Long India Poems
Long India Poems. Below are the most popular long India by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long India poems by poem length and keyword.
Nepal
Nepal I know little of this country, nestling
Among colossal mountains
It used to be a kingdom, but the king was so
Autocratic that he lost the job.
Later on, I have this from memory, one of the princes
Shot the royal family as they were sitting down for tea.
This didn`t help him to become a king,
I think he is a monk now and is fed by the poor.
Nepal is also a place where Pakistan and India sometimes
Shot at each other when not freezing to death
At high altitudes in summer uniforms
A recent earthquake brought Nepal to the news for a day
They have been promised help to rebuild Kathmandu
As usual in such cases, the money gets siphoned off and
little
Reach the people of Nepal.
To whom who cares, Nepal is also the birthplace of Buddhism.
A pink whistle, a shrill siren, a spilled bottle of ink,
Vibrant India, the blue stuff, silver spilled in the sink,
I never know what kinds of amazing things will come through.
What will my assertive muse in charge of me make me do?
Will it be faeries today? Or cinnamon rolls? A garden missive?
A bumble bee rose clocker-shocker, will it be something priss-ive?
I have to sit at my keyboard, and punch some keys, trying not to shout.
My take-charge muse is the only one of us who knows what is going to come out.
Are we silly? Mad? Mean? What is the Caren-Trixie mood of the day?
Do we need glitter and glue? Are we going to dance? Are we going to play?
Will it be poetry, or a drawing, will I paint a mural or perhaps a cartoon?
Will we be traveling to Egypt or Zimbabwe or to the Baboon’s famed moon?
I am lying here, wondering, in my teeny tiny not-so-smart-yet head.
I guess the first step might be to roll out of bed.
A full moon
never amazes me
ever like before
Whenever I see it
thoughts of my dad
occupies my mind
And I couldn't embrace
cold rays
Instead heat waves
hit my face
A full moon
won't help me pen
verses like before
Cos, It was
On a guru poornima day
On a full moon night
2 years ago
My dad's soul merged with god
It was on July 5 2020 ( A full moon day and also guru poornima) and today is the full moon day of this month and also guru poornima)
Wikipedia:
Guru Purnima (Poornima) is a tradition dedicated to all the spiritual and academic Gurus, who are evolved or enlightened humans, ready to share their wisdom, based on Karma Yoga.[6] It is celebrated as a festival in India, Nepal and Bhutan by Hindus, Jains and Buddhists. This festival is traditionally observed to honour one's chosen spiritual teachers or leaders. It is observed on the Full Moon day (Purnima) in the Hindu month of Ashadha (June–July)
Cats and rats and rabbits and dogs are regarded as pets,
For us, in India, cows and buffalo are assets;
Seldom we witness, in villages, people dog-walking,
Or sleeping cats and young pigs in their beds or dove flocking;
Feeding even stray cats and dogs out of their very meal,
Has been part and parcel of our compos mentis love-deal...!
Though some religions and sects, here, worship cow as divine,
And build for them, just as for goddesses, many a shrine;
In day-to-day life these animals like poor urchins, roam,
To walk and sleep aimless like an orphan with no true home;
Meandering on roads; hit, kicked; for existence they strive,
As though birth is a curse, often, they struggle to survive...!
If we cannot keep them safe at home, could we call them pets?
Feeding them; curing illnesses; shouldn't we save them from frets?
Shouldn't cows and bulls have befitting sheds, as we have our homes?
Shouldn't, for their grazing and feeding, they have their lush green loams?
As none could imagine of leaving mothers on the streets,
Pets, beloved, should be cared for as though very heart beats...!!!
17 March 2023
Beloved Pets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
in North of India, in month of December,
around the warth of fire, we would all gather,
a bonfire of sticks lit outside in the open,
dancing of embers, in the year’s coldest season.
many families come for a get together,
well wrapped in wool that had been saved for the weather,
simmering aroma of home made dal Roti*,
food prepared and shared for the whole community!
past tales recounted, marriage alliance made,
experience and wisdom shared, future plans laid,
in that chilly winter in month of December,
the warmth of all that love is what I remember!
Written 24/11/2021
November or December Quatrain poetry contest
Caren Krutsinger sponsored
12 syllables each line
AABB rhyme sequence
* dal Roti - warm spicy aromatic lentil soup with freash flat bread made by hand near the fire.
No land or sea would ever be so vast
To prevent us, my dear brother, my caring sister,
From building the blessed by heavens bridge of peace and love
That humanity for centuries now yearns to construct
So as, after so many millennia of painful separation,
Able we to be, into each other's arms to throw!*
© Demetrios Trifiatis
05 January 2017
*Dedicated to the young girl, Niranjana, from India who recited my poem: " We Are Brothers II" in a school youth festival on peace where she won the first prize. This news item was published in today's newspaper "Deshabhimani" in the Malayalam language from Kerala. It says, "Between Demetrios and Niranjana there are several seas, continents, but only one sky."
