authenticverses - Tumblr blog

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

"An encounter with a seer"

Summary: Kind of a personal experience when I was young

I met a frail old seer, in the middle of the dusty village road Letting out deep chellum puffs, holding a trident of the lord Muttering profanities, in a glowing ash smeared euphoric stupor Curious and concerned, my youthful self clasped his bony hand, And queried in revered candor, "What insanity do you utter O Holy One?" In his otherworldly trance he screamed, "Hear O Hear, And prepare yourself My Lord's Dear" "Let me tell you, what befalls devils in their so called glorious futures" "Swollen bodies will no longer filter the water" "Unmasked pale faces will choke in the air" "Produce of the land shall poison all creatures big and small" "Stench from technology's dumpyards shall mask those from rotting corpses in graveyards" It's been a dozen psychotic years, since that enlightening encounter When I sometimes ponder on the world's current misery, thoughts of the future make me shudder.

10 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

I AM A GREAT TILE THROWER

Summary: Something which I observed while doing my bachelor's in Chennai.

Meenamma is a thrower Not a shot put but a tile thrower Wearing Jasmine flowers, atop a creaking wooden stool aloof She cheerfully hurls tiles onto the roof As she quietly mumbles the number of throws Mathematics would sit well with her it shows A fifty throws for a fiver, a hundred for a ten Rice, sambar and rasam, her children will eat today then Moaning she vows to throw till she can no more Eyes on the roof, ignorant of the pervert leers below in galore A fifty more, no a hundred more Toddy for her hubby, to escape more sores Well past the scorching noon the tile throwing goes The huge piles on the concrete roof reveal her burnt hands woes A fifty more, no again a hundred more Notebooks and bangles for my little hearts, a new thatched roof, she dreams of more A rap on her back breaks her trance "Enough tiles", the pot bellied owner barks with a smirky glance Arrange them, take pay and be off he says Her broken mud hut in disarray, but those damn tiles should be okay Swindled of half her pay, but too powerless to say Heartbroken, Meenamma trudges away "Only if I could find a new roof to throw tiles on everyday" "I am a great tile thrower", she smiles at the red sun's rays

3 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

BUT ALAS! THE TREES WERE NOT HUMMING

Summary: My thought process while writing this poem: What I meant was trees emit ultrasonic sounds, which only a person with supernatural abilities can hear. So it’s a kind of hint that the author can either connect with the supernatural or he is dreaming.

In search of peace, in search of bliss

To relive magic in the city I often miss

I ventured into my beloved forest of the old

Where time seemed like it always was on hold

Besides the pond, behind the burial ground

Beneath the sparkling skies, I wanted to hear the humming of the trees

Swaying rhythmically to the left or to the right

So sprightly like a ballerina in full flight

Pleasantly overwhelmed by the sight,

My heart fluttered in remembrance of those adolescent nights

As I waited to hear the soft singing

But Alas! the trees were not humming

All I could hear was deathly screeching

Dazed and confused I went further

And as my myopic vision became clearer

What looked like rhythm was an assortment of chaos

Parched dirt, chopped oaks, and burnt willows

Withered leaves, dry stumps and diseased trunks

Illuminated by the fires from the nearby industrial junks

I looked up expecting to awaken from the devil’s nightmare

But no sight of the blue wonder above only bloody smoke flares

Besides the pond a bunch of masked devils reeking of ill-gained wealth

Wishing each other more affluence and good health

With a wounded heart and tearful eyes

I slowly trudged back in to the reality of hell masked and covered in ash

#@tumblr #@poetry #@poesia #indian poetry #englishpoetry #englishpoems #english poets #poemoftheday #poetrylovers #poetrycommunity #writersofinstagram #poets

14 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

If I Peel this mask off from my face If I peel this mask off from my face; Will my deeds reveal my so-called preference for a race, My deepest thoughts on the convoluted life I face, Or how I want to portray my ambitious case? If I do decide to peel and reveal; Will my nobility show my atheist zeal, Indicate satisfaction from oblations by my kin at the lord's heel, Or will it just portray me as the middle deal? I ponder if I am able to take that bold step while not being hasty; Will I be branded as an epitome of piety, Just another wealthy, vainglorious descendant entity, Or a pretentious nouveau rich aspiring for more elite society? When I finally reveal my true self just like that I hope the world recognizes my kind heart, My love for humanity, music and the arts, And it is true knowledge that I have always craved from the start.

