How can I call them modern men?
They are still barbaric,
use weapons in lieu of words of wisdom.
From the musket to the missile,
they have advanced in the technology of massacre.
New widows and orphans are manufactured
and preserved in misery.
How can I call them educated?
Their thoughts are still bent
like the curved pines in the Crooked Forest.
Being short-circuited,
their minds are not illuminated.
There are stubborn stains of caste, creed, and color
in their subconscious.
Education remains on the surface of their brains
as the rain drops on a banana leaf.
How can I call them intelligent?
All other animals live serenely
and leave the nature unscathed,
when men skin and gut the earth before their death.
They install complications for themselves,
even for the babies to be born.
How can I call them contented?
They’re restless
in the electronic snares.
Always busy,
they lose pleasures around.
They never live,
living tomorrow.
First published in The Literary Hatchet (issue#28)
Categories:
circuited, men,
Form: Free verse
short circuited and
the fuse of purpose keeps tripping
high voltage boredom
on auto pilot in slow motion
the roundabout is not a funny circus
currents alternate
directly challenge
polar opposition in contradiction of truth
‘it’s a beautiful day and you are in it’
thunder clouds bolt hail and torment
for no reason at all
five layers of clothes just to keep warm
a frosted swamp submerges reason
because it can and it will
webs of confusion crushes through ice
as if waiting for landslides and mud
so much is clear
lightening emboldens the scene
as water colours bleach the canvas
pierce through fabric dreams and anticipation
thin skinned the jester keeps smiling
an empty façade persona and mask
reaches out as a poet who writes
with frosted nib and inked consternation
lost for words founded in screamed silence
like her own meta-morphed metaphor
muck seems like a euphemism
warmed up in a microwave of sorrow
maybe she will walk to the beach today
watch breakers and tides
gather a sea shell
listen to what can be heard
when all else is quiet
24th January 2023
Categories:
circuited, analogy,
Form: Free verse
Ghosts of guilt they roam my way
Rising up like ghouls from shallow graves
Mistakes I made...they play like movies in my mind
They whisper wind into my ears as I memorize the times
Times of hurt and anger
Times of rain and rage
How I begged, stole, and borrowed from loved ones...long since passed away
Tick tocks and teardrops only make them come much stronger
Short circuited in the smoke...still the lunacy lasts longer
With a hard heart of hatred and a spirit and soul both rancid and rotten
A sour slave unto my sins...I picked and plucked the devils cotton
Ill gotten were all my many gains of greed
Dirtybirds all crow and caw while ghosts of guilt all laugh and play
They poke and point and push and pull and they waste my weary days
Now I wonder and I worry as the ghosts they sing their songs
I'm guilty like a man condemned...waiting on the worms to come
I rise and fall like breath from the belly of a beast
Suddenly...without a warning...ghosts of guilt all turn and run away
From those ghosts I now am rescued
From the guilt I am redeemed
For my father brings forgiveness where ghosts of guilt can't stay
Categories:
circuited, forgiveness,
Form: Blank verse
****************************************************************************************
Someday beyound this flesh of mine that has been short circuited throughout time....
Lying atop the shag carpet with a glass of cold water and a piece of rye bread
Wondering amid the yellow, orange, red and blue flames; dancing in their gaze ~
Considering the purpose, parallels and paradox of all things; folding wisdoms page?!
Clarity revealing its truth betwixt the tears and pain; poured from perfections cup....
Currents coursing through my veins these revelations calling my name; splashed
Aneath crystal waters with their blood soaked bread; merged in the flames ~
****************************************************************************************
....“Bedtime Stories of Love” *
Categories:
circuited, faith, love, passion,
Form: I do not know?
Dreams can be
Good to heaven
Bad to hell
I had a dream
Very very dreadful
It started houseful
With cries rule
I had lost my mother
I was steady still
People console me
Around but no result
Instead of people around
I was left all alone
The imagination without her
Had shot circuited me
Who will come to cheer me?
Who will love priceless to me?
Who will fight for me?
I was in real also
Kept crying in night
Waked up! The moment
I realized it was dream
I was left smiling
Happy to see her
That day changed
My attitude towards her
I am more respectful, polite
And happy ti have her.
by:-
Vrushani Thaker
Categories:
circuited, motherdream, dream,
Form: Free verse
I once knew a boy,
without guile and innocent.
We milked the cow
and goats together,
and as we worked,
we made up stories
of the secret life
of the cow,
and how
she was a sort of
super hero,
a bovine 007,
world traveler,
when we weren't
watching her.
Then one day,
the boy disappeared.
Perhaps,
some synapse
short circuited,
or some
unspoken incident.
Some one else
was in his place.
Abducted, possessed?
I never saw the boy
again.
Categories:
circuited, introspection, nostalgia, sad,
Form: Enclosed Rhyme