Wednesday, August 16, 2017

70 years

70 years of Independence and this I know my flag flutters high but my head hangs low how cold the sun on this great glorious day as men once on a path are now galloping astray children are dying for breath and we fill our lungs with venom that chokes and also coats our tongues and the hurt, the horror, the hellacious heartbreak is that it’s whataboutery that keeps us awake how did so much hate come to fill our veins? what happened to our hearts, and to our brains? what made us so blind that we choose not to see that the abyss is staring back into us in glee my eyes aren’t red and my tears don’t show yes, my flag flutters high but my head hangs low.
ram cobain
(Indian Flag pic courtesy Google)
(The ‘abyss’ reference is obviously from Nietzsche)
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Friday, July 14, 2017

untouched

malice punched him in the gut
spite slashed hard, eager to cut
insecurity went for a frontal attack
as hate stabbed him in the back
negative shouted into his ears
panic filled him with unknown fears
rage shot at him point blank
while hurt sat in a corner and drank
but steel simply smiled and said
I think I must have a thick head
see, I can take it all on my chin
and you can’t even touch my grin

ram cobain

(Pic courtesy Google)
http://wallup.net/silhouette-photography-superman-childhood-dreams-500px-sunset-clouds-superhero-heroes-dc-comics-cape/

Friday, June 16, 2017

the knowing

the world looked at him sideways
edged past quickly to give him space
to their eyes, he seemed rather weird
a thing to be shunned rather than feared
he did not fit neatly into their plans
conceived carefully or crafted by chance
he did not know how to follow their rules
(sired as he was perhaps by fools?)
everything about him seemed so wrong
(what was right was he did not belong)
why, even the tide fought him at first swim
and in life, only a handful understood him
yet his great glorious strength did stem
that of the handful – he was one of them.


ram cobain

Thursday, June 08, 2017

alas


Privilege sits in a corner, crying
that the embers in the fireplace are dying
while pyres of the forgotten blaze and burn
into dead heaps of ashes with no urn.


ram cobain

(Pic courtesy Google)