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Avoid all bribes.

American proverbs
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Avoid The Light - I

Avoid the light - i
(spoken)
(...)
Modern day plague. stronger than any and every virus, disease, or
Sickness.
Full eclipse, (of body emity.)
Anti-christian, and eternally alive.
Buried underneath.
2000 years of histories.
Yet able to rise.
Instinctively arise.
Avoid the light.
The sounds and sight.
The undead should be sleeping.
Avoid the light.
That cross so bright.
My (fledglings) dropping, weeping.
Avoid the light.
Overt your sight.
Go underground just leave me.
Avoid the light.
Avoid the light.
Avoid the light.
Avoid the light.
(spoken)
True and purely a horror. mans ultimate enemy and predator wrapped
Into one.
Spread like wings, of damnated.
Then folding into, shaping mortal man.
Not safe.
Plasmic cover, will override.
True emotions.
(the peeling version), to guard my countless (grains).
Avoid the light.
The sounds and sight.
The undead should be sleeping.
Avoid the light.
That cross so bright.
My (fledglings) dropping, weeping.
Avoid the light.
Overt your sight.
Go underground just leave me.
Alone, unseen, reborn, (receive).
Its a battle of wills.
In glorious, (we can).
Avoid the light.
The sounds and sight.
The undead should be sleeping.
Avoid the light.
That cross so bright.

[...] Read more

song performed by Pantera
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Avoid The Light - Ii

(spoken, impossible to hear)
Modern day plague
Stronger than any and every virus, disease or sickness
Full eclipse of body emity
Anti-christian, and nocturnally alive (undead)
Buried underneath 2000 years (of histories)
Yet able to rise
Instinctively arise
Avoid the light
The suns in sight
The undead should be sleeping
Avoid the light
That cross so bright
My fledglings dropping, weeping
Avoid the light
Overt your sight
Go underground discreetly
Avoid the light, avoid the light, avoid the light, avoid the light
True and purely hollow
Mans ultimate enemy and predator
Wrapped into one
Spread like wings
Of damnated
Then falling into
Shaping mortal man (nonslaved)
Plasma cover
Will override (your true emotions)
The pure inversion
To guard my countless graves
Avoid the light
The suns in sight
The undead should be sleeping
Avoid the light
That cross of light
My fledglings dropping, weeping
Avoid the light
Overt your sight
Go underground discreetly
Alone, unseen, reborn, receieve
Its a battle of wills (its a battle of wills)
In glory hell sneak in (he shall devour)
(solo)
Avoid the light
The suns in sight
The undead should be sleeping
Avoid the light
That cross of light
My fledglings dropping, weeping
Avoid the light
Overt your sight

[...] Read more

song performed by Pantera
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Avoid The Light

growls
Modern day plague
Stronger than any and every
Virus, disease, or sickness
/growls
For a glimpse of ideology.
Anti-christian and eternally alive
growls undead /sings
Buried underneath two thousand years
growls Of histories /growls
Yet able to rise,
Instinctively arise
half growl
Avoid the light, the suns in sight
The undead should be sleeping
Avoid the light, and cross upright
My fledgling's dropping, weeping
Avoid the light, avert your sight
Go underground discretely
(x4) Avoid the light
/half growl
growls
True and purely horror
Man's ultimate enemy and predator
wrapped into one
/growls
Spread black wings of damnation
Then folding into shape a mortal men
growls not slaved /growls
Plasmicumber will over-ride
growls the true emotion /growls
That peering virgin to guard my callused grave
half growl
Avoid the light, the suns in sight
The undead should be sleeping
Avoid the light, and cross upright
My fledgling's dropping, weeping
Avoid the light, avert your sight
Go underground discretely
Alone, unseen, reborn, received
/half growl
It's a battle of wills
Ingloriously killed
growls we shall devour /growls
half growl
Avoid the light, the suns in sight
The undead should be sleeping
Avoid the light, and cross upright
My fledgling's dropping, weeping
Avoid the light, avert your sight

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song performed by Pantera
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Never Land

PREFACE
This yarn is a fabric woven of several earlier warped works, lightly laced together with additional braided tales of human frailty. The looms were purling frantically... Some pearls may be found wonting, hanging loose, dangling free within a fuzzy flight of fancy... These untethered strands may be fastened, or be forgotten, or be hidden by the readers in the corners of their minds... Some may end up in stitches, others all torn up or ripped apart, others may just say ‘made of hole cloth', ‘sew what' or ‘I don't seam to get the needle point'... This wanton web is yours to spin...

