What is love, really—
a figment of hope
sharp enough to shatter
centuries of lived patriarchy?
To think
education could make a dent
in what’s already carved
in bone & name.
To think
a stranger could be chosen
over the familial veins of caste, of home
over the womb of belief one never questioned.
Perhaps what’s
whispered in secret
was always meant to be hidden—
buried, before it flowers into regret.
Does it even matter—
your thoughts,
these societal norms, yourself?
whether you’re religious, or not?
What really makes one unique,
when the future already beholds
what always has been,
and what will be?
Destiny.
to think one is different—
to think everyone
is just the same.
To think
all that ever transpired
got fizzled on a random night
that never belonged to me.
Villanelle : Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
[He who fears to affix his name to his face or words has something to hide unless the State is after him/her out of fear...]
Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
If no tyrant nor king seeks to blunt your pen
Not even Maquisards make such a claim
Lenin Mao Gandhi fear not given name
They stand by their word in the open
Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
Writers and poets sometimes flaunt pseudonym
Slip past the Law to fool friend behind pen
Not even Maquisards make such a claim
Some daren’t offend patrons with by-line fame
Wife child ageing mother rights will ripen
Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
Does the user of the second name blame
Circumstances or his own fears open
Not even Maquisards make such a claim
Fear of being caught outright in this game
May make hidden causes énergumène
Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
Not even Maquisards make such a claim
© T. Wignesan – Paris, November 17, 2021
The seed of ego and pride continued to generate hatred
Somebody grinded, somebody kept choking here and won
Every human being described himself as the greatest caste
Mankind was everyone's caste, why did every human forget it.
In the face of hollow claims, know how the country is growing
Now the curse of casteism is also suppressing humanity
Do not blame anyone who has set this fire
This spark of poison has come out of your house.
Why did every young man standing on the border save the life of religion
When here, by making caste the only limit, every person died of hatred.
Why is casteism becoming everyone's self-respect
Hey, in the race for this important, nobody achieved anything
Now to eradicate this malice cup root, one has to step up
Casteism is an inundation of fire, one has to burn feet.
I will not talk about caste, nor will I talk about religion
I will not be proud, I will not be ashamed
Just pay that great duty of human being
Bring me happiness in the world, I will talk about that karma.
O foolish Amerikan klan,
who hath Klux bewitched thee with pale poof?
Kluless to the celestial truth,
Love immutable is infinity grand
Children of the Aryan band,
what doth the dark star say unsooth?
Thy divided house is quaking from the foundation to the roof,
as incantations of hatred are caste by thine hand
Stir madly the black cauldron with thy ladle iron brand ...
knowest not, thou Jim Crow vows are dove uncouth?
Universal love is the relativity proof,
yet thine mathematical impurity will cancel thy hexed land
Inverted cloud 9 chanting brings triple digit reign; slow death quicksand,
cursed cause invoked by thou warlock heirs of John Wilkes Booth
Mix the enamel pox potion from thy bittersweet Cain rotten tooth,
let angry spirits from boiling brew be vomit spilt upon thy Endora strands
Thus, the mirror of time will show the cold reflection of thy fool’s errand;
ought not all ayes idol-ly stand by, and watch thy seance plight aloof?
Did Compel to Caste a Spell
Horn Haiku
never would feel swell
so did have to caste a spell
to work time will tell
Jim Horn
How about that. Just completed
over 7,900 poems shooting for
8,000. Sounds like a good,
round and even number to me.
Come quickly, let us tempt the fading mists
we ghostly shadows of a graveyard tryst
ashamed - not of our deed - but of our sin
fulfillment of the dream of now, not then.
And so among the silent headstone hush
we lie beneath the tangled thorny brush
endure the sting of freshly bloodied lust
defile the silence of a graveyard trust.
Thus do we share our love with those long past
a challenge to the lies of ancient caste
to walk away and hear the tombstones sing
as winds of change the frozen church bells ring.
We will embrace the now, we two, as one
while walking through the graveyards others shun.
