Best Devi Poems
Dreams of India
Her music haunts me
in such a knowing way
it makes me weep
and causes my heart to ache.
I become homesick for her
scents, her sounds, her food,
her enchanting dance
which spawns dreams
of her romance.
I know in my heart
I have lived there,
I know, I have loved there.
Her poetry transcends
my spirit to encompass
a wholeness that is
so familiar to me.
I dream of the Ganges ,
and her gentle cleansing flow,
of reflections on its surface
when the moon is hanging low.
Of crickets singing nightly
to serenade me to sleep.
I dream of colors of the saris,
the beauty that they keep...
Of garlands placed with care,
a gajra in a maiden's hair
and the hues of floral leis.
I hold a reverence for Hindu
Devata and Devi.
I aspire to learn the sacredness
of varmala in the seeds of
past lifetimes I have shared.
A passion grows for those
whose love glows through their
auras to welcome strangers.
I'd love to share a cup of chai
to chat with friends in open air.
I long to return home, though
I have never been there.
1-2-19
*a gajra: flowers which females use as a decoration
for their hair.
*Varmala: is a tradition from ancient times where a beautiful garland of flowers symbolizes a proposal of marriage. In the tradition of Swayamvar. A female would choose her life partner from a group of suitors by placing a flower garland around the neck of her chosen man. Once the girl had made her choice, a marriage ceremony would be held gright away.
~Poem of the Day January 4, 2019~
~1st Place~
A BRIAN STRAND 1092
Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 20
~9th Place Premiere Contest~
Your Best Free Verse That You Wrote Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
'I Got a Darn NA Again' Contest
Sponsor Luloo
Free Verse Style Only Poetry Contest~N/A~
You are the earth and you are the mother
You are my Durga - you can multi-tusk
Of your children, let me be the father
You work really hard, from dawn to dusk
You are my Durga - you can multi-tusk
You play so many roles - in daily chore
You work really hard, from dawn to dusk
Raising children, doing your job and more
You play so many roles - in daily chore
Mother, teacher, daughter, friend, wife and all
Raising children, doing your job and more
You are present - at every beck and call
Mother, teacher, daughter, friend, wife and all
You are perfect in each role you perform
You are present - at every beck and call
Let's worship Durgas and make it a norm
You are perfect in each role you perform
Of your children, let me be the father
Let's worship Durgas and make it a norm
You are the earth and you are the mother
08.03.16
Durga is the principal form of the Goddess, also known as Devi and Shakti in Hinduism. Durga the mahashakti, the form and formless, is the root cause of creation, preservation and annihilation.
My dedication on International Women's Day.
(10 syllables per line)
BABA KI BITIYA PAPA KI RAJDULARI…….
EK NANHI KALI EK PHULON KI KYARI……..
EK NANHI PARI SI WO EK CHOTI SI GUDIYA……..
KBHI SABKA KHILONA KBHI LADLI BAN JAYE……..
KBHI SURAJ SI KIRAN SI WO ROSHAN KR JAYE………
CHANDA SI SHEETAL HAR RISTA NIBHAYE……….
PATJHAR KE PATTON SI DUKHON ME JHAD JAYE…….
KBHI BARISH K BUNDON SI WO MAMTA BARSAYE………
EK PATHAR KI MURAT ME WO DEVI BAN JAYE……..
KBHI PATHAR DIL DUNIYA ME DAR DAR THOKRE KHAYE……….
JAB AURAT BANE MAA TO KOI BETI NA CHAHE……..
EK AURAT HI KALANK BTA USE GARBH ME USE MITAYE……
BETI BETE SE KAM NHI HAR KADAM SE KADAM MILAYE…….
FIR KYUN RISTON KI BHEED ME PICHE CHUT JAYE……….
EK JANNI EK JANAM DATA H WO…….
KBHI VIDHVANSHAK EK VIDHATA H WO………
KBHI LAXMI KBHI SARASWATI
WAQT PDE TO DURGA BAN JAYE…..
