Posts from the ‘Poetry’ category

Bradley Manning…whistleblower…
war crimes…9 months under trial…
freedom of speech…democratic party…
US Prez …Nobel Peace Prize

Vanishing Palestinian land…Israeli occupation…
world on opposite side…misplaced US support…
war criminals…US prez…Nobel Peace Prize


Drone attacks…civilian casualties…
human rights…assassinated leaders…
fake revolutions…power to fanatics…
US Prez…Nobel Peace Prize

Guantanamo bay…unending war on terror…
nuclear warheads…secret prisons…
new targets…old enemies…
US Prez …Nobel Peace Prize

(Amrita Misra, 2012)

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Oz ke bundon mein chupee hai

Dastan kal raat ki

Alag nahin hai pehele se

Bas kuch kirdar naye hain


Pehele bhi jo roye they

Kal raat bhi sisakte rahey

Bhook aur thand bhi unse

Phir nibhaye khub vafadaari


Jo aansu se banke Aurat kehelaye

Kal raat bhi intezar mein kaatey

Insan ka khitab rahgaya phir kuch  fasley pey

Aasrey ki umeed mein khoye thodey aur housley


Kuch ke liye neend bhi der se aayi

Aur subah kuch zyada hi jaldi

Jeene ki phiraaq mein zindagiyan khogaye

Paison se kuch pal ki sanse aur kharid kar jeeliye


Bachpan ke kuch aur pal sapnon mein katey

Din ke kuch khauf andheron mein khoye

Rahbaron ney tohphe mein zindagi bhar ke dard diye

Choti si umar mein azad khayalon sey bichad gaye


Oz ke yeh bunden jaise pathar ke bangaye hain

Uthake phenkdun, tod dun, pattiyon ko nichod dun

Yeh oz ke bunden, kyon badaltey nahin

Iis purani mayl mein dhundhla padgaya apna chehera bhi


Par abhi jo aag lagi dil mein woh bhi  hai purani

Chingariyan kuch yahan kuch wahan se  churayee hain

Woh subaha phir toh aayegi, kahtey huye jalte  rahe jaaney kai

Dastaney badlengi, har oz pey nayeen kahani hogi


(Amrita Misra, 2012)

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Spring is giving way to winter wildfire,
Oh my pet savage is goin’ wild on me. 
He killed my enemy & now is turning on me. 
I petted & armed him, showed him what true freedom is. 
He got it all wrong & I never learnt a lesson from history.
All I wanted is a little more of his oil & land if possible,
But this savage is flexing my tools at me like a fool.
Well it ain’t over yet, for I’ve all the might,
& no matter what, my God is on my side!!!

– Amrita Misra
15 September, 2012

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What Do I Write About

He asked me why I don’t write poems anymore
I wondered myself
I realized I was often sad as a teenager
Sad for reasons that I created within
I hunted for loneliness, spent time in darkness
I loved being by myself in the night on the terrace for hours
Not a moment of stillness though
I used to lose myself in thoughts
Thoughts, at times, which I would not dare to think in the daylight
I discovered a lot about myself & the extent to which I could imagine
I could have become a writer, a novelist…but I was content thinking
My mind was shrouded with conventions
Few choking experiences and many unfulfilled desires
Few mundane things that seemed natural, were nevertheless shackles
I was breaking free in my imaginings,
However, only because I didn’t like them
I did not understand why I didn’t
And in this confusion I minced words to form poems
At times the poems stated obvious desires
At times vicarious pain, very individualistic
At times meandering purposefully to attract attention
To the fact that all’s not well
They said that I was rebellious
They said I was belligerent unnecessarily
I was like that with those who were mine, family
I wish I were like that with others
But I couldn’t learn to, they made me cultured
Many a times it is still difficult to say what I feel

Who do I blame?
I feel my heart sinks with each pulse
I blame my work, people I work with
The conditions I work in
The reasons I work for
Yet, I have what one would “kill for”
I have to search for reasons to be sad
And I find them
Family, friends, obligations, responsibilities, aspirations,
Expectations, work, money, future,
Others, war, war mongers, innocent lives on the line, selfish sectors, diseases, poverty, oppressed, opulence, indifference, deceit
Nothing has changed, history of human emotions and sufferings
Long before me and now things still echo deja vu
Sadness is for tomorrow which shall carry over the echo

We know perhaps
Maybe poems can help
At least help me vent my frustration
Or others’ frustrations through my words
Just some more strokes in the history of resistance
Soon to be overpowered, yet again, by those who have money, those who have power, those who need to protect what they have looted & those with God by their side
I know, yet I write



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