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Skip to comments.Antiwar poetry book entitled "Planet in Peril: Poet's Lament" for release on 11th Sept.2004
Posted on 09/10/2004 7:18:09 AM PDT by mggandhi
Planet in Peril is the poets lament on the frantic stockpiling of nuclear weapons imperilling all life on this planet of ours. Unlike modern day Neros who are seen fluting with sadistic ecstasy when all-engulfing flames are threatening to turn this only habitat of ours into a burning inferno, the poets soul weeps in mournful numbers when he reflects over the impending disaster.
(Excerpt) Read more at gevf.exactpages.com ...
Planet in Peril Poets Lament
Madan G. Gandhi
First Published 2004
Price : Rs. 250/- ($40) ISBN NO. : 81-88871-01-X (HB) ISBN NO: 81-88871-02-8 (PB)
Written by Madan G. Gandhi
Published by: Gandhi Earth Vision Foundation H-23/16 DLF Phase-I Gurgaon-122002. Haryana (India) Phone: 0124-5054392
e-Mail : firstname.lastname@example.com
Printed & Typeset by BMC Datasoft (P.) Ltd., New Delhi
Selfs Orchestra 1 A Courtesan 2 Holocaust Rehearsals 3 Crashing Heavens 4 A Flaming Heath 5 The Blind End 6 Suicide 7 The Border 8 My Assault 9 An Eerie Silence 10 Catastrophic Flood 11 A No-Win Game 12 Even The Skeleton 13 The Perennial Sermon 14 The Acrid Smoke 15 Never-Healing Wound 16 I Explode 17 Columns Of Smoke 18 Chaos On Wheels 19 National Pride 20 Cancerous War 21 All-Deserted 22 Mines All The Way 23 A Zero-Sum Game 24 The Lurid Light 25 Nausea 26 The Blasted Future 27 The Charred Heavens 28 No Sun, None! 29 Man-Made Hell 30 A Raving Sea 31 A New Crop 32 The Futility 33 A Year 34 Flying Doves 35 The Splendour 37 The Luminous Web 39 The Aftermath 40 Burnt-Out Planet 41 Dazed Sleep 42 White Blood 43 Fractured Dreams 44 War's Deluge 45 My Murderer's Face 46 The Invisible Jury 47 Erupting Volcano 50 A Frozen Moment 51 Dying Mans Declaration 52 Wailing Bangles 53 Nuclear Winter 54 A Frozen Sky 55 Shredded Glory 56 How Long? 57 Treaties 58 Freedoms Flag 59 Ever Deepening Crisis 60 Ember Dawn 61 Every Mother 62 The Precipice 63 Brown Bread 64 Awakened People 65 A Trusted Mariner 66 Nuclear Fire 67 Sun-Gazer 68 Anguished Cry 69 Collective Homicide 70 The Poet 73 Sadist Maestro 74 Man 76 The Same Essence 77 The Ordained Mission 78 Bone Weapons 80 Roll It Green 81 Cosmic Red 82 Beyond Recognition 83 Life-Swallows 84 A Mission To Redeem 85 Son Of Ganga 87 Confluence 88 The Global Village? 89 Fulfillment 90 Earth-Citizen 91 Earth-Citizenry 92 I Salute Them All 93 Can A Poet Die At All? 95 Just A Mirage 96 My Epoch 97
The lotuses bloom, the vision, appareled in spring, smiles and sings.
Attuned to selfs orchestra, I go blessing every being.
Enter the snake: withered the leaf, stained the petal, shattered my quiet.
A courtesan entices the innocent into a bear-hug, whips up communal passions in the profligacy of desire.
Inside my skull hellish fires rage as I gamble for the throne.
A witch lures the hordes to stoke the cauldron, to taste the ultimate power.
On my face the red shame not to be washed.
Daggers at our neck, cannons at our back, rockets on our head, how long do we go on with our holocaust rehearsals?
How long can we sleep in doomsday dread, in balance of terror, in MAD syndrome?
This self-deception, this dope dream, how long shall it last?
Where are we heading? Does anyone know the direction and the flow? On what precipice bending?
Doesnt the flow portend the tragic, fated end of all that in centuries fruitioned; a sudden annihilation?
Are we going to begin again, have we come full circle, is this the end of all endings, the point whence we set out in primal times?
Peace love and well-being of all, the goals our ancients cherished went about spreading the message in every corner of the world.
But could not persuade those puffed with powered greed the consequences of clashes can spell a permanent nuclear doom.
Navigating the globe, voyaging in space, what has he brought star wars and nuclear winters.
Every advance is not progress, every discovery not a blessing but a mixed fare hiding a nightmare, kicking up a hornets nest.
What will you say of him who caused the Chernobyl, the Bhopal, the explosions in the gulf, the depredations in Iraq?
It is he who in a fit shall push the button, bring down the heavens crashing and unleash doomsday flames.
The owl sits on the top, we shall surely come to grief; the storm is a prelude to imminent doom.
The theory of mutual-deterrence, of mutually assured destruction, but pleas for precarious peace, a prelude to doomsday siren.
Blooming youth is pushed down into the jaws of death, spring-eyed gardens turn into flaming heaths.
The war to end all wars will be fought not with cannons but with star weapons.
It is the edge of the perilous ridge; Withdraw, I say Withdraw, the fall will be headlong.
No star for a witness, no songster for a dirge; the end will be blind, leaving no trace behind.
This way lies instant doom, the abyss of gaping gloom, night of total annihilation caused by nuclear radiation.
Only the fraternal bond will hold amidst clanging of creeds, a war-free world will come to birth through consciousness of common earth.
The die is cast, hell or holocaust; only a seers wisdom can avail to pull man back.
Where to escape, pollution everywhere: on high peaks of snow, in outer space, above and below.
Where to hide: all roads lead to suicide.
Border is a narrow strip along a steep edge, a line that divides safe and unsafe, us from them, a state of constant transition; its denizens, the prohibited and the forbidden.
I tend my piece of land where my dead are buried, shorten the grass, trim the shoots, pile up the soil to level the lawn.
I shear every sheep, denude every grove, despoil every garden.
Half the world I have laid waste, the other half is waiting for my assault; soon I shall finish my mission turn bounteous earth into a wasteland.
I go colonizing new pastures in other spheres to shift well in time.
So, this complacence to deforestation, ecocide, wholesale pollution, death of the ocean.
Absolutely dead to the planet in peril, what may befall my children!
Before the curtain rings down and an eerie silence envelops the earths amphitheatre enactig a ghost dance, turn the floodlights on exposing the monster brandishing its claws.
The bloodshot eyes, the helmeted head, the big-booted thud, sirens, batons, blasts, explosions.
None else but frankenstein who is causing this havoc dragging down the pillars proping up the heavenly tabernacle.
Unsettle every equation, break every syllable of the universe.
One day, you will rue the dreadful deed when gloom shall overcast the sky yellow smog clamp the blackout.
Catastrophic floods inundate the green pastures and dales, turning orchards into desolate waste.
The chill blight of winter striking at the very root shall kill life in the womb, none there to hear even your lament.
Civilization on the rack, the wheel of fire in top gear, no hope of respite.
This black and white, this flash point of racial dissension, this fuse for annihilation in the name of mans liberation, of ushering him into freedoms dawn in equalitys sun.
Anger and hatred, the propellers of mortal destiny, of nations and empires.
Mind-blowing, nerve-racking, competition in all spheres is a no-win game with stakes so heavy.
Desecrate monuments, pagodas and cathedrals. Train cannons at every treasure, indiscriminately on everyone.
Stop mining the earth, shooting of stars in space; once the button is pressed, the cosmos will be blown off.
Who is over there hiding weapons? Smuggling arms over the land and the sea? Targeting churches and mosques, habitats and hospitals. One day even the hidden skeletons will explode.
Where are those hallowed seats of love and peace where once lights had shone to proclaim the perennial sermons?
All lost in the fury of terror, be it Bamiyaan or Bethlehem, Sinai or Jerusalem.
We now hear guns ceaseless roar, ear-splitting explosions and cannons thunder.
A non-violent nuclear-free world the chant of a battle-weary man, the dream of everyone.
The crusade for a war-free world will go on.
The enemy of man are they who mouth pleas for the bomb, trade in death, let loose the hounds, guillotine the sons of peace.
This acrid smoke chokes our throat, drowns our affection in the cacophony of bombs.
The cannon balls flew, with them my child too.
True to my grain, stoically I accept it.
But it leaves a wound that shall never heal, a void never to be filled though I conquer the world.
I explode in my shell, my radio-active waves pierce through granite walls, spread in all directions, encompass the globe.
All efforts to contain me, fail.
These columns of smoke curling up the sky are no remains of offerings, no unaccepted oblations.
These are no fires lit for sacrifice but giant flares that will swallow the entire.
Having engulfed the earth they swirl and whirl to embrace the roof of the world.
This rock and roll, these earthquake-like tremors, of rolling skies, of flaming seas.
The elemental fission, cosmic cataclysm, the apocalypse, in one sweep.
Beyond shock waves of pre-genesised darkness, blaring chaos on wheels exploding in butterflies.
What choice: exploded hopes, blasted dreams, before and after the bellowing cannons.
