Best Compartments Poems
There's a Train
Going to Peace Station.
Christians, Buddhists,
Hindus, Atheists,
Each occupied a Compartment,
But never Bothered one another,
Just like the Two Rails of the Track
That Travel Together but Never Meet.
Everyone's Ticket is to Peace,
They traveled in Communities and
Their Compartment Number
Never really mattered.
Then came budding Islam,
Who wanted their own Engine, Though
They are Destined to the Same Station.
They made an Exact Replica of the Train,
Their 'Fight' for Peace overshadowed
Their Destination and they Launched
Their Train on the Same Tracks,
But in the Opposite Direction.
Compartments filled with Innocent Followers,
but Engines Piloted by Terrorists
And Religious Leaders.
They only Focused on Increasing
The Number of Compartments
To gain Strength and Accelerated
As Fast as they Can.
But One Thing They Failed to Realize is,
No matter how Long the Train is,
On Collision, Whole Train Derails,
Killing Innocent Passengers, on Both Trains.
She leaves Southampton
This Titanic ship
Her maiden voyage
New York trip
Channel crossings to Cherbourg, France
To Queenstown in Ireland
Where passengers dance
To some, a new life awaits
The future will seal their fate
Newfoundland waters
Temperature drop
Impending disaster
Without a thought
Lookouts, Fleet and Lee
Spot a large iceberg close to she
Sitting off her starboard bow
Sweat dripping from their brow
Telegraph indicator
In confusion state
This colossus of ice
Sits and waits
Inevitable meet
As natures diamond rips
Starboard side
Of this most wonderful ship
Rivets pop, buckled hull
Atlantic intrusion, in volumes now
Compartments fill, this White Star gem
Will we ever see her likes again
Distress signal sent
As the crew are readied
This ship of ships
Emotionally unsteady
Lifeboats launched
Woman and children first
On this terrible night
Many fear the worst
So many passengers
Few lifeboats
As all around
Bodies float
Stern raised, props showing
Metal talking, funnels choking
Lights flicker off and on
Blackout
Maybe we're all cabinets of wonder.
Maybe we all have cubbies and shelves.
Cubbies where we stash things,
And shelves where we display things.
Things we adore and things we despise.
Things of happy times and things of not so happy things.
You can never know a cabinet,
Until you open it.
You can never know until,
You dissect it.
Screw by screw,
Board by board.
Until you can take it apart and put it back together,
With your eyes closed and your hands tied behind your back.
You can never know until,
You've searched the cubbies and shelves.
Knowing everything by heart.
Memorizing every sadness,
Every smile,
Every unimportant detail.
See it's kinda like that old saying.
"You can never judge a book by it's cover"
You can never judge a person by who they are on the outside.
Maybe we are all people waiting for someone to open us up.
To search through our cabinets.
To dissect us.
Many people will open you up take what they want,
And leave.
But don't dismay,
For many people will search and scour,
Long forgetting what they opened you up for.
They will get enchanted by your cubbies and shelves.
They will seek out false bottoms and secret compartments.
Leading to deeper things,
Long forgotten.
For they will be the person,
To take you apart.
But when you are put back together,
You'll notice things.
Things like the sadness,
Doesn't seem so sad anymore.
The unimportant details have become,
So much more than you ever thought they could be.
And when you're put back together,
You will be stronger.
You're scratches and dents no longer take up your life.
All because someone cared enough to open your life up.
To find the answer to why you are the way you are.
Because,
Maybe,
We're all cabinets of wonder.
