hall of poets magazine august 2015 edition

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HALL OF POETS © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA HALL OF POETS INSPIRE & BE INSPIRED ISSUE 07, NOV.2015 NOT FOR SALE POWERED BY LAVITA PALACE SECTOR-10, GURGAON INDIA

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Hall of Poets releases it's digital magazine issue each month to enable poets reach a larger audience. Each of the poems are marvelous works that will capture your hearts and take you to the journey of splendid reading. So grab an issue and start exploring the world of poetry in The Hall Of Poets. :)

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Page 1: HALL OF POETS MAGAZINE AUGUST 2015 EDITION

HALL OF POETS

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

HALL OF POETS

INSPIRE & BE INSPIRED ISSUE 07, NOV.2015

NOT FOR SALE

POWERED BY

LAVITA PALACE SECTOR-10, GURGAON

INDIA

Page 2: HALL OF POETS MAGAZINE AUGUST 2015 EDITION

2 | H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Copyright © 2015 By HALL OF POETS

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any

form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods

without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied

in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission

requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions coordinator”, at email address

below.

[email protected]

Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein,

the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed

for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

The magazine is not for sale and can be downloaded from HALL OF POETS community on Google

Plus or HALL OF POETS page on Facebook, or asked for a copy by writing to us on:

[email protected]

Chief Editor: Dr. PRERNA SINGLA

Co - Editor & Magazine Designer: PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Logo Design: DAIPAYAN NAIR

Contributors: PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, KATRIN DAYAK, SEEMA TABASSUM, JED WOLFE,

MARCOS HENRIQUE SILVA, JOHN K. MARTIN, MANUELLE AUGUSTINE, JHAYDE

NOTHINGNESS, CHARLOTTE ANNE ANDERSON, NIKHIL SHETTY, GARGI GHOSH SONAI,

SARATHI LOKE NATH.

Article/ Poem Contributions: Members of the Hall Of Poets community on Google Plus & Facebook.

Individual poets mentioned with the poems.

PUBLISHER: HALL OF POETS

ISSUE 07, NOV. 2015

**DISCLAIMER**

............................................................................................................................................................................................. HALL OF POETS Digital magazine is the property of Hall Of Poets community on Google Plus and is protected by the International Copyright Laws. The

poems/articles are published under the name with which the poet/writer is active in the Hall Of Poets online community. The publisher (Hall Of Poets), authors

and contributors reserve their rights with regard to copyright of their work. Although Hall Of Poets considers its source reliable and verifies as much data as

possible, Hall Of Poets makes no representations, warranties, express or implied, as to the completeness, accuracy, or appropriateness of the information, data,

advertisements, graphics, authenticity of profiles/poems/articles, copyright infringement or responsibility of any other content contained in any Hall Of Poets

digital magazine or webpage, including but not limited to the Hall Of Poets online community, blogs, and other email newsletters, and any other social networking

platform produced, owned or managed by Hall Of Poets. Each member/artist himself/herself takes full responsibility of the authenticity of their work/ profiles.

Content produced by Hall Of Poets may from time to time include technical inaccuracies or typographical errors. Graphics used are under fair use policy and not

for commercial purposes; the artist/designer claims no right to own the graphics that are taken from the internet. The content of each poem/article is the sole

expression/opinion of its writer/author and not necessarily that of the publisher. No warranties or guarantees are expressed or implied by the publisher’s choice to

include any of the content in this volume. Neither the publisher not the individual author(s) shall be liable for any physical, psychological, emotional, financial or

commercial damages, including, but not limited to special, incidental, consequential or other damages. Readers are responsible for their own choices, actions and

results. The advertisements/ advertised banners on the Hall Of Poets magazine have no influence on editorial content or presentation. The posting of particular

banners does not imply endorsement of the product (so) or the company selling them by Hall Of Poets magazine or its editors. Hall Of Poets magazine may

contain links to websites operated by other parties. These links are provided purely for promotional purpose. Such links do not imply Hall Of Poets magazine’s

endorsement of material on any other site and Hall Of Poets magazine disclaims all liability with regard to your access of such linked websites. In case of dispute,

Jurisdiction of Gurgaon (Haryana), India applies.

