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The bureaucracy is not great. I don't think Rick Santorum who is not one for being a big proponent of large bureaucracies would be as enthusiastic a supporter of it.

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The World Does Not Wait/For A Poem It Will Never Listen To


The world does not wait
For a poem it will never listen to
Silence is easy to bear.
My poem
Small as it is
Soft as it is
Shakes no great world to its foundation.
Little lines
Little lives
Great love
And it need not be registered at all.

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The Sadness Is Not Only In Being Old


The sadness is not only in being old-
One’s time has passed-
One is no longer needed-
Others have what to say,
In a new way you cannot-
The sadness is in being irrelevant-
And there seems to be no way out of it.

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I Don't Think So

I Don't Think So
We've been through this time together
AlI in my mind the love was so alive
Oh I never wanted for another
Then I saw the beginnings of a Iie
Good times and the bad times
Through the good times and the bad times with me
Good times and the bad times
Yeah I wonder why I never see
Good times and the bad times
Oh maybe there was always something wrong
Good times and the bad times
Did l wait too long
You said you'd love me for all of your life
I don't think so
Through the best of the best and the worst of the times
I don't think so
You said the world was a beautiful place
l don't think so
You swore the love was perfectly sale
I don't think so
People can only stay together
If in their hearts they know they can say what's on their minds
Would you say
Good times and the bad times
If it can't really be then I gotta move on
Good times and the bad times
Is it really time
Chorus: (repeat)
Said the check's in the mail and the maiI's on time
I don't think so
Said out of touch ain't out of mind
I don't think so
Couldn't live without me, and that's a fact
I don't think so
Love is real and it's not an act
I don't think so
Come on
Good times and the bad times
I don't think so
Good times and the bad times
Baby our love was a beautiful thing
I don't think so
Good times and the bad times
You said you'd love me for all of your life
I don't think so
Good times and the bad times
Through the best of the best and the worst of times
I don't think so
l don't think so baby oh baby oh baby come on
I don't think so
The love was right but the loving was wrong

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The Depths Are Not Meant For Us...

do not ever let that
submarine of thoughts
go deeper
than what is necessary
or required of

those depths
are not meant for us

and for this which is
made of
inferior metal
and flesh

for in there we shrink
like a paper box
against all its four sides

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Do not cry for me

Do not cry for me
I alone, own my pain

Do not cry for me
for that, I have the rain

Do not cry for me
many mistakes I have made

Do not cry for me
and the love I now crave

Do not cry for me
alone is where I belong

Do not cry for me
solitude has made me strong

Do not cry for me
for my tears dampen bed sheets at night

Do not cry for me
for when I dream, that's where love's memory takes flight

T. Labbe`

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Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

Well it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don't matter anyhow
And it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don't know by now
When the rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I'll be gone
You're the reason I'm travelling on
Don't think twice it's all right
Well it ain't no use in turning on your light, babe
Light I've never known
Ain't no use in turning on the light, babe
I'm on the dark side of the road
Wish there was something you could do or say
Something to make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talking anyway
Don't think twice, it's all right
And it ain't no use in calling out my name, gal
Like you've never done before
It ain't no use in calling out my name, gal
I can't hear you anymore
I'm thinking and a wondering, walking down that road
I once loved a woman - A child I'm told
Gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul
Don't think twice, it's all right
So long, honey-babe
Where I'm bound, I can't tell
Goodbye is too good a word babe
I'll just say,

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Watson at the British Open

The aging champion kissed its stones
and waved to all his fans.
At Swilcan bridge across the burn,
As twilight fast descends.

No claret Jug for Tom this day.
His Open at its end
Just this final hole to play
As twilight fast descends.

Five times past champion and beloved
He'll not play here again.
He'll cross this bridge for one last time
As twilight fast descends.

His ball arcs up into the sky
And settles on the green
Near Swilcan bridge across the burn
As twilight fast descends

A simple putt for birdie, Tom,
Yours was a fitting end
You went out like a champion
As twilight fast descends.