A stern command: the horror of gallant men in battlelines shouting kill, kill; the vultures hovering over, the blood-dripping skies.
These warring hordes, mouthing prayers for peace, hiding weapons in their sleeves, opt for hell for good reasons: to safeguard honour, dignity and freedom, enduring justice and self defence all that goes with national pride.
A gnawing cancerous war eating up relentlessly every fibre, every cell, cutting the lifeline, blasting the whole.
Cities deserted, stench of the decomposed fouling the spring.
No more warm winds, no more splashes of colour, no more fields and pastures. No streak of vermilion in the smog-filled sky.
A nuclear blast, all-killing its sweep, turns earth into cinders singeing the very roots of life.
The earth hit by thunderbolt, seas by radiation space by pollution.
Where to go this night? All-deserted, no light.
They have blinded my sun, they have denuded my earth.
Kick stones and lick dust, mines all the way.
Gallop on steely steed on acres of hate, kick up smoke to choke the aged and infirm.
Slit throat of valiant sons, bombard habitats and hovels of the poor, maim and kill children, strike at the mothers womb in the never-ending war.
Explode all dreams, shatter all plans, create hell, burn and be burnt.
The mountains are tumbling, the big bang is rumbling; gravitation shall not hold, the earth is deathlike, cold.
The elements are in disarray the world is on the rack, hopes have gone ahiding behind the wreckage of stars.
Is it the implosion of the sun, an utter disintegration? The planets explode and fly above each other.
Who wins, who loses, in this zero-sum game; all consigned to flames.
This brittle sound, these sorties in the air, this din and roar, these martial columns.
Crystal lake, placid calm, now, a boiling cauldron.
Chemical waste corrodes the veins and arteries of the earth-mother.
The smoking guns fly past the coffins, lay waste the Eden.
Snakelike hiss, lurid light, of the cemetery.
Gray sticky clouds raise an iron shroud around the dying sun.
Biogenic corruption corrodes ants-like eating up a universe. Nothing save the ashen gloom, the earth denuded of its bloom.
Putrid smell of vegetation, the stench of phosphorescence, ghost-like permeation of gaseous poison.
Nausea invades my being, no more the forest green for me to laze in.
Bullet-ripped corpses, legless, armless, bodies, littered all over. Utter blackout.
Wounded, maimed, paraplegic, uncared, shuffling about for light, in darkness.
Incapacitated for ever, riveted to a wheel-chair, artificially breathing, intravenously fed.
The blasted future jeering at mans bloated pride, inching his way to quick disposal.
Who caused these mutations in the heart of elements, the chemistry of heavens changed, the face of the sun blackened?
The skin of space singed, the heavens charred, the earth-mother defaced.
Letting loose a million Hiroshimas, unleashing leopards all over the space. Whos it clapping come with her noose to squeeze life out of the cosmos?
This total blackout, this blood-splattered gloom, a prelude to closing-in of doom.
No flicker, no trace of life in the heart of space; only yellow clouds on the prowl.
Smog-enveloped sky, nothing visible: no sun, none!
A hell here, a hell there, hell all around, man-made hell.
By atoms radiation by nuclear waste, by gaseous poison, by fissions chain reactions.
Hell of potash, the kicking up of dust, in sand dunes and rocks, in deep seas and caverns.
Shelling and bombing, the green belt, prairies and stone-henges pagodas and pyramids.
The locust floods of mushrooming clouds enveloping the outer space encircle the earth and heaven.
Some contact leukemia, some cancer. The contagion afflicts the genes coursing down many a generation; the poison percolating the primal fount.
No place immune to the poison of radiation; toxic soot covering the horizon, screens the life-giving sun.
The sky hit by yellow cloud becomes a raving sea swallowing globes and galaxies, the earth draped in a black shroud.
Swirling flames envelop the heavens; a million tongues scorpions-like leap all over the splintered space. The planets fall one by one.
The earth by deadly blasts hit, by fission and chain reactions, sterility strikes the burning waste, all consigned to deadly fate.
A million beasts of prey, winging towards the ill-fated e-bay in doomsday-like swoop deface the earth-mothers face.
Why wars, why spill innocent blood, who wins and at what cost?
Is God a global super-cop whose writ runs on the weak, who wields his baton on the meek, who sides with the power-puffed proud?
Shall our affrighted soul ever have respite from the cannon fire, blasts and holocausts after or before we fall asleep?
Shall the earth-mother ever conceive a new crop of genomes, the blasted womb ever deliver another breed of homo sapiens?
They fought for their nation, their womenfolk, their children, their empire, their flag, their freedom.
But their dead sons and the coffins brought home speechlessly tell the futility of it all.
Their twisted bones, their battered limbs, give a lie to their claims, their alibis and no-win games.
A year of crises, fire-fighting throughout, five thousand years civilizations decimated in a few hours by marauders at large in uniform, gulf burning still, half-extinguished flames mocking at the prospects of peace.
A year of defeat for the brokers of peace, conciliation taking a back seat, war-mongers thriving everywhere.
A year of depression, of ethnic strife, of statist suppression of peoples movements, of betrayals and blackmails, of diplomatic cant and deceit, of coup detats and insurrections disguised as revolutions.
The flying doves flag off warheads; hurl thunderbolts, wrapped in love balloons, on neighbours roofs.
Dismantle a wall, dig afresh trenches of hate, lay mines on sea and the ground to launch an offensive, to avenge the wrongs of history, to redraw boundaries, to retrieve what was lost to a treacherous king in days of yore.
Advance in defense, clear the battle zones of all marauders, to negotiate peace from a point of strength.
Distrust who practise double-speak from their forts of hate, cheat the gullible folk with pleas of peace.
Dagger-in-cloak solutions for enduring justice for making the world safe for everyone, for removing the threats of WMD by unilateral preemptive interventions.
Score conclusive victory, with death of millions in one swift strike, to make the world free for democracy.
Litter it with broken limbs, shattered hopes, ruined lives, maimed and dead rotting in heaps their way!
Uniforms in green, shining armours, blazing buttons, march in step to the tune of drummers.
Along the streets, along the fields, children throng waving flags.
Amidst the cacophony of war, death raining from above, napalm clouds enveloping the skies, screams for shelter rending the air, shattered bodies littered all over.
The war-in-action, ghastly, gruesome.
Doctors and nurses, ambulances and trucks, foot-sluggers and soldiers, in sweltering summer, in wintry cold, round the clock, in dirt and mud, in snow and fog, through the awful stench, all on duty.
They salvage the remains, bury the dead carry the wounded prayer in their heart tears in their eyes.
A singed heart on atom-stained earth, no caller, no call.
How can you resurrect a father blown to pieces, a farmer caught in crossfire; how can the earths splendour return?
Patches have worn thin, the sky wears holes of the size of the earth, the ozone layer is torn.
Chaos enters triumphant growls to gulp down the earth, swallow the sun, reduce the sky in a shambles.
Who shall weave the luminous web, who shall spin creations; will the sun rise again, will life revive on the earth?
A time comes when burying becomes a problem, when there are countless dead and no gravediggers.
Winter wind blows making eerie sounds, limbs frozen in grotesque shapes, arms stiffened like the twisted twigs.
The earth a wounded snake writhing in pain, the smiling habitat turned into a sepulchre.
What respect for the dead, what funeral rites, when the dead outnumber the living in the aftermath of war?
Lethal flowerbeds nuclear shoots, the cellars bubbling forth poison.
Locust clouds enveloping the horizon, the beaming planets sliding into black holes, the chill blasts turn vegetation into cinders.
Left-- the bent cows and goats, one-eyed monsters and demons,. stalking the burnt-out planet.
Every crimson sunrise shows up stains of blood, every war-growl drinks up the very spring whence flow the life-giving waters.
Every sigh stirs up the memory of a lost son, the warmth of family frozen in the tracks.
In dread we sleep in dread we wake up to be lullabied into a dazed sleep.
Now no lazing under a tree, no carefree dip in flowing waters, ever on the run for a gasp of fresh air.
The bloodstains in the rainbow, in the green and golden the ultraviolet and crimson.
The blood turned white when I killed the son and dropped death on my kinsmen.
The culture dashed. Won me the cross.
Many times I rolled up my sleeves to eject death on civilian habitats, felled churches and hospitals.
A convict, I enter a dark dungeon where nightmares scream, no respite, none.
Dreams fractured, all profession of peace belied, I sleep in constant dread, palm-pressing my battered head.
A part of me paralyzed, I slump into my shroud force-fed by the other half to stay alive.
Light breaks out from the shrapnel gloom and I slog through mire in search of elixir.
How empty sound the vows of peace, after every war how hollow the victory claims!
The earth mined, no spot for a sapling of peace, the stench sickening; all dreams down the drain.
The monuments of excellence, . the relics of a civilizations crown the pagodas, the pyramids, the towers and trade centers washed away by war's deluge.
Shrieks in a burning hell let loose, combustible fires raging infernally, mouthing fear, hate and ire.
I feel a wrench at the very thought of war.
Orphaned, widowed, children struck dumb, the mother motionless, the dead son in her lap; the all-enveloping smog tightening the noose.