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 3

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

CONTENTS

TITLE AUTHOR /

POET

PAGE

OWNER’S WRITE 06

PASSIONI D’AMORE Dr. PRERNA

SINGLA

07

WHO KNOWS WHAT

SALVATION IS?

PULKIT MOHAN

SINGLA

09

THE GOLDEN CHAIN 11

THE PAPER IS BLANK GAURI DIXIT 12

AN ANATOMY OF THE

SPECK

ARKADY

SANDLER

15

HOME OWEN HABEL 16

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 5

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

PROTEINS OUT OF

BOUNDS

PRATIMA APTE 17

TISSUE PAPER SOCIETY RENU VYAS 18

THE PROTAGONIST SEEMA

TABASSUM

20

I WANT TO BE KATRIN DAYAK 21

JUVENILE BISMAY

MOHANTY

22

ORPHAN OF LOVE JED WOLFE 24

HALL OF POETS MOST

POPULAR POET ON

GLOBAL PLATFORM

25

AT THE BOTTOM OF

STAIRCASE

SHUBHRO SEN 26

LIFELESS YUMNAH

RAZZAQ

30

A SHARE FROM MY

EXPERIENCE

SARATHI LOKE

NATH

32

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

GRATITUDE AKSHAYA

KUMAR DAS

34

PLEASE JUST LET ME BE NUTAN

SARAWAGI

37

BLIND URBAN NOMAD 41

GUIDELINES FOR

SUBMISSION

44

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 7

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

OWNER’S

WRITE

POWERED BY

LAVITA PALACE

Sector-10, GURGAON

INDIA

Page 8: HALL OF POETS MAGAZINE AUGUST 2015 EDITION

8 | H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

PASSIONI D'AMORE

Poem © Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 2015

The amber bourbon

Sloshing over

The ultramine hues of the

Dye on paper

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 9

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Washing over

The rainbow floods of the

Feelings that taper

Fading over

The new avenues of the

Passions of love.

Poem © Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 2015

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10 | H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

WHO KNOWS WHAT SALVATION IS?

POEM © Dr. PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015

The carcasses

Black, white and brown

Burried on the battle ground

Awaits the scavengers

To nosh their corpses

And free them from their duties

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 11

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Towards brutal oddities

Some in the name of nation

Some in the name of religion

Who knows what salvation is??

For them maybe killing innocent lives

For birds maybe clearing the

Pieces of the scattered meat

Feeding their hungry chicks

And for the world maybe

Attainment of the Peace

For the families maybe

Mourning over the loss

Who knows what salvation is??

One that compels people to kill?

One that compels the world for war.

POEM © Dr. PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015

http://pulkitfacesreality.blogspot.in/

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12 | H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

THE

GOLDEN

CHAIN

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© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

THE PAPER IS BLANK NOW

POEM © GAURI DIXIT

On it once

Was written

A beautiful message

By a prince,

With invisible magic ink

Which could be read only

By his princess.

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14 | H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

He asked the princess

To elope

And meet him

In the forest

On the full moon night.

The horse Crossed

Mountains, valleys and rivers

On the Way.

The bag with the letter

Got dipped in the water

Washing away

The invisible ink.

The silence in the letter

Made

The princess feel rejected.

Dejected,

She jumped to her death.

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 15

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

In the woods,

The Prince Succumbed

To heart break.

The blank paper

Kept their love secret

Forever,

Still ashamed

That it could not talk then,

It remains blank now.

POEM © GAURI DIXIT 10-SEP-2015

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16 | H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

AN ANATOMY OF THE SPECK

We can't breathe the same air again

it happens to be too rarefied.

A black eye conversation in vain

between these factitious cubicle lines.

Terrorists invaded into our frayed mind

through the flickering fluorescent lights.

Superfluous dancing in elevator shaft of the spine

screaming pelt in prophetical seizures for a dime.

POEM © ARKADY SANDLER, 2015

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 17

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

HOME

We shall pack our rags and roam,

And sleep where stars will appear.

We shall call that place "our home"

Even if it will stink we won't fear.

And we shan't care much about hunger,

We shall search for food by the garbage.

We shall eat and lick our fingers,

And rest next to the sewage.

In our rags we shall shrink and sleep,

And dream about where we came from.

