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Let me alone, and go in search of someone else.

quote by Ali ibn Abi Talib
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Search It

search anything

in your life

search any thing...

you search u got it...

you did not search

waste of life time...

you search any thing

any time search...

not only google.com

search all ways

what do u want...?

search it

the life is search only

you search your inner

you got many more...

search with you...

search the another's

and search the world...

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Vanity of search -Based of the teaching of Gouthama Buddha

Dawn descended Crushing the Placid Night.
Tearing with its claws the Tranquil of Divine Dark.
Piercing and butchering with the sward of Light
the merciful twilight found no Strength, but
slipped in to the dead of grave, wounded and heavy

The rumbling noise of people gathered and crowded
The Futile Feet of men Stepped around, to and fro
People walked, vehicles droved the search continued
the search for peace, the search for Joy.
People knew where to look for and and how to find it
peace is in the Sweet smell of Paper called money
it is in the belove d's Eyes glimmer.
It is in the Seat of Power and position

There is no Everest that cannot be climbed
No Ocean that cannot be Voyaged,
No distance that cannot be traveled
At any cost the Peace is to be found, cradled
amongst the Money and power
The search has begun and continues forever.

The Search is on and On, And On and On
The Search has carried on for eon
for many generations the search continued
it took us to the deepest infinity of space,
To Abyss of ocean, there is no respite from the race.
All is in Vain; Peace has vanished without a trace

Where it might be hiding, Oh peace where Art thou?
You deluded us for ages, your face you never show.

Are we searching in a wrong place? Where peace is not.
We thought it is in the Island in the middle of river;
perhaps it is the very river.
We thought it is the name of a Inn in the corner of the Road
perhaps it is the Very road.
We thought it is in the bird singing on the tree
perhaps it is the Very tree

We searched in the past, present and Future,
But past is a History and Future is a Illusion
Perhaps it is in the present, But the Present
is full of suffering, not trace of peace is found,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Kumar
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I Search

I search for that something called an Identity
I search for the eternally dynamic being called 'me'

I search for that ever-elusive ray of Hope
That'll steady my walk on life's tightrope

I search for that stroke of Brilliance
That'll make me stand out among millions

I search for that much-needed Common Sense
That'll help me to decipher utter nonsense

I search for that slippery thing called Fame
That'll erase all my past memories of shame

I search for that quality called Tenacity
That'll help me cope with life's complexity

I search for that something called a Carefree Life
That'll remove me from worries and Danger's knife

I search for something called an Identity
And I still search for that being called 'me'

poem by Rony Patra
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Illegal Search

Yo baby
Put your seatbelt on
I got my paperwork, dont worry
Its cool
[ the flex ]
Illegal search
(do you wanna see it? )
(Im gonna do it)
[ verse 1 ]
What the hell are you lookin for?
Cant a young man make money anymore?
Wear my jewels and like freak it on the floor
Or is it my job to make sure Im poor?
Cant my car look better than yours?
Keep a cigar in between my jaws
I drink champagne, to hell with coors
Never sold coke in my life, I do tours
Get that flashlight out of my face
Im not a dog, so damn it, put away the mace
I got cash and real attorneys on the case
Youre just a joker perpetratin a ace
You got time, you wanna give me a taste
I dont smoke cigarettes, so why youre lookin for base?
You might plant a gun, and hope I run a race
Eatin in the messhall, sayin my grace
You tried to frame me, but it wont work
Illegal search
[ the flex ]
Keep on searchin
[ l.l. cool j ]
Im totally relaxed
[ the flex ]
Illegal searchin
[ l.l. cool j ]
Illegal search
[ the flex ]
Keep on searchin
Keep on searchin
Keep on searchin
Gotta, gotta, gotta...
[ verse 2 ]
I call it nice, you call it a drug car
I say disco, you call it a drug bar
I say nice guy, you call me mr. good bar
I made progress, you say, not that far
I just started it, youre searchin my car
But all my paperwork is up to par
Its in my uncles name, so the frame wont work
Chump - illegal search
[ the flex ]

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
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Look For Me Baby