Do I believe in humanity?
If you ask me, then "no".
And the reason doesn’t require an explanation.
It’s everywhere.
You only need to look... look with open eyes, open ears, and a mind willing to see.
Look at the world.
Actually look at it.
As a girl, I learned early that being human does not promise humane treatment.
We say women are human, yet the world treats them like exceptions...like objects, assigned roles, owned bodies.
At times it feels as if we are not seen as people at all,
only as things to control, to use, to shape according to convenience.
So I’ll ask again:
do you believe in humanity?
I won’t answer yet.
You can decide for yourself.
Set women aside for a moment.
Look at everything else.
Look at my country.
People without clean water.
Without education.
Without healthcare.
Without dignity.
Without a future.
And still, they are told to believe that our India is a Vishwaguru.
They are not demanding accountability from the government.
They are not demanding food, safety, or reform.
Because belief is easier than questioning.
Worship is easier than asking why nothing works.
I don’t even know what to write anymore.
Maybe exhaustion has replaced language.
So I’ll ask again:
do you believe in humanity?
People who have nothing are still willing to die
for prime ministers,
for religion,
for identities handed to them like cages.
They fight their friends.
They fight their families.
They bleed for men who will never know their names,
never feel their hunger,
never care whether they live or disappear.
They believe those men belong to them
because they share the same religion.
But the truth is simpler and harsher.
He does not care.
Not about faith.
Not about loyalty.
Not about suffering.
They are expendable.
Votes.
Noise.
Numbers.
So ask me again if I believe in humanity.
Ask me why people starve with folded hands.
Ask me why they defend power that would never defend them.
I won’t answer.
Because the world already has for anyone willing to look honestly.
Everyone knows the truth.
The real problem is this:
people refuse to accept it.
And living in delusion is far more dangerous
than facing reality.
The Memories of a Dancing Peacock
( Based on a true incident captured in my Camera )
I was in a mood to sing, and
The Peacock was in a mood to dance,
My singing came, while watching the beauty and
The beauty started unfolding its wings and charms,
As if the Peacock was listening the songs,
I was singing, silently in my mind.
Oh, what a joy it was to feel and share,
Those wonderful moments
I spent with that beautiful bird,
Who kept dancing and dancing,
Till the song continued in my mind silently.
You and I may not be dancing or living forever, O, bird,
But the image, which you have engraved on my mind and
The rhythms of that joy and pleasure,
Which you have left,
Would continue to generate always,
The music of silence and beauty in every mind.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 28th December 2011
NOTE:IMP. NOTE: The Memories of a Dancing Peacock
The Photo Poem cum Song is also on my Music Channel
"RavindraKK1" on U Tube. or you simply use this URL
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jlP6Pet7Bgc&context=C3f5772fADOEgsToPDskI2J3Pvz9Qq--9WGYI4adeJ
For my Videos Songs on My U Tube just write on Google "RavindraKK1
and go on U Tube Channel - RavindraKK1
http://www.youtube.com/user/RavindraKK1?feature=mhee
The Wish
I dream of sleeping in a bed of rose petals like an Indian potentate
who waits for his favourite concubine to come to join him in his bed?
I know I have to wait long till the petals are squashed and cling
to my body itch my bed will smell of degeneration.
I drive a motorbike across the Alps but can’t smell the edelweiss
for petrol fume; cows go on grazing unaware of my presence.
If I swim in the Ganges, it will be among the corpses floating down
to a heavenly ocean.
There is a temple in India dedicated to rats; I will go there, seek
a cure for my fears of vermin
Jasmine flowers are enchanting like virgins open up late at night
but I will not swap any of them for my sweet almond tree.
Seventy-eight
A number, a heartbeat, a nation's pulse
Freedom's rhythm, syncopated with time
Tricolour dreams billowing in the wind
Saffron courage, white truth, green hope
Ashoka's wheel-spinning tales of unity in diversity
From Kashmir's peaks to Kanyakumari's shores
Independence echoes
In the clamour of cities
In the quiet of villages
In the laughter of children who know no chains
1947 to now
A journey etched in sweat and stars
Gandhi's footsteps to freedom!
We've walked, we've run, we've soared
Progress flows like the Ganges
Carving new paths through ancient lands
In laboratories of innovation
In classrooms of aspiration
In fields ripe with promise
Yet mountains loom
Challenges whisper in the dark
But we are the children of revolutionaries
Our blood sings with the courage of generations
Tiranga
A flutter, a flame, a beacon
Seventy-eight years young
Free, fierce, forward-moving
In this moment
Between yesterday's struggles and tomorrow's dreams
We stand
We remember
We pledge
India
Not just a place, but a poem
Not just a country, but a constellation
Of hopes, of hearts, of histories intertwined
Seventy-eight years
And the story has only just begun
Happy Independence Day!