Tom Watson, a five time winner of the British open played his final round at the old course at St. Andrews this year. While former champions are permitted to play the open until age 65, the Open is not scheduled for St. Andrews again until 2015, when Watson would be 67. The Claret jug is the trophy awarded for winning the British Open. In Scottish, a Burn is a small running creek. Tom Watson failed to make the cut this year but he did Birdie his final hole.

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Screened For Updates

When a lie initially told,
Is supported
With followup addendums...
For clarification purposes.
Does the affect of it,
Become more credible overtime...
Eleminating the cause to pause,
For plausabilities?
Or subjective doubts!
Once it is understood,
As a lie.
In its entirety.
And totally removed,
From the suspicions of reality!
To impact those accustomed to thinking!
Those familiar with the process of thought,
And deductive reasoning!

Now that it is packaged...
And complete in its deceptive content.
Prepared to withstand scrutiny.
And then...
On the other hand,
Should the teller be forgiven,
For not offering an apology
That all lies told in the past,
Were not screened for updates...
Prior to their public exposure?

It would seem a savings of time,
And a waste of this mindless logic...
If those responsible for reviewing lies,
Were held accountable for their effectiveness
As they were being check for flaws!
From the very beginning of their creations.
And evaluated based on the believability
Held in sincere eye contact made by the speaker!
The one 'elected' to deliver them...
Without muscle twitches!
Only then can an abundance of lies meet with approval!
And told over and over again...
Generating the expected applause they are given,
By those devoted to every delusion conceivably embraced!

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I don't think I will get over not being able to go to the wedding

I don't think I will get over not going to the wedding.written and Posted 10/22/11

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Patrick White

I Don't Think The Wind Sings For Me Alone

I don't think the wind sings for me alone
even in this isolated space where it
silvers the leaves of the Russian olives
like musical scales. Or every thought and emotion,
every image, symbol, or insight
shares the same myth of origin that I do.
Nor all the words that I call my native language
weren't rooted first in someone else's garden.
As the air I breathe was, as the light that has entered
through many more eyes than mine. What I hear
doesn't belong to me, nor what I see,
my private vision. But when I don't grasp
at clouds and water, everything is my reflection
looking back at me as if there were no one there.

I disappear. And I feel my presence everywhere
as real as the sceptres of Queen Anne's Lace
growing old in the moonlight, or the blue fury
of the wild irises burning in their own fires
like the Pleiades. Who can understand
the circuitous wanderings of the mindstream
white water rafting its own axons in an empty lifeboat
when even the questions you raise about it are not your own?
I may well be that, but tonight, I'm not personally involved.
Things occur like spiritual events. The rat snake
strikes the frog, the shadow flash of a bird
transits the moon. Arcturus descends
before the Summer Triangle with the easy grace
of a light that doesn't realize it's being observed intensely.

And I wonder if we're actualizing each other
in some interdependently original way
that it knows as little about as I do.
Or the dead birch tree that's standing by both of us,
naked in its bones as a fan of coral.
Silly man, now you know how a fly
up against a window feels. Or how a mirror
that's deeper than either your eyes
or the light can see into, keeps its appeal.
Been wondering most of my life
in an aloof but wary mode of gratitude
about the great symphony of love and light and light,
like someone who's been hurt by someone they cherish
without knowing why. And whether to laugh or weep
at the absurd tragicomedies that keep appearing
like vulnerable mushrooms in my sleep.

But tonight, tonight, all I want to hear
is the whisper of a dropp of water running down the sluice
of a blade of stargrass. The eerie rustling of the leaves
as if the trees had something to say to me
about my presence among them that leaves me
half again as estranged as when I first came here
to enjoy a freedom that isn't just a matter of changing gates.

Sad man, but tonight I dance with thousands of waterlilies
under the chandeliers of the stars, in three four time,
as if I just remembered how to waltz with the bride
and bow to a flower like a lunar violin. My heart
doesn't look for its reflection in the fire pit
where I burnt all my life masks like straw dogs
when the sacred ritual was over. I denuded myself
basking in the clear light of the void, until
there was no one left, not even me, to notice.

