Best Wordings Poems
Veritas Vincit
the elusive goddess of the mind and soul couplet
a revelation of who we are, what we believe,
all that we imagine is or should be conceived;
born on the rising of the sun
holding moon glow in its captivity run
a complex menagerie of starlight within the cosmos dominion,
universal relinquishing of fictionalized wordings and opinions,
a hope, desirous dream, endless entity of fact from fiction
formalized false narratives of time and space interval diction;
it struggles, writhes in the turning and tossing window
foaming ocean waves of misinformation, lie, innuendo
there is no escape of twist or twitch spoof
squirming, wriggling the pathways of lie and truth
obsessive view in the eye of the beholder's solidarity,
is there hope, is there the possibility of a new reality
it truly is, as it really exists in a hidden state?
in the end, history will write what we dictate
someone's vision, another's reality
the hope and dreams of a future giving life and liberty
and freedom will take sail
only if
the truth prevails.
Sparked by Margarita Lilico's Latin Lessons
1/10/2022
Love notes
Wordings from the heart
That I’m trying to use
To cover this scented stationery
With my ball point scribbler, I’m proud
To match the sensual scent
Of your lovely and fiery lips
With crimson thoughts, but as I finally come
To end my writings, after so many pages
Hooked thrown into a silent bin
I begin to wonder if it’s better to recite
My love notes to you in person
For this way you would feel
Much, much better…
The bubbling rhythm
Of my heart
My father was a prestigious man
So lugubrious he had to die
I was just at the age of twelve
When i was told he was away
Naive of why he committed the crime;
He took the life he never owned
He burnt himself alive
For nine years of my life
I have been in a battle
On why he killed himself
I remember me on his laps
Telling me sweet stories of life
I recall the songs he sings
To me in our own wordings
My father was a gift
For who will see no gift in a father?
Though never knew him to the brim
I knew i had a father
His death has brought me pain
To see me a fatherless soul
I know i have a gain
A destiny not to be wasted
I have an abode in God
I feel i am at rest
My father is late
But happiness dwells till date
My life is like a rose
Laid in the midst of thorns
And yet still blossoms
For when a father is lost
A father is surely found
A Poem to love
To day I am placing here a great Hindi poem of a renowned poet
Translated by me as a poem which I hope would touch your mind
And heart intensely.
From the day I read this poem in between a play its wordings
Have touched me very deeply.
Since the poem is a beautiful piece of poetry by a great Indian
Hindi writer, poet, dramatist and story writer I am trying to
Bring its translation as much I could make from my mind without
Claiming that this is the best.
Brief background story for poetry soup lovers to judge the poem
In light in the light of its real beauty:
The heroine who was in the age of sweet sixteen was in love
With someone very intensely, but his actual lover ask her to
Show her love for someone else for obtaining a greater result
For the sake of his motherland and the heroine tries to love
Some one else, who asked a price for the same and gave only
Pains and agonies to her. But, when she sees her actual love
Her hearts is willing to welcome him and how- you will see
In this beautiful poem:
Translation of the poem of Jai Shanker Prasad a great Hindi poet.
Jaishankar Prasad (January 30, 1889 – January 14, 1937),
one of the most famous figures in modern Hindi literature
“Intoxicated by the wine of youth, in the age of sixteen
She cared only to love
And to whom she should give her heart,
She had no desire to know
And the one to whom she sold her precious heart,
Was asking a price for the same
The greedy even took away
The only treasure of pains and memories from her
She felt dusty storms were rising in her heart
And her love was coming totally unaware,
She thought to sprinkle water running from her eyes to
Make the path slippery
So that her love may walk slowly
And she may behold her love, a little more
The longing of her life may get fulfilled
And her hopes may get a base to stay a little more
She knew all the steams of the world would be running from her eyes
Making it more difficult to recognize her face
As the deep sea in her eyes would be splashing water on her face”
Only translation is made by me and the poem in Hindi belongs to
Late Jai Shanker Prasad.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 29th January 2010
Drumbeats, drumbeats, drumbeats
My soul is searching, searching, searching
My pulse is rising, rising, rising
My heart is pounding, pounding, pounding
I sit silent and meditate
Hoping for my sails of thought
...to catch the winds of motivation and inspiration
I have a value which I wish to improve soon
The urge in my heart is impatient to wait
I want to start now, I want to go now
That was yesterday, so here I am today
Exactly where I wanted to be as I wanted to be
Still I want to go farther, faster and faster
Still, my ideal dream seems further and farther
Something at the back of my mind assures me
It will all come to be... it will all come to pass
And that I absolutely believe
Only problem is I’m not good at waiting
I want it all and I want it now
From dawn to dawn I’m busy on every clock
Day after day still seeming not to move an inch
