I would vouch that your proposition is captivating , but can we reconsider and renegotiate : will you roll with me on this ?
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 31–September 6, 2026)
But Freud could not vouch
For one lying on his couch
It’s God, our mind’s He unlocks
To wrestle with this paradox
This ambivalence
For the world fixes stints
For lungs that need air
For a heart needs repair
This is what we’re left with
No life, just a death kiss
At atheistic insistence
And with ambivalent resistance
There’s prejudicial conjecture
There’s personal conjecture
But no absolute or objective truth
You don’t need to be a sleuth
With subjectivity solicited
Two intellectual sins committed
Arbitrariness and inconsistency
Condition critical insistency
Circumspectly we point this out
Without a doubt, we don’t flout
Compare two worldviews
(as atheist’s hit the snooze)
We share the Gospel with the hostel
With no subterfuge or solipsism
No false religion’s systems or schisms
The 2nd Coming will be the loudest day
The trumpet sounds, the saintly strain
Will w/Jesus comeback with no foray
The final stop for the Gospel train
Slow up; stepping wearier.
For Time's effect
What in the mind, this path along
Fooling does cross.
They'll vouch for it; these startlements
Sprung upon by.
Whilst heart out its breast jumps, leap
All pools across!
Happy we will be, bike and me
Free as the birdies in a tree.
I love to ride along a country lane
Gathering speed, there I'm going again
To somewhere there is peace, and all is right
In the pouring rain or the sunshine bright.
I go whizzing along at fastest pace
Where there is nothing in my path to face
Except the whispers of leaves upon trees
The sweetest refrains sung upon the breeze.
I listen to the charming tweets of birds
The nicest of sounds one has ever heard
The crackle and snap of a fallen twig
When my bike happens to slide over it.
I stop a while to take a deserved rest
Admiring nature as its very best
The beautiful wild flowers, grass of green
In loveliest scenes ever to be seen.
I vouch my bicycle is my best pal
Together we will be, a bike and gal
We depend on each other constantly
A partnership as no other could be.
Happy we will be, bike and me
Free as the birdies in a tree.
Here, you meet people you will never meet face to face
But they will become like family, and your safe space
Here, all can be laid out when you've had enough
And it will be received with so much love
Here, conversations take place through pen and ink
We are all connected with a love-for-poetry link
Here, you will find inspiration penned with love
A story you can relate to, or just a good laugh
Here, there is no judgement, I can vouch to be true
Just genuine people who also love what you do
Here, everyone is given a chance to bring their talent to light
I truly have so much love for this site
Here, you will find an awesome group
Brought together by PoetrySoup
Here, our family is not connected by blood, but a love for words
Shared through rhyme, limerick, and free verse
Half-baked unwise vouch no words pleasing,
One-- frank, plain-speaking knows no cheating,
Greedless longs for no governing chair,
One-- desire-less aspires no pluming.
_____________________________
Sanskrit Translation | 22.01.2026 | desire, frank, officer, wants, wise, quatrain
Note: Some quatrains called shlokas in Sanskrit are known as Subhaashhitams, words well-said. This one presents some practical wisdom on half-baked unwise, frank persons, and those desire-less. Transliteration is as under:
na avidagdhah priyam brooyaat,
sphuta-vaktaa na vañchakah |
nih-sprhah na adhikaari syaat,
na a-kaamee mandana priyah || Subhaashhitam ||
Watched a first-run movie
From the comfort of my couch,
An experience to which
So many folks could likely vouch.
You can’t beat the convenience
And the snacks my kitchen holds,
Plus the fact that I can pause things,
Even as the plot unfolds.
There’s no outerwear to deal with
And no bus or cab or train
And it doesn’t matter if, outside,
There’s cold or snow or rain.
Yet I kind of miss the theaters
Crammed with fellow movie buffs,
Though, at times, your seatmates seemed like
Slobs or boors or lowlife scruffs.
Yes, I know I can return to
Those few theaters that exist,
But when Netflix has a current film,
It’s too hard to resist.
