they chanted for one-but not the other
after all-they are both the worlds brother
the world virtue signalled for one-but not the other
what the world needs is care like that of a mother
when it was one rule for one and another rule for the others
arent we all meant to be the same-arent we are all the worlds brothers
slogans we written for one and not the other
suppose they just wanted to appease big-brother
they chanted for one and not for the other-hypocrites
we have fallen into the deep-dark pits
they both cried they couldnt breathe
and both ended with a community in seethe
both communities had enough and were at a boiling point
peoples rage and anger did take over from the disappoint
we have all had enough of watching societies corrode
and now we are standing at humanities crossroad
Gifts God bestows are taken for granted
and in this process, gratitude is lost,
even though perhaps His name is chanted,
so due to pride we pay a heavy cost,
shrouded in fear till ego we defrost.
We are not this form, so let’s disappear,
enabling God’s light in heart to appear.
From being the sunshine chaos
To the survival of a walking corpse
From pouring all her seasons to that one friend
To pretending like nothing happened
Chanted the name a million times to her girls
Was curious,excited and never tired of taking calls
The time never occured important
Neither the place nor the content
All shattered once she accepted
That she was never even considered
Little did she know, it was all in her head
She was never special, just not dead.
Hilarious jokes,the never ending roasts
All she ever wanted was a one that lasts
Did it though?
This poem wouldn't have been emerged if it did
Two different worlds they lived
Managed to fit in, quietly adrift.
Thought she could turn the distance into a gift.
The magic was unrequited,
Though it was pointless, she confronted
Pushed through her limits to make it work
Atleast she revered the fading arc...
Poetry is a prolonged kiss from the kingfisher's lips.
The interpreted being of a hummingbird’s wings.
The things you do or the things you don’t.
The things you say and the things left unspoke.
The truth, the lies, the half-full hopes.
The light, the dark,
the near and far, almost there’s.
Euphemisms. Nights spent in alleys.
Alone, apart, together at heart.
The life, the aches, the losses
new beginnings, lovers, losers.
Regret.
Regret.
Regret.
Nature, art, destruction,
or the remnants of.
Winners,
haves and have-nots.
Have you ever danced or chanted naked around a bonfire?
That is a poem.
What is a poem?
You.
What a gift it’s been
to be alive at the same time as your pretty face.
I pass through
each website
belonging to none
The bards
of the first
to the next unbecome
Opinions
are chanted
as ego’s cavort
The green-eyed
monster
— where prescience holds court
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Kings drained the goblet
silver and pearlescent.
A sweet odour drifted
coiling heavenward
to feathered cloud spires
where ancient muses chanted
in tongues of mystery
and offered blessed words
inscribed on filigree parchment
engraved with magic images
worthy of few mortals.
Blessed be this place of ancient silence
Where stones absorb the obscene cries of today
Blessed be this place of soundless penance
Where long dead monks still come to tread and pray
Blessed be this place of un-chanted hope
Where voiceless angels single out the way
Blessed be this place of ancient sadness
Where deaf-blind tourists come to shout and joke
Blessed be this place of mercy’s kindness
Where God’s light recites a bright but muted play.
Evil substance
The need for blood
Must survive
One bite on the neck
Darkness seemed to see
My blood Dracula wanted
I told him I gave at the American Red Cross Association
But it didn’t work
I even showed the cross and had no impact
It didn’t cause him to step back
Want and need of my blood Dracula chanted
His fangs and tongue felt like a straw
Fill me up
Blood sucked until there was no more
I fell to the floor
My flesh was no more
Dracula, I die
Evilness I rise
Hot mess
Victim of quenching Dracula’s thirst.
“Dream on, it costs nothing. Mind is the biggest canvas on which you can daub any shade to colour the dreams that you see while sleeping or awake.” ~ By Poet
As the earth snoozed under
a heavy shroud of darkness,
weary and work worn, I lay down,
dreaming of a peaceful sleep.
The moon hang like a silver disc,
its shimmering glow filtering
through tangled boughs of oak trees.
A gentle wind came wafting by
with smell of trellised jasmines
and sneaked through my open window.
Soon I drifted to a dream world.