Not a sigh or a stir in the wintry vast.
Hurrying to the holes to breathe poison-free air, away from the stench of dead bodies littered all over with vultures hovering above, the smog clouds swirling and curling up.
I scream for succour, amidst the debris I look for a crown; with every cannon burst a cathedral tumbles down.
Among the rubble the countless stars, that once twinkled and cheered, in blind stare mock and shock.
In their speechless eyes I see my barbarity, my murderer's face.
My shadow is growing larger, its umbilical cord is becoming invisible and it is seen walking with giant steps encompassing the earth and heaven.
I watch it merge into a life-cloud, sink into the Milky Way.
A giant fish, leaping up and down, collides against the rim of a fleet on an espionage mission.
Writing my name in darkness in lettering of fire, the idea crosses my mind - my moment has come.
I close my eyes to pray. Suddenly, lifted by a tide, I become part of the longest current sweeping across the waters.
I feel I am on some other planet, transported by a light beam.
From within the life-cloud someone appears on the screen.
Jutting out from a crystal ball, making V sign pointing north, suddenly I fall into a spell, my shadow confronts me with a grin: Are you the one who have devastated the land and the sea, spread pollution everywhere making the planet uninhabitable?
I feel the poison enter my being my throat choked, my voice lost, my sight blurred.
See this divine, exquisitely wrought, ethereal layer of ozone showing up patches here and there larger than the size of the Atlantic Ocean. Arent you the one who punctured it?
The verve of the tone is electrifying.
The accumulated guilt of all my sins rises up in my fevered brain, a heavy load weighs me down, I feel utterly down and out.
Other shadowy figures join in pointing their bayonets at me.
O God! I am ruined, I say to myself.
Then from the jury someone thunders: Arent you who enacted Cheronobyl and Bhopal? How long have you been in this life-killing trade, making poisonous gases for chemical war, exploding the atom and the nuclei to unleash annihilation on earth and the outer space, to efface life from the cosmic womb?
The scroll of your crimes is too long. Punishment for each one of them is eternal damnation, the jury thunders.
The nightmarish shadows swirl in my brain and I taste the hellish pain.
I carry a time-bomb tied to my waist, feel like pushing the button to outwit the insistent inquisition but the fear of instant death restrains me.
I picture doomsday staring at me. My whole cerebral mechanism, unable to bear the load, breaks down.
I suffer brain hemorrhage, go into a coma, but they will not let me die; in an instant they revive.
Again I am before the jury, dumbfounded, pleading guilty, unable to defend.
A knock at the door wakes me up from my nocturnal session with the invisible jury.
Screaming wasps shooting poisonous stings with computer precision make me swirl up like the erupting volcano.
No bay safe for passage, no strip for landing, no field for take-off, no place for a haven.
The dove, affrighted, sits behind the wreckage; every jungle on fire, every gulf in flames.
No rainbowed visions, no earthly blooms, no ocean orchids, all springs polluted.
In the debris lie splinters of my dream.
Every time I sip my sadness, it sticks in my throat; my stare gets cranky and I look like a jinn unloosening the lid.
Am I the same after my home shelled, my son killed by blast, my father shot?
No hand to caress, none there to repair the rot, none to wipe out the scars; no count of the dead in the debris of stars.
With freckled flag where to go, all roads mined and the fuse ready to go off!
Nothing before or after. A frozen moment have I become awaiting the fall of a hammer.
No more shall I wait. All around the desert closing in.
No gesture, no word, bayonets break into my eyes.
My prismatic body can no more withstand the chemical combustion.
What these changes in the ecosystem the holes, ozone-layer-like, in my skinny coat.
I am bleached, asphyxiated; dumb, I write the dying mans declaration.
The sight of the maimed and dead brought home amidst the beating of drums.
The shrieks of babes and women, of wailing bangles the sobs of vermilioned earth.
With every sip of sadness, I drink ale and blood and suffer for my part of the sin: how I dragged down the heaven.
Pierced by pricks, I can no more sleep; my timid self is gnawed by grievous guilt.
Too close, yet too far, to the solution: a convict counting my crimes in a lone cell; a senile, waiting for the call.
The fire that burns within moves my heart to sing a song of peace for the war-ravaged world.
Only a barren soul dead to human suffering, to ugliness all around, can retain its calm.
What avail these inventions that fail to stop the poisonous emissions, deadly gases that overflow making holes in the ozonic roof?
What will happen to the sun, to life on this imperilled earth, who will be there for the dead to mourn if nuclear winter is let in?
No more can I bear this drama of mortal strife blasts and explosions this burning amphitheatre on wheels.
Mother-earth forbids me to destroy the clock and revert to the olden time when we lived from moment to moment.
This MAD Syndrome, this cut-throat competition, this balance of terror, if not rolled back, shall spell annihilation.
Constant upsetting of eco-balance, the ceaseless churning out of gaseous poisons posing danger to all life on this planet polluting the very spring of life.
The scenario of a frozen sky: birds paralyzed in one stroke, animal kingdom struck blind, all Nature gone deaf and dumb.
The planetary tabernacle stopping in midair, moon and stars in space transfixed, utter blackout amidst doomsday flames, no sphere swinging to complete a revolution.
All strike-force immobilized on the ground, loaded guns and missiles unexploded, all weapons of mass destruction. No war fought, no war won.
When all is over, the curtain rung down, who a hero, who a villain? Varnish-washed, all look the same.
The chips down, the suspense-crammed play turns into a bland narrative.
The defended flag of a bygone tribe is consigned to the museum.
Every new empire is reared on the shredded glory of a power-drunk war-lord.
Bled, we bleed burnt, we burn, shot, we shoot friends and foes alike.
Stoke racial fire, cultural cauldron, ethnic strife, national wars, one after the other.
How long these shibboleths, these political gimmicks, these cloak-dagger skull rites?
All treaties, a piece of paper to be torn sooner rather than later.
How can peace prevail when insanity rules the roost, mutual trust takes a back seat, betrayals become the rule?
Raise walls and more walls, barricades and bastions of dragon fears and hate.
Love is the alchemy to turn war into peace.
Peace has fled, love taken wings, only hate rules the roost. Where to find ones calm?
Where to find a heart that melts at others suffering; a soul that embraces all, who bears the stab of racial strife? . When shall the trauma of war give place to order of peace and the world rid of hate and fear?
When shall freedoms flag unfurl over the land and the sea and all walls break to let man be free?
Every twenty five years one more India joins the globe a big slum.
Ever deepening crisis of governance each ones destiny existentially ordained in a Hobbesian world of cut-throat competition.
Feet burning with heat of mass consumerism, the planet bending backward under the overload of exploding population.
How sraining the cosmic explosion of expectation! the whole earth deficient to meet even one mans consumerist greed.
The modern day leaders Nero-like fiddling with people caught in communal crossfire, the planet smoldering at both ends.
Gone that green eco-mystical way, a life of sharing, a reverence for life, a growing concern for millions.
Tribal habitat to the global village, dingy dark hovels to electronic-fitted cottages capping them is the oligopoly in deep crisis.
Only a seers wisdom can avert and diffuse the ticking bomb of ever rising population ecological and thermonuclear doom.
Every dawn buried in a trench, every mind benumbed by the shock.
The deathless spirit smiles in all-enveloping night, holds its head high in nihilism and despair.
Never lets die the ember of hope even on the cross. Wear the martyrs crown.
Every mother prays for long life of her son, his well-being, his blossoming.
Wants peace that her children sing peace carols and psalms, the anthems of creation.
Affluent or indigent, stern or indulgent, every mother wants this; yes, every mother.
She wants peace, for sure, peace; no war, not even a scuffle.
Let mother show the way when mankind has strayed away.
My brother stands before me ready to kill.
To embrace the stab of hate and be killed or to dismount his proud head. In a fix I press the button.
The chaos let loose, the bloodhounds set free upon the children of one mother who shared bread and broth in one kitchen, basked in the fire of the same hearth, slept under the same roof and together played hide-and-seek.
How to retrace from the precipice, avert the headlong fall.
Mother is lacerated by each wound her children inflict upon one another. The irreparable loss is hers, the tragedy and suffering is hers. To her never shall it be the same again.
Spreading her cloth, she wails: Come home my children, come, there are forces who will not let us live, they have planted bombs all over my bosom. I can bear the shock of their explosion but not of another forty-seven.
Please throw away this gun, hurt not your mothers womb. I pray for the life of all my children, may peace on the earth prevail.
To every toiling today and tomorrow I owe my little joy and sorrow. In my big and little plans my priority is the common man in the eternal now of the earth, not in any prenatal, real or imagined, birth.
Immersed in work-a-day world, otherworldly things hold for me no charm, neither the treasures of heaven nor the terrors of hell.
Mine is a loving, fulfilling world where love and friendship clasp no shadows, everyone strives for peace and brotherhood a world sans violence and war.
Neither through divine intervention, nor the promise of a kingdom of heaven, but by honest toil in the service of fellowmen, can mankind be saved from hunger and want.
When the people are awakened, no tyranny can put them down, bare-chested they confront the tanks and brave the mightiest tyrant.
Undeterred they march on and on paving the way to liberation, overthrowing structures of oppression, annulling all chains of enshavement.
