Chronological order of Poems

-The Throne Of Great Men
-The Ways Of Mankind
-Echoes In Guantanmo
-For God and Country: A Villanelle
-Long Live Philip Morris
-Battle Without Honor or Humility
-Folk Tales from Bengal: Tetan Buri & Boka Buri
-The Utopian Man
-And I am the Man; the ROCK STAR

The Throne Of Great Men

Nor me nor them ascends
The uncomfortable queue;
Everyman waits for him to end
Impatiently and desperately too.

Many hours he spent,
Many times flushed even.
A great man not yet content;
Irritating us desperate men.

Cast derision upon
Dejection of mortal plight;
Mocking men for the throne of thrones.
Great man has violated toilet rights.

The Ways Of Mankind

In 2027, after Earth had seen its fair share of wars; a new law was made. “It is a crime to hold high ideals and blindly believe in any notion. You will be exiled from the free world and sent to the colonies on the moon with no allowances made for a book, a pen or the radio.”
They abolished prisons and sent all the criminals to the moon. But a year later cities had begun to emerge on the moon, a city of all the criminals of earth. There was no law or order and no policemen to stop them from committing any crime and criminals lived together doing as they please.
But something unexpected had happened, new think tank organizations had emerged and they began to experiment on crime itself. They researched on crime and found out its true source, “Crime is people revolting against governments who will force them to do whatever they please” and so they banned the existence of power and money. Every man, women and child were equals. Not only did they all share the same rights but nobody suffered from not having their wants fulfilled. The think tanks had found alternatives to crime. People did not get robbed anymore, if someone needed food or shelter it was by law their right to get help from everyone. Havoc and mayhem did not exist anymore. People liked the new system, helping others was rewarded with more kindness. There was no need for money on the moon and all the people cared about were the good virtues of life. Life for them was good.
Then after 10 years when the men of earth scoped through their telescopes to see what had happened to the criminals they sent to the moon; they were confused! Before they had seen what went on, on the moon, they had the idea that all the criminals will have probably destroyed each other and they expected to find nothing but instead they saw cities growing and the criminals living in harmony on the moon. No one was poor and no one had any less than his or her neighbour.
This made the earthlings jealous and now they did not want to live on earth anymore and went to the utopia of the exiles on the moon. They took their markets, money and products for sale for the moon dwellers and corrupted them. The citizens of Moon, who were once criminals, had almost forgotten such things but then they remembered the smell of money and the thrill of committing a crime. And so crime emerged again and people got robbed and shot. The war had started all over again.

Prose poetry is a form which incorporates a short composition employing the rhythmic cadencesfree verse (such as poetic imagery and figures) but printed wholly or partly in the format of prose, i.e. with a right‐hand margin instead of regular line‐breaks. This genreSpleen de ParisLes Illuminations (1886); a significant English sequence of prose poems is Geoffrey Hill's Mercian Hymns (1971). A prose poem is a self‐contained work usually similar to a lyric, whereas poetic prose may occur intermittently within a longer prose work. and other devices of emerged in France during the 19th century, notably in Charles Baudelaire's (1869) and Arthur Rimbaud's

Echoes In Guantanamo

If only; he whispered
behind his bars of steel.
If only, another chance to trick fate,
make a deal or try to escape!
But it was just a dream
and his fate was sealed.

And so went by the monsoon moon,
The winter snow & the summer bloom
Yet, not an eye could unseal his fate.
Not a key, could unlock his gates;
From the anguish of his haunting pain,
Locked away in cold steel chains, he remains.

Yet he goes on, day after day
In ignorance of death and decay.
Hoplessly longing for a soul to brace,
Friend, foe or even an unknown face.
‘Just one more chance’, he whispers,
‘If only!’

For God and Country: A Villanelle

They say they waged a war to stop the war.
The coats and ties all sat and debated-
But that failed! So they made their bombs some more.

Oh what a sight; night skies glowing like days,
Once a great city now desecrated.
They say they waged a war to stop the war.

As armies set to march, men sat to pray;
And urged their ‘Heads’ in dread of the bloodshed.
But that failed! So they made their bombs some more.

One hundred and thirty thousand they say-
Nagasaki, Hiroshima; All dead!
They say they waged a war to stop the war?

That was a day of days…it paved the way;
For war ban treaties; accelerated…
But that failed! So they made their bombs some more-

To wipe out the Vietcong. Yet they say
For God and Country - Fight and march ahead.
They say they waged a war to stop the war…
But that failed! So they made their bombs some more.

The villanelle is a poetic form which has no established meter save ten syllables per line. It is nineteen lines long, consisting of five tercets and one concluding quatrain. The essence of this form is its distinctive pattern of rhyme and repetition. The rhyme-and-refrain pattern of the villanelle can be schematized as A¹bA² abA¹ abA² abA¹ abA² abA¹A² where letters ("a" and "b") indicate the two rhyme sounds, upper case indicates a refrain ("A"), and superscript numerals (¹ and ²) indicate Refrain 1 and Refrain 2.

Long Live Philip Morris

There I was tucked away neatly;
like in a morgue, in a little cage, discreetly.

I waited in silence, waited for my time.
Waited for them to come; to incinerate me
just for mere pleasure; to satisfy their craves.
I waited for my fate and prayed for me.