Some have said that such strange things ‘have Never happened in our Land', such quaint things ‘could Never happen in our Land'', such murky things ‘will Never happen in our Land''... and this may be true... such is the gossamer that veils the human mind... and thus ensues the title of this Fantasy...

NEVER LAND

An ancient man named Peter Pan, disguised but from the past,
With feathered cap and tunic wrap and sabre's sailed his last.
Though fully grown, on dust he's flown and perched upon a mast
Atop the Walls around the sprawls, unvisited and vast -
And all the while with bitter smile he's watching us aghast.

As day begins, a spindle spins, it weaves a wanton web;
Like puckered prunes, like midday moons, like yesterday's celebs,
We scrape and grope, we seldom hope - he's watching while we ebb:

The organ grinder preaches fine on Sunday afternoons -
He quotes from books but overlooks the Secrets Carved in Runes:
'You've tried and toyed, but can't avoid or shun the pale monsoons,
It's sink or swim as echoed dim in swinging door saloons'.
The laughingstocks are flinging rocks at ball-and-chained baboons.

While ghetto boys are looting toys preparing for their doom
And Mademoiselles are weaving shells on tapestries with looms,
Cathedral cats and rafter rats are peering in the room,
Where ragged strangers stoop for change, for coppers in the gloom,
Whose thoughts are more upon the doors of crypts in Christmas bloom,
And gold doubloons and silver spoons that tempt beyond the tomb.

Mid Uzi shots from vacant lots, that strike and ricochet
A painted girl with flaxen curl (named Wendy) 's on her way
To tantalise with half-clad thighs, to trick again today;
And indiscreet upon the street she gives her pride away
To any guy who's passing by with time and cash to pay.
(In concert halls beyond the Walls, unjaded girls ballet,
With flowered thoughts of Camelot and dreams of cabarets.)

The alley ways within the maze are paved with rats and mice.
Evangelists with moneyed fists collect the sacrifice
From losers scorned and rubes reborn, and promise paradise,
While in the back they cook some crack, inhale, and roll the dice.

A bum called Boe has stubbed his toe, he's stumbled in the gutter;
With broken neck, he looks a wreck, the sparrows all aflutter,
The passers-by, they close an eye, and turn their heads and mutter:
'Let's pray for rains to wash the lanes, to clear away the clutter.'
A river slows neath mountain snows, and leaves begin to shudder.

[...] Read more

poem by Terry O'Leary
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New American Classic

You've got to get better.
Say it's all in your head.
We could live through these letters
Or forget it all together.
See the months they don't matter.
It's the days I can't take
When the hours move to minutes and I'm seconds away.
Just ask the question.
Come untie the knot.
Say you won't care,
say you won't care.
Retrace the steps
As if we forgot.
Say you won't care,
Say you won't care.
We try to avoid it,
But there's not a doubt,
And there's one thing I can do nothing about.
Well all that we need is just a reaction,
It's too much to ask for when there's no attraction anymore
If chasing our dreams is just a distraction,
I want to remember when I know that I can't go back.
Just ask the question.
Come untie the knot.
Say you won't care,
say you won't care.
Retrace the steps
As if we forgot.
Say you won't care,
Say you won't care.
We try to avoid it (Try to avoid it),
But there's not a doubt,
And there's one thing I can do nothing,
There's one thing I can do nothing,
There's one thing I can do nothing about.
(Finally)
Just ask the question (Just ask the question).
Come untie the knot.
Say you won't care,
Say you won't care.
And retrace the steps (Retrace the steps)
as if we forgot.
Say you won't care.
Say you won't care.
We try to avoid it (Try to avoid it),
But there's not a doubt
And there's one thing I can do nothing,
There's one thing I can do nothing,
There's one thing I can do nothing about.