………………………….SAVE GIRL CHILD …………………………..
There was a time when tradesmen,
Like plumbers or mechanics, were all fulltime people.
But nowadays a tradesman has to do multiple tasks,
Mainly because their number is dwindling.
When they are not available,
Householders have to do the job themselves.
It stands to reason.
Similarly, occupations like thieving, robbery, villainy, etc.,
Used to be carried on on a fulltime-basis.
You could tell such characters apart
By their behavior, dress code and looks.
Fagin, Phoolan Devi, and Veerappan are eloquent examples.
Even a street dog could easily single them out
And start barking loudly.
But nowadays, in these postmodern times,
Or Kali Yuga (if you like),
Such marks of distinction seem to be lost.
Obviously, such ‘trades’ nowadays have gone part-time.
But the question is: Why so many part-time people
(seeing that their number is ever increasing),
And when, evidently, there is so much scope?
Why don't people go fulltime?
Could anyone explain why or why not?
An elderly man I knew ,
( who had no issue)
about fifty years ago
was well known among the local
and neighbouring residents
for his knowledge of the native pantheon,
evil spirits, and ghosts .
Often he conducted rituals
to ward off the ghosts and evil spirits
from the homes and
individuals possessed by them
and to cure people of the illnesses
primarily attributed to sacrilege.
One day, his wife fell ill;
yet, he did not call doctors,
but performed traditional rituals,,
sought guidance from the deities
in his somber dreams.
Of no avail ,
she died after prolonged illness.
But he did not grieve for long.
"What can we the humans do
if God already destined her fate ? “
he asked.
The old man lived a long life,
cared for by a close relative.
He never consulted a doctor
nor took pharmaceutical drugs,
as he did not have faith
in their medical efficacy or sanctity.
(The poem dramatised under the title FAITH, PAIN( Latter rechristened as Thajabagi Cheina) by People's Arts and Dramatic Association ,and directed by Laishram Randhoni Devi was the Second Best play in the Creative Directors' Short Play Competition 2022 organised by THEATER CENTER under the aegis of SANGEET NATAK ACADEMY,NEW DELHI.In all the play won seven different awards.Among the notable awards are Best,Director,Best Actor,Best Actress and Best Script etc.)
3.
Or down yet another city street,
This Way down that grand Hiway,
That Third Eye opened:
Random patches of dandelion manifest,
Climbing the overgrown commons by the road;
Disappearing out of sight -
By the cracked, sun-blanched sidewalk;
Golden and deep emerald green dandelion
Over the smog-choked horizon.
Humanity on the brink,
Sliding down that proverbial 'slippery slope" -
To the proverbial abyss of our insouciance, to
Our bourgeois folly, infernal cruelty fed by witless greed,
The more mundane, mere surface of all things, as they may be.
But again, surely, this can't be all that is: So mean, so toxic.
Refreshed, one looks again, looks with eyes wide open with
New Saving Knowledge.
Now the patches of dandelion seem even more startlingly
Alive and vibrant.
They seem, somehow, almost "more real than real".
Illumined, they appear hyper-real, dazzlingly brilliant,
Appear preternatural, mesmerisingly coronal, and
Opulent, yet as though man-made, like ethereal origami,
Like the sun itself, another Saving "Point of Navigation" to
the Hidden Infinite Divine Source behind all things mundane.
*****
"Jesus said [to Judas Iscariot], 'Come and I will teach you ...
about a great realm and a boundlessness whose measure no angelic
race has comprehended. In it is the great Invisible Spirit ...'"
--- The Gospel of Judas 10: 1 - 5
"God is one's very 'own'. It is the eternal relationship. One realizes Him in
direct proportion to the intensity of one's feelings for Him. Don't be afraid.
Always remember that somebody is protecting you."
"He who is really anxious to cross the ocean of the material world will somehow break his bonds. No one can entangle him."
