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Shubh Vimal Poem
(A poetic representation of this world unfolding before a child as he grows up to adolescence)
He stood on a hill,
And saw a picture,
A silent stare at the universe,
Meaning without a description.
It hung by a branch,
Too weak to live,
The picture was of a child,
Represented by “force of will”.
An absurd birth,
The peace of wild things,
An uneasy existence,
And an an anxiety of seen things.
A slow rapture,
The sudden unbecoming,
Wonder and the magic,
And truth, that is forgiving.
The first instincts of animal,
Devoured by envy,
A dog killing a dog,
Ah! Such freedom for jealousy.
The red in our body,
The white in our souls,
And colourless love,
Forgotten but extolled.
Genuinity of our emotions,
Thoughts and reflections,
A circle of understanding,
A prism of actions.
The fascinating possibilities,
The pages drawn with wisdom,
The frightening limits,
And the boundaries of freedom.
Such remarkable coincidences,
Such abundance of peace,
Diversity of similar faces,
Such abundance of greed.
A weak thread,
Binding us all,
We are one and many,
The strongest knot.
The universe included,
And everyone’s dreams,
The revelations from that picture,
The flashes from within.
He stood on that hill,
And the glory became his,
The contrasts of creation,
But will he dare to live?
Copyright © Shubh Vimal | Year Posted 2018
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Shubh Vimal Poem
Take out the dagger,
And strike it clean,
Life, death,
And everything in between.
Brutus murmured to sadness,
The ghost of his dream,
Praying for Caesar,
To appear from the unseen.
The pride of Rome,
Brought down to its knees,
The desolation of democracy,
Was now complete.
A country divided,
Racing to arms,
Turning against each other,
An incalculable harm.
And there he was,
The wisest man of Rome,
Who once slayed the prince,
The heir to the throne.
The empire was consumed,
By implosion of dark,
The blood stained clothes,
And those hideous marks.
Brutus started to reason,
With ghost of his dream,
Whether murder was important,
The purpose of that scheme.
The dream spoke in words,
Brutus didn’t understand,
It then showed him a vision,
And his world collapsed.
For there was Caesar,
The emperor of Rome,
Standing in glory,
Beautiful as a ghost.
Terrified and shaken,
Brutus knelt in respect,
My Lord, he cried,
Secretly covering his face.
Brutus saw the figure,
Bigger than the herd,
Bigger than the morals,
Bought by this world.
His glory was certain,
Like the indefinite Sun,
His power was supreme,
Which cannot be undone.
He saw Caesar,
And he remembered Rome,
A city of bricks,
Or an idea of home?
His heart was troubled,
Looking for answers,
A home cannot have a tyrant,
Nor a dominant dictator.
Brutus saw Caesar,
Covered in disguise,
And Rome under his feet,
Decorated in lies.
Brutus realised his mistake,
To question the plot,
The Caesar was dead,
And war was not his fault.
A sly idea,
The dream whispered,
Can he kill again?
To save his morals.
Brutus looked for answers,
In this inescapable dream,
Only a sword in-front,
And his will in between.
He took up the sword,
Fuelled by rage,
But there was also fear,
And some love for his friend.
He stepped in front,
Took up the stance,
Landed a blow,
And blood was all around.
The second death of Caesar,
One in Brutus’s dream,
Had killed any doubts,
And cleansed Rome’s sins.
Copyright © Shubh Vimal | Year Posted 2018
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Shubh Vimal Poem
A fog of gunpowder,
A stench of death,
Suspicious of the survivors,
Still holding their breath.
They had been left poor,
In this playground of murder,
Literally drinking the blood,
The blood of one another.
O poor man,
Taxed by the rich,
Lend me your wallets,
And see the beginnings.
You too are a soldier,
In a rich man’s fight,
Wounded by your innocence,
Comforted by their lies.
You believe in the promised land,
Flowing in milk and honey,
You build their fortunes,
They let you keep their pennies.
They gave you a collar,
That you happily put on,
You became like everyone else,
And your whole life is bought.
I once killed a rich man,
A soldier of love,
He smiled at the bullet,
That pierced his two hearts.
Lovers seldom die,
They wake up the next day,
Eager to be fooled again,
Such is their dismay.
In this world of glasses,
Everyone is seeking love,
Soldiers of passion,
Enslaved by lust.
Where you gonna run to?
No rock will give you the answer,
Sin will eventually find you,
In that alley of false comfort.
You can throw a party,
And let yourself be deceived,
They will count your righteousness,
But you’ll pay with your sins.
You cannot question the cruelty,
When you take out the gun,
The judge’s seat is empty,
And all art is absurd.
The only comfort is truth,
That sleeps beside your grave,
Greed will not buy you flowers,
Sweet will be your last pain.
For then you will see,
That reality doesn’t exist,
It was just an illusion,
That they made you believe.
But don’t be alarmed,
I do not speak the truth,
For I am just a survivor,
Fattened by the fools.
Copyright © Shubh Vimal | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Shubh Vimal Poem
Once upon a time,
There was a man,
He had a giant coat,
Even bigger than his pants.
He was born naked,
The coat was his only shame,
When the world had stripped itself,
Only the coat remained.
It was melancholy,
His ineffable glory,
It had no pockets,
But many rooms for misery.
The coat had holes,
That peaked into private parts,
The blades of expectations,
Had cut it all around.
The beggars threw their money,
Tried to steal the coat,
But how could he sell,
The price was too low.
For he was forever captive,
In his own discovery,
The coat hid his scars,
But also told his story.
He slept with a woman,
But couldn’t part with the coat,
He travelled the world,
But couldn’t find his soul.
Even love found him once,
But she didn’t stay,
The coat was his only friend,
And his only display.
Copyright © Shubh Vimal | Year Posted 2018
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