Sow the seed of life everlasting, foster the order of universal well-being, bind all human beings in fraternal bonds, on loves foundations raise a war free world.
Singing the song of happy cheer send peace-balloons in the air, with warm hands and noble intent free every man from fretting fear.
Without change life's stagnation sits, wooden chair becomes the torture tool.
Stone walls enclosures manacle lifes acres, no grass is green on hedges.
The worlds toughest yacht race, this life, different crews but same are the boats racing against the all-prevailing currents.
The only professional on the ship, by opposing pulls assailed in the tidal crossfire is caught.
Learning from each bit of mistake one becomes a trusted mariner, the mentor of rebellious seas.
Civilizations rise and fall, tombs and catacombs, ideologies sabotaged, betrayed and bankrupted.
There goes to debris the house of Soviets, towers and minarets, hoary and hallowed.
The only light that stands out in pitch-dark is of nuclear fire, terrific in its overkill.
No leader, no prophet, amidst the reigning chaos, yet we wait for the saviour to come with a secret remote close to his chest.
In our dreary desert we long for a whiff of fragrance, a song to cheer, a refreshing shower of grace.
Electrons on the run, mountains crumbling, oceans tumbling a dance of dissolution.
Dark clouds vanishing in depths of desolation, dreams dissolving in passivitys benighted ocean.
Shadows close by enfolding eternities, I stand my ground gazing at the sun.
O Lord, save me from the nuclear blast, the blisters of radiation, the yellow smoke of explosion.
Tired of annexing territories and crowns signing death warrants of near and dear ones setting free the hounds of mad ambition I have reached the end of the tether.
I dont want to die in the cannon fire, in the cacophony of bomb explosions, nor live in rat holes of nightmarish fears, the thought of the day after makes my heart sink.
O Lord, save me from the holocaust, from the nuclear fallout, from ravages of radiation from the thermonuclear blast.
Lead me out of this horrid night; usher me into the dawn of freedom, the tides are rising full, draw me out of the whirls.
Awake me into awareness of ongoing wholeness the organic continuum of various orders of creation.
Bless the earth with a new dawn of freshening intelligence nurturing nectar springs.
Cleanse the dark ravines to revive within me beauty and harmony, the life-affirming vision.
Afloat on a sprawling sea, burning and churning, smoldering and smelting, the rugged earth.
In multi-millennia navigating through sea routes and continents, conquering and killing the natives, colonizing, building empires.
In the name of Allah the merciful, Christ the lord of love, Jehovah the stern justiciar of a mighty race, connecting black and marmara sea.
I have survived times mutation, historys upheavals, its vicissitudes, flowed in the dreams of multitudes like the sounding bells of dawn.
A witness to Byzantine glory, Roman brilliance, Ottoman opulence, the hordes of marauders coming from barbarian habitations.
Always bubbling with mighty turbulence, unfurling the ensigns of victory on the minarets and prickly domes, every time raising, new cathedrals of renown.
Torched in the next moment into rubble, melted concrete and Iron, from the towering eminence mocking at the Creator.
Still hoping for a new dispensation, yet asking shall that ever come how much more destruction no one knows!
No end to popes and priests, those dupes of an ingenious goddess whose tentacles surround the earth mushrooming altars of sects and creeds.
Truth lost in the parochial darkness of faith worshipping unknowable abstractions, oblivious of the pressing concerns of fellowmen raise altars to goddess of fear and hate.
Hypnotizing its soul-killing hold sending many a people to the theatre of war drugged by the one or the other abstraction.
Religion, race, tribe, nation, language, caste, kinship, region the sub-national identities raked up by the ingenuity of a conditioned brain.
Sunk in the mire of unreason, worshipping the id-generated gods, luring people into their bloodstained altars for collective homicide.
Obdurate in its intransigence, repetitive in its pattern of occurrence, learning nothing from the inherited wrongs or the fatal sins of forefathers.
Forcing and coaxing to sacrifice the finest flower of youth to safeguard the glory of a stone, or avenge an imagined wrong.
Puffed by artificial pride of narrow sectarian slogans, they go on a killing spree claiming foreign territories.
Raise armies to extend their dominion, to get back a piece of land annexed by the precursors of the present regime. Any excuse sufficient to support a fight.
Waxing full the national frenzy before unleashing a crusade, a war to the finish, be it Vietnam, Iraq, Gulf or Afghanistan.
Everyone dies a martyr in the name of saving his religion or nation. No concern for the earth-mother whose children are we all.
When shall this consciousness dawn, O Lord, when?
When all beings walk erect, cast no shadow, the earth is hallowed.
Colonialism gone, statist communism gone, but tyrannies appear in new avatars.
Revolution abides, though broken and shattered; human resolve outlasts dissolution.
When everyone sleeps, the poet is forging words.
To rouse, to bring forth a race of warriors.
A new epoch, a new order, a new discourse of harmony.
Invites everyone to join the congregation, of love and brotherhood.
How long will you treat man as a beast, O priest?
Hasnt man made gigantic cathedrals and pyramids, space-stations and satellites to navigate the cosmic seas?
Unravel the mysterious skein, divine conception and design, the trinity and the Gods plan, mans redemption and his restoration!
The paradise he fell from, its lustre, its brilliance, his divinity, his grandeur, the envy and exemplar of gods.
When shall the kingdom return, how long a wait, how long, O priest? Stop drugging man with soul-killing poison, no more dopes, no more delusions.
Let him be a free man with no altar for worship, his head bloody but unbowed before any tyrant of a god:
The creator, perpetuator of this iniquitous world, a chimera born of mans frenzied brain, the sadist maestro of the zero-sum game.
Let man work out his own salvation, freeing himself from all parochial darknesses of faiths dismantling Berlin walls and iron curtains, eliminating all weapons of mass destruction.
Only love, compassion and service will bring his release.
Unfed, unclothed, unhoused, uncared, he moves unseen, unwanted, unloved.
The real man, to him belongs the earth; his home, the whole universe.
Prior to Popes, prior to Churches, prior to crucifix-tasting-man, prior to kings and emperors, prior to conquerors, battle-worn.
On his bones has risen sky-kissing towers of civilization every pyramid of ambition, every dome of revelation.
Unseen, he is always there, unsettling every plan, occupying the centre-stage with floodlights on.
Everywhere the same sky, same patch of land, same sun to bask in, same moon to dally with.
Same in America, same in Europe, same in Asia, same in Far East, same in Africa, same in Japan, the same water encircling the earth.
Go anywhere, eastward or westward, you will meet the same people: same affections, same passions, same festivities, same feasts.
Skin-colour may vary, the blood in veins is the same, same alternation of moon cycles, same lunar rhythm in every being.
Same upswing of high tide, same fall and swell of waves same passion to kiss the moon same star-lit crop in full bloom.
Same nostalgia to go a-fishing in the night sky, same wonder catch once in a blue moon.
Same splashing of moonbeams, the dulcet lilt of wafting breeze, the heart-throb of primal harmony from sphere to sphere reverberating.
Behind mans moods and seasons, high and dry, cloudy and clear, sweet and bitter, of every flavour, same pattern, same rhythm.
(i) Walls break, peoples hug, Germanies unite, there is light.
Amidst gongs and bells, new world is born.
A new Europe rolls down the escalator of time.
(ii) Ringing with cries of freedom, prestroika unfurls in the sky, glasnost breaks the union.
A new confederation takes off to join the older choir, new priests are anointed.
(iii) Bishops sit in circle, kiss crosses one by one, blood and flesh a real feast.
No heretic nailed, no prince crucified, no one killed in fake encounters.
State is on the alert to let no assassin go scot free.
(iv) With no regret or remorse I walk out of the prison after a twenty-seven-year spell.
I am my future held in chains yet a beacon to my men, the Mandela to my generations.
I fix my gaze on my son dispatched to the guillotine, I burn red with rage struggling to break open the cage.
No sacrifice is too dear to break asunder human chains, that my fellowmen be free from the accursed slavery.
The anger of a whole generation frozen in my bruised bones, slogan-weary, action I want.
With my bones I forge weapons to continue the fight for the wretched of the earth.
A choking in my throat, not content till I wipe every stain from the face of the earth.
I wake up in a new dawn, join the historic march to overthrow tyrants and empires.
Hail freedoms birth; O ye, the herald for everyone, the bard for the crestfallen.
Beyond the barbed wire is the luscious green; who dares jump over the wall shall get an electric shock.
Gone the barbed wire, torn the iron curtain, dismantled the concrete wall, the estranged meet in a warm embrace.
The children of one earth, sharing a common hearth, flowing from the same source, set on a historic course.
The grassy green around, bustling with merry sound, is the heritage of all; indivisible.
The wall that stands in-between shall not be. We will roll it green this summer.
The earth is one, the universe one, the eco-system one, all life one.
No walls separate us, no chasm yawns, nothing stands in-between the mother and her sons.
Red is the colour of every sons blood, of the killer and the killed, the mother weeps for both.
When isms contend and explode, the blood that flows is cosmic red, the same at birth and death.
Same the ale and bread, same the flavour, same the stench, even remains the same.
How cloying the deeds sung by bards, the blood-curdling exploits of heroes slain in war.
