They’re roaring by with lights aglow
Akin space rockets, to and fro
Unfailing captains on steroids
Between this Earth and asteroids
This is the blood that moves the trade
This is America, conveyed
Truck-ships, with missions on the mind
Despite the night defy the grind
Rigs leave no waves in their wake
Them running fast and never brake
Men often follow their path
So to avoid the radar wrath
They land for brief prescribed rests
While speeding on the cryptic quests
We’re whizzing by, in cars and vans
And eye the sleeping caravans
United States, the land of trucks
Can’t pass them by sometimes, shucks
Resilient movers. And my crux?
Wouldn’t be the same without trucks
Sept 17, 2023
Crimson saris, silk
Woven with threads of gold,
A dancer's graceful sway,
Reflecting ancient lore,
A turban's vibrant hues,
Sun-baked earth, spice-scented air,
Desert whispers tales,
Of caravans afar,
Carvings deep and bold,
In temples, ancient stone,
Echoing centuries old,
Stories yet untold,
From the Himalayas' snow,
To Ganges' holy flow,
A sacred, mystic show,
Diversity unfolds,
Ghats, where souls ascend,
Prayers to deities blend,
The fragrance of incense,
Mystical events unfold,
Bhangra's rhythmic beat,
A joyful, vibrant heat,
Dancing in the street,
Celebrations complete,
From the bustling city's hum,
To villages' quiet drum,
A world within a sum,
India's soul, profound,
Flavour's bold and bright,
A culinary sight,
Spices, herbs, and light,
Taste of day and night,
A thousand faces smiles,
Across landscapes, miles,
One nation, mixed styles,
India's spirit, which beguiles
A symphony of sound,
Stories whispered around,
Diverse and ever-bound,
India's soul is profound.
I am that slender lady in sexy white sheets,
my figure is smoking hot when my body touches the heat.
I’ll give you moments of pleasure and a fill of nicotine,
but around your healthy lungs I’ll weave my tricotine
I am a silent killer
causing deadly disease,
but people ignore the warnings and signs of expertise.
I am the international
loved by all my fans,
I’ll send them to the graveyard in polished caravans.
I am those smokey rollies the filthy cigarette,
you’ll find me on every shelve I am not that hard to get.
Seconds On The Pie Please
Written: by Miracle Man
5/17/2024
Caravans of Illegals,
swarm our borders with ease.
Once here, many are choosing,
to just do as they please.
Each claiming their free slice ,
of the American pie.
while many citizens struggle,
each day to get by.
Our drug and crime problem,
is beginning to enlarge.
Now they’re listing their demands,
as if suddenly in charge.
Upon arrival each gets a stipend,
and brand new phone.
This could all have been avoided,
by a president with backbone.
In case you’re wondering,
a Republican, I am not.
I’m another troubled citizen,
unintentionally, stirring the pot.
quote: " Life is Dry as a desert, lest you find the oasis of love" .. Tanu Vermani
In timeless talk, with a grain of sand I sat,
From beaches wide to river's flat.
Voiceless, yet with tales profound,
Ages old, and wars unbound.
Through time's vast expanse it flew,
With camel caravans it grew.
Desert battles, blood-stained land,
Sands bear witness, silent stand.
On beaches, joy and love they share,
Sand castles rise, dreams declare.
Sculptures formed, by hands that craft,
In shifting dunes, a moonlit draft.
Amongst it all, a whispered plea,
Unity brings salvation, see.
The Sahara is another vast sea
Of zero-edge horizons
And remote hours of austerity
For "sailors" upon caravans
And the Sun beams mercilessly
And seems cruel to patrons
Until the Wind scoffs haggardly
And reshapes its art of dunes.
laying on an icy lake
praying that it stays cloudy and cold
a smile on my face speaks volumes
i think of all i am ThankFull for and Rejoice
though there are spurts of melancholy, the beauty overshadows victoriously
life is never perfect despite individual feelings
regret is somewhere hidden in cornered closets of every mind
at the tail end of the present, i reflect warmly on the fact that i am not alone
i am motivated to push forward
my gravitational pull is fervently flavorful
so WonderFull i feel,
i completely forget that i am laying on an icy lake
a pep in my step expresses caravans
i think of the little things that in everyday life i fully ignore
the whole of my body spins till fully Full Circle
as a result of unbeknownst Self Realization, I become that much more Well Rounded
Black Americans in shark
houses
And caravans
Imagine how many black
Americans dying
In strong winters as
They can not afford
To build
or buy proper houses.
The American system pushed
Them to be
Where they are till now.
It is very hard
For them to come out
Of that bad
Situation without
The full support
Of the American government.
My daily song , "
God loves me so much ,
I love people so much. "
Do you think USA government does not have
Enough founds to build houses
for poor Americans ?
If not ...
What make them giant economy country in the World
When they fail to do what
The government of late
Mohammad Kadaffi did?