(look for me baby)
Well you can search high and low if you want
But you wont find me
(look for me baby)
Well, you search the mountains
Look in the sea
Look all around the world
But you wont find a love
A love like mine
Youll be low
And cry misery[? ]
cause you got no love
(look for me baby)
In your desperation
Youre going to look for someone else
Well now, search the mountains
Search the sea
Look around the world
But you wont find me
(look for me baby)
Youll be looking for me
(look for me baby)
Well now, Ive never felt so sad
Ive never had it so bad
Youll search the oceans
But you wont find me no more
Youll be looking for me
(look for me baby)
Well you can search high and low if you want
But you wont find me
(look for me baby)
Well you can climb the mountains
And swim in the sea
Look all around the world
But you wont find a love
A love like mine
Youll be low
And cry misery
cause you got no love
(look for me baby)
In your desperation
Youre going to look for someone else
Well now, search the mountains
Search the sea
Look around the world
But you wont find me
(look for me baby)
Youll be looking for me
(look for me baby)
Youll be looking for me

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinks
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Stranger in Strange Crowd

STRANGER IN STRANGE CROWD

Dreams stranger’s path divide
from crowd’s uneven t[h]read
who's tissue, issues poorly understood, through dread
is left behind, swirls second rate as flotsam on life's tide,
noise windmills, senses silent, life-blood sped,
bled white, so often fearing fear, by wisdom wide,
unblessed, unsteady set sights low instead.

Despite stress, sentiments denied, imagination set aside,
stranger story stores till head heeds heart, until desires well led
fire understanding rich allied with empathy sustaining ride.
Swift Pegasus is supplied
with neither saddle, A to Zed accoutrements life tears to shreds
when vested interests, motives pure collide.

Defy temptations of soft ride
along straight road which, comfort fed,
selects ‘safe way’, too often dreads
free choice, autonomy. Self-pride
corresponds to quest for bread.

Distrust that moment Fortune’s tide
entwines in fickle thread
conformity, convention wed.
Scorn empty homage, those who glide
through vain p[l]ain life, misled.

Survival instinct, safe homestead, a ‘living wage’, priorities
appear, as opportunities to seize as each spins finite set
tripped, snipped, then ripped by Norms with ease.

Far from madding crowd who dares assign
himself true rôle in life, who thinks,
who sifts chaff, grain, drains lees from wine, palms pearls from swine?
Who, intact, acts and interacts, discerning fiction, facts,

opposes expedience, authority which hoodwinks
manipulated herd unheard, which lacks
true overview impartial, thus reacts
rather than responds, its armour: chinks.
On each new generation weigh rigid systems spawned by Fate unkind.
As pawns most men play puppet parts in Time’s relay game of tiddly-winks.

Is search for self through mirrored minds
just base reflection on sight lost?
Insisting on base ‘skills’ man finds
intuitions atrophy - cost

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Fourth

Stand on the gleaming Pharos, and aloud
Shout, Commerce, to the kingdoms of the earth;
Shout, for thy golden portals are set wide,
And all thy streamers o'er the surge, aloft,
In pomp triumphant wave. The weary way
That pale Nearchus passed, from creek to creek
Advancing slow, no longer bounds the track
Of the adventurous mariner, who steers
Steady, with eye intent upon the stars,
To Elam's echoing port. Meantime, more high
Aspiring, o'er the Western main her towers
Th' imperial city lifts, the central mart
Of nations, and beneath the calm clear sky,
At distance from the palmy marge, displays
Her clustering columns, whitening to the morn.
Damascus' fleece, Golconda's gems, are there.
Murmurs the haven with one ceaseless hum;
The hurrying camel's bell, the driver's song,
Along the sands resound. Tyre, art thou fall'n?
A prouder city crowns the inland sea,
Raised by his hand who smote thee; as if thus
His mighty mind were swayed to recompense
The evil of his march through cities stormed,
And regions wet with blood! and still had flowed
The tide of commerce through the destined track,
Traced by his mind sagacious, who surveyed
The world he conquered with a sage's eye,
As with a soldier's spirit; but a scene
More awful opens: ancient world, adieu!
Adieu, cloud-piercing pillars, erst its bounds;
And thou, whose aged head once seemed to prop
The heavens, huge Atlas, sinking fast, adieu!
What though the seas with wilder fury rave,
Through their deserted realm; though the dread Cape,
Sole-frowning o'er the war of waves below,
That bar the seaman's search, horrid in air
Appear with giant amplitude; his head
Shrouded in clouds, the tempest at his feet,
And standing thus terrific, seem to say,
Incensed--Approach who dare! What though the fears
Of superstition people the vexed space
With spirits unblessed, that lamentations make
To the sad surge beyond--yet Enterprise,
Not now a darkling Cyclop on the sands
Striding, but led by Science, and advanced
To a more awful height, on the wide scene
Looks down commanding.
Does a shuddering thought
Of danger start, as the tumultuous sea
Tosses below! Calm Science, with a smile,

