Money has a delightful scent, one with the power to smother the stench of misery before death comes to extinguish its power altogether.
To be poor is an unbearable nightmare when one knows exactly what it would take to escape the humiliations of overcrowded living and deprivation.
Truth prostitutes itself on the crumbling sidewalks of falsehood whenever money sheds its impurities.
Money brings happiness; only the rich, showering beneath the fountains of opulence, claim otherwise.
I know what it is like to rummage through the trash bins of precarity in order to survive the violence of a nightmarish daily existence.
To remain dignified in a reality chained to perpetual lack is a penance that resembles the calamities of hell.
What better than a summer afternoon?
Where else, but on the trail to La Toscana?
Who is it mounts a mens that's not more sana,
devouring a voluptuous Verdi tune?
Which month might one elect, which isn't June?
I'll pass on Sassafrass and Lisdoonvarna,
to binge on bars, basilicas and Barna.
I like my treasures liberally-strewn.
You're cynical? Think pinnacles don't serve?
I can't agree. A twelvemonth of frustrations,
quotidian slap-downs and humiliations
are answered now. We've finally capped the curve.
The clouds will come again, of course, but verve
should also have its vestals. A libation!
The homeless poet sorrow , i---- [ lyric of the homeless poet ]
Since the last ten years I have been befriended
With street life and love I with the cold breath weaved
The darkness of each night has made me lone
was I to be like that opted in the apt life not to be
not to be, not to be, not to be ……??
With that shoddy sky which never sought to be my cove
At least to shelter me from its wet tears in my live
Ache of heart breaks, wounds of hunger made
was I to be like that opted in the apt life not to be
not to be, not to be, not to be ……??
Humiliations of isolation profits
Misery of life surpluses surfeits
Oh street life, cursed to be you or the community
was I to be like that opted in the apt life not to be
not to be, not to be, not to be ……??
Who refused to save lives of us,
who ignored when I be thirsty
who blamed my life as the fault was caused by me
was I to be like that opted in the apt life not to be
not to be, not to be, not to be ……??
We turned the pages of our lives, from the beginning
I wonder why I had to live with those humiliations again
Yet his constant voice urging me to continue the narration
Pretending that he was detrimental
To narrate it to someone uncommitted
Those pains were a minute ago
For validation as worthy, perhaps
Yet I was soiling and dishonouring my name to someone who never cared
So he left, without comforting me
Neither narrating his story
I had to heal from the monster in me
With those delicate parts yet so golden,
So I sang my favourite songs to heal again
This time, the lesson was profoundly engraved.
A Maskil by Anil
Themes that span every emotion
Schemes and plans of enemies
No rhyme but every reason
To thank Creator God for victories
Lord Thy Love bathed us for generations
Lord Thou, ever faithful, so merciful
Lord, without Thee, hate and humiliations
Would be our cup. Worship God Eternal
(Selah! A musical term, or pause)
We praise Him dawn & dusk, First Cause
When the little kid cups her tiny hands to catch the drops,
The water gets the shape of JOY.
When it flows at the green fields over the verges with a surge ,
It gets the shape of WONDER.
When there are roaring thunders and hanging black clouds,
It gets the shape of FEAR.
When the river moves with twists and turns with a maiden’s beauty,
It gets the shape of LOVE.
When the blazing sun makes the ponds and pools get shallow,
It gets the shape of SADNESS.
When the forests are embellished with serene brooks and ponds,
It gets the shape of PEACE.
When the villages and towns are flooded and the life is disturbed,
It gets the shape of ANGER.
When a long drought disappears making the farmers happy,
It gets the shape of COURAGE.
When bitter insults and humiliations causing tears well out,
It gets the shape of DISGUST.
When the relentless waves trying to overtake the sands on the coast,
It gets the shape of INFINITY.
When it can be perceived in many forms and emotions,
I call it an incarnation of GOD.
The Shape of Water Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Date: 25-06-2021
By looking at the “facade” you cannot judge.
And you can’t deduce who is “imperfect.”
Better not crush and “mask” your emotions.
Encounter the poignant humiliations bravely.
Explore answers for “cracked” and “broken” relations.
Check once if any of your actions are “flawed.”
Give up the “torn” and trivial beliefs.
Build your relations on the pillars of hope and courage.
Never expect that somebody would take the charge.
Come out of the “illusion” and take the first step to rebuild.
Writing Prompt - Flawed - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date: 21-06-2021
placed: 4th
Injustice
Imbalances run.
