime! The Springtime!
So near! So soon!
Can it be they were not forsaken after all?
Can such a thing be, even when hope had died?
Kicking Bear was stunned, yet he hoped and believed.
After all, had he not dreamt of this?
Was it not foreordained that he should be here?
Aflame with desire to bring such news to those languishing back home,
Kicking Bear and the rest rode the Iron Horse back
To spread the word and way to every reservation they could reach.
Wovoka himself never came to Pine Ridge, but his spirit did,
And held court with those who danced there.
They said he flew in the air above them as they rode,
Teaching them new songs to sing as they traveled.
Who's to say? It could be true.
Who is to say what purer and more savage sight
May have shown them in their fervor, hearts unfettered
By the locks, the twistings and mists of civil, "ordered" life?
Who would dare say?
They felt triumph rising from the ruins of despair,
That the mighty God of the whites, who gave such power,
Snatched it back in anger to give it to those they despised!
The hope caught on and lept in every heart in the hated Feverland.
Had not these whites treated their God's own son shamefully,
Like a toy a child breaks and forgets?
Who had listened to the words of that Son and paid them greater heed once heard?
The messengers brought the news of the Ghost Dance to Sitting Bull's people,
And soon there were many believers,
And in great groups they danced together.
Dancing through the night into the first light of dawn,
Dancing till they fainted, calling their lost warriors back.
Reeling, stamping the dust under the stars' cold light,
Calling to the dead through the frozen blackness.
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Dedicated to the 2000 National College Football Champions, the Oklahoma Sooners
Over fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan
Watched and reveled in their glories, every one;
But there’s no more glorious “Sooner Magic”
Than the Red October Run.
The new millennium's first football season,
Excited Sooners fans’ hopes did soar.
They had tasted victory in Bob Stoops’ first year;
Now, they wanted - no, expected - even more.
There was a glint of promise in Bob’s eyes,
Strength and confidence in his every word.
“Our Team has shown improvement”, is what he said;
“We’ll win!” is what fans heard.
By September’s end, the Sooners were 4 and O,
A “cupcake schedule” some anxious fans would say;
Twenty-two days in October would rule their destiny.
Texas, K-State, Nebraska, the teams they’d have to play.
“OU’s October is a gauntlet”, said ESPN;
“Play #10 and #2 and #1…and win”?
So, on a rainy Saturday morning in Dallas,
The Red October Run would begin.
The Texas State Fair at the Cotton Bowl,
Fans were welcomed by Big Tex.
They screamed, “Go OU!” and “Hook’em Horns!”;
But none could imagine what happened next.
Heupel was a dominating General;
The Sooners Offense, his relentless troops.
Calmus and the Defense assured a total rout,
The Coach of the Day was Bob Stoops.
Sooners fans were wild, delirious with glee;
But Bob seemed focused and sedate.
“We’ll enjoy this victory Sunday;
Then Monday, we’ll prepare for Kansas State”.
No time to revel in the Glory, #2 was tough.
Better than the Huskers? The possibility was real.
The road to #1 went through Manhattan,
And the Sooners would have to win it on the field.
The sportscasters had a field day.
Last year’s “coaching coup” was news again.
Beasley versus Heupel was “The Match-up”.
Could Heupel evade K-State’s awesome defense
and find a way to win?
Again, Heupel and his troops met the challenge;
And as the Sooners “D” assured a hard fought win,
Every Sooners fan’s heart was stirred.
Could our Sooners be “Big Red” again?
Mighty Nebraska, #1, was coming to Owen Field.
“Biggest OU - Nebraska game in years!” Corso said.
It would be 1 versus 2, a heralded gridiron epic
For the coveted title of…”Big Red”.
It was OU’s biggest home game ever.
The campus was alive with vendors and would-be
Every Sooners Fan’s heart was pounding.
Could the smell of #1 stoke the Sooners' fires?
The Huskers struck so quickly.
At 14 to nothing, Sooners fans were stunned.
It was shaping up to be a long, long day;
And it wasn’t going to be fun.
Quickly tho’, Heupel rallied his Sooners troops.
They scored and scored and scored again.
The Sooners “D” built a Wall at the 50,
And would not let the Huskers in.
Winners, the Sooners ran and jumped with glee.
Fans flooded Owen Field, milling all around,
Praising and hugging their Sooners Heroes.
They even tore the goal post down.
Now #1, the Sooners had won it on the field.
Their preparation had been well taught.
Bob Stoops, all his great coaches and assistants,
Took pride in how the Sooners fought.
Someone once said, “Everyone loves a winner.”
Everywhere you looked confirmed it’s true.
OU flags fluttered. Decals, hats, and clothes abound.
Come November, the Sooners and their Fans
had been renewed,
There’s no slighting the importance of Red October.
