Long Leveller Poems
Long Leveller Poems. Below are the most popular long Leveller by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leveller poems by poem length and keyword.
Prolonged illness
Doctor forewarned
‘Might prove fatal’
Family was prepared
“When time comes
Royal send-off
Matching elite status
Grand plans
Cavalcade of cars
Who’s who of society
Wearing unblemished white
Engaged in
‘Animated’ discussions on ‘Death’
Everything better than
That death in Mr X’s family”
.........
Old man’s wish-
Visiting Varanasi
.........
Trip made
Thereafter
Events happened too quickly
Riots nearby,
Complete lawlessness,
Movement impossible
Old man breathed his last
Family got stuck
Cremation couldn’t endlessly wait
Simple funeral
‘Death in Varanasi
Soul goes straight to heaven,’
Priest remarks
Small consolation this
Reason-
Death may be 'The Great Leveller'
But,
All pomp & show of
‘Death- The Event’
Had gone missing.
Though the sun had begun bleeding in the West
With an explorer’s gait, I walked jumping over gutters
My track, flanked with knee high grass and nettles
Also, wild bushes of all kinds that grew in clusters
I saw dragon flies whirring around in circles
Their wings catching glints of the evening light,
As they buzzed from one blade of grass to the other
Giving a solitary soul benign company and sure delight.
Strange enough, my track ended in an open space,
Enclosed by cracked walls, now a forlorn territory.
There are raised mounds, overgrown with weeds,
I can easily make out that it is an ancient cemetery.
In these graves lie those under the cold embrace of death.
Their toil and trouble ended with life.
They must have been perhaps heroes of the land.
No more are they part of world’s victory or strife.
Nor its sad commemorations or triumphant jubilees
Though released from the shackles of oppression
Each dear presence has now become an absence
Here they lie anonymous, without a single possession.
Some graves are marked by head stones with crude grooves.
But most of them are nameless, worn out by time
We do not know how or when came their end
Did they die in old age or die in their prime.
Or perish in a battle or struck by some pestilence
However, their names are blotted out from life’s tome.
They have become inseparably one with the elements,
And they lie here motionless exuding a strange calm.
Generations pass and their progeny comes,
Unmindful of who lived before them
Neither thankful of the legacy left behind,
Nor thinking all the comforts, from their toil stem.
Oh Death, you are the mighty leveller of lives!
With your cold embrace, all differences are ironed out,
And here lies both the king and slave alike,
In silent sepulchres, with all earthly glory snubbed out!
Mahatma! Thou shall be living this hour
So do you understand the need of the hour.
We beckon a fiercest battle every year
So, come the troubles near
Divide the minds so dear.
Mahatma! Thou shall come alive with flesh and blood
Thou shall see the world much democratized!
A century of countries freed
A new nation is born every half a decade.
Not only of struggle and deed
From the clutches of the colonial throbbing
Exploitation of the reform Maneuvering
But of the creed that we swallowed
This was the time's demand.
And the freedom that has come has come
With all the elements that are troublesome.
Freedom was possible, if not achieved fully
Equality and equity are alluring, elusive.
Thine India forged ahead
Amidst a billion problems facing ahead.
While we salute Thee on 2nd October* and 30th January**.
We never forget the Last, who you loved unto the last,
Who in realism lost the very gene of life.
We never forget him.
We strive to keep him till the last.
So, the need would arise to serve him.
As we 'celebrate' Martyr's Day
Amidst us are there your killers.
What a realization paying homage to Thee
As their ideology changed along with time
Now for them, you are a son, not the father of the land.
As you came late to their land
Thousands of years after Buddha.
You are fortunate to die a blissful death.
Not to witness your land
In the hands of the 'modern builders' of the nation
And the new ideologues
Like the camouflaged foxes among the goats.
"You would not have died a more glorious death than this"
Said a philosopher of philosophers.
While you glorified Death and sanctified the Leveller
We glorified ourselves to power.
Mahatma! Thou shall be living this hour
Or we shall be dying!
Had you not taught us the means to fight
We would have got our freedom from the colonial power
But not from bloodshed, hatred, bias
Where fathers bury their sons
Mother witness their daughter’s modesty robbed.
Mahatma! Thou shall be living this hour
Or, we shall be dying!