©11/13/2019
I Want To Fall In Love With A Sonnet Poetry Contest
a tire swing
in her tree
a bird nest
not for soup
but to eat
i'm an old
soul but
now a
child
going
around
going
again
attempting
enlightenment
but never
to obtain
say it again
as i've heard
it again and
again
but IT won't
let me in
for before
the gate as i've
waited countless
times stating i
don't want
to come
in
unless
hand in
hand with
her preferring
to be a life's partner
to the lonely goal
of an everlasting
celestial soul
not complete
without her
Caste Into Past Which Was Vast
Onto a path were tossed and than caste,
Into an unbearable and perturbing past,
Problems created,
We had hated,
That had been huge and so very vast.
Jim Horn
Into Water Words Jesus Would Caste
Into Water His Words Jesus Would Caste;
Knowing forever they were sure to last;
Did understand,
On sea and land;
Had been brought forward from the past.
Jim Horn
Memories Caste Into Past
So sad memories were thrown into the past;
We have forgotten and they no longer last;
Cause was lost;
Forgot the cost,
And into deep depression have been caste.
Jim Horn
Trump Caste First Stone
If Trump were to caste first stone
We would surely moan and groan
When hit and will have to admit
The pain hurts and does not quit.
Trump's stones become a big pile
After he had been vain and vile
As soon as last stone was caste
By all our pleasant lives went past.
Think Trump thinks he is smarter
And may end up becoming a martyr
A message from God had been sent
Should have had a peaceful movement.
Do you think he will have gotten the hint?
Jim Horn
Lights dim
the audience
is silent
a giddy anticipation
charges
the antique air
the air is warm
there is a hum
then a soft
buzzzz
louder and louder
one is stung
then another
and another
a swarm
of bees
invades
the calm
shrieks
and chaos
fill the hall
everyone runs
for the exits
ushers stand
dumb
a glower
of darkness
descends
curtain goes up
the stage bursts
with light
and the theater
is
empty
Demons Had Been Caste Out
God, need your great help and to be my guide
While You stay inside me and will always abide
Successfully take me through each poem I write
Whether it be morning, noon or by bright night.
To thank You is what my poems are all about
For helping me remove each and every doubt
Along with all of the trouble I forever was in
Not only that, surely saving me from all sin.
God prepared me to write poems everyday
Taught me what to say showing me which way
Will be best to relay my lethal poems to people
From high ivory towers and each tallest steeple.
Each poem has been sung in Church as a hymn
And such a stunning choir still hear all of them
From tenor, alto, soprano backed by each base;
They even saved a jubilant contralto just in case.
What they did, God helped through everything
Made voices marvelous when they would sing
They even saved a tremendous solo for very last
So out all the demons they were sure to caste.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
PS. So how tight have you been holding
your sides from laughing real hard anyway?
Temple – not an abode of God
Idol – only a piece made by man
To see his reflection in ruse of worship
The Powerful can see power
The Rich can see riches
Poor see poverty
The more one donates, the more he gets
The more one pleads and cries, Grief is all he gets
Rich can sit in front of the Lord
Others will queue in
The rest will scramble for the leftovers
Rich need the temples
To keep the poor content with poverty
Ain’t we a poor country of rich people?
Or are we a rich country of poor people!
Questions lay unanswered, Treasures lie hidden
The Hungry stay naked in open.
Some fast for glory, many die of hunger
This is the order of the day, dear folks
The powerful are the Brahmins
The rich are the Vaishyas
The middle class are the Kshatriyas
To defend or aspire for power or riches
The rest are the Shudras
based on the Varna system in India and the new order
... Suresh M Iyer
I can’t use just any cauldron
To cast what I behold
The core must be made molten
As my legacy unfolds...
Adding substance to the fire
Heats my precious ore
Impurities trade flames entire
Soul until no more...
Courage added to the mixture
Hardens into gold
Add morals and a holy scripture
For the house he holds...
When he stands without the frame
I start to pour again
So he can pass more than his name
To copies after him...
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