.
their overflowing
fill'd with
deep
push'n az
Vesuvius
out
hot
twist
think'd
and
yeah
no
i have but one
hot
twist'd
think'd
keep'n mine lyrical pit
boil'n
thuh astute vouch
with accolades
each mine
spew
You see it in the store
And it looks like it will fit.
You really can’t be sure,
So you doubt yourself a bit.
You pay and drag it home
And you set it in its place
Hoping, kind of like a poem,
It will find a warm embrace.
You step back and you assess
And decide that it should stay.
It’s not perfect, but, you guess,
Nothing’s perfect anyway.
Now, if only this applied
To the purchase of a couch.
Somehow, I just can’t decide
And to this, my spouse will vouch.
Lifelong longing of mine you are,
Highest art, heart divine you are.
Not even for a second far,
In every cell supine you are.
My treasured gift forever green,
Mirrors vouch, how genuine you are.
All world willing is to confess:
What wonderful design you are!
To my fond dreams a moonlit night,
And night that lets moon shine, you are.
Love potion, thirst and quench you are,
Pub for which the parched pine you are.
What else? My lifelong sole shoulder
Upon which to recline, you are.
_______________________
Ghazal |15.07.2025| love, desire, life
No button can unwind the failures I have faced.
Nobody can take the place of my precious Lord.
He has been both my questions and my answers;
He has been the strength of my recovery.
I would recommend Him to my closest friends;
I'd vouch for His counsel even to my enemies.
Success is not determined in the immediate;
time will tell the victories of which God approves.
i settle for the littlest scraps i can secure;
i settle for the littlest scraps, and even then they're hard to procure.
i kneel for the most jaded of hearts;
i kneel for the jaded hearts, even when my own is pierced through by stray darts.
i vouch for the blandest demeanors i can find;
i vouch for the bland and even then they don't find it in them to be kind.
why do i prolong my pain, you ask?
why do i not seek what's in it for my gain so I can bask?
there's something deeply ruined, flawed in entitlement
so i restrain to find the beauty in belittlement.
Is it the invisible things that I love the most
Or flowers and cakes and a trip to coast
What is love's worth ,if not seen day by day
But eagerly awaited for that daunting day
Don't get me wrong, I vouch for the 14th let it be
But a love felt every second, is what truly feels free
A love patient and kind a love that binds
A love not jealous and boastful, a love that is hopeful
A love not arrogant and rude, does not insist on it's own way
not irritable or resentful, that keeps those vices at bay
A love that rejoices in right, a love that endures
a love that never ends, a love that cures.
I guess my point, what I'm trying to say
Is I crave for a Valentine's, that is every day
There’s no council without wise old,
Nor old that vouch dharma nor virtue,
No virtue, truth would not uphold,
Nor truth free from fraudulent hue!
______________________
Translation |20.10.2024|assembly, old, virtue, truth, trickery
Poet’s note: Sanskrit has thousands of verses of wisdom called Subhashhitam. This verse is taken from Mahabharata, Sabha Parva. Draupadi was molested in the royal court despite the presence of wise old people like Bheeshma, Drona, Vidur, and Kripacharya. They were all talking about dharma while allowing such a thing to happen. (What Draupadi said is valid; what Duryodhan argued is also not invalid…) The transliteration of the Sanskrit verse follows:
Na saa sabhaa yatra na santi vriddhaah,
vriddhah na te ye na vadanti dharmam |
Dharmah na vai yatra cha na asti satyam,
satyam na tat yat chhala na anu-viddhyam ||
Cinders of no edifice can show proof
How hoary did it look under the dome,
Nor dust can vouch if it came from tall roof
Of a hallowed church, or from poor man’s home,
Or if the dust was blown by a tiny
Burst of rare breeze, or by world wind so great,
No warden would vouch for its pedigree,
Nor would a priest predict its sublime fate,
So does the ash of a funeral pyre—
If it peeled off a prince in regal suit,
Or off a pauper that died a death dire,
For, hushed up dusty graves lie stony mute,
And death cometh equal as gasping breath,
Levelling all— if not in life, in death.
_________________________________
Sonnet | 01.11.2011, revised August 2024 |
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