Long Indian Poems
Long Indian Poems. Below are the most popular long Indian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Indian poems by poem length and keyword.
Indian culture
We start with namaste always
We give respect to everyone
We run behind our Elder's in
a family may be they are arrogant
for there values
We run to create a new trend of
Democratic mark
World is moving towards to catch
the new flavour in country with their
Growth
Inventors inventing from last decades
Designers are working with new stage
Of projects
Actors playing new stories & tails of future
Of world
But why Indian culture is only eating
Old Prasad with the think of new
Indian has to be proud always because
They are unique with old emotional
taste
The End always with self value
And satisfaction
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
Mostly they are good memories, up early in the morning
and heading to the foothill’s lakes and streams.
I’d fish near the car, while he'd go further off
coming back with a basket full of trout.
One time at the Kananaskis beaver ponds,
he came back early because he’d lost his
glasses when he’d disturbed a beehive.
When we went back to look for them,
the bees were still mad and we had to run
but never found his glasses. Another time,
I played peek-a-boo with a young otter and
neither of us fished. Then we’d head back,
often stopping at the Cremona Hotel, where
he’d buy get me a soda pop and chocolate bar
and I’d wait in the car, while he went inside
for a beer before driving home.
A few years later, I had my own waders and
the Zebco reel, I’d saved months for.
I would fish upstream, while he’d walk downstream
before turning upstream to fish, catching up with me
in a couple hours, always with more and bigger fish.
Once on the Fallen Timber, he met me on a deep pool where
I’d raised a big brook trout and we spent about ten minutes
teasing that fish to no avail and again I ended up
waiting outside the Cremona Hotel.
A year or two later, a glorious Indian Summer day
I headed upstream as usual and caught some good trout.
Around dusk, Dad hadn’t joined me, so I hiked up to
the road and walked back towards the car,
to meet him driving up the road and this time,
I had more and bigger fish. Nothing was said but
we didn’t stop that night at the Cremona Hotel.
Seduce Me!
It is enough my darling
Blood and stains are everywhere
My present memories are too bitter
Seduce me to forget all these litters
I feel bad here to stay for a long
None is here to heal other's pains
Jungle lives are laughing and smiling
On other's wounds and tears
How can I be here for a long?
Seduce me dear to dream the land of paradise
Where the good hearted people felt for others?
Where there is no tears?
Where I can hear only the sounds of happy and glee
Seduce me dear to go over there to stay
Your eyes and signs of face can do
They keep me in heaven forever
Your love and affection is enough
They keep me young forever
Your honey spreading words are enough
They keep me as an angel in this land
Can you seduce me dear?
I want to live as a man at least here
SAKTHI RAVICHANDRAN AN INDIAN ENGLISH POET
Eastern Algonquian
Native American tribe
An Indian of Indians
As history scribes
This Muhhekunneuw
People of the river
In the tribes around them
In terror shiver
Hudson river warriors
Another tribe chased from their homes
Hounded by horrors
Government clones
A few hundred years later
Its really hard to believe
This warrior tribes
Language in cease
To die with the others
Its their history that's lost
No intelligence to preserve it
Not the white man's cost
Wisconsin settled
With the Munsee
In 200 years time
They'll be here, you'll see
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
Come feel the pulsing, exotic
sounds, reverberating upon
those distant shores
where loud voices wail
without restraint
shouting staccato cries
with utter abandonment.
How solemn are the pounding
drums, with heavy hands beating
haunting, hypnotic rhythms.
A ceremonial crowd of mourners
follow the well trodden pathway
leading to makeshift sailboats
made with sails of flour sacks
sewn together, then tied
to wooden tree masts.
A dirge of death passes by
weighed down in its weary task
while a swath of fiery clouds
splash boldly across
a golden sunset, hovering
over the Indian Ocean.
See the light, cotton robes
wrapped loosely around the
darkly tanned, young men
rippling gently in the breeze
as they carry the deceased
above and away, into the sea.
A solemn ritual, a cultural divide
separated by a hemisphere
of oceans and sky.
Written on 6/19/2018
Salutations to Tiranga (Indian National Flag)
Mother India was freed from the British shackles...
To tyranny we bid adieu, new freedom welcomed!
'Tiranga' with due honour, replaced the 'Union jack'
Fluttered in the blue sky in the glory of victory!