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Book V - Part 03 - The World is Not Eternal

And first,
Since body of earth and water, air's light breath,
And fiery exhalations (of which four
This sum of things is seen to be compact)
So all have birth and perishable frame,
Thus the whole nature of the world itself
Must be conceived as perishable too.
For, verily, those things of which we see
The parts and members to have birth in time
And perishable shapes, those same we mark
To be invariably born in time
And born to die. And therefore when I see
The mightiest members and the parts of this
Our world consumed and begot again,
'Tis mine to know that also sky above
And earth beneath began of old in time
And shall in time go under to disaster.
And lest in these affairs thou deemest me
To have seized upon this point by sleight to serve
My own caprice- because I have assumed
That earth and fire are mortal things indeed,
And have not doubted water and the air
Both perish too and have affirmed the same
To be again begotten and wax big-
Mark well the argument: in first place, lo,
Some certain parts of earth, grievously parched
By unremitting suns, and trampled on
By a vast throng of feet, exhale abroad
A powdery haze and flying clouds of dust,
Which the stout winds disperse in the whole air.
A part, moreover, of her sod and soil
Is summoned to inundation by the rains;
And rivers graze and gouge the banks away.
Besides, whatever takes a part its own
In fostering and increasing aught...

Is rendered back; and since, beyond a doubt,
Earth, the all-mother, is beheld to be
Likewise the common sepulchre of things,
Therefore thou seest her minished of her plenty,
And then again augmented with new growth.

