human condition poems

This Peculiar Strange World | Anupama Mishra

Oh, this weary world
this suffering world,
where I have lost all
the joys of my life,
I never asked for luxuries to come
but never expected the tempest to come,
Oh, this strange pessimistic world
the sceptic people live here,
only wishing to downscale their friends.
Oh, this selfish world
seemingly beautiful but
not really nice.
Oh, this ironic world,
which seems something else
but gives nothing,
thus ravishing the hopes
and desires of one another
the people feel joyous.
Oh, this nimble world
attracts but attacks at the back
maybe the people will call me unsatisfied,
but the truth is that
the world is made of the people
who are really stupefied.

The Birds | Guna Moran

Because they do not have a permanent home
The birds are always free from the worries of land and property

They make a nest at the time of hatching
The fledglings fly away as they grow wings
The nest too drop down as it rots

As they do not have a permanent home to say their own
They cannot be blinded by the longings for their kins

So they can fly away to reach the horizon with their partners
At their own will

Therefore it’s only them
Who can enjoy the pleasure of getting drenched in rain with with their partners

(Translated from Assamese by Bibekananda Choudhury)

Walking through the Ghats | Anupama Mishra

I was walking through the holy river Ganges
the mesmerizing atmosphere and peace was tempting
the flooded heart and empty mind,
I sat on the broad stairs of the ghat
Which was a little filthy
but unlike a fake friend
it made time for me
to sooth the bruise
and the pain of my ailing heart,
being with a good friend
i also felt the contentment
to the brim.
As a fresh wind blew
it touched my weary eyes
and every single strand of my body,
the numbness was filling inside me
it reached each and every empty core.
Then I heard a sweet melody, coming from
the other shore of the running river
which melting with the cool wind
Was entering into my barren ears,
detactched form worries
strife and stress,
I was mellowed out
now the evening bid goodbye.
As her sister the lovely night
was coming very soon
to lull the world to a deep sleep.
running out of time,
in a hurry i jotted down
some notes in my tiny diary
of the beautiful sight,
about the serene river
and it’s broad stairs
about the people just wandering
aimlessly
and others roaming for a living
selling tea, toys, and very simple things.
Some poor kids in ragged clothes
are selling balloons,
and others are begging
for their burning stomach.
It was an experience of a fair.
Moved by the serenity and
The brutal side of the life
at a single place,
now I was a daily visitor
Of that placid river, grasping
Such variaties of happiness and sorrow
At the same time.

Time | JayM

Words of a moment,
Of stories that last a fleeting thought.
Youth a moment,
Fleeting rain driven,
By winds reminiscent,
Shall last for ever.
Words, a legacy,
Faces, a faded memory,
A moment’s tryst,
A lifetime of memories…

To Whom It May Concern | Arif Ahmad

I, me, my, mine
is my predicament
honest, stripped
this is who I am
I can’t help it
I am such programmed
thus
disrespected, discounted
bounced around
used for granted
I refuse to realize
the advantage of many
over a few
ever a person
never a nation
then I complain

The House | Eduardo Contreras

The house has stood empty
For as long as I can remember.
I’ve often wondered who
Used to live in it and what
Kinds of stories they would
Share with me if I were to
Meet them—would I be glad
That I got to hear them or
Would I recoil in horror.
Sometimes stories aren’t
The kind where everything
Turns out well for everyone.

Madonna Revisited | Stan Morrison

the bathtub’s filled with oatmeal
it has to be some kinda mistake
life’s perverse vignettes
are more than I can take
it’s a no-integrity world
i’m not a no-integrity girl

all one-way roads converge
leaving me no way to turn
a modern disaster of design
it’s apparently of no concern
it’s a supercilious kinda world
I’m no supercilious kinda girl

everyone says they’re in the minority
numerically it can’t work out that way
your calculators are so useless
so smile and have a happy day
it’s a prime number sorta world
i’m a multi-factorial kinda girl

Sidestepping Waves | Dah

Walking into the ocean,
I am pure wind,
not breath but wind,
not lungs but light.

I arrange shells like a jetty,
and scrap the sky from the water
until there is only the sea.

Pulled by the current, my reflection
is an otter
whose feet never touch bottom.

When I think of failure,
I think of sandcastles washed away.

More at https://dahlusion.wordpress.com/.

#fakepost | Vagabonding Poet

Lies, like wives in their guise
Stringing their husbands in a vice
Like Mice, oh so nice
That oh my, It shines in those lines
Those fine lines between signs
And its rhymes, it’s sublime
And yes, that’s not mine
He wines and dines the girl
But that’s not fine
Who is she, she’s not mine
But it’s all fake, it’s okay
Cause at the end, it’s just, Hey.
It’s fate. What you say?
I have no faith. That it’s okay.
Because faith is fake and fate is
Checkmate.
Who they are. Are they who you are?

Strings Are Chinks to Our Wings | Vagabonding Poet

Strings.
We are nothing but strings
In a galaxy of things
As much as she thinks
Inspite of all bought rings
And all the drank drinks
In this island of flings

Chinks.
We are nothing but chinks
In the armor of links
Of life and good things
Just relax, avoid the jinx
Stay within that mix
Keep dreaming until it stings
And live amongst the Kings
Till that fat lady sings

Wings.
We are nothing but wings.
In this sky of misfit things.
All the blue between the pinks
Of such unforgettable zings
As she kisses me and clings
Against all my doubts and flings

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