My heart is shaped like a love heart
With different compartments inside
The largest compartment being LOVE
Centre stage and always my guide
KINDNESS is another compartment
For of acts of kindness bestowed
Valued and forever remembered
Accrued along my life’s road
HUMOUR has a compartment
I consider it my hearts fuel
Laughter, fun and good times
For entry is the golden rule
MEMORIES sweet and precious
Has a compartment of its own
Abundant with optimal happiness
Mine and mine alone
SADNESS unfortunately is a compartment
Containing disappointment, loss and bereft
Yet in there is also appreciation
For having had the gift of the ones who have left
Down the bottom of my love shaped heart
Is MINDFUL the smallest compartment in there
Containing hurt and wrong doings
An ongoing reminder to be aware
Three of my chickens are dead and they have left a hole in my heart,
I want to mark their passing, prove that they were alive and very much loved by me,
They were real, breathing and full of life from the start,
Oh they made me laugh, so hilarious and quirky; such fun hidden away on our allotment,
They did no great deeds, were not famous and hardly anyone knew they were there,
Alert and trusting, they followed my steps, looked at me with their heads to one side, wondering and seeing,
They slept in my arms and closed their tiny eyes when I stroked under their beaks,
Laid eggs and loved wholemeal bread, sometimes combining the two in to a healthy treat in their run, pecking and pinching whatever they could,
Stood on my spade when I was trying to dig, and ate the biggest worms I ever did see,
Had me running in circles to catch them, jumped out of the hutch when I thought I’d put them in,
Kicked over their food tin so I’d give them more and always hid in the shed,
Rearranged their sleeping compartments when I had just cleaned them out, kicking the neat straw all over,
Ate all of my winter cabbages and nibbled at my sprouts, sat on the compost heap and looked around, Queens of the allotment!
Were brave in the face of danger, survived against the odds,
When poorly, they slept cozily in my basement, and understood when it was time to die,
They may have only been chickens to most, but to me they were my friends,
Always pleased to see me, they needed me, and greeted me loudly every day,
Three lives have been taken, but I will not forget them,
I will look back and smile, and talk kindly of Muriel, Edith and Ethel,
For they were the three hens that taught me that all life is precious, no matter how unnoticeable and small.
Completeness present in thy whole soul
purest it from fully present all,
elf creature by chance on earth
antique moment, thou simply took birth,
Wild eyes rough as gods,
equal thou beauty goddess, failing all odds,
wasn't earth fate to get thee,
but for us all, left thou fairy free.
Go goddess go ! fled to thy fairy land
or penetrate simple in light deep sand,
As this earth not for thee to dwell,
or ring to call you up thy eternal bell.
as these earthly creatures might sight the deep
or in thy odd compartments might they peep,
go to the heaven or near it,
or they escape thy each fairy bit.
akash sangwan
SAINTS AND SINNERS
No human being on this planet is perfect
Everyone in blood and flesh errs but the degree varies
Saints or sinners they have their own controversies
But time, place ,circumstance and nature of act…
Holds mirror to tag them as sinners or saints
Today’s sinner might be a saint tomorrow
Today’s saint might be a sinner tomorrow
Society’s decision, its perception, belief system
Most of the time judges them with precision
But story does not conclude here……
Few acts are forbidden, degrading no matter what
Any person who does such is sure to fall
Few acts are pious, brings blessings to all
Any person does this gets elevated in all
The next aspect is the number of good qualities….
Sinners and saints have in them both good and bad
But saint expresses more good over bad
The sinner does the opposite sans remorse
Between a Sinner and Saint there’s only a thin barrier
They don’t stay in water-tight compartments
A pricking conscience is always there in between
Who acts listening to the inner voice would err little
And he will attract huge followers for his genuineness
And would be a saintly person attracting glory
And the one who repeatedly trespasses piling up errs
Will soon be a sinner digging his own grave
For he will attract more hate and curse sans pardon!
28th October 2016
For Contest-Saints and Sinners
sponsored by- Silent One
My love’s sole parts I’ll never itemize,
To hack and chop proves meet for butcher’s meat,
And corpses, coroners anatomize.
Why part my sweet when each sole part’s unsweet?
Remove a piece, and make a saint a beast,
Their nothingness proves unsubscribable.
Completes all peace, my love’s an always feast,
Her everything proves indescribable.
But perjury to swear against my actions!
My poems partly catalog her portions.
What mean I now to fear component fractions?
The truth's impeached to live with freed distortions.
My whole life’s dead if when I try her heart,
With soulless dread I prove I’m not a part.
An unusual Bus of 366 tires
one of its twelve compartments
is one more than normal
A is for abolish housework forever
Make it illegal to clean everything
Graduating college engineers clever
Do your part, design houses where clean clings
Maybe a strong wind tunnel designed right
Could blow the dust out once or twice each week
While owners go out dancing for a night
Or a shredder next to a chute when bills pique
Engineers design concrete houses sleek
With built in water cleaning system fine
Compartments styled water proof with mystique
Each to house valuables closely enshrined
Let's abolish housework, freedom we all need
Unrestrained abandoned to write poetry plead
Written: Thursday, March 31, 2016
Inspired by contest: The Alphabet Contest/ Letter A
Knocking on success’ door, irrespective of its intensity
is worthy of a response and an attention.