And for the rest, that sea, and streams, and springs
Forever with new waters overflow
And that perennially the fluids well.
Needeth no words- the mighty flux itself
Of multitudinous waters round about
Declareth this. But whatso water first
Streams up is ever straightway carried off,
And thus it comes to pass that all in all
There is no overflow; in part because
The burly winds (that over-sweep amain)
And skiey sun (that with his rays dissolves)
Do minish the level seas; in part because
The water is diffused underground
Through all the lands. The brine is filtered off,
And then the liquid stuff seeps back again
And all re-gathers at the river-heads,
Whence in fresh-water currents on it flows
Over the lands, adown the channels which
Were cleft erstwhile and erstwhile bore along
The liquid-footed floods.
Now, then, of air
I'll speak, which hour by hour in all its body
Is changed innumerably. For whatso'er
Streams up in dust or vapour off of things,
The same is all and always borne along
Into the mighty ocean of the air;
And did not air in turn restore to things
Bodies, and thus recruit them as they stream,
All things by this time had resolved been
And changed into air. Therefore it never
Ceases to be engendered off of things
And to return to things, since verily
In constant flux do all things stream.
The abounding well-spring of the liquid light,
The ethereal sun, doth flood the heaven o'er
With constant flux of radiance ever new,
And with fresh light supplies the place of light,
Upon the instant. For whatever effulgence
Hath first streamed off, no matter where it falls,
Is lost unto the sun. And this 'tis thine
To know from these examples: soon as clouds
Have first begun to under-pass the sun,
And, as it were, to rend the days of light
In twain, at once the lower part of them
Is lost entire, and earth is overcast
Where'er the thunderheads are rolled along-
So know thou mayst that things forever need
A fresh replenishment of gleam and glow,
And each effulgence, foremost flashed forth,
Perisheth one by one. Nor otherwise
Can things be seen in sunlight, lest alway
The fountain-head of light supply new light.
Indeed your earthly beacons of the night,
The hanging lampions and the torches, bright
With darting gleams and dense with livid soot,
Do hurry in like manner to supply
With ministering heat new light amain;
Are all alive to quiver with their fires,-
Are so alive, that thus the light ne'er leaves
The spots it shines on, as if rent in twain:
So speedily is its destruction veiled
By the swift birth of flame from all the fires.
Thus, then, we must suppose that sun and moon
And stars dart forth their light from under-births
Ever and ever new, and whatso flames
First rise do perish always one by one-
Lest, haply, thou shouldst think they each endure
Again, perceivest not
How stones are also conquered by Time?-
Not how the lofty towers ruin down,
And boulders crumble?- Not how shrines of gods
And idols crack outworn?- Nor how indeed
The holy Influence hath yet no power
There to postpone the Terminals of Fate,
Or headway make 'gainst Nature's fixed decrees?
Again, behold we not the monuments
Of heroes, now in ruins, asking us,
In their turn likewise, if we don't believe
They also age with eld? Behold we not
The rended basalt ruining amain
Down from the lofty mountains, powerless
To dure and dree the mighty forces there
Of finite time?- for they would never fall
Rended asudden, if from infinite Past
They had prevailed against all engin'ries
Of the assaulting aeons, with no crash.
Again, now look at This, which round, above,
Contains the whole earth in its one embrace:
If from itself it procreates all things-
As some men tell- and takes them to itself
When once destroyed, entirely must it be
Of mortal birth and body; for whate'er
From out itself giveth to other things
Increase and food, the same perforce must be
Minished, and then recruited when it takes
Things back into itself.
Besides all this,
If there had been no origin-in-birth
Of lands and sky, and they had ever been
The everlasting, why, ere Theban war
And obsequies of Troy, have other bards
Not also chanted other high affairs?
Whither have sunk so oft so many deeds
Of heroes? Why do those deeds live no more,
Ingrafted in eternal monuments
Of glory? Verily, I guess, because
The Sum is new, and of a recent date
The nature of our universe, and had
Not long ago its own exordium.
Wherefore, even now some arts are being still
Refined, still increased: now unto ships
Is being added many a new device;
And but the other day musician-folk
Gave birth to melic sounds of organing;
And, then, this nature, this account of things
Hath been discovered latterly, and I
Myself have been discovered only now,
As first among the first, able to turn
The same into ancestral Roman speech.
Yet if, percase, thou deemest that ere this
Existed all things even the same, but that
Perished the cycles of the human race
In fiery exhalations, or cities fell
By some tremendous quaking of the world,
Or rivers in fury, after constant rains,
Had plunged forth across the lands of earth
And whelmed the towns- then, all the more must thou
Confess, defeated by the argument,
That there shall be annihilation too
Of lands and sky. For at a time when things
Were being taxed by maladies so great,
And so great perils, if some cause more fell
Had then assailed them, far and wide they would
Have gone to disaster and supreme collapse.
And by no other reasoning are we
Seen to be mortal, save that all of us
Sicken in turn with those same maladies
With which have sickened in the past those men
Whom Nature hath removed from life.
Whatever abides eternal must indeed
Either repel all strokes, because 'tis made
Of solid body, and permit no entrance
Of aught with power to sunder from within
The parts compact- as are those seeds of stuff
Whose nature we've exhibited before;
Or else be able to endure through time
For this: because they are from blows exempt,
As is the void, the which abides untouched,
Unsmit by any stroke; or else because
There is no room around, whereto things can,
As 'twere, depart in dissolution all-
Even as the sum of sums eternal is,
Without or place beyond whereto things may
Asunder fly, or bodies which can smite,
And thus dissolve them by the blows of might.
But not of solid body, as I've shown,
Exists the nature of the world, because
In things is intermingled there a void;
Nor is the world yet as the void, nor are,
Moreover, bodies lacking which, percase,
Rising from out the infinite, can fell
With fury-whirlwinds all this sum of things,
Or bring upon them other cataclysm
Of peril strange; and yonder, too, abides
The infinite space and the profound abyss-
Whereinto, lo, the ramparts of the world
Can yet be shivered. Or some other power
Can pound upon them till they perish all.
Thus is the door of doom, O nowise barred
Against the sky, against the sun and earth
And deep-sea waters, but wide open stands
And gloats upon them, monstrous and agape.
Wherefore, again, 'tis needful to confess
That these same things are born in time; for things
Which are of mortal body could indeed
Never from infinite past until to-day
Have spurned the multitudinous assaults
Of the immeasurable aeons old.

