Best Place Of Birth Poems
I want to write a thing or two about racism
A current problem causing quite a schism
Perhaps it could be seen through another prism
Outside the jaundiced lenses of current activism.
My thoughts are my own, not influenced by race,
I try not to judge others by the color of their face
Never thought too much about anybody’s “place”
Always believed our bigotry was a national disgrace.
In our little community everyone was accepted
Everyone, excepting for the very rich,* were respected
All of us by our circumstances were inter-connected
Only lawbreakers, whatever their shade, were arrested.
When we use words like race and racism in patter
When we raise our eyebrows at Black Lives Matter
The more we go along with unnecessary evil chatter
We serve up national discord on a political platter.
We should treat everyone like a family member
And when tempted to prejudice always remember
We owe to our ancestors, with all due candor,
Our place of birth, color of our skin, and our gender.
No one of us is any better than the other of us, see,
We all have the same inherent rights to be free
If someday we stand before a Holy Creator, I guarantee
S/he will see no base differences between you and me!
[*truth is, I think we did look down on the
rich folks, especially if they thought they
were better than us poor folk!]
Written 3/14/2021
HONORABLE WINNER
All-Poetry Contest
July 29, 2021
Miss Bahamian Culture
a woman who pledges loyalty
to put Bahama land from the time
she was conceived out of the womb
Miss Bahamian Culture
a woman who sheds the blood
of gold, black and aquamarine
straight from her veins
as she wakes up each morning
to the pulsing beat of Goombay drums
and cowbell singing in her ears
Miss Bahamian Culture
a woman who is a true cultural icon
always clothed in either Androsia Print
a costume of cardboard and crepe paper
or gold, black and aquamarine attire
from head to toe
Miss Bahamian Culture
a woman who is a pure nationalist
who always remember where her navel string was buried
in her place of birth and tropical sanctuary
regardless of where she travels in the world
whether it be in Miami, Cuba, Japan or Vancouver
Between the Indian plains and the hills of Burma.
Protected by the affection of its three guardians,
The Ganges, Brahmaputra and Meghna.
From there - this story began.
On a grassland full of hopes and dreams.
Right at the edges of Brahmaputra river.
Lying there without any wheezes,
A sad and lonely royal bengal tiger.
He remembers the smell of the Sal trees,
In Bhawal Park near Dhaka, his place of birth.
He remembers the sounds of peacocks, elephants, and deers
His heart wish they were not yet became a myth.
He has been a part of Pohela Boishakh feast.
When people bathe early and dress in fine clothes.
All the men put on their kurta, or the finest lungi at least
While women dress in sharee, letting their beauty to be exposed.
Tears streamed from his cheek. As the old tiger weep.
A momentary recalled the legends of his ascendant.
The story of the one whose once Sultan beloved,
And the one whose survives the liberation war in 1971.
The tiger now stood, underline his courage and chivalry.
"Will this liberty be felt by my offspring?" his mind fly.
Despite the poverty, instability, and all its vulnerability,
There is more to Bangladesh than meets the eye.
~ For the "LOVE LETTERS TO THE INDIAN SUBCONTINENT" contest by Cyndi MacMillan
Let me begin by declaring
a well known cliche:
our skin does not define us,
nor does our place of birth
define our worth.
And yet we are scattered
across the globe,
sometimes whole oceans,
separating us.
We see countless borders
that man has made
serving the purpose
of temporal order.
And what a fickle creature
is this race of Man.
With flags speared into the sand,
time and time again.
You wonder what it's all coming too,
to what possible end?
Taking ganders at the past,
looksies at the ancient,
never hurt a soul.
If we don't know the origins
how can we hope to devise a goal?
Some say these lines in the sand
divide us so - but is this true?
Does it not show respect for your fellow man:
your way is not my own,
but, please, if you will,
let me share my truth
and you do the same.
I believe in the Sovereignty of Nations,
the Allegiance of mini-Kingdoms.
I believe that Charity, however well spun, with the best of intentions,
cannot be coerced with sticks and stones,
that archaic method - it must be written on our hearts,
on our very souls. Not in the Manuscripts of Man
will you find such power as the one pumping in our veins.
To Salvation's Sky, to our Savior's Loving Stare,
Rules and Regulations will never take us there.
Legislated Robbery does not compassion make,
for it only serves to pin
Neighbor against Neighbor,
Gender against Gender.
How can human freedom be so readily forsaken
with the perilous pens of other fallible men?
We are One People,
One Race, flying the
banner of peace and love.
No one desires war,
no one willingly
looks for discord.
And yet here we are:
fighting battles
that none can afford.
The chaos of the earth
is the collective reflection
of the Human Heart.
If you want change to occur
that's a fine place to start.