--- The Holy Mother, Sri Saradamani Devi, the divine consort of
Sri Ramakrishna
"Mary [Magdalene] said [to Jesus Christ], 'Lord, is there a place which [lacks truth]? The Lord said, "The place where I am not!'"
--- From the Dialogue of the Savior
"God is a dyer. As the good dyes, which are called 'true', dissolve with
the things dyed in them, so it is with those whom God has dyed. Since his dyes are immortal, they are immortal by means of his colors."
--- From the Gospel of Philip
Against the wall I was his devi
Pressed tight beside his soul
Skin so hot it burned through mine like a fever
Warming my muscles
Warming my pulse
Fueling my movement
Touching my body he was my sher
Braving my imperfections
Lips so thirsty they tasted mine with frenzy
Spinning my thoughts
Spinning my surroundings
Driving my feelings
It was…
Underneath the materialistic piles
Cotton, polyester, and satin
He saw my secret nature
Underneath my pigmented eyes
Crushed Lala and gloomy brown
He saw my Élan vital
Underneath my damaged Pericardium
He found my beating heart.
Inspired By Connie Marcum Wong's Poem "Dreams Of India"
Dreams of India
Her music haunts me
in such a knowing way
it makes me weep
and causes my heart to ache.
I become homesick for her
scents, her sounds, her food,
her enchanting dance
which spawns dreams
of her romance.
I know in my heart
I have lived there,
I know, I have loved there.
Her poetry transcends
my spirit to encompass
a wholeness that is
so familiar to me.
I dream of the Ganges ,
and her gentle cleansing flow,
of reflections on its surface
when the moon is hanging low.
Of crickets singing nightly
to serenade me to sleep.
I dream of colors of the saris,
the beauty that they keep...
Of garlands placed with care,
a gajra in a maiden's hair
and the hues of floral leis.
I hold a reverence for Hindu
Devata and Devi.
I aspire to learn the sacredness
of varmala in the seeds of
past lifetimes I have shared.
A passion grows for those
whose love glows through their
auras to welcome strangers.
I'd love to share a cup of chai
to chat with friends in open air.
I long to return home, though
I have never been there.
Notes: *a gajra: flowers which females use as a decoration
for their hair.
*Varmala: is a tradition from ancient times where a beautiful garland of flowers symbolizes a proposal of marriage. In the tradition of Swayamvar. A female would choose her life partner from a group of suitors by placing a flower garland around the neck of her chosen man. Once the girl had made her choice, a marriage ceremony would be held right away.
MY TRIBUTE TO CONNIE MARCUM WONG
Connie never went to India, but she thought
she should have been born there…a mythical, mystical, sacred land of her
dreams ~ a Princess wearing
a Banarasi saree, a gajra on her hair…stunningly beautiful!
In my mind, she is there holding, for her beloved, a Varmala!
September 24, 2022
Short Connie Tributes - How Did Connie Marcum Wong Inspire You Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Poetic Goddess
Forget me not, forgive me must naivete,
Poetry flows from the white rivers of my heart,
You are my moondust, write soul songs,
Thousand suns glitter, bloom, la, la
You make me bloom, lift from the gloom
You are a nightingale.
Yay, ye Born with the poetic tongue.
You are an eternal poetic fountain
Yay, you may write poetry on
thousand more blue moon nights.
Land of the light beckons,
Fall among the stars,
Covered in moondust,
Reborn childhood,
Thousand reincarnations,
This Devi- Bhakth, virtuous, innocent,
Material desires ye, dust,
Soul eternal, Childhood immortal.
Dr. Jose Manimala PhD, Pala, India.
Some Clarification
In brief:
Difference between Mumbai and Bombay
• There is no difference between Mumbai and Bombay as these are names of the same city that is the capital of the state of Maharashtra
• Bombay is the name given to the city by British that is a corruption of the word Portuguese Bom Bahia, meaning Good Bay.
• Mumbai, the present name of the city is because of Mumba Devi, an ancient Kali Goddess who has a temple in her name in Bhileshwar in the city.
