The Language of Home
Trying to memorize
the language of home,
I have become
a little blurred,
a little brown.
Loving home,
loving it too much,
I have become
a little impure,
a little torn.
I crawl,
indifferent,
trying to swallow
my own breath,
having learned
to ask for permission
even to breathe.
I now call
the Supreme Soul
Coca-Cola.
At the touch
of Coca-Cola's branch,
the sun-scorched crow
has flown away,
towards
the land of the displaced.
Shoe-polish,
Shree-polish,
heart-polish,
all smeared together,
I have chosen
not to become
the youngest,
the devoted,
or the devout,
but instead,
from the earthen pots and pans
of the Rig Veda and the sick-leaves,
from the intimacy
of the examination hall,
I have chosen
to uproot
myself.
The moment your feet lose their grip
On the boulders which uproot life
Remember I'm only conversations away.
The back of your mind is my quartz-filled palace
Alone, with nobody else to critique
You are the canvas which I want to make perfect.
Harshly, I'm sure, but isn't it loving?
To push you until your fingers fracture
And leave you longing for recognition?
Anxiety is my name, but it sounds too formal
Just call me the footnote man of your thoughts
I'm here to dissect everything like a science project
Carress my chin whenever you feel you are lonely
Sure, it's your fault, but I'll keep you company
But here I am, machine of your success
Before a word is spoken
Before that seed is even broken
Let me bow to the untroubled maker of the heart
The keeper of what is hidden like a thought
Oh teach me to speak not from the noise but from knowing
Not tripped in anger but understanding
So let these words not wander without a root
Of anchored truth which no time can uproot
I speak of what already exists and not merely mine
He is the witness to the laws that governs the unseen
He knows why love builds what hatred breaks
And what we carry within becomes what we create
Heed to this voice with insight and clarity
that the heart is the garden I speak of
Whoever feeds on envy starves the heart
He who sows bitterness reaps loneliness
No feast of darkness satisfies only a pure heart knows fullness
Hate enfeebles the purity of friendship love restored and unite
A spiteful tongue drives peace away
But a gentle spirit halts when hatred knocks in
Therefore choose your seed wisely
For the heart is the garden you tend
And this is it.
Rights Reserved
Opposing evil with force will make you old
You will begin to open windows in the cold
And let the rain and snow into the rooms’ ease
You will uproot the flowers and damage the trees
And be transformed into evil as well
Be not swallowed up in the mad opaqueness of Hell
Through poverty and famine and other transformations
You have already made gold from nothing
Experience has made you King
You have even seen God with only one eye
Ignorance and incompetence have made you wise
If the Nile is dammed it will soon overflow
Overcoming blocks of deaf and mute stone
The flow will continue beyond where Nile boats glide
And river birds will always continue to fly
Blocks and obstacles will be overcome
Let your river rise and be welcome home
COCOONING IN AN AUDACIOUS POLITICAL
POWERING MONARCHY: 2025-2026
Circadian ticks,
Time-chart caterpillars of
Septic monarchy:
God’s butterflying wisdom
Canvassing divine guidance:-
It’s time for us to
Uproot inequality:
Sowing equity,
Let’s get to cultivating
Democracy’s divine abundance:-
Fertilization
Of renewed seeds of justice,
Must be daily done:
Ensuring germination’s
Deep-rooted, anchoring growth:-
With cocooning hope,
And metamorphosing faith,
Let us plow onward:
Butterflying equity,
And soaring democracy:-
Sown bigotry,
Must be made to rot away;
Plowed with damnation:
Extermination rendered—
Monarchical evil doomed:-
In God’s laboring,
Let us garden liberty;
Reaping fruiting peace:
Fencing true democracy
With shared equanimity:-
An untruth is told
A seed is planted
My body is the soil
The roots infest my veins
The seedling sprouts
I’m overgrown with
Weeds
Tell a not lie
Planted is a seed
Soil is my body
My veins become the roots
A sprouting seedling
I’m a flowering
Garden
Split me in half
Save the flowers
Take the weeds
That strangles me
Uproot them all
My veins scream
The garden is gone
And the weeds left a scar
I’m just unplanted soil.
I'm between the devil and the deep sea.
From the grabs of stress, I wish to be free.
Flaws, like storms, uproot me from existence.
Moments move like streams with no resistance.
With sloth and pride, my specks of soul are foiled.
I wash my linens. They seem to get soiled.
I thirst for care, concern, and compassion.
Why do jars of hemlock provoke passion?
I cry like a child that's dropped in a pit.
My life has been like garbs that are ill-knit.
Alone I sail on deep seas in cracked boats.
My mind, like an ant on a dried leaf, floats.
I'm lover not a fighter,
me spilling exclamations
instead of blood,
its what I resamble,
the ink in my viens that paints not images
but setting reactions on the loose.
Please! blame me not,
creativity is access,
mean not to invade
but i'm without bearings,
this din in my words,
put flames to my surrounding,
I mean not to brag,
help me extinguish this overflow
in my system,
it just can't be contained,
it wanna consume everything before me,
like a natural disaster,
my presence devastates,
tie your attentions,
before i'm charged for being creative.
I am poetic ink.
not to dilute your egoes
but to uproot your reactions,
like acid,
i'm here to burn not your minds
but your word perspective and perception.