song performed by Taking Back Sunday
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Original Sin

Ive been looking for an original sin.
One with a twist and a bit of a spin.
Ive done all of the old ones.
Till theyve all been done in.
Now Im just looking -
Then Im gone with the wind -
Endlessly searching for an original sin.
You can dance forever.
You got a fire in your feet.
But will it ever be enough?
You know itll never be enough.
You can fly and never land.
And never need to sleep.
But will it ever be enough?
You know itll never be enough.
Not enough to make the nightmares go away.
Not enough to make the tears run dry.
Not enough to live a littel better everyday.
Everything that they taught us.
Was nothing but lies.
Everthing thing they brought us.
Was nothing but bribes.
But itll all be over now -
All I wanted was a piece of the night.
I never got an equal share.
When the stars are out of sight.
And the moon is down -
The natives are so restless tonight.
Ive been looking for an original sin.
One with a twist and a bit of a spin.
Ive done all of the old ones.
Till theyve all been done in.
Now Im just looking -
Then Im gone with the wind -
Endlessly searching for an original sin.
You can lose yourself in pleasure.
Till your bodys going numb.
But will it ever be enough?
You know itll never be enough.
You can always take whatever.
You conceivably could want.
But will it ever be enough?
You know itll never be enough.
Not enough to make the nightmares go away.
Not enough to make the tears run dry.
Not enough to live a littel better everyday.
Everything that they taught us.
Was nothing but lies.
Everthing thing they brought us.
Was nothing but bribes.

[...] Read more

song performed by Meat Loaf
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Tale XVI

THE CONFIDANT.

Anna was young and lovely--in her eye
The glance of beauty, in her cheek the dye:
Her shape was slender, and her features small,
But graceful, easy, unaffected all:
The liveliest tints her youthful face disclosed;
There beauty sparkled, and there health reposed;
For the pure blood that flush'd that rosy cheek
Spoke what the heart forbade the tongue to speak,
And told the feelings of that heart as well,
Nay, with more candour than the tongue could tell.
Though this fair lass had with the wealthy dwelt,
Yet like the damsel of the cot she felt;
And, at the distant hint or dark surmise,
The blood into the mantling cheek would rise.
Now Anna's station frequent terrors wrought,
In one whose looks were with such meaning fraught,
For on a Lady, as an humble friend,
It was her painful office to attend.
Her duties here were of the usual kind -
And some the body harass'd, some the mind:
Billets she wrote, and tender stories read,
To make the Lady sleepy in her bed;
She play'd at whist, but with inferior skill,
And heard the summons as a call to drill;
Music was ever pleasant till she play'd
At a request that no request convey'd;
The Lady's tales with anxious looks she heard,
For she must witness what her Friend averr'd;
The Lady's taste she must in all approve,
Hate whom she hated, whom she lov'd must love;
These, with the various duties of her place,
With care she studied, and perform'd with grace:
She veil'd her troubles in a mask of ease,
And show'd her pleasure was a power to please.
Such were the damsel's duties: she was poor -
Above a servant, but with service more:
Men on her face with careless freedom gaz'd,
Nor thought how painful was the glow they raised.
A wealthy few to gain her favour tried,
But not the favour of a grateful bride;
They spoke their purpose with an easy air,
That shamed and frighten'd the dependent fair;
Past time she view'd, the passing time to cheat,
But nothing found to make the present sweet:
With pensive soul she read life's future page,
And saw dependent, poor, repining age.
But who shall dare t'assert what years may

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Truth Black Truth Grey?

shades of truth in black or grey
truth is even driven reflected
in the colour of cars people drive

in Indonesian two colours dominate
cars are predominantly black or grey
like the colour of truth in the country

Indonesia usually ranks esteemed third
in top three for world internal corruption
without bribes this country cannot run

in this land the truth is black
truth has many shades of grey
upon these two colours is all run