The Sooners came together as a Team.
No doubt too, without “The Red October Run”
Their National Championship would still be just a dream.
For the next five games, it was simply unacceptable
For the Sooners to even think that they could fail;
And, tho’ Heupel played injured, they won the Big 12 Championship;
Great Sooners Defense had prevailed.
But no one gave these Big 12 Champs the slightest chance to win
Against the mighty Seminoles of Florida State.
The Heisman Trophy Winner was their quarterback
And their defense was touted to be great.
At the coin toss, Team Captain Torrance Marshall
Said to their quarterback in words most serious and sure,
“You took our boy’s trophy”. Then he smiled,
“Now we’re gonna take yours”.
The Sooners “D” was everywhere and completely shut them down;
And, when Quentin Griffin’s touchdown closed the door,
Their quarterback knew that Marshall’s words rang true;
The not-so-mighty ‘Noles had not been allowed to score.
Yes, Bob Stoops and his Sooners knew the challenge:
To win Each game ‘til Every game’s been won;
Win for Sooners and their Fans the unchallenged right
To revel in the Glory of being #1.
Yes, my Sooners Team goes on and on,
Different faces, different names;
But these Sooners Champions will be well remembered
For the Season they won Every game.
Undefeated National Champions!
Before October, who would have ever dreamed?
Why, just last year, we didn’t even know the players' names;
And now, they’re College Football’s Greatest Team.
To overcome all adversity and rise to every challenge,
The reward for such a feat is being #1;
Their path to Glory born of a Sooners Legend
Called The Red October Run.
Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
for René Etiemble (Jan. 26, 1909 – Jan. 2002)*
Barely a few speechless moments before your first words
burned the « Coplas por la muerte de su padre » :
‘Nuestras vidas son los ríos
que van a dar en la mar,
que es el morir ;
y llegados, son iguales
los que viven por sus manos
y los ricos.’
Is the open back door which emboldens courage
No untarnished name to be remembered by
No selfless mate to lay by your honour
No issue laying about themselves for your prize
Decidedly it was a door of stealth
As if choosing it you let it be known
you were only merely passing by
and stopped to hang your hat here for a while
Yet you let your kin and callers believe
your whims were worth putting up with
your mischievous tantrums and gripes
merely the mental athlete’s unwinding antics
The poïetic birth pangs of imminent glory
just the mounting stones in the monumental lighthouse
that ages from hence would pick forth
your works your unfathomable literary resource
You upheld dozens who did leave behind a name
a lasting name not quite torn from solitary pain
Yet who could deny you could have bettered their fame
What undisclosed pain you harboured in your brain
Oh so strangely were you endowed with the intelligence
of the Chun Tzu - that uncanny eagle’s scan
To rout out of the mazes of your students’ past lives
just that one passqge through their Tierra del Fuego
But then you who completely espoused the rigours
of that step by step mounting of respectful steps
Were unsparing in your demands of adherence
to old Master Kung’s hierarchical obedience
An open hand ready to sign any cheque
to succour the caller’s needs
was alas ! also the whip hand
To keep the renegades in constant check
You were possessed of a rare brand of anger
which shook the land about you
At those who bent justice to their unsavoury will
such thunder boiled from the guts of the earth
Now you’re gone and empty lecture halls echo your
uncontainable ire where forged resounding silence
You said at the start of a seminal master-seminar :
« Nul n’est prophète dans son pays ! »
With the distaff side hanging on your every word
wondering if your plans were for something yet undone
No stray notes lie about to record your travail
No visible correspondence to make it all credible
Only books and books files magazines and books
and an overcrowdedly conquered mental pad
jumbled words scratched into shaded inchoate sketches
ganglia synapses shot-up neurons
no clues to a ragingly flailing mind
none to record the lives you succoured
nor even the beneficiaries’ hurriedly scribbled thanks
nor besides to the beclouding relations with one and all
not even a hint at why you may have refused
to forge a name beyond the beaten path of fame
Would going by the front door
in a fanfare of tv talkshows conference papers prize-giving ceremonies paper- interviews in ample studied poses and thoughts for future auto-memoirs volume one to seven the rest put-together posthumously in an omnibus
expurgated version with prefaces notes introductions critiques eulogies
would it have been less like you
to exit by the side-door
the baywindow leading to reflected glory
in a cool cloister of loosened leaves
stray poems in the tradition of your schooled masters
or did you burn them all
in a fit of (cou)rage
tore them to bits incinerated by your fiery mind
or squashed within yesterday’s leftovers
not caring who thought what
the mocking condescension
* The late Professor René Etiemble held the Chair of Comparative Literature at the old, pre-1968 Sorbonne University but retired in 1978 while a professor at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University. In later life, he even refused nomination to the French Academy of Letters, though he did accept the Academy’s Prize. He was a prolific critic, essayist, and memorialist, having published some poetry and three novels. A renowned linguist and grammarian (a graduate of the prestigious and elite Ecole Normale Supérieure de Paris), he remained until his very last days an inveterate Sinophile. He edited the Gallimard-instituted UNESCO oriental literary classics series, a fitting tribute to his encyclopaedic learning.
