Saturday, 27 January 2007

Something has to be done

There is no water-supply though its late in the morning,
It’s the same story everyday.
I am losing my patience, I should do something,
I will not bath today.

Time is ruined in the traffic and health in pollution,
Pits and ditches increasing the agony surely,
Such a gargantuan traffic, something must be done,
Let me lookout for an alley.

Dirt on the table, dirt on the chair,
Office looks awful, janitor being a sloth,
I have to do something, its dirt everywhere,
Let me wipe my seat with a cloth.

Inflation is reaching the ionosphere, what to eat and what not,
Common man is not able to buy basic amenity,
Government is apathetic; things to be done are lot,
I am going to ATM to draw money.

Tensions in Kashmir and war in Iraq,
Dirty politics is leading us to doom,
Something has to be done; war in the name of justice is a mock,
Hey, what’s on channel Zoom?

Life has many problems surrounding,
And people dreaming to change the world is not new,
You have to do ONLY ONE thing,
The change first has to be brought in You.

P.S. My first try at satire.
It speaks about careless attitude of people.

Friday, 26 January 2007

Great Man

Zealous was he that bright Sunday morning.
Mother was filling the basket with eats,
Father fulfilling his word for an outing.
Rocks and stones gleaming, leaves and flowers dancing
Through the breeze. Children displaying their feats
In the park. Kush was playing with the boys,
Parents were jubilant watching his actions.
Father said with pride to Kush busy with toys,
“My son when grown up will be a great man,
The world will remember.” Eyes with emotions
And body with rags, a boy looked at the bun.
“Go you away and look elsewhere” gave a clue
Kush`s father to him. “Thank you father but”
Kush told his sire, “Will the boy remember you?”

P.S. This is a my first sonnet.
A sonnet has 14 lines with usually 10 syllables in each line.
This has 10 syllables in each line except 3rd ,7th and 14th which has 11 syllables each.

Your comments are my rewards.

And they are fighting still.

And they fought,
For raw meat, not even a pound,
The meat laid there with their corpses to rot,
Never to be found.

And they came to blows,
For barren land, not even a foot,
It is irrigated with the blood that flows,
Seeds never to take the root.

And they raised troops,
For a young girl, not even thirteen,
Wives became widows and whores in groups,
Girl killed herself, never to be seen.

And they killed,
For a bag of coins, not even a dime,
Bag exchanged coffin, the grave was filled,
Coins were never away from crime.

And they drew the sword,
For an auric crown, not even a nickel,
The multitude suffered without uttering a word,
Kings never ended to kill.

And they are fighting still.

P.S. This is my first poem.Hope u like it. I`m waiting for comments...


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