But I still must persist
I must keep on pushing and pushing
And when I’ve pushed my all I’ll still push some more
I’m in a different world from the one in my mind
...and I’m feeling all alone
These wordings are the SOS from my soul
Hoping the Infinite Mind may recognise and respond
My life is for the purpose of heeding a call
Each day on the grindstone of practice I sharpen my skills
Only eager to be me in the ways that only I can originally be
I believe in history to in the future appreciate me for being me
For I can never be anyone better than they are
But I can be me better than I was
So I must see the bottom inside of every cupful of coffee
I must see the light of dawn to know that it’s time to catch a little sleep
I must give my all with the promise of all
...for this is the opportunity I sought
I’m heeding the call thus pleasure fills my soul
Knowing I still have capacity for more
Soon I’ll reach the finish line and when I reach it
I’ll push it further to the limits beyond
I will never stop for as long as my heart beats on
I’m on a rugged path with my heavy cart of impossible dreams
I must push and push and push... and push some more
Till the wheel falls off
Shalom
Date: Sat, Nov 7 2015 at 11:47 PM
All alone on this "Path"
But God with on my "Wrath"
Do the "Math"
This the Future of my "Past"
Blast from the "Past" the "Backlash"
This the Wrath of Israel and "Iran"
An "Baghdad" Pakistan an "Afghan"
"Syria" and "Libya" I'm the "Militia"
Bout to change the "Forecast"
"Packed" Bat "Bag" Full of "Drafts"
Of "Charts" and "Graphs"
For the "March" to "Pass"
A Slave from "Africa" "Captured" to Become a "Ambassador"
One of the Shamans "Factors"
Inside my mind is Visions in "Patterns"
This just a page out the "Chapter"
Speaking Justice amongst the "Attackers" amongst the "Massacres"
I'm created from Fossils of Ancient "Fragments" that was "Fractured"
A Scientific "Analysis" can't "Examined" a "Graphic" of this "Calculus"
This the Anger of "Ferguson"
In Trayvon Hoodie in a "Black" "Turban"
Or "Jihad" Shallot "Shalom" "Salaam"
"Shabbat" Praying like the "Salat" while my hands "Burning" Inside "Flaming" Raging "Sermons" See I'm a "Servant" But upon "Observance" you couldn't tell in "Person" But you can tell by my "Wordings" Under Blessings and "Curses"
I hear Blood crying to me from under the "Surface" "Thirsting" I'm certain I'm one of the "Worstest" with Wisdom in the "Churches"
Thats not "Circuiting"
That make these devils "Nervous" I'm standing on the stage behind the "Curtains"
Looking at the "Circus"
I'm "Determined" to "Nourishing" the Blind to "Furnishing"
This is a script to read again
Its wordings are clear- no blunder
Each page on its own is a sane
It has distinct words to ponder
I’m yet to find its replacement
This is a script to read again
It’s obvious in its endowment
A script fit beyond thousand reigns
With what I've seen, I've much to gain
Those about lives before our own
This is a script to read again
Can any author beat this Lone?
In everything it’s just the star
I think its lost can’t be regain
It’s the same here and in Dakar
This is a script to read again.
28/5/2013
I found John today.
John died yesterday.
I read of John today.
I vibrate now to his pinch.
Somewhere by a poisoned river
a dead man was born...
Somewhere by a noisy airfield
a pre-writ obit finds me -
The news can still be news.
My future in writing has
been torn and reborn,
today. By George, by John!
A minced oath
of mint stuff.
John left in order to
be found and I surround
myself with his words -
Speaking aloud a baleful
cento of his wordings.
A funerary recitation
lofted into the bitter air
as I read to myself and
some phrases go
burbledy out -
smoke in the pines.
What else, who else
might next die that I
will find it?
Foreword: I wrote this poem while listening to Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty Waltz. The lines were pretty much impromptu so please be considerate when it comes to the wordings. Thank you :)
Once upon a dream,
You thought it was all real
But can't you see that it is
In fact purely imagination.
You try to hide it,
Disagree and deny it
But one cannot really stop you
It's all up to what
It is you believe or not
You shut everyone out
Stayed inside that dream
Afraid for it to end
Like a wonderful symphony
That's bound to play its last note.
You waltzed, allowed it to sink in
Sooner or later you'll realize
It was all just a dream
But no, you kept dreaming
Smiled to yourself
You thought I was joking
Or did you know what I meant?
You started laughing
Gave me that look
You knew something I didn't
I tried to comprehend
But you wouldn't let me in
What were you dreaming of?
What's so great about that dream?
What does the real world lack
Compared to that transparent world?
You seemed content
Filled with peace and joy
Then everything became a blur
You tried to tell me something
But couldn't make out of it
Your words spluttered out like anagrams
I listened once again
But then I woke up.
I fear to tell you how much of your love
that has drown me into your lake—
I'm a body under water.
Each time i walk on the street
my body, a drumsticks playing itself
would feel the rise of sensual excesses
tingling the weak layers of my cells.
Should I tell you why I come out each morning to see you?
because my heartbeats recites in elocution
at the wordings of your songs
& I'll try not to escape the ligature of music
you keep preparing for me.