How empty it sounds, a hundred died in one round. Headless, in heaps they lie battered beyond recognition.
What for? To satisfy the whim of a war-lord, to annex a mound where not a blade of grass grows.
Not to vanquish the evil that lurks in human breast, not to slay the monster that tears asunder our calm!
Why add to senseless strife? Why swell the ranks of Satans tribe? Why not raise our arms to the One who shall order our redemption?
O Lord of the sea, give me your fury, your roaring clarion, that tyrants quake.
Blow into my soul the breath of your vision that I embrace multitudes in my vast outspread.
Burn away, dear, every doubt, every fear; to every predator I be a scourge, every power-drunk war-monger.
Bury beneath the timeless sand every grievous wound, to let grow a million springs abloom that life-swallows chirp and sing.
Why put restriction on import of immortal love songs? Why restrain fancys flight, why screen away the light?
Why not let winds freely pass before your door, wherefore your windows close? Let the sun come in.
Your whole future is at stake, let new thoughts come straddling along plotting a putsch at every iron wall on your roof the ensign of freedom unfurl.
Why be afraid of a whirlwind the agonizing trials and tribulations? Nothing can shake your roots embedded in the deep solid earth.
Your goal, the well-being of all, not merely of one people, your glasnost and prestroika embrace the whole world.
Freedom for every man, the earth as one family, you envisioned at the civilizations dawn. The oldest sage was your father.
The world calls you again to come out of your narrow shell and speak of the abiding concern for the entire human race.
You are the most enlightened seer, the philosophy you have lived and died for the truth common to all religions, above the din of dissension.
You have nurtured the dream of a unified cosmic consciousness irrespective of race or nation: peace to all men, peace to all habitations.
You have flown kites in the open sky, moved in unwalled space, envisioned an order-will cutting across frontiers.
Unappeased your appetite for all good things, every peacock your prosperity sings, you are friend to every man fired with a mission to redeem.
Born in penury, in adversity rocked, in seismic upheavals flown on the raft of flesh and bone.
Go over the seven seas forging bonds of love, with poets from many lands in earth-consciousness bound.
Musing on the river Cam, cruising on the Rhine, flowing verses to Yangtze, son of Ganga goes to meet his brothers.
From Paris to Rome, Beijing to Taipei, Bangkok to Tripoli, Kansas to Cambridge.
Create confraternity of poets, the legislators of mankind, to usher in the citizenship of the earth.
I bequeath to you, my child, the pride of being born in this hoary land of mans first spring.
Here sages sang the first hymns to light, and the Ganga of civilization came down from heaven itself.
Here thronged from many lands streams and rivers to a confluence of cultures and beliefs greening the earth with universal love.
Pillaged by marauders, laid waste by bandits, from the ashen gloom you arise, unvanquished.
Beneath the silt of time flows the Ganga sublime with psalms and hymns of a hoary civilization.
The enduring remains of her sacrificing sons, the inheritors of halcyon past, keep her soil forever green.
Internet has come, the world has shrunk, are we in the global village?
No more the neighbourhood, no more the sharing brotherhood, no more the bond of affection and duty.
Gone the carefree community life, of sitting round the fire in wintry nights.
No more spinning of fortunes change, no telling beads of stars.
How fulfilling! the longing for more love, the dreaming of new dawns, the hoping for new shoots.
Relax the choking grip on throat to release the captive voice, that no scorpion fear gnaw your soul; happiness is consummation of the whole,
Not of a part, of body, or of mind, not of one people, but the whole mankind, not of one region, but the entire earth; for all life in common filaments is bound.
Nationalism broken, ethnicity triumphant, terror on the leash!
Whereto are we heading, backward or forward, one world or tribal herd?
The earth-citizen!
When shall he come to be baptized?
A field it was of waving hands, of rhythmic steps, of a slow-moving dance.
Yellow and red, black and brown, white and bright, every colour and shade.
The whole choir sang, in bliss of harmony, serenading to the earth-citizenry.
Mines all over the earth, no safety cover over my roof, skys blanket wears many holes.
Tortoise like I withdraw into my bunker shell, anxiously wait for it to get clear.
Suddenly the bottom of the ocean is ripped open shooting up tempestuous whirls.
Lightning thunder breaks ribs of mountains, hurricanoes wreak havoc.
God of doom is seen closing in the noose around the gasping earth.
Horror-struck I watch the doomsday dance in the tunnel of gloom.
Some monster blizzard bashes the earth-mother Devki-like plucking her hair.
Mothers chest is flung open by deluge of mineralled flares by thunder-wielding cyclones.
In one hoary aeon a boar had released her from the clutches of a mighty demon pulled her out from the bottomless deep.
Where are those mighty heroes like Bhagiratha, the bringer of holy Ganga from the inaccessible glens of heaven.
Now no Agastya, the ocean-drinking sage, no Dadhichi, the bones-weapons-forging seer, no nachiketa, the knower of deaths mystery.
I salute them all, the heroes cast in martyrs mould, all-glorious their scroll of deeds.
Who is there philosophizing atop the hoary hill: the earth is dying, the sun is dying.
Arent these sheer lies? Can a poet die at all? Isnt he the same before and after the fall?
Why beat the self-same drum, worn out by diurnal dum dum, no more can it bear the strain, constant tapping shall affect the brain.
The capsule that I bury this day, the truthful record of an ill-fated play, the climax and denouement of epic dimension caused by a fatal flaw in the psyche of man.
At the same spot I shall bury the living and dying profile of the sun, the blue-print of a new civilization yet to arise on ruins of the existing one.
Not enough space for all on this boat, promise for its upkeep a pipe-dream, disrupted is natures equilibrium in face of the ever rising population.
The earthly reality is a living in an unfriendly dangerous jungle where for some fortunate ones a well-protected, a well-heated cave.
The multitude starved of even their basic needs, in dread of wild animals and inclement weather live defenceless, roofless, under a bare sky, preyed on and decimated by beasts and vultures.
Blasted all hope of mans collective evolution in humanitys civilizational scale, just a mirage, his totalistic liberation, Yet the dream survives in mans consciousness.
What rules this ever shrinking globe: the pleasure principle, satisfying only the uppermost ten percent of the North vis-à-vis the suffering millions of the South!
What redemption to a world divided between the rich and the poor, world population growing in geometrical proportion and the living space shrinking for new births.
The archetypal earth citizen must evolve a design of living in a world bursting and burning at the seams, own responsibility for his resurgence or relapse, for all beings are bound in a common destiny.
My epoch the noblest of all, each person an end unto himself freedoms mansion not raised on debris of empires.
My architectonic blueprint envisions the non-robotic city of man where they abide in light of bliss sans all trappings of ego-self and hubris.
I see the commoner rising, guided by light of conscience and reason, see him affirm his right and autonomy firmly rooted in human affections and duties.
In the temple of physical self they must work out their own salvation, repair the working of the inner psychic being by merging in the Cosmic Person.
A global Gandhi on the world horizon a world free of nuclear terror, sans trauma of ecological doom, a new creativity flowing from the wholeness of Self.
Non-nuclear non-violent new world beyond the hunger-belt of the planet, the redeemer of mans millennial dreams, encapsulating his holistic global vision.
Planet in Peril is the poets lament on the frantic stockpiling of nuclear weapons imperilling all life on this planet of ours. Unlike modern day Neros who are seen fluting with sadistic ecstasy when all-engulfing flames are threatening to turn this only habitat of ours into a burning inferno, the poets soul weeps in mournful numbers when he reflects over the impending disaster. The poet rightly feels that unless we transform the very script of man, unless we give him a totally new programme of living and being, we can go on talking about peace but we will go on preparing for war. Thats what we have been doing for thousands of years: talking about peace and creating war. With the same energy man could have created paradise on earth; and all that we have done is to create a hell instead. As a consequence the general attitude today has been growing more and more towards death and everyday it is bringing death closer to this planet. Any day this planet can explode into utter annihilation. The whole intelligence technology, science, politics, everything is directed towards one thing : how to commit global suicide. The poet holds the politician and the priest responsible for this mischief. Both are war mongers. The politician creates war without, and the priest creates war within. This is by far the longest and the greatest conspiracy against humanity. The poet has chosen themes of vital significance to all of us offering a vision of responsibility for the condition of the earth. He makes a strong plea to stop forthwith these holocaust rehearsals lest we chant our own requiem before our time comes by, when polluting the environment, digging our tombstones, without epitaph. For from silently accepting the holocaust of Nature and seeing the world driven into thermo-nuclear confrontation, speak, thou, Poets and all, before it may be too late! Now!
People still waste their time with that crap?
GUNNY: Here's one soldier-poet who disagrees with our troll.
In the words of the Skaldi - VALHALLA, I AM COMING!
Ho hum . . . Poets cannot make the world safer. Soldiers do.
Compliments of FReeper Tealc
The poster is the author.
As a writer, I am here to tell you this is junk.
This is what has killed poetry. Who reads this stuff anymore?
If you want poetry go to Thomas Merton or Christopher Smart (My Cat Jeoffry) or Rudyard Kipling; 19th century writers.
gandhi was a perv who slept with naked little girls did a lot of other strange things with them.
