Armageddon is soon upon us. You can join our coach if you like, there’s room for one more; we’re escaping dust at high altitude retrograding from nuclear levitation; . . . . and Khilafah Muslims, in millions, ecstatically awaiting imminent annihilation; no longer nuking Zionist effigies, not now, since chemical-Ayatollah supplied the know-how; . .
» Read moreImage: Gomathi Mohan Intro: As one sits in the icy waters, watching the mighty Ganges, gurgling and splashing, flowing and bending for miles on end, a poem takes shape. A TIMELESS ESCAPADE Flowing, coalescing, glissading from a cascade, Directing centuries of trade, Lifeline on which civilizations operate; A liquid testimony that’s seen innumerable seasons pass by, From freezing ice to
» Read moreA sonnet-like poem about the forgotten victims of the Middle East wars where spent uranium shells were used on the battle-field – the media-silent horror of the uranium babies. The badger baby was born to agony with red eyes and black and white skin. Pity The Badger Baby From these foul creatures you desire release, That thereby media
» Read moreIntro: A thought followed by a question had been troubling the poet for quite sometime. Sets about to find the answer and comes across many substantiating facts that confirm his belief. No matter how falsehoods are spreading with ferocity, aided by money and muscle power, Ultimately, “Truth Alone Triumphs”! Does Truth Ever Die Does truth ever die? Or a
» Read moreMarriages for such beauty wrapped in wealth is determined by men. Speaking to a male outside her family required permit from dame or sire. Her friends are her sisters. Brothers are hastily dispatched to unisex schools to keep the separation secure. Coming of age holidays become showcase moments for the coming-out parade to join society, an advertisement of a lady
» Read moreShe had a face like porcelain gently obscured with puffed powder. Eyes always slanted down as if contact would melt brick and dissolve the dirt beneath. The hat was mandated so as not to tempt men with long hair. Hat pins were the fashion, bustles as necessary as a lace handkerchief in the brocade and bead handbag.
» Read moreShe wore lilac taffeta in rainbow arches and layers aswirl with the curve of her hips and legs totally covered and never publically spoken of, only imagined. Breast was a profane word used only by physicians in dim gas lit closed rooms. Children were fed in secret, a more and code that still exists as if a breast
» Read moreShe walked in high topped cream shoes fastened with a strange device few would recognize from our days of velcro few from those times would identify as a fastenable item. Her step might err and glance horse droppings, the hem hiked to protect hand made lace.
» Read moreThe street appeared at dawn, spread with a soft alluring morning hour’s gleam upon well worn brick, no longer pristine, historically the place for wheels and hooves. The alley’s fate was to see olden lovers alight from carriages, bankers and investors striding forward gently in high hats, chimney sweeps and lamp lighters in worker’s caps and boots as use-worn as
» Read moreShe accepts the hand of her escort and enters the great staircase that ascends to their box at the opera. Glittering like a single diamond, or strings of pearls at hidden throat, she dangles at the ears insured to the hilt. The poor are not allowed to see her except by an importunity that lasts the impoverished sight thief until
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