Again, since battle so fiercely one with other
The four most mighty members the world,
Aroused in an all unholy war,
Seest not that there may be for them an end
Of the long strife?- Or when the skiey sun
And all the heat have won dominion o'er
The sucked-up waters all?- And this they try
Still to accomplish, though as yet they fail,-
For so aboundingly the streams supply
New store of waters that 'tis rather they
Who menace the world with inundations vast
From forth the unplumbed chasms of the sea.
But vain- since winds (that over-sweep amain)
And skiey sun (that with his rays dissolves)
Do minish the level seas and trust their power
To dry up all, before the waters can
Arrive at the end of their endeavouring.
Breathing such vasty warfare, they contend
In balanced strife the one with other still
Concerning mighty issues- though indeed
The fire was once the more victorious,
And once- as goes the tale- the water won
A kingdom in the fields. For fire o'ermastered
And licked up many things and burnt away,
What time the impetuous horses of the Sun
Snatched Phaethon headlong from his skiey road
Down the whole ether and over all the lands.
But the omnipotent Father in keen wrath
Then with the sudden smite of thunderbolt
Did hurl the mighty-minded hero off
Those horses to the earth. And Sol, his sire,
Meeting him as he fell, caught up in hand
The ever-blazing lampion of the world,
And drave together the pell-mell horses there
And yoked them all a-tremble, and amain,
Steering them over along their own old road,
Restored the cosmos- as forsooth we hear
From songs of ancient poets of the Greeks-
A tale too far away from truth, meseems.
For fire can win when from the infinite
Has risen a larger throng of particles
Of fiery stuff; and then its powers succumb,
Somehow subdued again, or else at last
It shrivels in torrid atmospheres the world.
And whilom water too began to win-
As goes the story- when it overwhelmed
The lives of men with billows; and thereafter,
When all that force of water-stuff which forth
From out the infinite had risen up
Did now retire, as somehow turned aside,
The rain-storms stopped, and streams their fury checked.

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The Cost Will Be Great (For Dave)

city streets vomit;
angry, the earth erupts,
sick of it's sickness.
bodies flung against bodies
with a blinding rage...
the faceless demanding faces,
the nameless demanding names.

not knowing, not understanding,
peace, fullness, equality, freedom...
all begin within...
pushed in bloody blackened corners,
lashing out with survival teeth...
change will come,
but the cost will be great!

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The Universe Is Not Safe


The Universe is not safe-
There are great explosions,
And long impossibly long darknesses,
Unbearable extremes of heat and cold-

Venturing out into it
One little step at a time
Many of us will die-

The Universe is not our home
Earth is-

And if we get out there somewhere
It won’t be for certain or forever.
It won’t be easy,
And we humans will not love it at all.

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The coastline did not need the poem

The coastline with great beauty
did not need the poem,
the city with its glittering lights
jewelled and blazing against the night
did not need anybody to sing
of it being the sprouting place of civilization
on this Dark Continent,
neither did the Sentinel at Table Bay
watching from its rocky slopes
care what anybody said about it
and the ocean, the blue sea
ignored its praises,
kept on sending its crushing waves
on to the shore, as it has done forever more.

[Reference: After the Poem by Sydney Clouts.]

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The Sun Does Not Shine Sometimes...

the sun does not shine
paying respect
to the gloomy mood
of the day
when it rains and rains
till nighttime
and some of us who
are in the same mood
as a grieving earth
fully understand
the reasons for
a lamentation....

as we listen to the rain
and sit alone in a room beside
the window
somehow we are relieved
on that
great feeling that
we are not
alone in all these

and then we cease
the sorrow
as we share a smile
to the passing wind
which too reminds

that everything
sorrow or even joy
is simply
a passing...

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Sonnets 02: Into The Golden Vessel Of Great Song

Into the golden vessel of great song
Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast
Let other lovers lie, in love and rest;
Not we,—articulate, so, but with the tongue
Of all the world: the churning blood, the long
Shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed
Sharply together upon the escaping guest,
The common soul, unguarded, and grown strong.
Longing alone is singer to the lute;
Let still on nettles in the open sigh
The minstrel, that in slumber is as mute
As any man, and love be far and high,
That else forsakes the topmost branch, a fruit
Found on the ground by every passer-by.