Indonesia from any highway to byway
half the cost or more of building a bridge
any road in official bribes is paid out

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Fable Of Midas

Midas, we are in story told,
Turn'd every thing he touch'd to gold:
He chipp'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground:
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would straight become a golden pippin.
He call'd for drink; you saw him sup
Potable gold in golden cup:
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He suck'd his victuals thro' a quill.
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders,
Or't had been happy for gold-finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head;
Whene'er he chanced his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence, we are by wise farmers told
Old hay is equal to old gold:
And hence a critic deep maintains
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit;
And people fancied he had wit,
Two gods their skill in music tried
And both chose Midas to decide:
He against Ph[oelig]bus' harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to show his grudge,
Clapt asses' ears upon the judge,
A goodly pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactolus' sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims
The golden scurf peels off his limbs:
Fame spreads the news, and people travel
From far, to gather golden gravel;
Midas, exposed to all their jeers,
Had lost his art, and kept his ears.
This tale inclines the gentle reader
To think upon a certain leader;
To whom, from Midas down, descends
That virtue in the fingers' ends.
What else by perquisites are meant,
By pensions, bribes, and three per cent.?
By places and commissions sold,
And turning dung itself to gold?
By starving in the midst of store,
As t'other Midas did before?

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Swift
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Whom to avoid in love?

Love those
Who want only love,
In the name of love, never want the rest.

Avoid those
Who love but in the name of love
Want the rest.

Avoid those
Who love but In the name of love
Play the tricks and want to win the game.

Avoid those
Who love but like a drunken man
As life isn't more important than wine.

Avoid those
Who love but for passion and lust
They will leave you when all these die fast

poem by Abdul Wahab
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Pretty Boys

Last night I dreamt you were gay
It was all you needed to say
Finally an answer for why you dont want me that way
Last year I slept in your arms
Slept right through the alarm
But now you live in virginia, alone on a farm
Boys will be boys
Boys will be boys
Girls cant avoid
Pretty boys
Last july I came untied
My trousers , my bra , and my pride
You were so confident that I would let you inside.
Back of the bus in berlin
That was the summer of sin
Bryan and richie pounding the bottle of gin
Liars and lovers
Twin brothers
Never win
Boys will be boys
Boys will be boys
Girls cant avoid
Pretty boys
Girls cant avoid
Pretty boys
No girls cant avoid
Pretty boys

song performed by Veruca Salt
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Specific By Design

Lazy adults raised by irresponsible children,
Choosing to do what they please...
With the making of excuses encouraged as done,
Are not the ones to blame for their attitudes towards life.
Many do not accept transitions and think of them as painful.

Every example of a quality of life to value,
Has been degraded by those lazy who view mediocrity...
As too much of a struggle to achieve,
With an escaping from a hopelessness and self pity.
And the evidence of their influence is too obvious to avoid.

And they are left trapped in sadness patterns.
With their touches of guilt to add to a quilt...
Specific by design.

Left trapped in sadness patterns.
With their touches of guilt to add to a quilt...
Specific by design.

And the evidence that is knitted in,
Becomes too obvious to avoid.

Left trapped in sadness patterns.
With their touches of guilt to add to a quilt...
Specific by design.

And the evidence that is knitted in,
Becomes too obvious to avoid.

And they are left trapped in sadness patterns.
With their touches of guilt to add to a quilt...
Specific by design.

And the evidence that sits,
Becomes too obvious to avoid.
Or can anyone conscious excuse the limits of it!
And the purpose with intentions to confine...
Those of shallow and unused minds.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why Does It Make You Weep

Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.

Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?

Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.

Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.

Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?

Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.

Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?

Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.

Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?

Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.

Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.

Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?

Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.

Unstrap and remove those shackles.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who to Exorcise the Spirit in him?

Friends avoid him as he waves corrupt wands.
The media slight him for his thirsty hands.
He is of a greed-stung tribe
who carry sacks for the bribe.
A tale could be couched knitting all his strands.