I said it i'm poetry
not that I was born of poetry
but soldiered enough
in gathering meaning
from all sources to your presence,
of what poetry is.
#Poetic_Ink
The hidden one moves in silence
with violent footsteps
pounding the pavement
While grounding itself to disengage
from grooves designed to uproot
it found its level
Leveling to find balance between
the liquid & solid only enhanced
its brolic nature
There's no frolicking between
the halves described in nature
for this is a serious
matter of things
This being flows through a world
akin to dreams
but is awake to the
world it is seeing
Its eyes are open to views
above & below
for it knows you need both
on this plane of being
to grow
This is growth from a seed
that was buried in darkness
& rose but not without
being detected
I'm not sure what you're seeing
but what is being projected
is the truth
& nothing but
No rut is deep enough to stop
you from shining
& branching out leaving
the dirt behind
Be blind to the attacks
on your mind
but feel them to internalize
then use it to grind
My mind operates like night
& day
so the sun and moon
are its compass
We're in the middle of it all
winter
spring
summer
& fall
but no season
is a losing one
I have compassion for those
lost in the darkness of night
& don't see that
the sun has come
Imagine!
" Kind Words", revealed as piercing bands
of sunlight gently melting mist of morning dew.
Shredded strands of light appear blazing
through leaves blanketing forest deep.
Restrain bitter words that deny
the flourishing seed to yield its return.
Observe, we are better
when "Kind Words" are spoken.
When, from a painful sobering voice,
the soul beckons for repose.
No respect returned to break the moment in.
for where is the glory in it?
"Kind Words" cleanse!
Glory won in a word of kindness spoken.
Life, though as short as a breath,
needs no hand to uproot or wrest.
To labor upon ones crowded faults,
proves a shackle to blissful results.
"Kind Words", a gift for thee!
Today I will smash the old computer and count the air between us,
I will burn the books for warmth, letting the ashes paint my glasses with memories,
and I will uproot the withered plant, sowing its seeds in the plastic flower,
a monument of memory without growth, an altar of silent stagnation.
I will walk the crowded road, speaking only to silence,
without exchanging a word with passing faces,
for the rules are heavy, and my silence, an unmovable mountain,
under the midday sun, I will seek my lost shadow,
trying to measure my height in absence, a phantom of light.
I will armor the poor, placing them in a ring,
rejoicing in the bloodied glory, a bath of triumph without splendor,
and I will be acutely lucid, proud of my diverted mind,
a mind that dances on the edge of reality, laughing at conventions.
In this lost horizon of thought, I find my balance,
in a world where absence becomes presence, and silence, a song without sound,
for in every absurd gesture, a new understanding is born,
and in every silent step, a world opens, full of magic and melancholy.
"It's all going to be okay" he would say,
with no scent of doubt in his breath,
even as its aroma reeked from mine,
as I'd blurt out "how can you be so sure?"
I never figured out what made my dad so positive in life,
though I'm positively sure his life wasn't free from trial
and the upsetting detours that can uproot our foundations
and upend the tables of tradition we depended on.
On and on life goes like this,
until it ends.
I wonder
What traditions did my father depend on
and, lay to rest,
for something, better?
What pressures pressed him so thin
that he'd give up those things
he once loved so dearly?
Is that what transformed him
into the appreciative, hopeful, happy guy
we laid to rest?
once
again
the warmth
of sunshine
showered my being
awakening the inkwell of mind
overflowing in musing contemplations
of allegorical messages
of a fertile womb
of mind seeking to inoculate
others against infectious
lies of deceit
sowing apathtic seeds towards
empty scales of justice
and plowing
that pandemic-abracadabra
oppressor syndrome
that we must uproot
in the awareness
of ancient poetic-tragedies
being a thing of the past
and that we must be even stronger
than that ancient survivor*
whose torched memory
ignites burning spears
of seasonal reaities
shaping the fall
of winter-like discontentment
ushering in the springing
of our rooted renewed
liberating spirits...
*Othello
A simple misconception,
Can lead to endless argumentation.
Once it started its initiation,
It'll always have a continuation.
The tension escalates,
While the calmness disintegrates.
How can you mitigate?
A situation from someone obstinate.
Everything starts small,
Then out of its area, it'll crawl.
Slowly climbing over the wall,
Leading to the downfall.
You're not someone I hate,
It's not even up for debate.
Your hunger can't be sated,
You'll uproot all, as if excavated.
The more we talk, the less we agree,
A situation everyone wants to flee.
When every point sparks a ghastly decree,
It can burst into a destructive degree.
Understand the concept,
Don't be inept.
Words have different depth;
If unsure, then don't make a step.
Avoid provocation,
Think of the conclusion.
It might destroy the dominion,
That grew from your affection.
Don't make any sudden demand,
Take a moment to understand.
Misunderstanding is like a quicksand;
Just a step and you'll be a part of the land.
Don't give it out
What you don't want
What you're getting
You gave time past
Your input creates
Your output doubled.
Galatians 6:7-8
Do not be deceived
God cannot be mocked
A man reaps what he sows
When the clock ticks
Times unviel it all.
Ecclesiastes 3
Time to be born and to die
Time to plant and to uproot
Time to kill and to heal
Time to weep and to laugh
Time to mourn and to dance
Time to search and to give up
Time to keep and to throw away
Time to tear and to mend
Time to be silent and to speak
Time to love and to hate
Time for war and for peace.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.