4 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

A Masterpiece on love and life.

When you can day after day bare your heart out

And with a smile let all that venom out

When you consider birth and death as no longer of any interest

But subjects of knowledge and eternity incite in you a sense of humor and zest

When to you food and water are to live of and not live for

And you can only breathe in those scents so full of love and pure

When you can pause and listen to both the young and the old, the rich and the poor

And to both clear reason and the good in all religions, hold open your mind's door

When you can without any mental strife embrace a black, colored or white

And look up to all deeds worthy, scorning class, caste or others slight

Then my dear will you be really able

To write a masterpiece on love and life.

10 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

My School Days

I trudged a few miles today

Barefoot and in an old vest

But I felt really happy to reach my school

And that too without making any haste

The mud in the fields was slippery

I slipped twice and got spiked by thorns to maintain balance

And it started drizzling and I got drenched and all cleaned up

And also reassured as my books were safe in a polythene

I felt so happy to reach that one-room haven on time

I really love my mathematics class

The cool summer breeze felt refreshing with the rain

And the beautiful greenery of the rice fields so mood uplifting

I was jolted by a stinging cold burst of air and a thud

The autopilot in the car boomed that I had reached my office on time

But one glance at the bespoke suit, the million dollar contract papers and that multistoried battleground

I somehow got really pissed off and just wanted to go back.

#poets corner #young poets #poets on tumblr #new poets society #writers and poets #poetsandwriters #original poem #poemas #poesia poema #poems on tumblr #poetas en tumblr #poetsdaily #indian poetry #poetry #poetry on tumblr #dead poets society #original poetry #poem #short poems

3 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

What piece of this history will be left on the mend?

A fragrant stick, lit with pious zest

the pungent factory methane masked to the brim

Drunk and disorderly shenanigans in haste

Sedans and sorrows mirror the prevalent action films

Travel and fashion turned desperates

the psychology favors foreign concepts of luxury

Changed climate, affected fitness and manufactured illnesses

find relief in steel structures, slapsticks and elaborate jewellery

Illiterate, self-absorbed and indulged in incessant hoards

enslaving brilliant minds to service commercial and religious whims

Embrace apathy towards the multiple contagions on board

with passion trample the poor and the meek for more rewarding sins

As and when these presumptous impulses of greatness come to an end

One wonders what piece of this history will be left on the mend?

4 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

The Sanskrit scholar

I am the only Sanskrit scholar

All the villagers revere me

But I am slightly bipolar

And the hymns sometimes befuddle me

I teach for free in the village school

I solemnize marriages and funerals

Sometimes I feel I am an utter fool

Like I should demand money over materials

My wife nags me day and night

She desires luxuries like the zamindars

But since the money is so tight

I try to use my piety at the bazaars

I love my wife very much

But I am more devoted to my trident wielding lord

I like to help the landless oppressed as such

But I can only utter holy words to not die by the sword

6 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

Oh Kalinga!

Summary: This poem talks about the Kalinga war, how the lives lost affected King Ashoka - he later embraced Buddhism and led India into an age of peace and prosperity.

The land of artists looked red

Not with the sculptures earthy shade

But from the blood of thousands shed

Death itself had reared it’s ugly head

Inconsolable as the widows wailed

In the victors’ eyes also tears swelled.

As the free souls against imperial ambitions made a stand

Tyranny’s jealousy grew against the freedom in hand

The guts and glory and artistry of yore

Spawned in evil minds the lust for more

So as battled the warriors of the two lands

Blood spattered all over as if by a painters’ wand.

The proud and valorous sons of a beautiful mother

Eager to preserve her untainted honor

Adorned in their resplendent battle gear

Fought till they met the grim reaper

Fought they till the enemy equally wearied and bloodied

Their swords too slippery to be any further steadied.

Oh Kalinga! A shrunken sculptor sighed

It would be heresy today if I lied

Death himself has you skewered

Your lush face so gorily with your sons internals stained

Your soul disfigured in this dreadful mix

Not even the supreme sculptor with his chisel can fix.