National humiliations undergo.
Judicial abuses attack.
Unjust discriminations shine.
Structural imbalances run.
Terrible outrageous glimmer.
Imbalances glimmer.
Cruel oppressors shout.
External imbalances walk
Blames and allegations
Conceited self-admiration
Habitual fabrications
Never ending Justifications
Maligning reputations
Backbiting and deceptions
Derogatory manifestations
Avoiding responsibilities, remembering dispensations
Friendships and betrayals
Unjustified humiliations
Killing exasperations
………………………..
This needs proper clarifications
We need moral and ethical upgradation
Focus and proper determination
Instead of shortcuts and distractions
This world is one and we have beautiful relations
Empathising and developing patience
What we are is our creation
Education inspires aspiration
Life is a pledge, we are not on vacation
Race is not just about directions
4/3/2019
The Bashful writer
He had been into a bookshop a few weeks ago
had asked the manager if he could place his books there,
yes, that was ok just bring me the books the manager said.
When he had asked the shop was empty, now it was full
of people and he was too shy and nervous, waited outside
for the shop to be empty.
He was a man of little self-confidence perhaps his work
was not good enough to be sold, he had been refused
so often when sending a manuscript through the net.
In a café, he had a glass of red wine to lessen his anxiety,
it helped, but the bookshop was closed for lunch when
he came back, he had lunch came back but the shop
decided it didn`t want more English written work,
“Come back in January,” the shopkeeper said.
He took the bus home knowing well he would not come
back for more humiliations.
A response to
“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
? Maya Angelou
Raspy words will silently wilt away with the seasons
A brief touch of sorrow lingers after the winds change
Undesirable actions get weeded out as pain subsides
Like the soul dead fruit plucked out for healthier fruiting
But the humiliations live immortally in archives of the soul
Maya, the enchantress, takes us into her world of power
Eluding us from the higher truths of being born to love
A kind expression only can kindle a warmth in the heart
An endearing gesture of trust keeps the embers burning
Much after the calendars snooze away into silence
October 25, 2016
For Silent One
Life Or Death
In my immaturity humiliations embarrassed me to death, yet I yearned to live.
October 23, 2016
For Laura Loo
Second Place- Contest 3
( Submitted and judged on October 14, 2016
Life Or Death)
I was pierced!
My heart that first time fell in love to a woman of my dream
beyond all doubts, took no shame of any humiliations
But I, who accepted her, felt the unbearable pain of sharpest sword of lie.
I was bruised!
My heart that once promised honesty, loyalty and pure love
Amidst all hope, still vindicated and tainted by sadness.
I, who did everything to make her happy asked nothing but paid by unhealing wounds.
I was shattered!
A guy who thought of an unending bliss all turned into ashes.
And now, faking and fooling myself of how I mistakenly cross the wrong bridge.
Who dream fantasy but now dwelling in my darkest abyss of first heartbreak.
Years of spiritual journey
Many troubles, struggles
Many pains,panics
Many sufferings, illness
Many debates,doubts
Many sleepless day and nights
Many harassment, humiliations
Many battles, sorry
Many fastings,cryings
Many groaning, griefs
BUT
Most blessings, miracles
Most opportunities, offers
Most appreciations ,applauds
Most consolations , rejoicings
Most happy and delightful days ahead of you
Despite above God neither leave nor forget you
But hold you in HIS mighty hand
He keeps HIS promises alive
Let us understand him and be patient
HAPPY AND REJOICING SPIRITUAL BIRTHDAY
I can’t be a human being
All efforts went fruitless.
‘Being Human’ is now
A day dream !
I turned into a stormy wind – a tempest
Destroyed nature, devasted biodiversity
Killed animals brutally.
I transformed into a goblin,
Feared to look at my shadow
Feared to face myself,
Always kept myself inside mask !
I’m a wretch humanity, they say.
Now I’m roaming hesitatingly
In quest of peace, in quest of Utopia !
People say me, ‘Mr Brutus !’
Sorrows and sufferings are now my parents,
Pains, lamenting and humiliations
Are my kiths and Kins,
Woe is my wife,
Myself is non-entity element !
I did not drench myself in moonlight
Did not look at the blue sky
Did not keep my environment clean and green.
Below the boughs of inferiority Complex tree,
I am now shedding ceaseless tear !
I’am a hatred and lost star
A falling comet that still shines
Trying to exist !
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