4/25/2021
Crawling for many days
my knees getting dark
my hands losing its soft touch
increasing anticipations on my mom's face
still soiling my clean panties
At last, my first step
joy shooting across mama's face
uncontrollable tears tumbling down her cheeks
me laughing,advertising my two milky teeth
a moment of pure joy incomparable
mama and i drowning in innermost love
My second step,
my legs wobbling mama stretching her arm
yearning for a hug
But no, my first heavy fall
a tear trying to fall
mama quickly compensates me
not willing to destroy the moment
compensating me with sweet breast milk
My soul is chiming
break free destiny,
Breathe golden dust,
I fell among stars
Covered in moondust,
Golden Moon here,
Mother Earth, there,
Blue Moon nights sing rhymes
One thousand suns-
Explode in glittering morning dew,
Ye, virtues shine bright,
Pierce Gloom, Doom, Tau Zero,
Worldly sorrows, teardrops
Mist into Mahendrodayam,
Kailash, Mansarovar, Mind eternal,
Reincarnate as million Lincoln Roses,
Devi bless for eternity,
Brooks, Bulbuls, Cicadas
Cheer, fill in the Golden Rays-
Of Glittering Morning Sun
Destined for Stars,
Voyage eternal.
Dr Jose Manimala, PhD, Pala, India.
Bio,
mature, sincere, loving, and respectful,
Son of Brijnandan Prasad and Muni Devi,
Lover of natural beauty, beautiful wife, beautiful children and grandchildren,
Have deep loneliness for heavenly departed wife, find solace in the beauty of nature, passion for helping less fortunate people,
Apparently, no one fears me, May be burglars who don’t dare to victimize me, May be scammers who try to cheat me every day.
Love to travel and see European Countries & African Safary in native countries, Art and painting shows, My relatives in India,
Castro Valley, California,
Narain
Seeing my daughters, son, their spouses give me the sweetest beat,
Grandchildren bring joy and cheer to my aging heart, so neat,
Nothing more precious than those who are my own in this life,
Good friends overshadow earthly possessions, easing strife.
I hope one day we can be the
people we really are. No more hiding
from each other no matter from
where we come or even how far.
A human being is a human no matter
where you look. A human being is real
and can't be gotten in the pages of a
book. When you were in your mother's
womb, there was a voice in there too,
giving instructions and telling your
body what to hear and do.
If not, we could come out with feet as
a head, or eyes as a toes in a shoe. We could
have become different colors, like green
purple or blue. As soon as we come out
of our mother's wombs, they slap us on our
ass. That's when our voice disappears and hides
and becomes the past.
That's the time when mommy's and daddy's
voices come in. At first, it sounds happy,
like your old friend. But they really become
your dictators who bring that brings your voice to an
end.
They teach you their religion and your culture
too. They have schools where other people
tell you what to do. Sometimes, the voice
inside you starts chatting, but the message
from the world is voices no longer matter.
Finally, the programing of your mind is complete.
You learned how to do what you are told, get a job,
make money and eat. You have become another
piece of human meat.
But wait! That voice you heard in your
mother's womb will always be there from
birth to the tomb. When you close your eyes
and listen well, you can hear that voice
say 'help' from that darkest Hell.
There is a way to get it back, make it louder,
make it a fact. Get a chair and sit and wait;
it will come back if you learn to meditate.
It opens your mind, to the voice of the divine.
Edited by rams devi
The day was the day
Don't think these words coming from my heart
My soul my soul playing music on behave of our love
See the clouds it's the same cloudy like when it's fell on us
A smile like a crow you demand me as a queen hold the umbrella properly
The day was the day
The ride on the bike when I ask you to adjust the helmet properly and colsed my eyes a smile like crow onto the fly over I tense about your soul
But over love adjust it
Like the flowers aroma bring down for we put to God & devi sprated like coconut in her feet and blessed that go fly your emotions because apart from living each other and make a lovely days which you remember the day was the day....................................... Fill in the blank where are your soul for me
With love all
Jagdish Bajantri