As the tyrant drearily gazed at the spoils of war

Consumed by deaths’ stench sighed in despair

Oh Kalinga! What unspeakable horrors have been caused by my blunder

Blood not water flows in the rivers yonder

Of all things good I have run afoul

Only the divine one who is awake can now save my soul.

19 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

On our greed let’s choke on!

Why go about looking for a roadside cabin for a smoke

The outdoor smog is as delightful a choke

Why try to chill with a puff during a break in a huff

Head out and inhale some of that overhanging stuff

Seven thousand chemicals in a single rolled cylinder they say

Millions to the path of doom they sway

If an object of such size is so deadly evil

Imagine the sky engulfed with the smoking devil

The hole in the lungs is advertised as such

But the hole in the atmosphere is denied so much

To build workplaces and factories let’s chop away the vegetation

The toiling slaves in them shall light fags for relaxation

Winters in summers, crops withered by acidic precipitation

Doctors sweating over incurable maladies with no naming convention

Deformed babies, masked children looking for a green patch to play on

But why care, on our greed and indifference let’s choke on

6 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

I WISH WITH YOU I HAD FLOWN AWAY

Summary: We all have lost that golden opportunity at least once in our life - love, education, wealth, fame, happiness etc. with our once beloved. This poem hopes to capture the lingering regrets we might have because of that. But as Oasis sung - "But don't look back in anger, don't look back in anger"

Two birds meet on a grassy knoll

Lifelong friends on a rendezvous

Weavers they were, artisans small

Nests they built, one of nature’s wonders

While one looked petite in coal black plumes

The other seemed his world had been turned asunder.

And on the green earth that morning they stood

As close to the other as they could

Fifty miles away from both their places

No movement or chirpings of any kind

Just utter silence and deep stares into each other’s eyes

Knowing the feelings in their hearts as they should.

Then the gloomy one said with a sigh

Oh, I wish with you I had flown away

To the lush woods of happiness

Yet, soot and smoke shrouds my body

I dwell in a place where all is razed to ruins

Sleep is a dream, living in constant fear of being blown away.

Oh, I should have flown away with you again he sighed

To a heaven so pure and untouched

Where the sun smiles and shines, the trees hum in unison

Where berries so ruddy, like a toddlers’ cheeks

There I would weave my nest of leaves and grass

And so big as to put the social bird to shame.

Yet, I am trapped in a place so gloomy

Where the machines send plumes of black and cloud the blue sky

Where my nest of thorns and charred twigs

Chars my soul, chokes my dear ones

Oh friend, the other said with tears in her eyes

I wish with me you had flown away.

11 notes · View notes

authenticverses · 3 years

Text

BUT ALAS! THE TREES WERE NOT HUMMING

Summary: My thought process while writing this poem: What I meant was trees emit ultrasonic sounds, which only a person with supernatural abilities can hear. So it's a kind of hint that the author can either connect with the supernatural or he is dreaming.

In search of peace, in search of bliss

To relive magic in the city I often miss

I ventured into my beloved forest of the old

Where time seemed like it always was on hold

Besides the pond, behind the burial ground

Beneath the sparkling skies, I wanted to hear the humming of the trees

Swaying rhythmically to the left or to the right

So sprightly like a ballerina in full flight

Pleasantly overwhelmed by the sight,

My heart fluttered in remembrance of those adolescent nights

As I waited to hear the soft singing

But Alas! the trees were not humming

All I could hear was deathly screeching

Dazed and confused I went further

And as my myopic vision became clearer

What looked like rhythm was an assortment of chaos

Parched dirt, chopped oaks, and burnt willows

Withered leaves, dry stumps and diseased trunks

Illuminated by the fires from the nearby industrial junks

I looked up expecting to awaken from the devil's nightmare

But no sight of the blue wonder above only bloody smoke flares

Besides the pond a bunch of masked devils reeking of ill-gained wealth

Wishing each other more affluence and good health

With a wounded heart and tearful eyes

I slowly trudged back in to the reality of hell masked and covered in ash

14 notes · View notes