If it rains, we shall get up from our sleep,

And search for a new place to call home.

Our home will always be just,

It will always make life look comical.

While we eat from plates that have rust,

The haves are dying in hospital...

Poem © OWEN HABEL, 2015

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

PROTEINS OUT OF BOUNDS

POEM © PRATIMA APTE, 1.11.2015

Proteins out of bounds,

Carbs out of reach,

Water at what price?

Drought real or artificial?

Should man die slowly

Or hang up his boots?

POEM © PRATIMA APTE, 1.11.2015

7.35PM

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© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

TISSUE PAPER SOCIETY

POEM © RENU VYAS, 2015

Those old loved landmarks

Each with a memory attached

All bulldozed and replaced

By new impersonal structures

Those small winding roads

Where we once took long walks

On warm summer nights

Are now four lane highways

Those pretty small shops

Filled with colorful knick knacks

That we often browsed through

Replaced with city malls

Those friends we depended on

Now strangers we cannot connect with

Stuck in the games of social status

Wary, distant, cloaked in formalities

Page 20: HALL OF POETS MAGAZINE AUGUST 2015 EDITION

20 | H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Those relationships that were

The roots of our existence

Now discard us, only to replace

With newer ones that change day/night

Welcome to this new

Weird, Unemotional

Disposable, use and throw

Tissue paper society

POEM © RENU VYAS, 2015

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 21

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

THE PROTAGONIST

He I was not looking for

nor was he someone I dreamed of

he had a way with words no doubt

words that flooded my mind which knew not ever drought

he was not my soulmate nor a friend

his presence surreal made no difference

but lost without words he left me in those lanes

of him I knew only his fictional name

he who without ever being company

in those dark lanes had deserted me

to whom I never even belonged

left me feeling abandoned

POEM © SEEMA TABASSUM 2015

tab1525.blogspot.com

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

I WANT TO BE

I want to be coral at the beach

Stay firm in the huge waves

Stay stand in the hurricane

Stay strong endured agony

Stay humbled under humiliations

I want to be coral at the beach

Protecting beach from abrasion

I want to be coral at the beach

Stay beautiful...

Despite sunrise burned me all the time

POEM © KATHARINA DIKE/KATRIN DAYAK,

20.11.15

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H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 23

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

JUVENILE

POEM © BISMAY MOHANTY, 2015

The notoriety of some

Has changed the perception of people

That “children are image of God”

For those ‘some’ the majority suffer.

The lamb of childhood faces cripple.

Why won’t such filth arise in young minds?

The world we live is full of heinous crimes.

Where lies no varsity in style and seduction

Where science is made to dominate conscience.

And misuse of technology that empowered over times.

The country saw a black December once.

Where the mayheminvolved a juvenile

The nation fumed, demanded death

And amend according to the legality of issue.

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

The last insisted more than a year’s time.

A child shook a country

Brought it to demise and debates.

Some said to leave him, he is just a kid

Others vowed to hang him and prevent

The issue that oblivion of time begets.

Ah! What to say more?

The labour in these early years

Is counted in the fate and future.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth

According to the karma, the soulendears.

Don’t be a juvenile

Life is vast as the Nile…….

POEM © BISMAY MOHANTY, 2015

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© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

ORPHAN OF LOVE

I am an orphan of love

I stand at the edge of my grave

And look into my eyes

Staring back at me, milky white

Lost in delusions of where i dream

Of being free and not a slave

In this cemetery there is no suprise

I am an orphan of the night

Place another nail in my coffin

Warm the earth that holds my heart

I am an orphan of desolation

A deadly illness of my soul

In cemeteries i will wonder

Like a ghost thats torn apart

The devil laughs at my degeneration

As blood pours into a hole

I look once again into that dark place

As my shadow stares back at me

Lifeless eyes that are now mocking

As the ground now swallows me..

POEM © JED WOLFE, 22NOV. 2015

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

HALL OF POETS MOST POPULAR

POETS ON GLOBAL PLATFORM

FROM HOP DIGITAL MAG. ISSUE 06, OCT.2015

GIANFRANCO AURILIO FOR HIS POEM “ALWAYS”

ANCA MIHAELA FOR HER POEM “META”

Page 27: HALL OF POETS MAGAZINE AUGUST 2015 EDITION

H A L L O F P O E T S , I S S U E 0 7 , N O V E M B E R 2 0 1 5 h t t p : / / h a l l o f p o e t s . w e e b l y . c o m | 27

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRCASE

POEM © SHUBHRO SEN, 2003

At the bottom of the staircase I first stood

Beholding it with an eager face;

Some known men I saw in those steps

Involved in a strangely unknown race.