* Gandhi’s Birth Date
** Gandhi’s Martyrdom day
Some suffering does not aspire to the Buddha’s kind
When the pound shop closes which is an ominous sign
Thanks God the jewellers continue to open their doors
Angry unwashed masses are difficult enough to restrain
But the bored wealthy masters might spark a revolution
If their well-deserved tastes were deprived of some spark
Class divide remains the beautiful face of glitzy diversity
Yet the danger is looming right behind a deviant facade
The great leveller has arrived in waves of moribund joy
Corona the crown of infection threatens the status quo
Does not discriminate too much about measures of wealth
Still when cast in a grave marble shines brighter than wood
17th March 2020
If anyone’s reading this poem, your somewhere in my past
I’m in the future for these ‘right now' moments never last
But still this is your present, such is the way time flows
All relative to the observer, every day comes and goes
So what am I doing right now, as your reading my poem
Perhaps going down a grave, most likely you’ll never know
We share the same planet, occupying two different worlds
One is in our head, the other one continuously unfurls
No matter how life is perceived, were merely passing time
That second hand keeps ticking, whilst hours happily chime
Seasons come and go, putting another birthday in the bag
Our circadian clock slows down, toned faces inexorably sag
Oh time that great leveller, eventually catches up with us all
Greatest force of nature, indifferent to light speed, or a crawl
Who started the clock ticking, or is all just radioactive decay
Countdown has only one direction, sorry there’s no other way
So onwards and upwards, past the stratosphere we will go
Back to where it all started, about fourteen billion years ago
And then what happens, that’s what you really want to know
I’ll let you in on the secret, perhaps not, will only spoil the show
''T'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
06/11/21
CLEVER
One likes to think oneself as clever
Always ironic, and with a wry grin
Yet the great leveller is often poetry
As it sorts the wheat from the chaff
And rhyme and metre can be a faff
All is fair in love, war and creativity
Such that we must take it on the chin
And abandon our high seat forever
When that thought or image strikes
As cold logic succumbs to inspiration
Did the brain have a sporting chance
It doesn’t matter what may be true
As one grasps the irrelevance of I.Q
And respects taking an emotive stance
Free verse has a sort of perturbation
Resonant with what someone likes
So, cleverness was never an absolute
And courage is needed to just let go
Some final tweaks and edits may work
After all the arrows have been loosed
The one in the target is the mot juste
Yet off to one side, other words lurk
It’s what you think not what you know
And claims of genius one must refute
Placed third in :
Any Topic Any Form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
Death the Leveller
Icy are the palms of your hands,
You know neither enemies, nor friends,
You are the callous leveller
Of every living traveller.
Whether humble vassals or kings,
Whether abbots or emperors
All yield at the fence of your ring
All bow to your fearful terror.
You respect neither caste, nor creed,
You respect neither wealth, nor rank,
You respect neither age nor deed,
Everyone you pinch in his flank.
You proclaim yourself as victor
And as your kingdom`s emperor,
You roll terror on mortal`s mind
As you bring bodies to a grind.
But can you level a man`s soul
That is immortal, invisible,
Spirited and immutable
And aims to reach the Divine Whole!
This game of golf as is this life,
Played all life, perfect still can't be,
Ever reminding of one’s wife,
Put on pedestal, upon tee,
Handicaps, roughs, bogies stay rife,
And played as if on edge of knife!
Easy to start, hard to finish,
And harder ever to master,
Followed like an unfulfilled wish,
Always one stroke from disaster,
As in life, handicaps bridge gap,
Eagles two, birdies claim one clap.
What rage be this game every age,
As many highs as there be lows,
A game ever on players grows,
Ageless be this sport in image—
To my liking a bit high brow,
Pricey clubs, carts, caddies in tow.
And if ye think you the ball drive,
Beware of game that drives you naïve,
This game of greens, good to relax,
Greener still goes envied player,
And greatest of a leveller,
Pro or novice likes it like sex.
_____________________________________________
Reflections | 01.10.04 |
He said, it’s futile fighting raging fires
With weak resolves that may tend to stoke it,
I’d much rather go with my heart’s desires,
So spare for future your wisdom’s tool kit
And loosen up to enjoy passion's heat,
Bask in desires’ warm glow, never retreat.
Beware, warm passion often heat acquires,
She posed, to know it is what this life is.
Why? Enough to know fair from foul desires--
The fair ones feel much like a pleasant breeze,
Whilst raging fires are whirlwinds, far from joy.
Fair, fanciful, desires are leads of life,
Let’s be a child engrossed in her new toy,
Yea, toys each to each be husband and wife.
_______________________________
Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) | 06.04.2005 |desire, fire, life
Note: Here is a dialogue between two newly married. It begins with philosophy, but as the moments warm up in passion, they tend to forget all arguments to come close to agreement. A conjugal bed is a great leveller where all differences tend to even out.