“Poetry allows the poet to give vent to rage
and despair in words, instead of action.” ~ by poet
Oh, you don’t wanna know
what it would be like
if it wasn't for poetry.
Living this life would be unbearable,
The false preaching of the pompous priests
The false promises of the crooked politicians
The false hopes of the cheating charlatans.
Whenever I am disillusioned
and my heart aches at the wickedness of man,
I sit down to write poetry
to lessen the pain.
Looking at the wretched condition
of the downtrodden and
the hedonistic lifestyle of the affluent,
the pent-up rage in me is ever raring
to burst forth and burn the world down…
if it wasn’t for poetry!
This is a feeling unlike any
Like poison in a fruit of scent,
With memories a tad too many,
All too bittersweet to give vent
Like poison in a fruit of scent,
Thoughts of school years pass by
All too bittersweet to give vent,
Or to let go without a cry
Thoughts of school years pass by,
A girl refuses to give up,
Or to let go without a cry,
The chances to be tuned up
A girl refuses to give up,
She loses, all too soon,
The chances to be tuned up,
Her fate's in a cocoon
She loses, all too soon,
Till today, for her mind's elsewhere
Her fate's in a cocoon,
She feels too few minutes to spare
Till today, for her mind's elsewhere,
The moments of the now flit
She feels too few minutes to spare
And nostalgia, they call it
The moments of the now flit,
With memories a tad too many,
And nostalgia, they call it,
This is a feeling unlike any
Thank you,
To all who showed restraint,
And refrained from Vandalising signs,
Put up by those hoping to be elected,
To serve on local bodies.
I know more might have been tempted,
So give yourselves a pat on the back,
For letting democracy run its course,
And leaving it up to your vote to give vent to your feelings.
Despite all its vagaries,
Seeming to most as changeable as the weather,
Democracy cuts less lives short,
Which other alternatives bear witness to.
I love you - was, your confession;
Did you love me - is my question.
You came in my life like a guest;
Being with me was real test.
You had pulled each of my foot-stride;
I shaped your fumbling steps with pride.
You forsook me in times of pain;
Waning your pains had been my gain.
Your vices fail your grand values;
For you, all these, I revalue.
Did I seek anything from you?
Why my wishes for you seem new...?
I don't complain, about you, yet;
Thank you for, all I from you, get.
Am I seized by you, I don't know;
You are a shadow that does grow.
We give vent to our feelings;
They're, yet, like seeping on ceilings.
Do my feelings visit you night?
Consider them nightmares; sleep... tight!
I love my self; you to do yours;
Let there be, at least, no borders.
Come and go whenever you want.
Like a ghost, you can, my life haunt...!
24 July 2022
The Era of Terror
The Era of terror is upon us- the world is in turmoil
The raging plains are complaining
The need to pray is necessary-
Tornadoes whirl across the skies
Hurricanes destroy whatever is in their path
Tropical storms rally against-mankind
Earthquakes cracks open the earth and swallow up whatever
Lies in its way- The skies turn purple in its agony, saying,
“Let be whatever maybe”-
The oceans will be violent- in its ecstasy
Spewing forth the dead and bringing the earth to its knees-
The world is in an angry vortex so full of vile-
Sinister lies the sullen smiles
Sneering at the approach of man
Closing tighter and tighter until the end-
Come forth and lie down unheeded- let your defenses rise
Give vent to what is- needed
Pray for what is- depleted.
Conquer up a world of calm
Take heed to those whose “pose” to come
Keep a forever -watchful eye
Take heed ‘o’ those- non-seeing and dumb-
For- the age of terror is upon us- the world is in turmoil
The need for praying is necessary- The Era of terror is upon us-
The fall of communism
When free of the burden of communism
and many states became a democracies
it was a great feeling no one telling people what to do.
This and a free press became a burden for the public
who seeking order turned to the right.
When Neo- fascists came to power people rejoiced,
at last, someone to give vent to their prejudices, say,
people seeking refuge from war and most of all
the ancient hatred of the Romany people, was provided free
rein. Nothing new here people everywhere are
unpleasant hate what they do not understand,
from there to concentration camps, the road is short.