Allured by the stairs they fought each other

To reach the topmost, elusive step;

Its gold-like glitter bewitched me too-

That call! I just could not escape.

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Foregoing all else I began to climb,

Those men I then began to fight

To own the exalted, topmost spot

By winning the war of brutal might.

I knew I had to defy the odds

-This led me to my dreadful sin:

I killed the rest- one by one,

So they could lose and I could win.

I reached the top of the stairs at last,

Overcoming my honest, fruitless past

I won that spot of glittering fame

I was about to write in it my name;

Just then! A moment of wordless pain:

I knew then I was also slain.

At the end of my life’s selfish days

After my greedy wild goose chase

I found my corpse at the bottom stair

Along with the others, in despair.

My restless soul in full distress

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© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Can now realise and confess

My immoral sin, my fatal crime

To climb upwards and reach the top

I climbed downwards all the time.

POEM © SHUBHRO SEN, 2003.

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

LIFELESS

POEM © YUMNA RAZZAQ

The pendulous cart by the trunk,

lie there all isolated and bunk.

The fresh, green juvinelity..

Now, Seared up from fidelity.

The voices of mirthy tools,

Echoing across the cherrished moors.

Now, Abondoned and dishevelled,

By the emptiness of quite clamours.

Churned under feet are, dead-

Lives of thousands; as bled.

From the springs of alacrity,

Are now the Autumns of static equality.

Straw filled are skulls, with snakes

Hanging through the sockets; fake-

Are all the sojourns,

Under terrible torturous burns.

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© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Dark marrows appear,

Elusive, vague & unclear.

From dissolving withery bones

And toung-less creatures that mourn.

Knitted, neat threaded nets,

Like spider sew out its web;

Are now, lacerated lethaly..

By the self built nexus, of bully.

Facing towards the white sand,

Are fleshless silhouttes in hand.

With mirky darkness up heaved-

Over the once lived barren field.

A life- lifeless spent.

It wasn't lived, let's apprehend.

Sooner or later it'll end in knives,

The souls the spirits and lives.

POEM © YUMNA RAZZAQ

NOVEMBER 11, 15

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© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

A SHARE FROM MY EXPERIENCE

(a short story from real life by SARATHI LOKE NATH, 2015)

She came. She was with her mom. She was petrified to

some extent.

I wondered how she came up to Class 9th Standard from St

John's Diasation School. Her mother, her mentor is a

strong hearted lady who was resolute to make her daughter

to compete with other able bodied

students.

I was curious. In fact little perplexed,

as Priti's Mom requested me to take her in my class to

teach with others. She was polite enough to share her

experience about her poor scoring in English literature and

language, in spite of she being taught previously by many

teachers of the subject and how School teachers alerted

parents about her

mundane skill in English. Mother, respected lady even

spoke of her hustle in coming to me long way down with

the expectation.

I looked at Priti. Her eyes made me feel that I ought to

understand her mother and her efforts. Someone prompted

inside. Priti was enrolled.

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© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

Days rolled to months and months to Board Pre final Priti

rose in English 26 to 67.That day I saw happiness, pure

and holy. Priti appeared in Board. Her physically

challenged state allowed her to take writer by Board. Her

disjoined accent was another impediment.

But she got over all.

Few months passed by in the mean time she started 11th

Class in my class. Result of Board declared. My one of the

prized day .Priti got 84/100 in English. She doubled her

efforts in next 2yrs. She proved that her first success

wasn't by chance.

She was glorious in 12th Board result, scored 78/100 in

English, beyond expectation of parents As her mother

called up giving the good news, I felt something inside and

that still a precious gem in teaching vault.

Priti now in a reputed college, with degree of Hons, She is

going ahead.

God bless her. Let our well wishes be her best companions.

Share from my experience, A true one. Only name of student

is changed.

