When the dead become insane
The tramps the down, the ill-arranged
The junkies burning over flames
The fools who couldn’t be renamed
Where do they go to shoot the light
Eat the bread
Kill the night
The times are changing
Tells you on every wall
Don’t expect to be caught
When you jump, get pushed, or fall
The tickets gone my friend
Like the train that didn’t depart
Start queuing up for the next life
Can the hospital have your heart
You’ll have to be quick my friend
The man on the bridge has got a head start.
Some say there are aliens living on the frontiers of space
Who've traveled beyond the boundaries of the known universe
Gotten very near the gates of heaven, spoken face to face
With God in their extraordinary tongue, engaged in commerce
Potentially, of course, since we've not met either of the two
Taking extreme care associating for better or worse
With these alien beings from afar, lest they run us through.
But we have lots of dealings with God, who created it all,
Swearing by all that's holy we give the Almighty his due
Still, somewhere from the reaches of our minds we often recall
The possibility these strange aliens we talk about
Are queuing up on the right side, are standing near heaven's hall
If that is the case, perhaps, we are flirting with harmful doubt
We should expend more effort getting to know those with the clout.
Written April 25, 2021
Soft,gentle and sweet all day,
You make me always want to pray,
For taught like yours no one can pay,
You are nothing but my Cauliflower.
Everybody queuing up to see your face,
But i will never let them touch you with their hands full of lace,
For taught of you makes me want to dance,
You are indeed my Cauliflower.
You are mingling in my taught,
People tried but you cannot be caught,
For a heart like yours cannot be bought,
You are my treasured Cauliflower.
A heart like yours all covered with affection,
Not even a bad seed of rejection,
For those who envy would be struck with an injection,
My darling Cauliflower.
You are welcome to tour my heart,
But beware you won't find anything but your art,
I have done my part,
Nothing can change because you are my Cauliflower.
Smiles of my Cauliflower kill,
Height of my Cauliflower like a hill,
Let me keep calm and stay still,
For no one can replace my Cauliflower.
MY CAULIFLOWER
GHETTO LIFE
I'm just a black guy trying to survive
I hustle hard, just for me to live
I was born and bred in the ghetto,
And the only place I could earn money is not only at the lotto
I was feeling like I was walking in a circle
Everywhere I go I see the struggle
On the street human life is like a bubble
But I always learn how to stay out of trouble
So i decided to get on my feet,
Leaving the ghetto life style and walk through the street
Just for me to seek a good Job
Cos my life style is not to steal or rob
Poverty has always been my best friend,
I keep on running the race to put poverty to an end
I still remain that single guy who live in pains,
My pains made me stronger, so I never complain
The ghetto life is real, it's a viable lesson to learn,
It got people living on the edge, queuing up for their turn,
All my life spent in the ghetto at my youthful age,
With determination to excel in life, I never tarnish my image ..
#PricelessPEN
DECEMBER, 2017
Walking down the isle
I see stars of gold
Blinking with purity
The fall straight from the sky,
Bird sings of you
Men prays with you,
Queuing up expectations
Ready to possess my possession,
Crazy stories of falling stars
My lip tells sweet tales.
Looking beyond the clouds
I see stars of gold,
Perfect than a comet
Falling straight to our heart,
Older than it’s galaxy
But gold in making,
Silver in ransom
Costless as the air,
Even diamond kings calls him
My creator my stars of gold
In the parking lot of the DMV
I watch the privileged
and the not so,
come and go.
They come in "Beemers"
and rattle clank clunkers,
desperate to join,
or rejoin,
the lemming like hordes
of autos.
So it goes from 8 to 5,
tentative migrants and
confident suits
queuing up,
checking and rechecking
their papers, hoping
that one visit is all that it will take.
Some mouths are mouthing,
practicing their excuses,
as to why they were late,
or need more time,
addressed to bored clerks,
who have heard it all
before.
All are reduced to a
singular oneness,
begging for a privilege,
without which they feel
they will starve.
For which they give up their life
in ways they can't account for
Tyson the Cat.
There was a cat, some years ago,
who liked to stand his ground.
Terriers, poodles, mongrels,
He'd fight that type of hound.
I'd watch as dogs raced up to him,
barking fit to bust,
he'd just turn to face them with a snarl,
and they stopped, a bit nonplussed.
This was not expected,
not part of their plan.
cats were supposed to run away
not act like a hard man.
The ones who still went forward,
he'd attack with tooth and claw,
and pretty soon the one who ran
was a canine on withdraw.
The word spread far, and travelled wide
a legend he became.
A cat that fought the enemy,
should be in the hall of fame.
But with all such notoriety,
there is a price to pay,
and soon the dogs were queuing up,
eager for the fray.
They came from far and near
to test this feline superman,
and to see what he was made of
was the overriding plan.
I lined them up and weighed them in
as someone had to do,
they each would go three rounds with him
and then they would be through.
They all tried hard to beat that cat,
in a fair and fearsome fight.
But they all failed as I knew they would,
He was solid Kryptonite.
Let’s take the bold step and queue in courage
with the hope we will all smile again.
The law frowns when mandates are joked with
and rights subjected to a deep sleep
depriving the nation of its precious needs
to create the first out of a chain of crimes
even before the clarity of a new administration is established.
Courting the people with such sophistication
should lead to satisfaction in rendering of services
but until after being a litmus test to our patriotism’s fragility.
This poetry was written on a pink rose.
Love - stretches out in Pink,
Bees - queuing up for honey;
Follows Human Greed.
(C) Anindya Mohan Tagore (Bobby)
Being a non meat eater
I'll never eat a spam fritter again,
So why is the special offer on the counter so inviting?
Am I back at school again?
Queuing up for dinner
And hoping for something nice.
No menus then,
Probably just as well,
And the fritters are there
With baked beans and chips,
Treacle tart and custard for afters.
So I'm in the queue
Feeling dippy in the chippy,
Longing for something
I can't really have.
Veggie Spam anyone?
Didn't think so.
Ink wells drying out,books march to their graves.
Stationary evolving like cavemen in caves.
Bibles on websites,there's no longer books of prayer.
Electronic revolution's just too much to bear.
Handwritten letters,that were sealed with a kiss.
Signing your name on your wedding day bliss.
Calligraphers tools now lying in museums.
Curious children queuing up to see them.
Blackboards rejected,cut and pasted to the past.
Fountain pens and pencils will be joining them fast.
Our futuristic man will no longer write.
Pen and paper passing him like ships in the night.
No more joyous moment, when a child writes her name.
With lap-tops and e mails the letters look the same.
When these things will happen,i just cannot say when.
I think mankinds losing the power of the pen.
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