Long Any(a) Poems
Long Any(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Any(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Any(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
At times I have felt as a cowardly sort,
Who is unwilling to stand on any a torte,
And just simply goes with whatever the flow,
When the reapers reap, and when the sowers sow,
I go,
But in truth I must tell you,
I must honestly say,
That evertime I chose to pay,
The price of principles I choose,
Most often afterwards I loose,
The surety that I was right,
On and in the positions I chose to fight,
So call me a coward if that is your wish,
I think that I'll just stick to this,
Before I stand and before I dismiss,
I shall try and open my fist,
And love with abandon no matter the trist.
‘Ossi’, what Western side likes them to call,
East returning complements with ‘pushy’,
No more stands there the brick-and-mortar wall,
Love’s lost still in old animosity.
The wall o’er a decade and half back fell,
Yet, an iron curtain still them divide,
Minds cannot meet over the wall of pride,
Hurt heart and prejudice can’t that gulf scale.
‘I’d rather a spouse from a foreign shore
‘Bring than one from behind iron curtain,’
Felt one from across the long secured door,
Deep and wide does divide decades of pain.
Here lingers a dislike, there disdain old,
What venom brethren nurse for each other!
An open war has turned into one cold,
Togetherness in search of fair tether!
‘Too hot’ for us these women from the West,
‘Hard to please, pushy, far too material,
‘Everything about them seems commercial,
‘From old world do we come and too modest’.
‘Too darn dense be these people from the East,
‘Lacking any a style whatsoever,
‘Forever on a bargain-hunting heist,
‘Let them savour their old odious flavour’.
Wall was felled to enable two-way flow,
Heads still finds it hard to communicate,
Bridges and trains, mutual dialogue to grow,
Yet, hard it is distanced hearts to placate.
Love and passion when at a premium come
In too short a period of years fifteen,
Old prejudices play a harder drum,
Not easy 'tis long-closed closets to clean.
World has its Kashmir, long-gulfed Koreas too,
And torn-apart people elsewhere a few,
A healer great, mighty teacher is time,
If not today, morrows may sing in rhyme.
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The Berlin Wall came down some 15 years back on 9th November1989. But the iron curtain continues to divide the two people that history separated. Only two per cent of marriages every year are between the East and the West Berliners, which under normal conditions should have brought together one-third to half of the couples in a city its size. Yet, they are 12 times more likely to marry foreigners. After the wall fell, there came the euphoria only to die soon. A lingering dislike persists between the two sides. Yet, in all fairness 15 years is too short a period to mitigate the wounds inflicted by 60 years of separation. Time, let us hope, will prove a great healer that it is.
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Happenings | 01.11.04 |
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O what ye have been doing here?
I’ve been watching my life pass by.
Just that and nothing else?
Why, is not it enough?
_________________
O man, ye just cannot afford to be
A mute pair of banks on meditation
Forever watching the river flow by,
Nor yet a stone getting grounded as sand,
Ye better watch this life of yours pass by
And try, be part of its perennial flow.
You’ve twenty-four hours a day and enough--
Nearly one and a half thousand moments,
Each with potential possibilities,
This life’s no distant goal, it’s here and now.
O never think that thy life’s joy lies far,
Far off ‘pon finishing a given deed,
But ponder, true joy and bliss lies right here
Wait not for that moment thy deed is done,
It is in the adventure of journey,
Not just in reaching the destination.
And yet, indulging in fancy dreams of
Destinations and thy goals duly scored,
Ye tend to forget very life to live,
Forget to give the due deserved by life.
Alas, we mankind has this bad habit
To turn all of the life unto habit,
To turn love unto mere relationship,
And that in turn unto material thing,
Thoughts go in grooves of habit to get lame,
We fancy giving our feelings a name,
And try to fit moments to timetable,
To put on life on to a much-paved way
Rather than make a newly carved walkway
Our own, turn vibrant life into habit.
But why oh why should a man be like this?
Perhaps, he tries to insure all the life
And make it secured sans any a strife,
And sleep sound, assured like Kumbhakarna
Unmindful, he makes life a commodity.