Like a speeding locomotive,
that came to an abrupt halt,
I lay still, in a coffin.
amid scent of burning incense,
frozen silence, heaving hearts
and silently chanted prayers.
The chariot wheeled me along,
in my last journey through
mazy paths, stretching, stretching
to a world, beyond galaxies.
I woke up soon, my eyes still shut,
A vulture swooped down circling,
over my deceased body.
Am I dreaming within a dream?
At 03:33AM beneath a weeping sky,
In a haunted graveyard spirits cry.
Thirteen figures in robes of night,
Encircled me by candlelight.
We faced the moon and chanted low,
Thirteen times, the AUM did flow.
A silver beam struck through my head,
I saw strange colors, blue and red.
“You see now what the blind deny,
You walk unseen, you’ll never die.
Your soul is fire, your will is steel—
You touch what others never feel.”
A black box held a gem so rare,
A gift of power, dark yet fair.
They placed it gently on my chest,
And whispered, “Now begin your quest.”
Then vanished like a breath of mist,
While fate and fear and stars all kissed.
I woke alone in sweat and light—
Forever changed… reborn that night.
Drop got dropped,
Formed inside a rain.
Thought the way about,
And a possible aim.
Praying also chanted
For getting along pure.
Lake to get blended,
Making itself secure!
Worry is getting fears
May for a junk yard!
The crushed facing years
Weeping along a mirror.
Reside presence beneath
On upon leaf alone.
Deeply taking a breath,
Waiting another cyclone.
Wind gusting along,
Clattered leaved pines!
Shook trees among,
Making moments divine!
Tiny got shined,
Got a running hand!
Kept it carefully aligned,
Enlightening us as friends!
I first met you, heard you on a beach in Cornwall, Jennifer;
I fourteen, you, a soft, mellow chanted, sybaritic siren.
Still, the Hurdy Gurdy man stopped, looked across, smiled at this boy.
amare tumi Ashesh
Unending a bliss from you in me , mystic thy muse is such a sweet amen
quenched once, rejuvenated again, life reborn, endeared , again and again
So many valleys en carved so many river basins, trailing through delta ashore
My knickknack harp chanted your lungs to breathe beyond embellishment
so many times a chord for so many more
Patsy a churn, i yearn here to happen with my shenanigan, feeling t'was unanimous once more
With your divine an ode My soul sharer , wisdom retold , my reverie heart song
as the flight soaring high through rythm , rhyme and the ecstasy divine joys knew no bound
a handful of me
my catapult reverie
tantrum of my another may, my mundane trivial everyday,
and the bittersweet trouble belongs to me, only traveling back to me.
Tagoreweb : Artist : Singer : Moumita
This poem is dedicated to my best friend kat.
For we are all demons!
Demons
In ages of old, when myths held sway,
Demons walked Earth, at the close of the day.
When shadows lengthened, and fear held its reign,
Their whispers arose, like a chilling refrain.
In Babylon's towers, and Egypt's vast lands,
Demons lurked hidden, with clawed, grasping hands.
They preyed on the weak, the weary, the lost,
Their influence growing, at a terrible cost.
But the ancients fought back, with rituals and might,
Invoking the gods, in the pale moon's light.
Priests chanted incantations, warding off the dread,
With amulets and talismans, the demons were fled.
From Babylon to Greece, the battle endured,
Against the unseen, their existence assured.
A timeless struggle, against the unknown,
The fight against demons, forever to be shown.
In legends and myths, their echoes remain,
A reminder of darkness, and enduring pain.
But the human spirit, forever will rise,
To conquer the demons, beneath the dark skies
A wizened boy who lived at seventy-two Oak
Relaxed in his tub with a lemon salt soak
Ate a curly pretzel, downed a harsh throat coke
An honest child who sprang from truthful folk
Dressed himself in a red and yellow super hero cloak
Flew around New York City watching for dangerous smoke
News of his heroism quickly readily broke
Giving some fame to this truthful do-gooder bloke
He saved a young girl who was having a choke
Convinced a teenager to give up a maryjane smoke
Chanted a spell pretty difficult to invoke
Created a talking frog who never could croak
If you meet this wizened boy at seventy-two Oak
Tell him his cousin Moke wants to give him a poke
This is a true story, in absolutely no way a joke
Now that I have shared it, I will go have a soak.
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