Orchestra of happy moods had finally arrived,
Calling for celebrations with full pomp and joy!
Our National Anthem sung and Trumphets blown
All Indians joined festivity forgetting all woes!
Adding wings to this happiness,the Tricolour fluttered!!
Breeze of bloodbath and fetters all disappeared
Flew with resplendence this khadi splendour!
Three stripes horizontal with a central wheel
Top is the saffron for selflessness and valour,
Also marks vibrant hue of Ego absolution!
White in the middle stands for peace and purity
Also Knowledge and honesty attribute to it
The dark green in the third stripe is for faith and fertility,
Happiness and prosperity for a greener globe!
The wheel of dharma adopted from the Lion capital,
That once sung heroism of Asoka, the Emperor!
In navy blue is this wheel placed in the centre,
Progress it represents with spokes twenty-four
Ignites a spark of deep patriotism as it flutters
Wrapped around cadaver of the martyrs of this mother
Glory to Tiranga, Glory to the Nation,
World's largest democracy salutes this symbol
Let our flag soar high and keep our spirits boosted
Long live Tiranga till the sky is above!
For the contest: The State/ Country Flag - sponsored by: Judy Konos
By: Anulaxmi Nayak,
Country: India
Flag: TIRANGA - Indian National Flag
date: 08/08/2015
THEME: Salutations and admiration to our national symbol!
A Blustery Autumn Day
Mischievous bursts of autumn’s laughter
Pulls down the last of the season’s bright artistry
Carried away on blustery gusts,
Weaving a tapestry of autumn’s magic
In tiny whirlwinds of yellow, orange and umber –
Floating like capricious ghosts into hazy skies
Waiting for the rains -
Then chasing jubilees of color into dry puddles of drifting leaves,
Like flying cartwheels,
Scattering,
Then gathering in again,
And just for fun
Lifting fringes of woolen mufflers, warding off the chill,
Taking aim at woolen hats with rowdy gusts
Delighting in their tumbling down broad sidewalks,
Crowded with bright leaves,
In pirouettes,
Spinning kaleidoscopes in shades of whimsy,
Careening down the lanes or bustling avenues,
Catching breath again to huff and puff,
Blowing in erratic tempest tarantellas,
And giggle
Watching footballs taking errant paths,
Tickling summered tree limbs exposed,
No cover for their naked branches,
With passing gales of glee,
Resounding with the call of cornucopia’s horn
To gather in the Indian corn, pumpkins and ripe wheat
Before the coming days of icy storms
Blow hard with unrelenting icy currents
In winter squalls returning.
FROM A FUNERAL
================
A sudden call from my native town carrying
a message of my friend’s death
We were the close mates of our town
in school,streets and in play grounds
For our bread, we went to east and west
After our meeting at his marriage in my town
another meeting is at the graveyard in his funeral
His face turned to black and dry
I asked my mind, Why?
It replied to me
cause of his expectation of my arrival at his last bed
My disappointment may made his face
as black and dry
I n his last bed he may desire to see my face at least
I paid my homage and wept for my loss
SAKTHIRAVICHANDRAN AN INDIAN ENGLISH POET
The American Indians have a story to tell
and a way of life that history knows so well.
For many years, the great tribes stretched across the land.
Raising their families from nature’s own hand.
They built their homes in the mountains, deserts and plains.
Planted their crops and hunted the wild game.
They used the land as a way to survive,
Built their homes from the buffalo’s hide.
There were many things about them that seemed so strange,
A different way of life before the white man came.
And when they fought a battle that would take a war to win,
They were put on reservations and lost their hunting land.
The white eyes gave them food and built them a home,
Took away their honor, as they tossed them a bone.
As the years pass, we love to think back to the day,
And paint our picture in the color of the Indian way.
For the silence of a village sitting on the banks of a stream.
Could there be a prettier picture of the American Dream?
Not really a big number. less than half the number
of pennnies needed to buy a Big Mac without fries.
But uncovering the remains of 215 children at
the Kamloops Indian Residential School, run by
the Catholic Oblates of Mary Immaculate Order
staggered my mind. Then I realized this was one of
hundreds of schools, and when you do the math,
thousands of children have died under our “care.”
Forget the fries, much more than an apology is needed
https://www.theglobeandmail.com/canada/british-columbia/article-western-canada-the-importance-of-a-residential-schools-paper-trail/?cmpid=rss&utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=twitter