What he likes he postpones for all his life,
And goes on doing what he never likes…
Till one day comes his life’s late, late evening,
Not having ever stood oh face to face
With what’s his life. Full of regrets he dies.
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O Time, O Death, don’t ye scare,
In invincible thee,
Undefeated dwells me,
O ye better beware.
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Reflections |25.12.2024|Blank verse, life, time,
Pray, spare this man of a rare calibre,
Fine, let him prove how good he’s as singer.
Soon as Malhar was sung, rain cooled the breeze,
Leaves perked up to listen from nearby trees,
Beats of Mridang on own began to play,
Soon as Jal-Tarang joined musical fray,
Birds of feathers flocked in droves to listen,
The music silenced stray rattling gun.
Rain clouds curtailed their craving to thunder,
The moist soil released its fragrant wonder,
While rain cooled Nature was content to smile,
Silent so far, the birds now sang in style,
King Humayun’s mood turned from red to green,
With a reluctant smile that seemed nigh mean,
He set free seven thousand men he’d caught—
One thousand for octave’s each of the note.
Then ordered: in eighth note sing something new,
None present therein had any a clue,
Till today the music fraternity
Mused, and will till end of eternity….
The Eighth Note, can it be profound silence
Between melodies—music’s soul at once?
The Naad-Brahma, its echo eternal,
Sought by seekers from time immemorial!
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Musings |12.06.2023| silence, music
Poet’s note: The background: In 1611 AD a Moghul courtier called Sikander Bin Mohamad wrote a historical account, Mirat-e- Sikanderi. The episode of this poem pertains to emperor Humayun’s battle of Mandu where he defeated Gujarat’s sultan Bahaddur Shah. He butchered many soldiers along with other people of that kingdom. When it came to one called Mia Manzu, the court musician of some repute, many pleaded to spare him, he being a good musician. Humayun asked him to sing and prove his prowess. The poem begins from there.
Water flows from the silent dam
With a crying noise of joy to slam
The awaiting shouts of closed mouth
Skydiving eyes in prayers closed northsouth
The running around of hurray hurrying
Hot food feeds the cup holder
Up and down the street is the cardholder
To settle for true love and light
Having endure fear and pure fright
The pleasing moon that caused the day worrying
Nothing is so little to count on in life
Not simple, but not all strife
There is a point she breathes to die
That heart's beats really go awry
Making a twist seems unexpected
Weak cry and loyal smile give you voice
In motion never stable
Static not and ever brittle
But never got any a planned choice
Growing cute bites from urges recollected
As you pass from young to old
Embrace the love diced won in fold
Friends like family you shall adore
Before any of you is no more
Yes, memory alone will do the needful
Unity and conflict may beguile
Let frown and peace smile
To the fate hailing faith for test
Which could be for the best
Designing thy purpose-- beautiful
The hastening problem you can't stop
Must not by chance get to drop
To smuggle, steal or shatter
Persisting memory does matter
The one rolling eyes won't see
Each cycle, everyday does grow short
The gold ever more frail
Till the last one, do comport
The trying patience on the final rail
For easy sailing on the white troubling sea
Happy birthday to the one loving romance
That each and everyone got
In no real gothic second chance
The one anyone could quote
How time wanders not coming by
As you are naming what mattered
The glory of God will not be shattered
Grow forward forever to finding living
So interesting in all thy thanksgiving
Buying time to imparting before death says bye
Time was when apes stood up on twos,
Gained height to hail human-like hues.
Today, back to all four,
Backward to times of yore,
Calling it Quodrobics--
(Fancy calisthenics?),
Bored, man’s looking for an excuse--
Any a fancy trick
From blue to get a kick
To liven his dull life lived loose!
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Happenings |15.09.2025 | humour
Note: Quadrobics (calisthenics using all four limbs), a new-fangled revolution in fitness aiming to bring to fore the animal lying latent in human beings. A fresh new concept in exercise in which people copy animal like lifestyle-- walking, jumping on all the four limbs, even climbing trees bare-footed with no modern equipment. Wonder, what not a bored man would do to alleviate his tedium, monotony, and ennui of life!