"This self-deception, this dope dream, how long shall it last?"
"Dope dream"? Is the "poet" Puff Daddy?
I wander through darkened corridors
Through halls of evernight
Walking as a whisper
Drifting past the darken'd light
With loneliness as my guide
I'm betrayed by the sunlight
A brief eternity to hear her voice
Bar your windows tight
I'd sell my soul to see her face
In my halls of evernight.
I think they need to meet one of the vampirii..
Oh, wait.. that'd be me according to some.
modern day Neros who are seen fluting with sadistic ecstasy
Umm. I believe the legend has Nero fiddling, not fluting.
But whatever - Poetry sucks!! War rocks!!
"If you want poetry go to Thomas Merton or Christopher Smart (My Cat Jeoffry) or Rudyard Kipling; 19th century writers."
"If any question why we died,
Tell them, Because our fathers lied."
- Kipling - 1918 -
The great Kipling would be called an anti-patriotic, terrorist-supporting, Dixie-chick-loving, liberal, pacifist, anti-American traitor if he published that quote in this forum.
H.I.M. - Funeral of Hearts
Love's the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you
She was the sun
Shining upon
The tomb of your hopes and dreams so frail
He was the moon
Painting you
With it's glow so vulnerable and pale
Love's the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you
She was the wind, carrying in
All the troubles and fears here for years tried to forget
He was the fire, restless and wild
And you were like a moth to that flame
We're already seemed beyond divine
Pray to god as deaf and blind
The last night's the soul's on fire
Dreaming to answer the question why
Love's the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you
Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon
See if I don't.
Does anyone here miss the days in which poetry had actual rhyme and meter, and wasn't all of this "free verse" excrement?
Back then, it took actual talent to be a poet.
I love seeing that Zot.
I write poetry sometimes, but that's only because I'm a twisted tortured soul haunted by my muse at 3 in teh morning and have to write it down or it'll drive me nuts and i won't sleep.
The stuff MMMghandi posted isn't so much poetry as it is liberal touchy feely good mental masturbation and peace to the whirled drek.
Most of it is pretty second rate.
But thanks for trying.
Playing the lyre, actually.
The Dr. is just begging to be banned...
By Madan G. Gandhi
President, Gandhi Earth Vision Foundation
Iraq War : Bush's game plan
Bush's avowed objective in invading Iraq was to bring about 'a regime change' in Baghdad and the invasion was termed as a 'preemptive attack' against the rogue state supposedly in possession of weapons of mass destruction. Indeed the real motive was to safeguard the present interest in the entire Middle East and control the oil reserves in the region. It is the new hegemonist face of Bush's political machinery which believes that all those countries which are strategically necessary for world control have to be under their direct dominance and open to investment and appropriation of profits.
In Bush's game plan Middle East, because of its proven oil reserves, is crucial. So is central Asia for its vast potential of untapped oil wealth. With eyes set on economic, military and political control of the entire globe, the Bush's administration is behaving as globe-cop seizing every conceivable opportunity for global domination. It is currently gripped by a paranoid fear of innumerable enemies lurking in the Third World which offers a fertile ground for testing its military prowess and imperialist designs.
Conjuring scenes of looming 'mushroom clouds' by use of nuclear weapons, mouthing warning signals under 'big lie principle', Bush regime today is out to resurrect civilizational clashes in certain select areas of the world. It is not sincere about ending the MAD syndrome and total elimination of all nuclear weapons and other chemical and biological weapons. In dread of the possibility of terrorists and rogue states like Iraq aiding and abetting to deliver WMD to their targets, Bush's political machinery is justifying recourse to war against these states unilaterally on the plea of self defence even if it may mean going against the UN mandate. This way America is out to destroy whatever semblance of multilateral regime remains in the world by its new found doctrine of unilateralism.
Admittedly in terms of weapons of mass destruction arsenal and military capability no country or even coalition of countries can match the US. So in confronting nations like Iraq the double standards of the current bush administration's stand out most starkly. Till date America itself remains the greatest obstacle to total disarmament. Who can deny that WMD is just as much a problem with US and other members of the nuclear club and even threshold states as with Iraq in so far as their destructive consequences are concerned. No distinction can be made in case of 'good WMD's' and 'bad WMD's.' How come they are essential for national security for Americans, British, French, Chinese etc. and taboo for others.
After the Iraq deed is done most perceptive purveyors of the reality on the ground opine that the UN inspection process was just a ruse to gather logistics before launching the military action. For the real goal of the Bush's current establishment was regime change - either by military coup or open invasion and following the fall of Saddam Hussain to gain full control over Iraq's oil. With this single most strategic interest in the Middle East the Bush administration's political machinery considers that once Iraq came under its domination Iran, Syria, Turkey etc. might be the next targets. For in Bush's ground plan any country that comes under or has liaison with what he calls 'axis of evil' and is not promotive of American interests as defined by the Bush administration's political machinery have no right to thrive as a sovereign nation. And if it happens to be a major oil resource it ought to be tamed and made to subserve the latter's hegmonist ambitions. A puppet regime in Iraq and a pliant one in Iran as being under constant threat of surrounding US military bases in Central Asia to the North, Turkey and Iraq to the West, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Qatar and Oman to the South and Pakistan and Afghanistan to the East will strategically suit best the Bush administration's policies. It will not only give much greater leverage to Washington in relation to these countries but will also enable it to extend its control over oil pipe-lines from the Arbian Sea in Central Asia through Afghanistan and Pakistan to the Arabian Sea.
Besides it will facilitate negotiating of terms favourable to Israeli occupation and dispossession of Palestinians.
With US dominated oil regime in the Gulf and Central Asia, countries like China, India, Europe and Japan will have to increasingly depend on the former for its energy resources. This dominant position in the Gulf region will give a big boost to American economy, and its political and military power.
Following the collapse of the Soviet Union in the 1990's the United States remains the World's sole super power. The decline of Europe and Japan has further bolstered the prospect of a true 'Power Americana' as per Bush administration's global perspective which brooks no peer competitor. Only a US led coalition suits its global hegemonic ambitions. This policy supported by US-centric globalization is clearly designed to maintain and perpetuate its political, economic and military dominance. At the expense both of its potential rivals and the global growth America under adventurest president is radically expanding its control over the world system thereby provoking imperialist rivalries on a global scale. Other capitalist countries that feel threatened by its 'break out strategy' are in the look out of devising ways and means to challenge the US dominated new global order taking shape.
Invasion of Iraq engineered by the Bush regime has provoked universal condemnation. There have been mammoth protest rallies within the United States, Europe, Japan, China and the countries of global South. Bush's new avatar in the form of American unilateralism and its doctrine of preemption have been under fire. The unfolding consequences of this doctrine of aggression are becoming evident with every passing day as more victims are being added to the list. Success of 'Operation Freedom' has further whetted the appetite of the hegemonstists. Verbal threat to Syria, Iran, Turkey and other countries is a new sinister development. Countries which failed to rise up and be counted in denouncing the aggression, they will rue their timidity sooner than later.
The deed has inflicted a lethal glow on the UN. In the whole process the Bush's political regime has emerged as the global bully. The redeeming feature is that a powerful troika of nations-- Russia, German, France-- have stood up shoulder to shoulder to challenge the its hegemonic face. The day is not far of when China, India, Africa and the Arab world will come together to safeguard themselves against this highly unacceptable unilateralism and exploitative globalism. They will rise in revolt against double standards of the Bush's administration in confronting terrorism where it affects them and janus-like looking the other way when it affects other nations, their making loud noises to eliminate weapon of mass destruction of their potential rivals and in the meanwhile continue arming to teeth those who are part and parcel of their own coalition and forging alliances with autocratic regimes in preference to those that are natural votaries of democracy.
The invasion of Iraq by the Bush regime has destroyed not only Iraq's ten millennia old civilization but has also violated, twisted and mutilated the American liberal civilizational dream of its founding fathers. Furthermore it has destroyed the credibility of their mass media and the role models they have been projecting before the world.
Bush's administration's policies are responsible for making America vulnerable and the Deed's Creature whose children may have to bear the brunt of the grievous wrong inflicted on the unarmed Iraqi people and those in Afghanistan. Even in victory is its defeat. Today thanks to Bush administration's wrong policies America stands isolated in the world and has lost much of its moral authority to pontificate on democracy, human rights and terrorism. With new breed of terrorists rising from the ashes of indiscriminate bombing and destruction caused in different parts of the world, it is anybody's guess what will be the future of beleaguered human race with mines planted all over its bosom.
For every Saddam Hussain there is a double lurking some where. Gandhi's dream of non-violent world-order can not fructify unless there is a qualitative transformation of leaders of nations and peoples. Neither Bush nor Saddam can be role models for new world order. To ensure greater accountability and sense of equity and justice people have to rise as one man to fill the vaccum. They have to take command and lead their leaders by the nose string. The peace rallies and mammoth peace marches which have been witnessed in different parts of the world including United States of America following invasion of Iraq is a silver lining in dark horizon. This way is hope............
Here is some Haiku for you,
MgGanhdi was here
on freerepublic posted
no one heard his screams
And I think you should worry more about your culture's practice of burning women and less about our efforts to liberate the women of Aghanistan and all the people of Iraq.