Huh?
Investing much money in terrorism
And wars in the World
While some Americans
Continue dying
like flies
In Winters
Due to missing
proper houses.
I think Uncle Joe Biden
Will work to change that system
Or Uncle Donald Trump
Will help
If Americans will vote
For him again.
I speak my mind as a poet
Which is reality.
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
Woodstock wild is what the musicians knew
Plain dairy farm in New York, reservation due.
I was too young, alas, or I would have been there.
Loving the music, the ambiance, wild as old dog hair.
Midriffs showing, the crowd was mostly young and thin.
Jumpsuits looked fabulous, no matter who was poured in.
People ate healthy, they were taunt and tight.
Music wafted all over the hills on this Saturday night.
Platform shoes, cowboy boots, sandals, anything went.
Some hitched rides in caravans, that were heaven-sent.
Lots of clean fun while folk music enticed the crowd.
Rolling, rocking, roaring fun, and probably sixteen times too loud.
I was bored and strapped for cash,
Badly needing a vacation.
So I took a voyage of the mind,
With my vivid imagination.
Across the open seas I sailed,
To some far and distant lands.
While perched atop a camel's back,
In caravans on desert sands.
I climbed the Himalayas,
Behind a Sherpa as my guide.
To see Nepal and then Tibet,
The Dalai Lama by my side.
Crossed the Great Wall of China,
In a mammoth hot air balloon.
Floating high in a starlit sky,
Tipped my hat to the Crescent Moon.
Back to Earth, I made my way,
Skimming the Sea of Japan.
To the Port of Tokyo,
In a rickety Saipan.
Growing weary from my travels,
My mind no longer fit to roam.
Next time I'll visit other sites,
For now it's time to journey home.
Seeking a shred of purpose
to pass the remaining time
or play with dark spots
and flashes of thunder
and dreams of vespers?
Tenderly rummaging through memories of bones
and promises of fragile enchantments.
Who awaits us in the elder's shadow?
Who awaits us, winged spirits with swollen faces
after we have consumed the last refuge
of weary scribblers?
Once upon a time there was a wise seeker of sincere glances,
who eavesdropped on the wind, trail of voices of
sleepless bankers and spied the metal-coloured auroras,
to unearth the treasures of the caravans
of eager young people, never attentive
to the fate of the objects of memory.
He found no joy, but fell asleep
on the bankers' doorstep
with the complicit gaze of the young
. for public domain
Let them feel the love that they don't feel
in a boxcar on a train.
Take their hands unsteady as they are.
Let them feel welcome home.
All they've seen is caravans and roads,
so many people on their way,
runnin' scared, their children in their arms,
nowhere safe to pass the night.
So let us please open up a door.
Take them in. It's only right.
Don't say, "Lord, your life was all in vain,"
this year's only Christmas night.
Ponte Vecchio
Gift of history, an ancient relic
Clutter of the curious, devotional caravans
Different tongues, riot of voices
Spectrum of colors, collage of faces
Tramping hoards where horses galloped
Swarming the breadth and treading the length
For the glitter of diamond and gold or
A cavalcade of the fleeting folklore
Majestic arches in a stance
Of a gymnast on the stage
Behold the glory cherish the glow
Path is marked history shows
Perched on the banks, center stage
Remember the bridges east and west
Crumbled under the weight of time
Bit by bit and grain by grain at a time
Bridges in the depth of Arno
Stark reminders to us all
Fame and pomp have passing allure
But your role in history shall endure
Squiggle a sketch of me
Before the dawn appears
And i move on with flocks
Salute me with the best salutation you can
May be this is the last memory we share
And seperation is destined
The caravans are on the way
Look into my eyes
You see no fear and my hands won't tremble
War and love both are important
Kiss my forehead
And hug me a farewell
May be ,this is the last romance
Chants of victory
you will hear before dusk
May be i will not come back
Don't moisten your eyes and regret not
Its not betrayal
Moments of love are often short
If some one brings you the news of my death
You should not believe
Rather celebrate the victory
Surely i shall have spilled my blood
Don't count me in stars
Search me in your heart
I will be there forever, alive
And those western winds
Carry my soul
Honour them with smiles
And don't be sad
This will be the last salutation for sure
The sky ends where
And clouds wander freely
I landed on the stations of love
Infinite and charming as narcissus
Like honey bee it sucked the nectar of my soul
And i found the blessed of caravans
The strange pull of your love
Stole my peace and
my heart is in ecstatic motion
Thinking of you all time
And loving you in infinite ways
In new and old traditional ways
Distinction between cry and laugh creates ambiguity
and where insanity and intellect makes no sense
Such is the purity of my love
and whenever i think of you
it comes out of my soul
like a rocket
And my every breath confess my love for you
In the entire universe
all i wish is you and i
in the world of fantasies
Loving each other,purely and infinitely
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