© T.Wignesan, 6 novembre 1997, Fresnes-94, France (from the collection : Poems Omega Minus, Paris, 2002)
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.
He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.
You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.
Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands.
Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent. We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.
His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.
He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.
He looks each man straight in the eye -
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.
His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.
He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.
He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.
Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.
“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves. Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.
Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son. Keep pushin’. Remember, no pain, no gain”.
He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.
As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.
He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!? “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”?
He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.
Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.
Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.
Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.
So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands.
Long poem by
Darian Rehder | Details |
The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.
She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too.
She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before
And growing darker day by day
But she wouldn't let that stop her.
Suddenly a year had passed... and then two
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to
With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand
The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.
She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself
She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.
That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.
She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared, and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying
Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn
Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!
And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here
So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?
Long poem by
Darryl Ashton | Details |
I waited in the hallway
but I wanted to runaway,
I was nervous – oh so
nervous, I felt my soul
I could hear the noise of
the people, they really
I had to go on stage – and
sing like a king?
It really was an occasion,
no other person had
But I would go out there –
and simply sing indeed?
The intro started – boy I
was scared, but I had to
go on –
The orchestra was playing
good, I even heard the
My costume was white, with
gold and blue, it was my turn
Being out there in Hawaii, boy,
it felt so fine?
The moment a legend would
really make his mark,
And I was so exited – ready to
recreate that spark!
That spark I had in Hollywood,
it really was a buzz,
But some of those stupid movies,
boy, what a load of fuss?
My time in Hollywood, was
now coming to a close,
I made some awful movies,
but, I made some good ones,
But back to the present, I was
back, had I been away?
I was ready to sing See See
Rider – and feel my body just
The occasion would be filmed,
and seen by millions,
But I felt good – and raring to
go, I’m set for battle stations!
I stood there tall – as tall as a
king, my future would secure,
I stormed on out there to the
stage, boy, they wanted more?
Parading proudly across the stage,
it felt so exciting,
The audience in their thousands –
were really so inviting?
I took on hold of my guitar and
swung it round my neck,
I walked up to the microphone,
the feel, I had to check!
Singing loudly as I do, there was
no going back,
The concert was a complete
success, I hadn’t lost the knack!
Thank you to Hawaii, and the
audience so true,
My Aloha From Hawaii was –
especially for you!
My nerves had gone, and I
was there, were I did belong,
Up on that great big stage –
singing all my songs?
Just to hear the audience roar,
I really was in awe,
The more I sang – the more the
cries, they really did all roar!
I felt like jelly but so good, the
concert was a success,
I was back where I belonged, I
felt like Elliott Ness!
All my nerves which I had, had
now totally disappeared,
I would now go to all my shows,
never more to be feared.
I have to thank all my friends,
and of course, my band,
They have always been there –
and closely watch my hand?
My orchestra too, they are
supreme, I couldn’t ask for
When they played the over-
ture, the audience did roar!
I was now back in Hawaii, and
a concert all so true,
Thank you to all my fans – my
God, I do love all of you.
This would mark my concert
tours, and baby, I am yours,
Thank you to my holy lord,
he really opened my doors?
I was to play Las Vegas, and
tour the United States,
I would never leave any concert,
the lord, he does create?
Ladies and gentlemen, my health
was poor, but I did carry on,
But my singing voice, and my zest,
would always light my throne.
I now sit here in heaven – and look
Down on the earth, and to my fans –
please don’t wear that frown?
I am at peace and I sing in heaven,
as the lord loves to hear,
I am with my mom, and my dad,
my greatest fans so dear.
Mourn not, for I shall be back,
when the time is right,
For destiny is in the future –
the lord tells it straight?
I did it My Way, and I loved my
life, and the Aloha From Hawaii,
Please say a prayer just for me,
and I’ll never leave you, I pray.
The king is in heaven, and does
still sing, so salute the name of
For he opened his heart at every
concert, and all was sheer bliss!
Aloha From Hawaii is now a legacy,
it creates the sound so pure,
Turning the name of Elvis, to a
legend, now for sure?
This concert is now available, and
Elvis listens on,
He looks at his mom – who looks at
the lord, and says: “that’s my very
Long poem by
Scribbler Of Verses | Details |
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...