Ditto. When I was in my early 20s, I was determined to become a great poet. I practically let everything else go--career, family, relationships--everything came second to my writing.
Since I have grown up, the muse acts like a jealous old girlfiend who just won't let go.
THIS is a first - a Poet-Troll!
Read before it's ZOTTED!
(snapping fingers) Grooo-oovy, Man! Yo, two espressos over here!!
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Since Sep 10, 2004
Dr. Madan G. Gandhi
Ph.D. (Political Science)
H-23/16 DLF Phase-I, Gurgaon-122002. Haryana (India)
Phone : 91-0124-5054392, Mobile: 9413170067
Editor, Collected Works of Lala Lajpat Rai
2, Lajpat Bhawan, Lajpat Nagar-IV, New Delhi-110 024
Phone : 91-011-26223035, Fax : 91-011-26288102
e-mail address
A Visiting Fellow of St. Johns College, Cambridge for Lent and Easter terms 1989-90, Dr. Madan G. Gandhi is an outstanding educationist, litterateur and publicist who is in the vanguard of many movements for sustainable environment, total disarmament, human rights and one-world mankind. He has been active in Gandhism-in-action and Sarvodya movement since mid-fifties and worked with notable Gandhians like Vinoba Bhave, Jay Prakash Narayan Kaka Kalelkar, R.R. Diwakar and other prominent leaders of the movement. Impressed by his earnestness and zeal, Achint Ram (father of Krishan Kant, Vice President of India) a great freedom fighter and leader of the Congress and Bhoodaan movement in Punjab, developed a faith in the potential of Gandhi to become a selfless dedicated devotee to the cause. A brief note he wrote to Gandhi from Willingdon Hospital, Delhi, on 1.11.1961, bears testimony to the tremendous confidence that he reposed in the latter. Addressing Gandhi as "My dear hope, " he unreservedly states: "If God takes my body I am confident you will see the mission of Lajpat Rai, Gandhi and Vinoba fulfilled."
Philip Noel Baker, Nobel Peace Laureate came to have a special liking for the young poet - crusader for total nuclear disarmament and world peace. Impressed by Prime Minister, Rajiv Gandhi's impassioned advocacy of nuclear free, non-violent world order as enshrined in the famous Rajiv Gandhi-Gorbachev Delhi Declaration and his submitting a detailed document on nuclear disarmament before the United Nations, Dr. Madan Gandhi organised a national level seminar on Delhi Declaration in which top social scientists and peace activists from all over the country took part. The proceedings of the seminar were widely circulated and now are being brought out in a book form. Moved by Prime Minister, Rajiv Gandhi's martyrdom to the cause of peace and harmony in the sub-continent, Professor Madan Gandhi wrote In Memoriam: To Rajiv Gandhi which was considered one of the most moving poems symbolizing personal grief and tragic loss to the family and youthful resurgent India of his dreams. This poem later found a place in 1995 anthology of World Poetry and now is displayed by several websites.
Envisioning One-world Society and Earth Citizenship, Professor Gandhi is associated with many national and international organizations for the promotion of Earth-Consciousness and Global Fraternity. He is a moving, powerful voice in contemporary English Poetry and has a unique place in the world of Mysticism and poetry for peace. A winner of Tagore Award in poetry in 1961, Dr. Gandhi is the Founder-President of the Poetry Society of India. He is the author of twelve volumes of poetry entitled Ashes and Embers, Kundalini, Luteous Serpent, Petals of Flame, Freak Stair, Meandering Maze, Ring of Silence, Shunayata in Trance, Haikus and Quatrains, Enchanting Flute, The Imperiled Earth, Planet in Peril: Poet's Lament. His magnum opus The Imperiled Earth has been reviewed by many leading intellectuals of the World. Khushwant Singh, the veteran journalist and litterateur profusely quotes from the book in his column "This Above All," published in Indian Express and many other national dailies of January 1, 1994. He compliments the poet for making a forceful plea against the impending dangers of nuclear holocaust and environmental degradation and his wanting man to withdraw from the precipice well in time. On Madan Gandhi's Poetry, research leading to Ph.D. is in progress in some Universities. One Ph.D. Thesis EWAFE Motif in M.G. Gandhis Poetry has already been awarded Doctorate and published in book form entitled Poetry of Madan G. Gandhi: A new Metaphysical Voice. In a befitting recognition of his excellence in poetry, World Academy of Arts and Culture conferred, in 1993, the honorary degree of Doctor of Litterateur (Litt.D) upon Gandhi for making a distinguished contribution for promoting world order and international understanding through his writings. Notable among his monographs on political philosophy are Gandhi and Marx, Gandhian Aesthetics, Delhi Declaration on Nuclear Disarmament, Pre-Marxian Socialism, Marx to Mao, Contemporary Socialism, Modern Political Theory, Modern Political Analysis and Dialogue Among Civilizations (edited).
Dr. Madan Gandhi has been a recipient of numerous awards and honours. A few of them are : International Man of the Year (1991-92) and (1992-93), Most Admired Man of the Decade, World Intellectual (1993) Five hundred Great Personalities of the World, One-in-Million Honour, included in International Whos Who of Poets & Whos Who of Intellectuals, Member of the Board of Advisors of International Centre of Democracy, Maryland, USA, National Excellence Award for contribution in the field of Education and Literature by the United Citizens Council, New Delhi, nominated for Rajiv Gandhi Award for outstanding contribution to education and literature by All India Feroze Gandhi Memorial Society.
As a painter, too, Madan Gandhi has secured a niche for himself in the assessment of art critics. Writing upon Gandhi the painter, Bharat Bhushan perceptively underlines the moving force behind his art: "His imagery and symbolism are surrealistic and emanate from the depths of his inner skyscape." The first exhibition of his paintings was held at All India Fine Arts & Crafts Society's Art Gallery in Delhi from 11th to 17th December 1989. In it were displayed thirty-five oil colour works of the artist. The comments upon them, recorded in the Visitor's Book, display a wide variety of responses, most of them encomiums from connoisseurs of art. The perceptive eye of B.Sen discovered that "Some works have touch of Tagore's style." Similarly, M.K. Jaiswal found in them: "An artist's search for Cosmic Meaning." The second exhibition of his pieces was organised at UNICEF Art Window, Cambridge in March 1990 and the third at the Gallery of Cam, Cambridge in July of the same year. There, too, his paintings were widely appreciated for the depth of meaning they seek to communicate.
Born on 31st August 1940 in Lahore, Madan Gopal Gandhi did his B.A. with Honours in English from D.A.V. College, Ambala City in 1960 and M.A. in Political Science from Punjabi University, Patiala in 1966 and M.A. in English 1964 and Ph.D. in Political Science from Punjab University, Chandigarh in 1974. As a student Madan Gandhi distinguished himself as a powerful orator in English, Hindi and Punjabi. At the Punjab University he outshone his peers and won the first prize in the extempore oration contest. Since his Post graduation in 1964, he has been associated with teaching and research at the university level and conducted and guided research in International Politics, Nation Building, Electoral cum Administrative Reforms and Good Governance, Rural-Urban Development And Design of Living in The Future, Gandhism, Sarvodaya and Panchayati Raj, Human Rights and Social and Political Movements in Third World. Dr. Gandhi provided the introductory paper to the project on the writing of the history of Congress in Haryana. Two of his students did research on the Congress Party for their doctorate and one on Rajiv Gandhi for his M.Phil. Under his guidance more than 60 students got their M.Phil and 16 students their Ph.D.
Another aspect of Madan Gandhi's personality is revealed through his close association with the cultural, literary and social service organizations. In 1962, he founded Chandigarh Cultural Association that organised many variety entertainment programmes and produced many plays and the entire money earned by it, through the sale of tickets for its programmes, was contributed to the National Defence Fund. Gandhi, at this stage of his life, wrote many group songs and quwaalis. Presented at Tagore Theatre, Chandigarh, they were highly appreciated by the audience. In 1963, he founded Vikas Bharti with Krishan Kant as its President and Lal Bahadur Shastri as its patron. Primarily through his commitment and dedication to the cause, it soon became an active instrument of selfless service to the poor and weaker sections of the society. He founded Kavita Bharti with Hazari Prasad Diwedi, an eminent Hindi writer as its President and also Poetry Society of India. He was also the Secretary of Bharat Yuvak Samaj (with Jawaharlal Nehru as the President) Punjab Pradesh. He extensively toured the country disseminating Gandhian values and Gandhian way of life and promoting the cause of national integration, communal harmony and the emancipation of the poor and the down trodden. During this period he was also associated with Sarvodaya Workers' Home as a founder member with Gopichand Bhargava (first Chief Minister of Punjab) as the moving spirit behind it.
Ever since the founding of Centre for Third World Studies and Research in 1983 with Professor Madan Gandhi as the Founder Director at Maharishi Dayanand University he has been initiating several activities and programmes promotive of understanding, friendship and co-operation with Third World Countries with focus on South-South Co-operation and conflict resolution in regard to their crisis areas. He had been actively associated with anti-apartheid movement in South Africa and he actively participated in the international seminar Youth Against Apartheid which was attended by several top ranking African National Congress Leaders which was a front line organization fighting against apartheid in South Africa. Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi was the moving spirit behind the seminar. He also guided students for their Ph.D. on different dimensions of the problem of apartheid, the most inhuman vestige of racialism and colonialism.