I recall, to our life when she came—
In early nineties one unknown day,
Few did know for long years: who she was—
Her mission, and what she wished to do,
And someone called it an Info Age:
Internet, e-mails and e-media—
Some of them more social than are ants,
In tone and temper unfairly free—
And info-knowledge spread sans limit,
But in just two decades we feel drowned.
Overload of info, opinions:
Social sites tweeting, tubes, sundry sites,
Searching sites, kindling books, what not apps,
Bits and bytes gagging us over board!
An ocean of Info, every shade,
Informing less and confusing more,
Now telling, and contradicting then;
But time was we had next to nothing.
Bits, bytes, nor statistics info is,
Nor info knowledge is— never was.
News nigh fake, more of views than are news,
Far from truth, confuse more than give clues,
Verified by none but someone's whim,
Twenty four by seven, news and news!
Ignorance a maiden of pure bliss,
No one has questioned camouflaged views,
Neut media morphing unto sour dream,
Even views are now of varied hues—
Fruits of a fertile mind, partial pen,
Better was bliss of ignorant Zen!
Ere, soul of Info to inform was.
And inform it sure did without doubt,
Today it seems to drown us in doubt,
I doubt if the curious little bird,
Even if ravenous hungry is,
I f any a worm would ever catch!
Time was when info an asset was,
And people hungered for a bare byte.
From heaps of husk and shells, piles of chaff,
It is hard today to garner grain.
Maiden sure she’s no doubt, no more shy,
Like peels of onions she hides nigh!
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Happenings | 16.03.2017 |
Poet’s note: This piece is not a typical ode. It is nine syllabic three feet anapaest, and largely a blank verse.
Said diaries, said Google and Bing:
Rejoice, today’s the day of spring,
But city was in doubt,
Paved roads, not a green sprout,
Soilless bare, it can show nothing.
The streets’ tarred or cemented lands
Much like the desert’s parched up sands,
No blade of grass peeped out,
Spring failed to show its clout,
Sun cane and went as ever wends.
The glazed glass windows were all shut,
All of Nature outside to cut,
City folks oft as are,
Nature was left too far,
No one had any a clue, but
When someone asked potted flowers:
O did ye hear the day’s rumours?
Flowers of paper made
Naught had heard nor yet said,
And quiet left Spring in reverse.
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Happenings |26.01.2023| Rhyme, spring
Poet’s note: Two days back arrival of Spring (locally known as Vasanta Panchami) was announced by the Moon calendar. Spring, but there remained wintry chill. To make it worse there was an unseasonal shower and Sun hardly showed from behind clouds. Whispers were heard on Global Warming, that seasons have gone haywire, and all… Anyway, in cities seasons mean very little, and people come to know of them only because of calendars.
W eeping fills the hangar as his casket is brought out,
E mbraced by Old Glory's colors, a fitting soldier's shroud.
L oved one's hearts are shattered, future hopes, dreams are crushed;
C omrades in arms salute him, adding a bittersweet touch.
O verwhelming grief consumes those left behind,
M eaningless words, platitudes spoken to be kind.
E arnest tales of bravery told of him who died.
H eavy with emotion, a nation shares regrets,
O ffering condolences to those who won't forget.
M any a brave soldier has been welcomed home this way.
E nding future ventures, they've come home to stay.
Entered in Susan Burch's Little Viewed Jewels contest.
Let it be known and unknown
There were wings… there were horns
Neither Heaven nor Hell… simply home
For those engiven life without… bonds
It wasn’t bodies who entwines
It’s inhuman lust… it’s a forgotten hour
Where the sun is dark and the moon only shines
No longer the strength… only power
Defiance is the key to be absolute
No more is any a certified stranger
Angels and Demons of servitude
Forever belongs the hour of never
Yearnings and desires heighten
Despairs and sorrows forgotten
Reasons and aspiration distant
Every instinct… stolen
Life was never known
Demons and Angels wrought
Born to never a home
Its only dancing with the Gods