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  • darthgaaru 7w

    Children of the Earth

    Does your heart not melt?
    When you see their shirts, soaking wet?
    When you gaze at their tired legs,
    covered in the dried mud of the day's toil?
    When you watch them rub their sore shoulders,
    And yet muster the will,
    To throw a wry, yet warm smile at you?
    And then,
    Does your heart not feel comforted?
    To know that you needn't bend your back,
    Nor break a single bead of sweat,
    To have food to eat on your table?
    For in the humid and sweltering heat,
    Those loving Children of the Earth,
    Sow and reap until their blood turns to sweat,
    So we don't ever go to bed,
    Without having our bellies full.
    And then,
    Does your heart not rage?
    To witness, decade after decade,
    The helpless Children of the Earth,
    Look towards a system,
    That serves to keep them dependent?
    They turn towards the polluted heavens,
    That fails to shed a timely teardrop of rain for them,
    Till the noose lures them towards a false salvation.
    ©darthgaaru

  • darthgaaru 14w

    Givers

    Some unsung souls,
    They call them givers.

    They keep you safe,
    Facing their own fears.

    They keep your smile,
    While theirs quivers,

    Swallowing their own sorrow,
    When you shed tears,

    With the only hope,
    That over the many years,

    Their loving memory,
    Deeply endears,

    To you.
    ©darthgaaru

  • darthgaaru 14w

    Poetry?

    A question keeps me up at night,
    What really constitutes poetry?
    Harmless vain and vaunting verbiage veers,
    Of wickedly witty word play,
    Stemming from senseless, swanky strings,
    Of alliterations acting to awe away?
    Or,
    Taking the reader on a deep dive,
    To that eternal luminous rave,
    In the glowing depths of the pacific,
    Or ship the reader on a galactic voyage,
    With imagery that lets you see,
    Into the psychedelia of swirling tides,
    The site where stars are born, or, die.
    Or,
    Is it simply narrating a great tale?
    Or the great narration of a simple tale?
    With the space, sounds, smells and sight,
    Of situations capturing a person’s plight,
    Told with humor, sorrow or any emotion,
    Rife with poetic devices or rhymed to perfection?
    ©darthgaaru

  • darthgaaru 15w

    @mirakee
    @mirakeeworld
    @writersnetwork
    #mirakee
    #mirakeeworld
    #writersnetwork

    One of the toughest poems I have written till date. It metaphorically talks about one of the darkest phases in my entire life and the nightmares of that phase that haunt me occasionally. I thank the forces of good that helped me overcome that torrid time and write this after having spent a little over a decade having kept my feelings of this dark time to myself. Whoever you are out there, whatever you've been through, just know, you are hear and you are now. You have overcome daunting odds to become the mountain that you are today. Embrace life and realise the immense strength that you have gained today. Peace and love!

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    Nightmare

    I find myself, again, locked in that room,
    The suffocating smells of dust and sweat,
    The dim lights and a pall of gloom,
    In the middle, a cold and creaking bed.
    I feel the strength drain from my limbs,
    The terrifying buzz of anticipation,
    The massive weight that pins me down,
    For its own sickening satisfaction.
    Contradictions stir my mind,
    That which defiles gave way to pleasure,
    An entire summer that made no sense,
    And years of inexplicable panic and fears.
    The cold fear turned into white hot rage,
    The limbs that once resigned to a dark fate,
    Thrust out to break free from the clutches,
    Of that intimate, nauseating, powerful weight.
    Those dark memories return as nightmares,
    The mind reminds me of that hapless feel,
    And through my newfound strength of will,
    In my dreams, I rewrite my dark past,
    I remind myself, yet again,
    The one who suffered,
    Is all but dead.
    ©darthgaaru

  • darthgaaru 16w

    Lion's Pride

    I have scavenged and scourged,
    The endless Savannahs,
    And picked the bones of the dead,
    To slowly grow strong,
    And earn my place,
    In the lion's pride,
    To finally satiate my hunger,
    To hunt and feed,
    On the sumptuous meat,
    That I deserve.
    ©darthgaaru

  • darthgaaru 16w

    The lone Icicle

    And so the lone icicle melted away,
    And in its dying moments,
    It looked once more to the rising sun,
    The dawn that beckoned at the horizon,
    Content that it was lucky to gaze,
    At such a glorious sight.
    For at times,
    To gain what you want the most,
    You must lose what you possess.
    The question,
    What golden sunbeam stirs your heart?
    What desire is worth, to lose yourself?
    ©darthgaaru

  • darthgaaru 18w

    #writersnetwork
    @mirakee
    @mirakeeworld
    @writersnetwork

    I wrote this a long time ago, when my family friend's dog, Cookie passed on to a better place. She was suffering and in pain every night, she cried and didn't sleep for many days and at the end couldn't even walk and move around. She had to be put to sleep, but at that point, it was honestly helping her in the best way possible.
    I wrote this, in all honesty, to cope with the passing of my first ever pet. I knew her since she was a puppy and I was a toddler and this was all I could do to heal my heart.

    Read More

    For Cookie

    When I know I've said Goodbye,
    For the very last time,

    And your eyes look up to me,
    For one last glimpse with love,

    I say to you,

    "My little one,
    It's all going to be fine.
    Your pain is at an end,
    You'll live in the heavens above."

    My soul does quiver,
    As I accept what is going to be.

    That you may not be here in form,
    But in spirit, you'll always be with me.

    Through the memories of your joy,
    And through the pictures of your glee,

    I'll always remember you,
    My dear Cookie.
    ©darthgaaru

  • darthgaaru 18w

    Bloody Guilty

    Bloody Guilty

    Guilty of letting all that blood spill,
    Of watching in silence as the rivers run red,
    With the blood of the daughters we didn't save.

    Bloody Guilty

    Guilty of silence, in a world of evil men,
    Who defiled mothers; women who bled to birth people,
    People who stood quiet as mothers suffered injustices.

    Bloody Guilty

    Guilty of letting the scum of society fester,
    Of watching that scum violate those poor sisters,
    Scum we vowed to some day vanquish.

    Bloody Guilty

    Of our flailing promises,
    Of failing our women.
    Of ignoring the blood of apathy that taints our hands.
    ©darthgaaru

  • darthgaaru 19w

    .

  • darthgaaru 19w

    Unfelt Truths

    That which I feel through my senses, 
    I believe them to exist beyond doubt.
    But those that can't be seen, heard, felt or touched, 
    Have those ever been? Or are they meant to be? 

    Love that stays unproclaimed, 
    Knowledge without worldly  use, 
    Promises that simply can't be kept, 
    Humour that just won’t amuse. 

    Sorrow without loss and secrets keeping people apart,
    Art that never sees the light, though it stems from the heart.
    Yet these will endure, the test of time eternal, 
    They exist, but not to the world, a burden that's infernal.

    For the five senses cannot see, 
    That which is true or false. 
    It would serve one well to seek, 
    Truth and not impulse.

    ©daarthgaaru