NOTE: I like to think of myself as a hardcore libertarian with a strong moral fiber. I don't always agree with the absurd antics of others, but recognize that people have a right to make their own bad decisions.
You came down from the Orion to this damned earth.
Somewhere in space you lost your heavenly wings.
You have come far away from your place of birth.
In coming down, you have brought numerous things.
Among the presents you brought is your brilliance.
The brilliance in your eyes is totally unrivaled.
At your shining existence all beings sigh in resonance.
Your celestial mind is a mysterious world untraveled.
Deep in your eyes there is something wet.
That wetness is unique to your own being.
In no one else have I seen anything similar yet.
To me your gleaming eyes are always tear-jerking.
Dancing on the stage with your refined skin spotlighted,
Your alluring smile grabs my whole existence.
Even to the Antarctica I'd pursue you delighted.
Your magical glow stands out in all this silence.
For your love I could easily sacrifice my life.
Your adorable thin lips make me tremble.
Your ephemeral slender figure kills me as if with a knife.
Your divine eternity always makes me humble.
(June 30, 2015)
Time takes age and does what it will
Man ages and wishes time to stand still.
There is infinite turning of the hands on a clock
As mortals we hear the constant tick-tock.
There is a human desire to leave something behind
Hoping our earthly possessions ease our greedy mind.
What is gathered on this planet of earth
Can not bring us back to our place of birth.
Helping others should be our lifetime goal
Not cluttering earth before you're put in a hole.
God gives us an ultimate rule
Love one another and not to be cruel.
If we really wish to leave something behind
Teach your children to give and to be kind.
Your legacy should not be what you can obtain
But what your lineage does each and everyday.
Shattered by a dreamless world of fear
Wounded yet she gave birth to a silent tear
Others hope this night would turn into day
While others find it amusing in their own way
The core of an inner child suffered
And looking dimly he wondered
To find the answers to a tormented world
To wish to find again his place of birth
He was left not cared by those who flee
His heart has been torn brutally
How this child's life was taken carelessly
And now it is us who suffer mysteriously
Though it might have been a world of darkness
And a world of nothing but disgrace
The child's inner core was left as a memory
But to the others it continued as a mystery
--2007--
BORN IN A GHETTO
Powerless and choiceless birth and place
It is the place where dreams are turned into fantasy
The elite and elect build walls to cage us in caves of poverty
This place where Politian’s use us as the door doormats
We are all nothing in the ghetto, just rats to be feed to cats
In my own country I have become economical and mental slave
Tribalism and nepotism is the only way to get a respectable job
I despise to live and die in the ghetto; I will fight my way to the top
From a place being corrupt is the only means of becoming rich
Educational level or qualifications are worthless in the ghetto
Being imposter of prophets and preachers is now the common
Trend for surviving because government resources are far from
Our reach, this place were the naïve and boobs are fed fairytales
Church was supposed to be mind and spiritual transforming place
Its now more unethical, hypnotizing the vulnerable woman and girls
I detest living and dying in the ghetto: I will fight my way to the top
Young girl, young boy just continue to believe, continue dream
Because we all dreamt to get away from the ghetto, out of the ghetto
One day you will walk on water, yes you will fly beyond the sky
Never let the place of birth or childhood influence circle stop you
The only absolute truth is that we are all destined for greatness
Face it or fade out in fear, reality is what you create and believe it to be
I was born a ghetto and there is no way MY sons with grow up in the ghetto
I dislike living and dying in the ghetto: I will fight my way to the top
I am proud to call Canada my place of birth
cherishing my freedom; I'm aware of its worth.
Throughout my life, I have witnessed my nation grow;
shaped by compassionate people; this much I know.
Democracy was won by battles o'er the years,
fought for by its heroes, drenched in sweat, blood, and tears.
Canada was slowly nurtured into being;
the land of the free is a concept with meaning.
Its political life was tempered like a knife;
by economic hardship and internal strife.
But liberty's a right that's precious in this land,
protected within its laws, as its founders planned.
A culture of tradition and diversity;
bolsters its strength when confronting adversity.
And thus, peace is a goal we actively promote;
voices united in the power of our vote.
We are a nation of morals and ideals;
where equality and freedom are packaged deals.
For here, we all enjoy the true meaning of free;
I'm part of this country, and it's a part of me.
Incarnation and a better life,
Has always been a human strife,
Strange curiosity to excavate,
Living cool present, yet divagate,
Since age of three I yearned to fly,
Little sweet cuckoo I always spied,
Melody of voice I could imitate,
As an echo I could reciprocate ,
Birth of life, dying getting revived,
Closer look to soul came much alive,
I declared dead as life belied,
Watched dear ones in deep disguise,
Made me introspect, what's horoscope ?
