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The hero, the mythical subject, is constructed as human being and as male; he is the active principle of culture, the establisher of distinction, the creator of differences.

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God is the creator

God is the creator
poem is a creation
Poet is not God.

I am a lover of poem
Poet is my hero
God is hero's hero.

I just read poem
I just enjoy reading poem
I shall continue to read poem
As long as I enjoy poem.

At times
Poems are being written by me.
The credit goes to God
God direct me to write poem
And I write.

God only can explain the meaning
I am just an instrument
And nothing.

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The Human Being Dies

THE HUMAN BEING DIES

The human being dies
And goes to dust
In God we trust.

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The Human Being is Body- Bound

THE HUMAN BEING IS BODY- BOUND

A human being is body- bound
To terrestrial gravity-
Only silicon descendants
For cosmic mysteries.

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Accepted By The Creator

Read your Bible again and learn from the truth,
For most of the great men accepted by our Creator had many wives;
But, why was it so?
For the Creator who made all things knows better.

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The Significance Of Differences

When one has been 'plethorized',
From all surrounding sides...
It makes it difficult to focus upon,
The significance of differences.
Or what is there to influence exclusively,
Under disguise and before one's eyes.

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He Is the Creator

He made the heavens and the earth by His Power!
He is the Creator;
He established the world by His Wisdom,
And He is the Creator;
He created us for a purpose,
And He is the Creator;
So why worship other Gods and Goddesses today? !

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Ode to the Creator by David Hart

Ode to the Creator by David Hart

Praise to you oh Lord
For the sun, moon and the sky

Praise to you oh Lord
For the lake and forest and
Birds that fly

Praise to you oh Lord
For the beautiful flowers
And the Blessed Glen

Praise to you oh lord
For the courage to avoid
Evil to the end.

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He is the creator and mediator

He that could speak and things appear right there,
that reached out His hand mightily over the universe,
He is the creator and also the mediator,
He who is blinding, who makes lightning bolts lash out,
did not save Himself for me a mere human,
He fell down from God to a mere man
and how can I explain His deepest love
that He still selflessly gives to everyone?

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A Power Is Involved Only The Creator Permits

A repeating of false allegations,
Does not diminish a truth observed.
There is a quality to it,
That will not be disturbed.

And insisting a belief,
To increase deceptions...
Will not provide followers with relief.

These days lived people are in the midst,
Of being eye witnesses...
To the decline of liars and their existence.
A power is involved only The Creator permits.

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Light From The Creator

// light from the creator //

Let there be light
In the inner soul
In the eyes, into the blood
Light, light, Light, light, Light, light
Light every where in the body,
Light, light in the vein,
In the brain, in the present
To enlighten the darkness
In the deep darken hearts,
Light comes Light comes
To cross the light years.
Light comes to align with
The whole Universe.


21 august,2012, bb.

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Today... 'The Creator of Israel

The Lord your God, Jehovah the Holy One
Created you from Jacob, Abrahams son
And He led you out of your captivity
When He parted a way right through the red sea

Chariots and horses He then overthrew
And covered them with water to protect you
snuffing them out like a wick they disappeared
The Creator of Israel is to be feared


see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)

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The beauty for an individual human being

The beauty for the cultivating land is attributed
to be paddy and sugarcane plantations;

The beauty for the pond is the
presence of widespread lotus flowers;

The beauty for the chaste womanhood
is the inherent bashfulness in her behaviour;

The beauty for an individual human being,
- said to come for the praise in his afterlife -
is the virtue by which he lived and gained
in the society! - (naanmaNik katikai 9)

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Every Intention The Creator Has Had

'When should it be realized that life is precious? '

Once it has been discovered,
With opened eyes...
That the Earth rotates,
Majestically in the Universe.

And no one known giving an opinion...
Can claim to have had anything to do with it!
Or can say The Creator of our existence,
Has made a mistake!

Although there will be those...
Who will attempt to convince,
Every intention The Creator has had...
Was 'first' given their approval.

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Power Of The Creator

Can’t even come close…., compare Him to none….,

He is the master…., primo, number one….,

The best is alright…., but He’s far greater….,

It’s impossible to match the Power Of The Creator….! ! !


He’s built the universe…., and is life’s stimulator….,

Superhuman in strength…, with no imitator…..,

No one can exceed the Power Of The Creator…,

The awesome…., incomparable…, unbelievable….,

Power Of The Creator…! ! !

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The creator's struggle

The uneven shadows
of a ghastly nightmare
cast their indescretions
upon my silently closed eyes.

The poignant pointlessnesses
of the unexpressed emotions
surface in my eye-pupils
and their glistening encore
gets lost,
in the tremendousness
of the mist of irony.

I grope in despair,
at the hidden archives
of my being,
and come up with a painful pang
of abstract unexpression
which might be the birth-root
of all this enormous creation.

[Inspired by the belief that the universe is just the non-absolute expression of God]

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Today... 'The Creator of the ends of the earth

Do you not know and have you never heard?
that all things were created by His word.
The creator of the ends of the earth
spoke and brought the Universe into birth.

He who never grows tired or is weary
is the very God Who said 'Let there be.'
Of His understanding none can fathom
for such things are beyond our human wisdom.

Though the Lord is an Everlasting God
but in Christ the paths of this earth He trod
and a new creation has now begun
through Jesus Christ His One and Only Son.


(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)

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The Poems Became Metaphors

The poems became metaphors-
They took off like meteors,
They turned into shimmering white almond tree beauty-
They danced-
They went home
They became sick and died-
They did everything a human being and a non- human being could try to do -
They were nothing and they were everything-
They turned the sky white and blue on its darkest day
And made the nights green-
Oh they were something else the poems when they became metaphors-
And still now,
They are rising up and going deep into a different universe,
No one not even the most quiet eyes can ever fully dream-

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When The Last Human Being

When the last human being from Planet Earth has gone
The Goddess of Nature will surely live on
Yes without us to bother her Nature will live
We take and take from her and in return little give
For our disrespect to her we will be made to pay
What goes around comes around as some do say
Nature for her extinct life forms never lament
The donosaurs came and the dinosaurs went
She gives life and the remains of her dead does receive
And in the face of death she does not laugh or grieve
But long after the last human being from the World has gone
Nature the immortal will be living on.

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Only what the Creator Knows

There are those who actually believe,
They can study the thought process...
Of another with misplaced effort and time spent.
And doing the best they can to dissect,
Only what The Creator knows is best.

And yet the ones who have elected themselves,
Authorities of human behavior...
Are the same ones finding it difficult,
To remove the collection of garbage...
Piled high in their own backyards to inspect.

Although expressing no interest in doing this,
Their noses are pressed up against...
The cracks of their neighbors' aspirations and deeds,
They do to complete a fulfilling of a lifetime of activities...
Needed by them on missions felt intuitively to accomplish.

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Boris Pasternak

I hang limp on the Creator's pen

I hang limp on the Creator's pen
Like a large drop of lilac gloss-paint.

Underneath are dykes' secrets; the air
From the railways is sodden and sticky,
Of the fumes of coal and night fires reeking.
But the moment night kills sunset's glare,
It turns pink itself, tinged with far flares,
And the fence stands stiff, paradox-stricken.

It keeps muttering: stop it till dawn.
Let the dry whiting finally settle.
Hard as nails is the worm-eaten ground,
And the echo's as keen as a skittle.

Warm spring wind, spots of cheviot and mud,
Early naileries' hoots faraway,
On the grater of cobble-stones road,
As on radishes lavishly sprayed,
Tears stand out clearly at break of day.

Like an acrid drop of thick lead paint,
I hang on to the Creator's pen.

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