Taking inspiration from Vinoba Bhave's ABC triangle denoting the South Asian Sub-continent Madan Gandhi took upon himself the mission of promoting people-to-people relationship among the countries of South Asia firmly believing that this is the surest way to forge the fraternal bond that shall hold in the direst of times and put an end to the clanging strife among races, religions and nations. He saw in people-to-people relationship as the most effective way to reach out beyond state and sectarian wrangles and to usher in an era of all-round peace and prosperity in the region. As editor of the South Asia News Letter Madan G. Gandhi has been carrying aloft the torch of friendship and reconciliation among India and Pakistan and other SAARC countries even during the darkest and most difficult times making the journal the tribune of South Asian People, of their problems and concerns and a powerful instrument to keep vigil on peoples civil liberties and developments in the sub-continent having adverse impact on South Asian Destiny. The South Asia News Letter has striven hard to convert confrontation to cooperation, verbal wrangles to dialogue, contention to conciliation, sectarian clashes to harmonic co-existence, fratricidal strife to fraternal harmony.
To promote communal peace and national integration professor Madan Gandhi also collaborated with Baba Amte in the Bharat Jodo campaign and keeping in view the circumstances prevailing in Punjab, he went about propagating the message of amity and communal peace among the youth bringing home the fundamental unity of all religions. In this connection he organized several discussions, seminars, workshops, guest lectures etc. During the worst phase of terrorism he alongwith Baba Amte and Krishan Kant visited the refugee camps at various places and strove for strengthening the age-old bonds of fraternity and fellow feelings among the people who had become the victims of senseless killings at the hands of the bigoted and misguided among their brethren .
Since the 1960's professor Gandhi had been advocating fundamental electoral reforms, reshaping of the electoral process and restructuring of the Indian Polity. When Guljari Lal Nanda and Bhim Sen Sachhar started the Sadachar Samiti to launch a movement for the values of probity in public life and the havoc the use of black money was inflicting on elections and our political system, he joined the movement with his heart and soul. He was one of the first to mobilize public opinion against criminalization of politics and politicization of criminals. In this connection he gave several lectures in different parts of the country and assisted Krishan Kant to organize an all India seminar enlisting the support of a large number intelligentsia and public men cutting across party lines. The preparations of the documents on the nexus between criminals and politicians and related matters were the outcome of a thoroughgoing exercise involving consultations with wide spectrum of social activists.
Dr. Gandhi has been Dean of Faculty of Social Sciences, Dean of Education, Professor and Head Deptt. of Political Science, Professor-Director Centre for Third World Studies and Research, and Professor Director, Directorate of Distance Education Maharashi Dayanand University, Rohtak. In recognition of his contribution to social science research and philosophical systems he was nominated as member of the Indian Council of Philosophical Research and Indian Council of Social Sciences Research - the apex research organizations in the field of Philosophy and Social Sciences. He was appointed One-Man Commission to review the legal administrative structure of the research institutes funded by Indian Council of Social Science Research. Dr. Gandhi also served as Director Ware Housing Corporation, Haryana and was instrumental in introducing significant reforms in the corporation.
Professor Madan G. Gandhi has been a member of the Academic bodies of Delhi University, Jamia Millia Islamia, Aligarh Muslim University, Punjab University, Chandigarh, Gandhi Gram University, Dindigal, H.P. University, Simla etc. He is Chancellors Nominee to the Executive Council of Delhi University, Chancellors Nominee on the Selection Committees of Kurukshetra University, Member of Senate of Punjab University, Member, Governing Body of University College of Medical Sciences & G.T.B. Hospital, University of Delhi, Member, Governing Body of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar Centre for Biomedical Research, University of Delhi.
At present Madan Gandhi is Editor, Earth Vision, a quarterly Journal of Gandhi Earth Vision Foundation, Editor, South Asia News Letter, and Editor, Collected Works of Lala Lajpat Rai - a Government of India funded research project under Servants of the People Society, founded by Lala Lajpat Rai.
Little Boy Blue.
He needed the money.
You Posted The Whole Book!!!
How are you gonna get anyone to buy it?
Freeper poetrycommando ping!
You will find much more appreciation and validation by posting over at DU. The'll eat this stuff up and maybe even send you some money.
Holy Crap! This guy is full of himself!
New here I see, well have a nice visit.
Sorry, I did not get all of your rant read. Just can't go there.
Nicely done! Nicely done!
(as the bongos are passed to Darksheare)
Very nice! LOL
Not just shameless self-promotion but I contest that the official release date for the book is September 11. 9/11 falls on a Saturday this year and what new releases come out on a Saturday? I think the author is saying it's being released on 9/11 to make a statement. In fact, the entire book was posted here on FR, so, in that sense, it's already been released (at least the content).
Thanks JJ. I tried to read it, but it so long...me eyes can't take it.
Big time ZOT come up.
I swear my muse is Queen Mab, the evil faerie wueen..
That's the only thing I know of that vindictive.
/ joke.
Thankfully I also draw, so I don't have ot worry so much about having my mind melt away.
Such as it is.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.


text:
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US Marine Corps Raider 1942?43The US Marine Raider was an "elite within an elite." Modeled on British Commandoes, they were the earliest forerunners of the various special operations units of the modern US military. These units would conduct operations with only the equipment they could carry on their backs; their heaviest weapons were light mortars and light machine-guns. Highly trained in close-in fighting, the Raiders were
$3.99The major character in the story is Troy O'Neill, an Arizona boy reared by a religious mother of Dutch heritage and an adventurous Irish father. The boy treks northward into the wilds of the mountains and canyons of Utah in search of an ancient Aztec treasure. Amid harrowing experiences and life-and-death struggles, the impossible dream comes true.
$3.99Gilbert's other books include Once Upon the Woods and Waters, A Brown Trout Bicycle, and Montezuma's Treasure Canyon. He has also published more than three thousand stories and columns in various media formats, including magazines and newspapers. Gilbert presently resides in Comstock Park, Michigan, and has traveled extensively while researching material for his writings.
Frontier Militiaman in the War of 1812The great military effectiveness of semitrained local militia is one of the enduring myths of American military history. In this book Ed Gilbert reveals the truth behind this myth, shedding light on who these frontier men actually were and their role in the war of 1812. He chronicles how untrained and ineffective militia forces were transformed into a formidable fighting force through hard
$11.89The words 'Retreat? Hell, we just got here' have become a central part of the legend of the US Marine Corps, indicative of its reputation for dogged determination and bravery. Uttered at the height of the fierce battle for Bellau Wood, the phrase came to define the Corps, establishing their 'first to fight' ethos in the public eye.This history follows the experiences of the Marines during the
$98.09Critical care medicine is a dynamic and exciting arena where complex pathophysiologic states require extensive knowledge and up-to-date clinical information. An extensive kno- edge of basic pathophysiology, as well as awareness of the appropriate diagnostic tests and treatments that are used to optimize care in the critically ill is essential. Since our frst edition 7 years ago, new information
The US Marine Corps in the Vietnam War
III Marine Amphibious Force 1965?75III Marine Amphibious Force was conceived as a division command for a small Marine Corps commitment to Vietnam. Within four years it had grown to a reinforced corps of two divisions, an air wing, and the division-sized Force Logistics Command. This organization was unique in Marine Corps history in that it merged combat and major logistical functions under a single field command. This book
Native American Code Talker in World War II'Were it not for the Navajo Code Talkers the Marines would never have taken Iwo Jima and other places' (Anonymous, Marine Corps signal officer). Ed Gilbert uses personal interviews with veterans to tell their fascinating story. Beginning with the first operational use of Native American languages in World War I, he explores how in World War II the US again came to employ this subtle, but powerful
US Marine Corps Tank Crewman 1965?70By 1960, following Korea, tanks and their crews had proved themselves to be a fundamental part of the Marine Corps' combined arms team. When the Marines were ordered to Vietnam in 1965, they took their tanks with them. This book explores this decision, which created a political storm. The presence of the tanks became a lightning rod for accusations of an 'escalation' of the war. Nevertheless, the
Patriot Militiaman in the American Revolution 1775?82The American Revolution was a decisive conflict, which saw the birth of a new nation. Continental Army regulars fought in massive and famous battles from New England to Virginia, but in the South a different kind of warfare was afoot. Local militia, sometimes stiffened by a small core of the Continental Line, played a pivotal role. This lesser-known war ultimately decided the fate of the
Turning point of the American RevolutionThis is a blistering account of the battle of Cowpens, a short, sharp conflict which marked a crucial turning point in the American Revolution. With Lt. Col. Banastre Tarleton and the British troops in hot pursuit, Daniel Morgan, leading a small force of 700 Continentals and militia, chose the Cowpens as the battlefield in which to make a stand. The two forces clashed for barely more than 45


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Bag by ASOS Collection - Made from a leather-look fabric - Soft supple finish - Ruched quilted design - Twist lock fastening - Chain across the body strap - Inner zip pocket
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