The drunk
When drunk he is expansive tell jokes
Others find insulting give vent for his opinions
That is not asked for; suddenly he is offended
With what someone said and with drunken
Dignity leaves.
When he is sober, he much regrets what
He had said the day before and walk
In streets strange in the hope of not meeting
Anyone he knows they will see him for what
he is a rather modest, shy man who never
Grasps it is what people prefer, his likeability
and not the opinionated drunk with a bottle
of beer in his hands.
I write when beauties step into my heart
and when the Muse unveils her very art.
I write when to a wonder, my soul leaps
and when the warmest of bliss is spilled heaps.
I write when Nature reigns and sends her scent
and when allured to my Self give vent.
That’s Euterpe of music and beauty
full, overflowing many a ruby.
And when poetry, a gift that beguiles
drifting, with no anchor, into the wilds.
And when in life, breezes merge with the storms
highest Selves emerge above bonds and norms.
And what is to the heart precious and dear
souls would linger in perpetual fear.
Merry pure hearts in the season of youth
friendly warm Spring, a reverie and sooth.
March 8th, 2019
To the one I love,
As you daily peer into this mirror
Be reminded my love, the face you behold
Is mine.
Look intently at your lips
Gatekeepers to my mouth
And do recall, every smile they curve
Is mine.
See the look in your eyes
Windows to my soul
And rest assured, everything they desire
Is mine.
Take a glimpse at your nose,
Sculpted to give vent to my heart
And understand, the air they breathe
Is for me.
I lay claim to this face,
With the heavens at my backing,
So, grasp this, I implore
Your face and all that escorts it
Is for me.
-laulindah
#thehundredth
Beware! in our own confines - a predator
hiding without so much as a warm hello,
Persona non grata veils its character.
It’s green with greed and jealously pale yellow;
our words give vent to this parasite-fellow.
A proud remnant perhaps of a life once led,
it bleeds blue with glowing spots of angry red.
Banning this contender for hostilities!
we’re obliged, as it rears his hoary, gray head,
to bid: Begone! with your animosities.
March 31, 2014
When I have fears
I want to cry
And give vent to my tears.
When I have fears;
I feel helpless.
When I have fears;
I need a friend
To share my feelings with.
When I have fears;
I turn to my Allah (God)
It is when I call Him,
He always comes to my help
When I have fears;
I share everything with Him,
I talk to Him
And bow before Him.
I tell Him everything,
Having no fears of leakage.
Having Him as a friend
I have no fears.
For I know
That I have a Companion;
Who’ll never run away
And will always come to my help
He’s Allah, only Allah,
Who always answers to my call.
That’s why,
When I have fears,
I have no fears.
The life you lived was very brief
An interlude for which we weep
And as we cope with our grief
Your music in our hearts we keep
The life you lived was very short
A fleeting visit for which we mourn
And as our tears we stifle and abort
We share the stories of a brief sojourn
The life you lived was so transient
An epigram in the anthology of man
And as we – to rage and despair – give vent
We remember your wit, its depth and span
The life you lived is now no more
But that interlude will continue to keep the score
And its refrain we will always hear
When we succumb to memories dear
The life you lived has now moved on
Perhaps to wander down some Elysian lawn
But its stay with us, we will always relish
In conversations that we will cherish
The life you lived now belongs to the past
But its succinct humour will always last
Whenever, by a quick wit and a sharp tongue
We might be quite intelligently stung.
Yes, it may have been brief, a little too short
But this life you lived, ‘twas a life we loved.
Riding high on the limpid waves
Rising high on the shimmering presence
Blue waters of white marbled chequers
For the eternal hymns of wayward heart
The golden domes invoking a saffron path.
Novices of thoughts and sunshine abiding
The golden swarms of vibratory atoms
The hush of pilgrims on the circular pitch
Tearing apart structures of egoed ditch.
Give vent to destinations of beauty & liberty
The concerns of soul now past its restrictions
Illuminate a glance bereft of the inner tumult
Saluting the Guru’s presence in a silent rebirth.