You devour my heart
I'm afraid to tell you.
I've wanted my diction to appease you, smoulder every ashes infusing your mind like coal to the pot,
but it keeps infusing francophone rhythm, broken vowels clusters & brittle brittle voice.
I don't know how I'll feel
If I thaw the instant gaze frosting
under the radiances of your countenance.
Maybe I'll sink into loneliness all day long;
why I travel to the dark house every night.
Do not frown at this poem I've become, obianuju
I'll no longer lurk privily like Cobra.
I've fortify my heart to harm you via my love
where we could get hitched in the wedlock of the church
reciting poems from song of songs
that spew out from the bosom of Solomon.
The clown
Circuit circuits
moving round in circles
swings and roundabouts
junctions dead ends
living closures and
beginnings
The fool wise man
woman child in all
posits mocks
understands the world
beauty horror
misgivings paths
ahead and gone
retrieved adventoured
learned felt inspected
long gone present
Re-chisseles
comprehends in
jest and wonderment
The jester
foolhardy
and foolproof
scribes in stone
and pencil
when fool’s gold
is just enough
where paradise
develops based on
hopes beliefs
and inner truth
The clown speaks
joy in face
of darkness
insight desperation
inspiration sweating
away the clouded
skies of dogma
digma paradigm
A joker true to
juddered jibes
jewels miracles
astonished tunes
informal charters
melodies and scented
wordings
bridges schisms
buffering the madness
infinite insanity
impoverished delusion
A senseless idiot
giving idioms
meaning iconoclastic
impromptu impropriety
making sense of what
there really is
A bubble blower
whistle blower
soapy gentle creature
carbolic and pugnacious
peaceful warrior
observing pulchritude
a journeyman
The circuits circle
circuses' loops
and rounded
loopholes spirals
intervening interweaving
fabrics
tapestries
makes
the clown
Today’s
Classical Hindi Love song English Version
.
English version of my classical Hindi song written on 27 03 2024
English Version of Pera 1
.
The vines of the forest are asking,
How did you spend your nights with Piya* (Love)
When the clouds swell and it rains,
What feelings you conveyed to your love? 01
HINDI VERSION
.
Vn kee laataen, poochh rahee hain,
kaise beetin ratiyaan,
teri piya sng
megha, umad ghumad jab barse,
kya sunaaee thi tune
man kee batiyan. 01
.
English Version of Pera 2
.
When the lightning flashed, it made noise,
Did you come more close to your love?
When the clouds showered windy pleasant rains,
Had they touched your blouse to make it wet?
To get lost in your beauty for few moments? 02.
Song's Hindi wordings
.
bijalee jab chamki thi
naad kar,
Kya tum simat gaein thiin
apne piya ke,
alhaadit varsha kee boonden,
terii sundarta mein,
kuchh pal kho jaane ko,
kya bhigo gaeen thiin,
terii angiya ? 02.
Ravindra K Kapoor
India 27th March 2024 /center>
IMPORTANT NOTE: Those who wish to sing my Hindi song may sing it but
they must mention "Song Lyrics by Ravindra K Kapoor" for any clarification can contact me through- kapoor_skkatyahoo.com
Poetry is the freedom of expression.
Poetry is expressed through feelings, emotions and or experiences and can also be expressed from sound, vision or thoughts. There should not be a limitation on poetry. Being able to express yourself to the fullest does not have to be about money. The poet should be able to use however many necessary wordings needed to get the message across. A poet should not have to feel the need to "say less," nor should they have to shorten or limit their gift of writing.
Poetry is stepping into the mind of the poet. However, it may not reach every reader the same, meaning, the same poem is read by two people, but both have different perspectives of what they believe the poet is saying. Poetry is not debatable, to the readers it may be, but to the poet it is not, because at the end of the day, the poet said what they said.
Social issues elevate politics into the ring,
Whilst a loving family frees your interest thing,
But all people need the state and NHS,
Which step in to assist when life is less.
But everything deepends much upon legislation,
The law, its acts and clauses are foundation,
Its wordings either narrow you into a lark,
Or respect your essence and dignity in hark.
If you are the storyteller expected to win,
The ear of the great who accounts for your sin,
Your module is no problem to your friends,
Or to your colleague who her hand to you extends.
29/10/2015
Once upon a time, I wrote about love.
It was based on no poem, sung by none
drawn from the deepest through
of a soul that its flame didst burn.
Once upon a time, I wrote about hope;
each passing day, i got more hopeful
that people would at last began to cope
with the situations they are, if careful
Once upon a time, I wrote about the morning.
every now and then, I remember the frown
I had, when I discovered that the last wordings
were longer than the first, like they were drawn.
Once upon a time, I wrote about time
that waits for no man, always in a hurry;
if you keep to it, you'll do just fine
but to the lazy ones, it flies past: fast and blurry.