They didn’t even know who I was, not even my name
and surely they won’t remember my face.
Those, wretched, merciless beings; chatting away.
Those wretched merciless beings.

Then came the time;
I could feel their craving.
There wasn’t much time;
for their will was fading.

I cried to God as they reached for me,
plucked me out to feed on me. I stopped crying
for all hope was lost. I knew my time had come,
I knew my time was up.

I watched in horror; they brought out their lighter.
I trembled in terror; they sparked me in fire.
I felt the flames; they fulfilled their desire.
I burned away. Not even a word!

All that remains are dusts in ashtrays
Of me, my brethren; Benson, Camel and Captain Mike
kidnapped, packed and distributed alike.
That is all that remains.

Thank you for smoking me
and thank Philip Morris: My Executioner.

Battle Without Honor or Humility

The red night skies
were lit by the fires of war.
They sat there;
Not knowing what awaits.

They waited in the APC.
Tensions flared, nerves racked
as they moved forth
through the bullet barrage.
The explosions, metal and fire;
all at work together.

They waited in silence
in the Armored Personnel Carrier.
They waited.
Their hands clamped on their rifles;
palms sweaty, drumming heartbeats.
In full alert they waited.

The doors opened and one fell.
Another followed and it had started,
it had begun, it was war.
One life didn’t matter,
the nation counted on them.
The orders were clear.

Kill, kill, kill;
without compassion or mercy.
It has to be done.
Battle without honor or humility.

(Tribute to the fallen brave; Liberation War of Bangladesh, 1971)

Folk Tales from Bengal: Tetan Buri & Boka Buri

(The clever old woman & the foolish old woman)

There goes a tale in a village of Bengal
Of two old women; Tetan Buri and Boka Buri
Living together in a hut
Chummed up together, each other for company
Chummed up together, each other for company

Tetan Buri was the cunning one
Boka buri; foolish and patsy
They owned a wrap, a cow and a piece of land
And grew sugarcane and paddy

And grew sugarcane and paddy
One day Tetan Buri said to Boka Buri
What grows under the land is all yours, the rest; mine
Boka Buri got useless roots and no food
She never said no as Tetan Buri went merry
She never said no as Tetan Buri went merry

Then Tetan Buri suggested
The wrap is mine at nights, it’s yours in daylight
So was agreed, as the clever one slept nice and sound
Boka Buri shivered at nights
Boka Buri shivered at nights

Tetan Buri said once again
You can have the front of the cow, the hind is mine
And it was agreed; as Tetan Buri drank all the milk away
Poor Boka Buri went sad all the time
Poor Boka Buri went sad all the time

The foolish old woman never got anything
She never made a fuss, she never complained
So she went starving and started begging
For a little food in vain she begged
For a little food in vain she begged

Till the day she met the wise barber
She asked for some food, begged with her hands
The barber inquired why was she begging
When she had a wrap, a cow and a piece of land
When she had a wrap, a cow and a piece of land

Poor Boka Buri revealed her tale; asked for advice
The barber said “soak the wrap, never feed the cow
Stand in front of it, yell like a maniac
Pull out the paddy when it is young
Pull out the paddy when it is young”

And guess what happened
Tetan Buri tried milking the cow; got kicked
She shivered at nights, with her wet wrap
She starved as the crops failed
She starved as the crops failed

She understood, she wasn’t the only clever one
She nodded as the villagers let her know
She affirmed that she needs to be just and fair
And she realized; You reap what you sow!
She realized; You reap what you sow!

The Utopian Man

Oh you fool-hardy brick of a man
In solitude you seek, the glory of kings
Dream dreams you think you can
You who ran from the living, you brick-hardy fool of a man

You are the naïve stubborn flag of honor
In an age, where it doesn’t reside
When hundreds seek nothing but lust and glamour
Yet you are blinded, you stubborn naïve fool of honor

In loyalty you swear but what good will come
Where the air and ground full of the corrupt
In a world of billions, like you; maybe just a handful some
Surreal loyal soul, turn away for no good will come.

Such is the age of treacherous cruel
In the city of millions no one but you
Holds such ideals; of the ancient schools
Oh blind gullible brick hardy fool; no one else but you!

And I am the Man; the ROCK STAR

Twinkle, twinkle little star
I am your fantasy; the ROCK STAR

“Dig my groovy hair?
Ooh, how long and slender.
Crap! It’s dried!
Mommy! Get me my conditioner!”

So you wanna play like Hendrix?
In your dreams
He was a god.
A one man football team.

Singing symphonies to that fan of a lady
Thinking savvy! Fine young brunette about time you got lucky
“Forty years now, gotta get me some slack”
“Trusty GUITAR has got my back”

Get a life! You jobless monkey!
Ever earned a penny?
Oh right! You’re all about charity.

Sex, Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll you say
Ever read the Satanic Bible?
Shed some light in my meaningless day
Wait, don’t tell me! Elton, Freddie and you! Are all Gay!

How lame can you possibly get?
Every opportunity; comes guitar. Your trusty pet!
Banging your head; thigh drumming thing
How idiotic you look? Don’t even have BLING BLING!

Dear, dear ROCKER; Get Real!
Head banging concerts
Won’t get you anything
Not even appeal

Oh twinkle, twinkle little star!
Come again? Are you the ROCK STAR?

(Dedicated to my friends back home in the industry)