When life smiles and nature is happy, the one who passes their estate
is embraced by favour to take luck home.
Showcased by a tale
of two counterparts of same platform but different worlds.
He’s serious, but she’s playful,
a test defining their progress into another phase is the huddle.
From book to book, knowledge he accumulates
even sweat’s discomfort is no match
for such a determination which scares both life and death.
His living is subjected into a miserable triangle;
lectures, canteen and home is all he knows
even his dreams have been converted to a library for research
and a single spoken word from his lips
pours out a barrage of wisdom.
His understanding then gives an entire jungle
the salvation of great civilization.
Her time for merry is never taken for a joke,
her schedules are tabulated by the inventors of fun,
leisure and study share the spoil of her engagements,
pleasure tops the yardstick for all her toiling
and her indifference to progress in life
makes the demons of failure lust after her course.
Nineteen weeks of play and a week of work is her formula
on the eleventh hour, before the day of reckoning
she reads in compartments,
choosing her focus through random selection.
He commands the justification to succeed
while she queues in the long line of fate.
Passing through this is a decorated corridor to his success
raising her hands in pathetic surrender is her bullet-less gun.
He’s sure, she’s not; he’s ready, she’s frightened,
he walks confidently; she does it in a gait-like manner,
the heat of such examination he absorbs, but she gets burnt.
What next, is the short incubation period of truth
when several hearts await a straight forward judgement
and comfortable minds anticipate a glorious confirmation
with all efforts well deserving of the medal
and a prosperous finding, a worthy result of true seekers……
She passed!..................... He did not!
Go do be to the dozens of them stars,
I say to the reactionary planet doing deeds for the floral arts,
when I went to the south they wanted most of my compartments and very few of the darts-
I said to the east as we aren't assuming we have done are parts,
if I were truly a lonely example I'd have spent all of the war in languish for my start-
to be a fitzy you must seek out the snake in the grass,
to be a giant eclipse one must muster every single table wear, and pick them up at the door.
When the time come's I am going to leave this place the way I saw it,
and if I am ever a creature to be discovered,
I will not allow un~justness and resentment for a far-
be the case to jump over at yar.
Our heart is made up of Five compartments:
The first heart compartment is LOVE
The biggest of all five
Right in the centre of the heart
It needs lots of love to survive
The second heart compartment is UNDERSTANDING
This is full of kindness and compassion
Combined with respect, honesty, trust
Oh let’s not forget our passion!!
The third heart compartment is REFLECTION
Where all our precious memories are stored
Along with life’s accolades
And our special rewards
The fourth heart compartment is the VAULT
Where all our secrets are kept
Locked safely deep down in our heart
To keep safe and protect
Lastly, the fifth heart compartment is GRIEF
This holds our sadness and woes
Some will come and stay long term
Where others come and go!
Teardrops fall,upon tiles of black and white,
playing the hearts melody,a soulful insight,
key's of seven,scaling higher notes,
crying octaves,which the soul has slowly wrote....
The flats and the sharps,added to the strings,
enhancing the feeling,which despondency brings,
distant wanderings,in search of understanding,
only too find,the distant meanderings....
Sheets of music,arranged and composed,
within' compartments,subjectively transposed,
sweet melodic interludes,stages of transition,
blazing cresendos,marking a soul's position....
From the beginning keynote,awakening desire,
songs of silent streams,gracefully aspire,
extending toward heights lofty in nature,
rainbow coloured concord,serendipitously demure....
"In the misty corridors of the soul",
There are things both young and old;
Some of which are lovely and wholesome.
But some are best left unseen and lonesome.
In such compartments, they must remain.
Otherwise, they only further the pain.
Neither the person nor any stands to gain.
The issue has left a deep wound and a stain.
In the dark nights of the soul, feeling alone and cold,
The heart will ache with secrets that are never told.
Tears will slowly fall as our heads and pillows roll.
Through the mistiness, life will be written on a scroll.
It's not that no one cares, but do I even dare to share?
We are all human, and we do inhale the very same air.
Some matters we bear commonly, but others are rare.
Our lives were never given with a promise to be fair.
These stains can only be cleaned by Christ's blood.
Only God Himself can determine the greater good.
When it's all said and done, it will be understood.
Only then will the scales be balanced as they should.3