Welcome to my anti-country
It’s right here, before your eyes
Let me warn you at the entry
It’s not quite a paradise
Doesn’t matter where you came from
I won’t judge you by ID
You don’t fill some fiddly form
The admission’s visa free
Here’s some music for your pleasure
And some other music too
Maybe you will find a treasure
That I’m keeping here for you
See the pictures on the walls
Mostly English countryside
Rural mansions with big halls
Gardens, seashores at low tide
Sayings of the wise, though not
Utter wise by current standards
There are paintings, quite a lot
Paintings section is expanded
There are very special places
Tables under shady trees
Lots of roses, and some pansies
And forget-me-nots you’ll see
If you’d like to pay a visit
I am happy to inform
You are safe each time you’re in it
Anti-country is my home.
Unriddle this riddle before me
questions thrown helter skelter in the air
~ making an omelet from the medley
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
So be there
SO BE THERE
TO KNOW MY LOVE FOR YOU AT THE LAST SUNSET
TO KNOW YOUR HEART AND GUT FEELINGS FOR THEY RIDE TOGETHER FOR CARNIVALS OFFEN
MAYBE STILL CONFUSED ABOUT OUR LOVE
WHICH ROLLS MORE THAN THE WHEELS RIDES ON MY NEARBY CHILDREN PLAYGROUND
SO BE THERE FOR MORE OR NO MORE OF US
WELL THAT WOULD DO .......
Those
days are gone
When anything makes
You Angry or sad ,stressed
You just cry
If quantum mechanics were understood,
and black hole singularities, space-time,
and gravity's well swallowed in a flood,
would bend to genius effort of this rhyme,
instead, might solve a wicked delusion:
that I am Center of the Universe.
If the Bell Curve, for IQ, ends confusion,
then my so-called “godhood” status, a curse,
permits the information paradox,
a test, to irradiate my manic strain,
turning Schrödinger's Cat into a fox,
collapsing my wave-function to Planck domain.
What now remains, is for me to theorize:
will this strange rhyme win me a Nobel Prize?
Bring t’me seed of darkness special,
I’ll from dawn, of brightness special.
Thoughts crowd the mind dressed as special,
Some more so, some are less special.
What to wear, what not’s worth weighing,
In merit, one’s dress is special.
In today’s times of power and puff,
No less is one’s address special.
Bring to me a man bogged with blame,
Confess he’ll, goodness is special.
___________________________
Ghazal |03.09.2025| dress, bless, goodness, riddle
Why are we born why do we die
Why do we laugh Why do we cry
Why don't we stay young
Why do we have to grow old
Why must we love someone
Why must we hate
Why do we believe that death
Is our fate.
Why do we question everything
We are told
Why do we still feel young
When we are old
Why do we need the company
Of others
Why didn't we listen to our fathers
And mothers
Why do we hurt the ones we love
Why we believe in God up above
Why is the question the answers
I don't know
Why don't you try to explain the things
I have asked why don't you give it a go
If it is written, so be it,
but who'll admit
to writing what was writ
when the fan is hit?
And, if, having inscribed,
the finger does proceed,
whose digit was it
when the words were decreed?
Yet, carved in stone,
or etched on glass,
who'll confess to pouring such concrete
when it comes to pass?
Everybody
wants to go
to Heaven
(but)
Nobody
wants
to die
Everybody
want to change
the truth
(but)
Nobody
wants
to lie
Everybody
wants to bend
the law
(but)
Nobody
wants
to get caught
Everybody
wants to fall
in love
(but)
Nobody
wants
— pain and loss
(The New Room: August, 2025)
Tight about the past—
transparent glass panes,
stained and cracked
by crooked, wicked lies.
Sacred are these settled energies.
They muddle about,
never lifting their feet.
I mean higher than the next—
higher than anything else.
Tether thyself to greatness.
Witness its greatness,
or keep thinking
in the same tones you speak in.
There is no treatment—
only the fight
against debilitating sickness.
You hold it together
with shoestring,
scotch tape,
and wink-less nights
working alongside the sabbath,
long past first light.
Long double-shift shiftiness
into the only off day.
No longer tis old boulder—
a new obstacle
has been waiting for me.
I urgently need
the percentile damage increase.
If my awakened visions
lie in legitimacy,
or if they’re just
daydreams re-sold—
Sandman’s regift,
passed down,
along beside me,
and made well past due.
What use is standing upon
business if it’s business
encroaching on you?
It’s not impossible—
but the benefit
must be mine
before I just give it to you.
What gave me away?
Was it my sway?
Or my long limber limbs
Like glasses with broken rims?
Oh sure, wind has its way with me,
But broken or uprooted, I’ll never be.
Neither short, not tall, could be my description.
My strength and elasticity, a better depiction.
Cry me a river is your first hint,
And for a second; I’m easily bent.
Not a flower, or a bush, but green if you please.
In a botanical listing, I’m found under trees.
What I am, I will proudly bellow.
I’m known to most as a weeping willow.
This may seem lame.
Let’s make it a game.
I’ll give you a clue.
You try to guess who.
Proceeding my entrance by just a short while,
Is often the presence or hint of a smile.
Used sometimes by women, more often by men,
Often, I start as a quaint little grin.
I can also be hardy, and sometimes quite loud,
And often I’m present amongst a small crowd.
If it is me, you want to invoke,
Share with the group, a funny joke.
If you want to seem happy from now ever after,
Invite me in, I’m best known as laughter.
The notion of performance
Isn't the trait of nature
The notion of performance
Doesn't belong to nature
What differs machine and science
We will find out with no razor
The notion of performance
Isn't the trait of nature
Logic and sense reforming
We do understand the danger
The sharp edge with minimal factors
Encompass does not complexities
Black or the white your judgement
Versus makes truth your unethical
What for do I need your zeroes
What for do I need the ones
Computer and I play Osiris
Repair your imbecile stance
Is their job MY computer
Shall we to cook the cook
Removing associations
Will we be using spook
Bark my friend with tail at cars
They don't care about us
Veterinary cloud choose you
Or adopt the pet
Drink water from the bottle
I will produce the set
Milk fat
If all goes well
airlines will sell
seats by the pound
the less you weigh
the less you pay
to fly the world around
and yet
if a commercial Russian airliner jet
unfortunately
crashed into the sea
would there be
Aeroflotsam on the ocean
fragmented and floating free?
It's a riddle
inside a mystery
wrapped in an enema
from 1939 Soviet Union history.
Specific Types of Riddle Poems
Definition | What is Riddle in Poetry?