(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)
Scribbler Of Verses
Long poem by
James Inman | Details |
I had a vision
standing on a grassy knoll
surrounded by threehundredyearoldfortifiedwalls
The sun pressing heavily upon me
blowing from ocean to bay
Wiping the moisture from my brow
I looked up
in front I looked up of me
I in front of me beheld
the most I beheld beautiful
the most beautiful
double double rainbow rainbow
No cloud stained the voluminous blue sky only blue
I had a vision
Flashes of wonder combing the heavens
The darkness complete fathomless
disturbed the night
Looking into the ebony velvet
of fingers of light
For long moments the dancing splendor filled my vision
awe struck and bewildered
I had a vision
Beautiful words written so sweetly
Lonely pained memories and
Inexplicable marvels of emotion
singular events experienced only once
Long poem by
Gary Bateman | Details |
Paris November 13th Makes Me Weep — Afterthought
The shock and tragedy of this most horrendous event of slaughter, murder, and unmitigated evil are indeed a very sad commentary on the state mankind finds itself in today as the dark specter of terrorism and chaos attempts to engulf our entire world.
We can never forgive and we should never forget the evil that these minions of darkness—in their acts of barbarity, cruelty and cowardice—perpetrated upon the innocent, unsuspecting people in the magnificent city of Paris during the evening of November 13, 2015.
The death and destruction wrought by these armed terrorists, although similar to that which occurred to “Charlie Hebdo” earlier in the year on January 7, 2015, was unfortunately executed on a much larger scope and scale resulting in the deaths of 129 people presently and injuries to over 350. All of this transpired in the later evening hours with a cold and quick military precision among terrifying shouts of “Allahu Akbar” by ISIS-associated terrorists.
All of this was supposed to done by these terrorists in the name of God! Huh? Really? All of this was to satiate a dark thirst and to justify an evil philosophy of murder, rape, pillage, and destruction en masse in the Middle East—and now brought to the evening-hour streets of the great city of Paris in France.
The makes me weep the deepest tears possible for sure, as I am also sure it does Almighty God in Heaven! This horrific event is beyond the pale of any semblance of human decency and dignity, let alone morality! These self-styled Islamic terrorists and extremists filled with hate and anger committed the cold-blooded murder of innocent people to fulfill their warped vision of Islamic sanctity—and in God’s name! This was an abhorrent act of absolute sacrilegious depravity on the part of these terrorists!
These individuals may perpetrate this evil and stain the streets with the blood of innocent people presently, but they shall never be allowed to win in this ultimate struggle. The motto “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité” (or “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity”) for France stands at the vanguard of freedom and justice as a timeless symbol and legacy from the Age of Enlightenment that is now inextricably bound as part of the French national heritage. I pay my humble tears and respect for what this historical motto stands for and means today.
The freedom-loving countries of the world and their people must stand together now with France in this hour of maximum danger, and help support its government and people in combating and destroying this dark specter of terrorism that has entered its borders and murdered innocent people without any iota of conscience or remorse whatsoever.
With all of this said, I offer my sincere respect to all of the dead and injured victims who had to endure this nightmare tragedy in Paris on the evening of November 13, 2015. My God protect the eternal souls of those who perished in these coordinated acts of senseless violence, and give solace and peace to their families and loved ones who remain behind.
I know that I shall never forget this evening of terrible violence inflicted upon Paris and its innocent people, just like the violence and death during 9/11 in the United States.
May God Bless the victims’ eternal souls forever, and let us pray that the murderous violence of ISIS and other radical movements analogous to them are one day stamped out from the face of this Earth. Amen!!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
November 15, 2015 (Narrative)
Long poem by
cherl dunn | Details |
Tender is the heart of my dearest white dove,
Whom carries the red rose of love within her
Golden beak, and within lies the gentlest soul
Of peace that I’ve ever known.
Allow thy wings of inspirations to spread forth,
To capture the winds of glory evermore,
Taste the fragrant fields of imagination through
Her words of sweet melodies song, a timeless
Tune, that flourishes in a soft echoes moment
Of pure joy everlasting, the thoughts unbridled
Freedom of liberation set to the release of this
Winged creatures beating heart.
Oh in the thunder storm of lifes hurricane,
She is the calming eye within the hailing of
Realities harsh shades between the fading
Embers that divide the light from the darkness.
Brushed by the spiritual angels of faith and
Devotion, she judges not but excepts all mankind
For whom they are faults and all, loving them
With a full heart’s warmth of grace, and cherishing
Their inner muse tenderly beneath her wings of
Shimmering white feathers glitter, in the bathing
Rays of the sunshine, she is legacies promise for a
Brighter tomorrow, this mystic dove of mine
My friend, my soul sister of the poetic heart,
May she soar forever amongst the clouds of
Inspiration for all time.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN