"Mein Kampf" held the clue for you and Europe
You hoped Hitler would destroy Soviet Russia, then itself
Game Theory, realpolitik, so-called political scientists say, "realism"
O how many ways we refused to help Jews - US refused refugees till 1941!
Don't hate me: these are facts of history. All Gandhi & King ask: change!
NOTE: By 1939 Mein Kampf sold over 5.2 million copies and was translated into 11 languages. Think again if you assume some of these languages were Arabic and Zulu, Sanskrit and Chinese. Hitler was in prison in 1925 for attempted putsch against the government in Bavaria, but served 9 months of his 5 year term, during which he began dictating Mein Kamof to Rudolph Hess, fellow "nazi."
Love is a kind of madness and, as such,
can sometimes hoist its victims to strange heights.
Though love may cause a fever where it bites,
this time the troops have quelled the pending putsch.
I ask your pardon for our magic nights,
those rhymes I wrote you, crackling with emotion:
you'll overlook, I hope, my fierce devotion,
and my defending you with all my might.
I'm sorry. It will not occur again.
A broken heart brings wisdom in its wake:
I gladly drank the hemlock for your sake:
I let your prettiness, your sharp disdain
intoxicate me like your smell, your touch.
Forgive me, please, for loving you too much.
A rapt moon was listening
a tale of two murders.
Across the caste, fingernails
were digging in to give –
a putsch to darkness, unhappened
in vain.
A word tears into the untouched
pain and I bleed for the golden birds.
Can you transcend an apparition
alighting on impermanence ?
Time was brewing
a revolution of untold jokes.
Death moves in a circle
to negotiate peace with unknown.
Skies were indifferent bidding
farewell to cracks of dawn.
Satish Verma
After the putsch, through night he set himself alight
ensnared in flames of societal conflicts, for a
vision of tomorrow, in the birth of a bloody dawn.
The drone of history had failed on a loaded salt.
A solitary murder of truth was sufficient to unsettle
me for a downturn of unborn wounds of drowned
voice, of a requiem. The dead were coming back to life
in dark alleys of black skulls. The pink scarves
were still holding the snow flakes of standing
wheat for the thirsty children, of grieving mothers
who lost the homes to red hands, the white paper,
the hungry guns. The thieves were coming again.
I was never naked in my blood, my howling bones.
SATISH VERMA
After the putsch, through night he set himself alight
ensnared in flames of societal conflicts, for a
vision of tomorrow, in the birth of a bloody dawn.
The drone of history had failed on a loaded salt.
A solitary murder of truth was sufficient to unsettle
me for a downturn of unborn wounds of drowned
voice, of a requiem. The dead were coming back to life
in dark alleys of black skulls. The pink scarves
were still holding the snow flakes of standing
wheat for the thirsty children, of grieving mothers
who lost the homes to red hands, the white paper,
the hungry guns. The thieves were coming again.
I was never naked in my blood, my howling bones.
SATISH VERMA
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