© SARATHI LOKE NATH, 4.11.2015

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GRATITUDE

POEM © AKSHAYA KUMAR DAS

Even if hide your face,

Could feel the grace,

The left over affair remains hanging,

In the soul's backyard lots of stacking,

The accumulated woes,

Not able to distinguish between a friend & foe,

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My silent ruminations digging the yard,

Nails of my finger breaking hard,

Scribbling the lines of love on the souls' yard,

Trying to give a pat to the soul's word,

Memories of you hang over,

Soul not taking the name of slumber,

The appetite feeling more of the hunger,

The thirst of the soul needs a toner,

Only if I could see your hidden face,

Remove the palm covering the grace,

Waiting for moment of the turning point,

Soul waiting with anxiety at the crossroads' joint,

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Oh ! Darling of my heart,

Please revive my lost beats,

Send me the telepathic signals hidden,

In life how could you leave me forbidden,

Life always behaves strange,

Wondering at the voice trailing the range,

Even if you hide your face,

Can feel the wonderful grace,

Lest you recognise or not,

Keep chasing in my mirage hunt...

POEM © AKSHAYA KUMAR DAS

27/11/2015 8:30 A.M.

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PLEASE JUST LET ME BE ME

POEM © NUTAN SARAWAGI, 2014

You think I am brilliant

which I am anyway not

brilliance lost in it's own sunshine

a heart beating without a heart

to set my mind to rest

to test myself of all the things

I know I may have said

Do I really mean what I say

or is it just to cover myself

from the sinking feeling

which never lets go

sinking down my heart

The shadows of depression

that never leave me

the haunting feelings which

forever haunt me

only to taunt me

that I know too much

or at least pretend

to know too much

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I have a lot of learning to do

and unlearning too

before I rest myself in peace

making peace with myself

telling myself that I have a long way to go

before I set myself to rest

without any protest

I hate myself I know

want to destroy everything I know , not know

taking down with me the little or nothing thats left of me

sinking it deep within me

I sink

not letting go of myself

I think

then why do I want to die

just another pretence to lie

that I don't want to live

when I am actually DYING..to LIVE

I say I am not afraid of death

it's the biggest lie to myself

why I am afraid of telling the truth

believing in half measured truths

I am tired of testing myself so much

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selling myself to others' for not much

they don't know what I want

I just want to rest in peace

to be alone with myself

where even I cannot find myself

Can you help me

I am a liar to the core..who believes in no one

hurting others to save myself

in the bargain hurting everyone

What's my problem ..I don't know

no harm to me has anyone done

then why am I not bleeding myself

instead of bleeding others' to death

why don't I get a life

before I destroy others' lives

Who has given me this right

It is MY 'I' which protests

but no one..can take it away from me

and replace it with thee, for anyone is better than me

in this game of being one

I have already lost , no one has won

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I just want to be one

with thee

Oh God please help me

I want to believe in thee

but my reasoning, just does not let me be

for if I don't exist..then how can you be

So both of us lets die , like stars in the sky

in another day we shall live

where life will be a distant dream

where only you and I will live

that day I shall await

when you will be one

with me

Until then please let me be

I just want to rest in peace

please just let

me be

me

POEM © NUTAN SARAWAGI, 2014

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BLIND POEM © URBAN NOMAD 2015

Tonight I abandon the cloak of beauty,

For the grim truth is my rhyme,

Don't utter your pretty words,

Don't parade your poignant pictures,

To your sanctimonious rhetoric I pay no heed,

Unseeing you are of the of the vicious cycle of misery.

The silent cries of the destitute,

The bloodshed of a million children,

The rape and degradation of our women,

The killing of animals for sport not food,

The soul-wrenching wailing of the famished,

The forlorn eyes of the oppressed and weak,

The annihilation of mother earth for our comforts.

Lost in our pursuit of all things material,

Numb to the agony of those without,

Where are our messiahs?

Where are our leaders?

Where is our King, our Gandhi, our Guevara, our Vilma,

our Susan Anthony?

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Or must we wait for our saviours?

Haven't we seen enough!

So f*** your armchair sympathy,

F*** your champagne tears,

F*** your Armani scented emotional diatribes,

Tonight I am enraged,

Tonight I want you to see.

POEM © URBAN NOMAD 2015

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