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The guru is not other: a metaphysical proposition

It was his distance, that at first brought awe:
so great, so perfect, so ideal.. so far…
so distance humbles, brings humility;
the beauty of his feet, on earth we share;

and then, as if upon a flat-race turf,
the barriers built.. as if there long ago;
he, further over hedge and gate and brook;
and I, but wilful weakness, wailing ‘woe’..

until at last I sought him as a friend;
to meet within the heart we truly share;
surrendered distance, consciousness, and time:
asked nothing; difference thrown into the air;

I care not now, for pronouns ‘he’ and ‘me’;
his eye, my I; ourselves one self to be.


Dedicated to the one who asked.

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On the life of a great player

He was a great player
Won continuously for years
He was on the top
Of his career
Started taking the game
With leisure
Careless he became
Practice becoming rare
Overconfidence took its toll
His performance decorated
With every game he played
Ultimately tasted defeat
At the hands of
Unknown players
Could not digest
Defeat with ease
Turned into a bad loser
His behavior changed
Arrogant he became
In extramarital affairs
Lost money and fame
Took the path of
An unknown
Never to regain
The crown he wore
Realizing his mistakes
He is trying hard
To get
What he had given
Of his own fault
May god fulfill his
(On the life of a great player, no intention to hurt anybody in person)

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They Don't Think So-The Rationale of Robert

I am a bad person
At least I have done bad things
I admit it.
Lied, hurt others, cheated
and things worse.
yes, I know.
All bad.

But I don't really believe that I
am a bad person.
I am a good person
who has done bad things.

Most I am sorry for;
some I am not as much
as I should.

But what am I to do?
A good person
trapped by my own bad deeds.
Should I flagellate
repent, confess?
But why?
The deeds were bad, not I.

A really good person could see that
and forgive me.
A bad person can not and will not.
So, I guess they are bad just like me.

Now that leaves the good people
who see that bad deeds are not me
and forgive.

They even may forget.
But the fact they able to do that
makes me feel inferior.

They think they are better than me
and that is bad.
So, if they make me feel bad
then they are not really good people.

So, you see the whole world is just like me
even if they don't think so.

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The sun will not shine

The sun may not shine tomorrow
The dark dungeons may not allow
Any sun beam to enter prison wall
The world has last day to call

The end may be very slow
I shall be buried deep below
No more pain and blows
It will be nice in gallows

Only almighty has right to snatch the life
Who can cut throat with blade or knife?
Only butcher or murderer can do at will
Otherwise it is deliberate and intentional kill

I am charged with gruesome murder
No one heard my plea when surrendered
The dark clouds were striking harder on that day
The lightening was fast and heavier to mislead you the way

I dont know what really went wrong
The night was frightening and gave a loud bang
It was unusual and very strange
I was surging ahead but with difficulty to manage

The man was lying before me in pools of blood
The rainy water was increasing and resulting in flood
I just ushered in to see what actually had gone bad
I could see dead person and felt so sad

So many hands pounced on me and made prisoner
Everyone refused my story and declined to be listener
I had all the evidences against me to prove their point
I was given severe beating causing heavy pain in joints

How could be they be inhumane on the name of human?
Why do they consider us animal in the shape of man or woman?
What have we done to be called a blot on humanity?
Are we to be condemned with total disregard to the dignity?

It is living hell on this beautiful earth
Prisoners are leading animal life awaiting death
Who knows what type of treatment can be meted out to them?
Till there are enough of witnesses and circumstantial evidences to frame?

I know for sure that I will die unheard
There will not a murmur or single sympathetic word
No one may shed the tear to mark the memory
Only I have to feel pity and very sorry

There is natural justice for innocent
Some of the judgments are very fresh and recent
Not one innocent is to be hanged let hundred get freed”
The justice can not be blind and depend on wrongly feed

I am not sure of any outcome
The God is great and any verdict is welcome
I have full faith in His judgment
There is nothing as such to lament

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