Exorcising the ghost in him can't be nipped
and licking of bribes by the laws can't be ripped.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Austerity/girl One

In the town
The start of day
The father thinks in sadness
On why his daughters went away
On youth and other madness
I know we don't choose who we love
And malice is so human
When your principle's no good
It's time to find a new one
I was brought up to believe
That to avoid disaster
In life as in your dreams
You've got to be the monster
When you've done your very best
When things turn out unpleasant
When the best of men take bribes
Isn't it the fool who doesn't?
In the town
By the house
The journalist is waiting
And near this place
There is a space
A subject contemplating
You've got your keys to get back in
You've washed your face so you can smile
You've got your pockets full of lending cash
Your ticket to the ladies mile
You brush away a flake of zinc
Advance toward the street outside
You close your mind so you can't think
The hide, the ride, the tide
But the scenes come rushing in
Like eels into your net
And it's just like joseph said
Another walk you can't forget
But you push into the bleak
Where all the women walk in fear
Another three-word phrase
The near, the clear, the dear
You're a lonely little girl
Who just wants to please her dad
So you thought you'd be a nurse
Just like your mother had
But you make the patients worse
And the doctors know you're bad
(better get back to the oracle)
The oracle in this case
Is a message on your phone
It says where you go
Gravity has gone

[...] Read more

song performed by Human League
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Sonnet: Corruption

If hand is greased, no art can be kept clean;
The ‘canvas’ if greased, none can paint on it;
A corrupt society doesn’t want a ‘saint, ’
Men who receive bribes can’t have a straight Dean.

There is no compromise on health matters;
The learned quack can’t make connect diagnosis;
Imagine his treatment and prognosis;
In live’s test-drive, there can’t be defaulters;

Why must you blame the cook for the poor broth?
Blame thyself for the bad ingredients;
A candle-light will attract any moth;
Don’t blame the clouds for being light or dense.

There is a limit for corruption too;
Realize and avoid your Waterloo!

poem by John Celes
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An Ode - In Imitation of Horace, Book III. Ode II.

How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie
In the lethargic sleep, the sad repose
By which thy close thy constant enemy
Has softly lull'd thee to thy woes?
Or wake, degenerate isle, or cease to own
What thy old kings in Gallic camps have done,
The spoils they brought thee back, the crowns they won,
William (so Fate requires) again is arm'd,
Thy father to the field is gone,
Again Maria weeps her absent lord,
For thy repose content to rule alone.
Are thy enervate sons not yet alarm'd?
When William fights dare they look tamely on,
So slow to get their ancient fame restored,
As not to melt at Beauty's tears nor follow Valour's sword?

See the repenting isle awakes,
Her vicious chains the generous goddess breaks;
The fogs around her temples are dispell'd;
Abroad she looks, and sees arm'd Belgia stand
Prepared to meet heir common lord's command,
Her lions roaring by her side, her arrows in her hand,
And blushing to have been so long withheld,
Weeps off her crime, and hastens to the field:
Henceforth her youth shall be inured to bear
Hazardous toil and active war:
To march beneath the dogstar's raging heat,
Patient of summer's drought and martial sweat,
And only grieve in winter's camp to find
Its days too short for labours they design'd:
All night beneath hard heavy arms to watch,
All day to mount the trench, to storm the breach,
And all the rugged paths to tread
Where William and his virtue led.

Silence is the soul of war;
Deliberate counsel must prepare
The mighty work which valour must complete:
Thus William rescued, thus preserves the state,
Thus teaches us to think and dare:
As, whilst his cannon just prepared to breathe
Avenging anger and swift death,
In the tried metal the close dangers glow,
And now, too late, the dying foe
Perceives the flame, yet cannot ward the blow;
So whilst in William's breast ripe counsels lie,
Secret and sure as brooding Fate,
No more of his design appears
Than what awakens Gallia's fears,
And (though Guilt's eye can sharply penetrate)

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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Metamorphoses: Book The Tenth

