Passion Collision | A Poem by G.S. Katz

would have kissed you harder
deeper
you kept me slightly at bay
next time will be different
passion collision
no fault
mouth on mouth
only coming up for air
no deposit, no return
Mr. Manhattan
lurking in your tangled hair
in your rear view mirror
on line at the bank
while cooking eggs…

Upside Down Moments | A Poem by P.K. Deb

Ever-biting alcoholic molecules are poured in a glass
As a fool rides on his self-made upside down moments
Of hesitation and tension, he is not to be conscious
The memories are to be suspended for which he laments.

As the colourful glass is lifted near to his lips to sip
Heart becomes scared and raises its palpitation,
Nevertheless, alcohol is poured in to the deep
Of his mouth to suffer its biting with no hesitation.

The poor tongue and its mouth-mates shrivel in ache
Start weeping for help and instant relief,
Ignoring it behind alcohol reaches to stomach
With liquid fire and fills it with pain and grief.

The courageous and helpful blood cells attend in hurry
Start absorbing the poisonous molecules and pain
Stomach gets both relief and stain of alcoholic injury
But the blood cells rush as the biting they also gain.

Heart, liver, pancreas and kidney-the life organs
Become restless as alcohol bites them with stain
Hence, abnormal they become in their performance
And all together push the blood up to the brain.

For the locks of all organs, the brain is the master key
Gets extra- pressure as the blood waves rush to it
Becomes very scared and escapes to the knee
For normal duty where it is absolutely unfit.

Hence it produces illusions and sends to the fool
Makes him happy as the weeping was unheard
Composes a temporary heaven with his alcoholic tool
And becomes flexible physically and mentally smart.

Heart snatches excessive emotions from the brain
So the fool laughs, cries and roars with no grammar
The same lunatic process continues again and again,
Makes him unconscious as the brain gets a hammer.

No one is allowed to disturb him, even the dream
only flies are around his face, landing and flying,
May God bless him and bring him to the right-stream
as he is supposed to support his family from destroying.…

You’re My Reason for Living | A Poem by Joseph Romano

Every placed I go your fair face beams.
You are a beautiful woman, you’re the woman of my dreams.
Your heart is loving and tender and forever forgiving.
You’re the reason I’m here, you’re my reason for living.
You opened your heat and gave me a new life.
Then you made me the happiest the day you became my wife.
And just when I thought you made me the happiest man in the world.
You presented us both with a new baby girl.

And just when I thought we had all the happiness and joy.
You presented us both with a new baby boy.…

The Fountain | A Poem by P.K. Deb

Naturally, the colossal mountain was icy and rocky —
stood beside the slum of the half-fed and half-naked in a desert,
the prayer and the importunity of their hunger and thirst
reverberated in the open air and the sky of infinity,
vibrated even the hard heart of the icy-mountain and at last
succeeded to melt it down to a little fountain for them.

A responsibility geared the fountain to flow down
with water and wealth for the ever-thirsty and hungry
who fidgeted and wept lying on the foot of the mountain,
hence, with a sympathetic fuel it rushed down to the desert.

Still, it sang, made the rock to clap and the fishes to dance,
continued its well destined, brakeless and nap-less journey
till it reached the desert of hunger and thirst of the indigents
and watched their dry faces who ran towards it tumultuously
to immerse their curse of suffering in the water of the fountain.

Alas, suddenly the fountain was surrounded by the pillagers —
the sun, wind, rocks, sands, trees and other suckers
who plunged in to the fountain and snatched the wealth first
and at last, soaked and sucked the water to its last drop
in front of the thirsty and hungry who could not save the fountain
which was a gift to them and only for them to explore and enjoy.…

Pain Became My Friend Today | A Poem by Shannen Wrass

Pain became my friend today
She showed me how to hide
She’d been watching from a distance
Every tear I cried

Pain became my friend today
Reached out her hand to me
Then pulled me into darkness
Introducing misery

Pain became my friend today
She’s emptying my heart
She’s now my constant companion
Tearing me apart

Pain became my friend today
She isolates my soul
Now without her I am nothing
In her I’m consoled

Pain became my friend today
Saw me kneel down and cry
Then she lay down right next to me
Kissed my joy good-bye

Pain became my friend today
Acquainted me with sorrow
Who showed me how to dwell in agony
And fear the break of tomorrow

Pain became my friend today
She’s making my heart cold
Pain became my friend today
The only hand I hold…

Me and My Two Friends | A Poem by P.K. Deb

Boiling of blood in the burning sun
cooks the earnings for the three friends —
me, my Heart and my Soul.
Nevertheless, quite active we have been
and blissful too in spite of sweat- bathing
and inhuman fast breathing
for making passive the curse of scarcity,
well integrated we have been
with all sorts of co-operation, care and love
for disintegrating the black shadows of misfortunes
and united we have been
in expecting a golden hunger to be gifted
to us for enjoying the poor dish as a royal one.