A friend took me to a teller's grove,
He then showed me leaves of Bhrigu Samhita,
Three consecutive births on leaf of my chakra,
Mine and my parents' name to my surprise,
Centuries before how could he ever write ,
All was true, as if just for me to apprise,
Unbelievable a cuckoo in past, am I wise ?
Bygone are the precious past lives,
No bees, no honey, just empty hives,
History sometimes the best teacher ,
Can evolve into a top preacher !
Based on real personal happening.
Written on 26/6/14
Contest- Past lives
Sponsor- Carolyn Devonshire
* Maharishi Bhrigu in Treta yuga during Vedic period prepared a unique astrological horoscope where every human , born at any point of time - past, present or future can find his chakra according to date, time, place of birth.
And a collection of his such leaves is known as Samhita ( Hindi word means collection)
So Bhrigu Samhita has all of us with our past and future lives !
And of course present too , Infact it starts with present !
If one could tour my place of birth,
They would notice a place where time stood still.
Then, they would see a place of humble SIMPLICITY.
If one could spend one night in the house where I was born;
No hot water or bathroom, but cold night visits to the outhouse.
Then, they would be more grateful, and acquire a taste for more HUMILITY.
If one could roam the village where I grew up;
A place where lightning bugs enjoyed the nights.
Then, they would walk on dusty grounds of STABILITY.
If one could only observe where I had to play,
They would see no parks or play grounds for the poor.
Then, they would pause and share in their kids’ ACTIVITY.
If one could hear the soothing sounds that I heard by day and by night;
The melody of crickets late at night, and the harmony of roosters crowing early mornings;
Then, they would experience far less stress, and have a chance with LONGEVITY.
If one could get to know the neighbors I knew,
The dear people I honored, trusted, and respected;
Then, they would understand the true meaning of CIVILITY.
If one could care nearly as much as they;
People who took the time to love and share.
Then, they too would love with all their ABILITY.
04232007PS
it is as though
they saw my beauty,
full and radiant
lasted only in the
rich soil i was born in.
so they picked me and
stomped the roots dry.
one survived
nature nourished it
with love.
we are the race,
the only race,
forever searching for
our place of birth.
How can we compare you! Two great men of history!
Known for your legacies of beauty, and creative minds,
Artists within extraordinary boundaries of brilliance,
Geniuses that you were! We adore your work! With praises.
(Leonardo from Vinci)
Vinci! Your place of birth! No surname from father, born out of wedlock,
Your beauty grace and design always followed your life,
Engineered with scientific futuristic visions for inventions,
They called you! The greatest painter of your era! Logical, not mystical,
(Michaelangelo Italian sculpture)
Your mother died when you were six, but nothing could stop your greatness,
Painter, architect, poet, engineer, sculpturer,
You were often called the divine one, awe-inspiring grandeur,
Four years to paint the Sistine Chapel in all its glory and fame.
We heard sad reports, that the two of you had some kind of dispute,
An anonymous writer! Nobody knew for certain,
They presumed some kind jealously between you!
Both of you were so dedication and commitment to your work,
Leonardo and Michael, you were so alike in your imaginativeness,
So advanced in creating astounding works of art,
This is why we pay tribute because we admire and applaud you,
Two renaissance wonders! Leonardo’s Mono Lisa! Michaelangelo’s David.
09/08/2016
For contest sponsor Marugu Mo
On the Disappearance of Friends in Exile
The land is haunted
By unburied corpses and foetuses.
None have names,
Or tribe with kinsmen,
Or identity with place-of-birth,
Or wounds with scars.
None of them are known,
But they are gone to early death
History, even, does not know who they are.
No voice of mourning save the speeches--
The hollow, laboured speeches of poisoned lips;
And sorcerers calling for them from hidden shrines.
It's an old story - the oldest we have in the land -
The story of ebforced disappearance.
John Cavanagh is thought to be,
The most respectable man in archery,
He fell down a cliff in Switzerland,
And now shoots a compound bow, hand.
He was born the 21st July in 1956,
His Para classification W1 sticks,
Stoke Mandeville gave him the sport,
And he is of a very quiet report.
Picked for the British team in 1995,
He took part in the Euros, a hive,
He’s already been to four Paralympics,
Won top spot in Athens, from the mix.
2008 Beijing, he took silver,
Was part of the London quiver,
So he’s going to Rio de Janeiro,
Because he has lots of memento.
John lives in Wandsworth, London,
His original place of birth, it’s fun,
He has a Botany BSc from Imperial,
And a Msc in IT from Kingston regal.
He trains with Maiden Bowmen,
At Royal Richmond, it’s the den,
And says his hero is everyone,
With the drive to win, overcome.