THENCE, in his saffron robe, for distant Thrace,
Hymen departs, thro' air's unmeasur'd space;
By Orpheus call'd, the nuptial Pow'r attends,
But with ill-omen'd augury descends;
Nor chearful look'd the God, nor prosp'rous spoke,
Nor blaz'd his torch, but wept in hissing smoke.
In vain they whirl it round, in vain they shake,
No rapid motion can its flames awake.
The Story of With dread these inauspicious signs were view'd,
Orpheus And soon a more disastrous end ensu'd;
and Eurydice For as the bride, amid the Naiad train,
Ran joyful, sporting o'er the flow'ry plain,
A venom'd viper bit her as she pass'd;
Instant she fell, and sudden breath'd her last.
When long his loss the Thracian had deplor'd,
Not by superior Pow'rs to be restor'd;
Inflam'd by love, and urg'd by deep despair,
He leaves the realms of light, and upper air;
Daring to tread the dark Tenarian road,
And tempt the shades in their obscure abode;
Thro' gliding spectres of th' interr'd to go,
And phantom people of the world below:
Persephone he seeks, and him who reigns
O'er ghosts, and Hell's uncomfortable plains.
Arriv'd, he, tuning to his voice his strings,
Thus to the king and queen of shadows sings.
Ye Pow'rs, who under Earth your realms extend,
To whom all mortals must one day descend;
If here 'tis granted sacred truth to tell:
I come not curious to explore your Hell;
Nor come to boast (by vain ambition fir'd)
How Cerberus at my approach retir'd.
My wife alone I seek; for her lov'd sake
These terrors I support, this journey take.
She, luckless wandring, or by fate mis-led,
Chanc'd on a lurking viper's crest to tread;
The vengeful beast, enflam'd with fury, starts,
And thro' her heel his deathful venom darts.
Thus was she snatch'd untimely to her tomb;
Her growing years cut short, and springing bloom.
Long I my loss endeavour'd to sustain,
And strongly strove, but strove, alas, in vain:
At length I yielded, won by mighty love;
Well known is that omnipotence above!
But here, I doubt, his unfelt influence fails;
And yet a hope within my heart prevails.
That here, ev'n here, he has been known of old;
At least if truth be by tradition told;
If fame of former rapes belief may find,
You both by love, and love alone, were join'd.

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poem by Ovid
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Fire Feared not the Queen!

The Rajput Ratan singh came to the throne
of Chittorgarh, the chivalrous land,
when Khilji, having all the Northern kings won,
turned to West, to put his foes to the brand.

The Turks made a blockade of the fort
to catch Padmini, the marvelous Mewar’s queen,
and take to Khilji’s harem, and to distort
the pride of Rajputs who in war weren’t mean.

By war, the besieging Sultan found no end;
“A glance will turn me to Delhi”, he cried.
To cease the fight, the wise chose to lend
her image, arranging her mien to hide.

On a scaffold amidst a lake
the queen of the martial race was to stand
and the mad Turk from a mirror had to take
the flashed figure of the nymph made by God’s wand.

In killing and blinding his kin Khilji revelled.
He would seize the wives of vanquished kings
and poison his marshals, who his place levelled.
He marred the idols in temples and pulled the strings.

To avoid bloodshed, Ratan agreed to show
a virtual image of the queen to his guest.
But the beard-caressing thief got in to mow,
the image elegant to give his mind rest.

A scoundrel’s hunger is never appeased.
But within the fort his sword never he drew.
The image fair his blazing heart teased.
When the host came out, engulfed him the vile crew.

Ratan got confined in the camp of the tribes
which fought for zan(money) , zenana(women) , zamin(land) and gold.
Khilji lolled his tongue not for precious bribes
but for Padmini, the queen chaste and bold.

The wise queen sent the Sultan, the news to meet
and the bestial Khilji smiled and braced his beard.
But fighters in the guise of maids to beat
the Turk, went in palanquins, with valour weird.

Her uncle Gora ran the blockade and safely freed
the king and fought to his grave with mad dogs.
The frothy beast stormed the fort again with greed
with an added force of looting savage hogs.

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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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