What have we done to our blue skies what have we done to our land
neglectful beings that we are we abused the works of His doting hand
What made us think that we were Kings in a Kingdom not quite ours
with Mother Nature maimed we're paupers, living on counted hours
Categories:
paupers, analogy, natural disasters, nature,
Form: Rhyme
While I'm not so sure
I would go so far
as to exchange our WhiteHouse Prince
with our homeless shelter Paupers,
I would support
a matriarchal unlobbied petition
that our WhiteHouse Prince
could best reside in nearby resonant shelters
where he will find all the advisers
and secretaries
and counselors
he may need,
and more,
about what not to do
to further offend
those who could never afford
even a part-time lobbyist,
much less an ecopolitical therapist.
A Prince among Paupers
is what I patriotically seek
to relearn by listening
to Mother Earth's hard cooperative lessons
in what is a cultural climate of and for health
and what are failing economic landscapes of pathology,
disinvestment away from well-sheltered regenerativity.
Categories:
paupers, health, humanity, humor, integrity,
Form: Political Verse
Verily I say unto thee,
The subjects of kings are not free.
They answer to all the king’s court.
Submitting a yearly report.
If rulers own part of thy time,
With a tax on every dime,
Then thy freedom and liberty
Is a fallacious fantasy!
Canst thou even speak to thy kings?
Nay! Thou must speak to underlings!
Not to bishops, but to friars.
Not to knights, but only squires.
Thou art the pawns upon the board,
The playthings of the royal ward,
The cattle that fill their coffers,
Begging the crumbs their king offers.
Thou art the sons of slavery,
And the daughters of apathy.
And those who fought with bravery,
Must yield to thy complacency!
It is better to fight and die,
Than let fear cause thee to comply
With those who wouldst make thee their slave,
‘Til ye rest in thy pauper’s grave.
Categories:
paupers, life, political, society,
Form: Rhyme
You name it ‘the city of dreams’, I m alien to this city
Such an enigmatic crowd, paupers full of versatility
This isn’t an account on beggars, I m not here to preach
Just amazed how varied ways of begging are adopted by each
Some pinch their infants and make those innocent souls weep
Some victim to physical violence, those wounds so deep
With messed up hair, gloomy look and a torn soiled sari
She would skillfully mint money from every new Ferrari
Some charming kids dancing on the beats of hit Bollywood numbers
Some play instruments listening to which every mind slumbers
Some holy angels shower their blessings on you
Some question your humanity, humans are left so few
And paupers like you and me, fall prey to their plead
Lending just a rupee, to our poverty that won’t lead
With these poor sentiments, we paupers are born
A rupee leads to another and the show goes on…
Categories:
paupers, satire,
Form: Rhyme