Hence, we have been blessed to sit comfortably
surrounding a discoloured wooden dining table
with an ocean of hunger to float away
all the poor dishes in a blink of the eyes
with all the eagerness and satisfaction.
Me and my two friends feed one another, feel good
and sketch a blissful smile on our bright faces,
thankful to divinity and dignity of work
who bestow the suitable dishes for solicited hunger.

Slowly and silently our dreamful slumber appears,
invades each and every rooms of our entities
and all the pains and strains gained disappear,
replacing peace and comfort on a hard bed.
Heart and soul lie keeping me in the mid,
embracing me with their magical hands
and hand over me to the beautiful slumber
for rejuvenation and vitality.
Slowly I reach a dreamful world to knit
a tomorrow with more of work, hunger and slumber.
Lucky I am and grateful too to God
as I am ever accompanied by my two friends —
Heart and Soul in every walk of life – painful or gainful,
May God bestow everybody with such heart and soul.…

Communist Pillow Talk | A Poem by Daniel Klawitter

“In my opinion, true love is expressed in reserve, modesty, and even
shyness toward his idol, and never in temperamental excesses or too
premature intimacy.” —Karl Marx, in a private letter, London, 1866.

Come a little closer, my comrade
and I’ll whisper my confession:

Nothing turns me on
like fighting against oppression!

In the midst of class struggle
there’s always time to snuggle.

(Better red and in bed
than bourgeoisie, I’ve always said.)

Who cares if we wake the neighbors
with the sounds of our surplus labors?

For it’s more than evolutionary…
If our love is revolutionary!

So seduce me, my scarlet darling;
let me give you a tickle.

You got the hammer
and I’ve got the sickle.

Dialectical materialism
is the tune to which we dance.

Workers of the world Unite!
There’s an insurrection in my pants.

Visit Daniel at http://about.me/dklawitter.…

The Poor Truth | A Poem by P.K. Deb

All the sceptic noses— flat or pointed
Are shrivelled as something wrong in the air
Surprisingly all hands— black or red
Close their ears as something harsh to hear.

Suddenly all heads—block or inquisitive
Turn down as reluctant to feel and see
And finally all feet— lame or sportive
Run to avert something scaring and flee.

‘’Please don’t run away’’ cries out the stranger
‘’I want to change you all’’ he utters
‘’Don’t be afraid, I am not a beggar,
Realize me, I am the truth’’ he mutters.

Alas, the poor truth is miserably left alone
No one returns to hear or bear it
And care it sympathetically as their own,
As to them, it is quite obsolete and unfit.

A noise reverberates in the air and the sky
Some lunatics approach to the fallen truth
A samba they dance and sing to pacify
The truth, lift it and sneak to their booth.…

Sports Day and Exploitation | A Poem by P.K. Deb

Hip – hip – hurray —
The suppressed hearts must bloom today
as the bloodless lips get back their lost smiles,
Let’s play, the annual village sports day is on today.

Hip – hip – hurray —
The exploitation is on leave and departed
with its ugly blood sucking oppression
and grants a relief to the exploited today.

Hip – hip – hurray —
The blissful minds are absolutely unmindful
to their plough, cattle, sweating, low-wage,
poverty, indebtedness and illness today.

Hip – hip – hurray —
The indigents witness the annual smile
on the face of the landlord fortunately
instead of regular reproof and frowning today.

Hip – hip – hurray —
A rare competition is to be contested
among the feeble who are already
defeated and receded under compulsion today.

Hip – hip – hurray —
an amazement is to be ensued definitely
as the heartless hands are preceded
for the poor’s heartfelt enjoyment today.

No more hurray, that’s all for today
as the village sports day is almost over
and the poor’s are to be refaced the demon-
the exploitation with its oppression from tomorrow.…