[...] Read more

poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Cinderella Search

(derek dick, mark kelly, steve rothery, peter trewavas, ian mosley)
On the rebound, fumbling all the lines
The light at the end of the bottle - alcoholicalphabet
Through the looking glass
The proof in my own reflection
Five senses down and reeling on the cinderella search
On the rebound, fumbling all the lines
Decay on the vertical hold with a horizontal aim
Conversation needs translation
Three dimensions down dissolving on the cinderella search
Cinderella search
On the rebound, fumbling all the lines
Dreaming bartenders, bourbon and saxophone
Out of luck, out of charm, out the game of rejections in a cigarette city
Only courting the homing of direction on the cinderella search
Cinderella search
But the samaritan of the heartbroken, heartbroken
Swam through the nicotine seize, and we exchanged the kiss of life
Resurrection in a trance, the model, the grail, in a marquee of promises I touched the dream
I hold the dream, I have the dream
To end the cinderella search
Cinderella search, oh no more, no more!
Exposing bedside manners on a work extension
Awaiting development with paranoid polaroid eyes
Polaroid eyes
The footman memorised the number
But the prince still holds both the slippers
And would you leave a palace for a bedsit
And canterbury tales
Canterbury tales?
Maybe it was infatuation or the thrill of the chase
Maybe you were always beyond my reach and my heart was playing safe
But was that love in your eye I saw or the reflection of mine?
Give me time, wont you give me that time!
Welcome back to the circus
Welcome back to the circus
Welcome back to the circus
I always use the cue sheets but never the nets
Always the cue sheets but never the nets
Never the nets, never the nets, nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless
Welcome back to the circus!

song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Candidate

This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the
Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the
University of Cambridge, vacant by the death of the Lord Chancellor
Hardwicke. The spirit of party ran high in the University, and no
means were left untried by either candidate to obtain a majority. The
election was fixed for the th of March, when, after much
altercation, the votes appearing equal, a scrutiny was demanded;
whereupon the Vice-Chancellor adjourned the senate _sine die_. On
appeal to the Lord High-Chancellor, he determined in favour of the
Earl of Hardwicke, and a mandamus issued accordingly.

Enough of Actors--let them play the player,
And, free from censure, fret, sweat, strut, and stare;
Garrick abroad, what motives can engage
To waste one couplet on a barren stage?
Ungrateful Garrick! when these tasty days,
In justice to themselves, allow'd thee praise;
When, at thy bidding, Sense, for twenty years,
Indulged in laughter, or dissolved in tears;
When in return for labour, time, and health,
The town had given some little share of wealth,
Couldst thou repine at being still a slave?
Darest thou presume to enjoy that wealth she gave?
Couldst thou repine at laws ordain'd by those
Whom nothing but thy merit made thy foes?
Whom, too refined for honesty and trade,
By need made tradesmen, Pride had bankrupts made;
Whom Fear made drunkards, and, by modern rules,
Whom Drink made wits, though Nature made them fools;
With such, beyond all pardon is thy crime,
In such a manner, and at such a time,
To quit the stage; but men of real sense,
Who neither lightly give, nor take offence,
Shall own thee clear, or pass an act of grace,
Since thou hast left a Powell in thy place.
Enough of Authors--why, when scribblers fail,
Must other scribblers spread the hateful tale?
Why must they pity, why contempt express,
And why insult a brother in distress?
Let those, who boast the uncommon gift of brains
The laurel pluck, and wear it for their pains;
Fresh on their brows for ages let it bloom,
And, ages past, still flourish round their tomb.
Let those who without genius write, and write,
Versemen or prosemen, all in Nature's spite,
The pen laid down, their course of folly run
In peace, unread, unmention'd, be undone.
Why should I tell, to cross the will of Fate,
That Francis once endeavour'd to translate?
Why, sweet oblivion winding round his head,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Looking In All The Wrong Places

'I went in search of a word from God.' Kevin Carney

A modern trend, the vain search,
age of information, wisdom of the world,
looking in all the wrong places;

“God gave knowledge and insight
in all writing and wisdom;
and Daniel himself had understanding
in all sorts of visions and dreams.” Daniel 1: 17.

Where would you seek a word from God?

Christ’s servant Paul declared
“my speech and what I preached
were not with persuasive words

or words of wisdom
but with a demonstration
of spirit and power,

that YOUR faith might be,
not in men’s wisdom
but in God’s power.” 1 Corinthians 2: 4-5.

Would you search for a word or ask God?

“So, if any one of YOU is lacking in wisdom,

let him keep on asking God,
for he gives generously to all
and without reproaching;
and it will be given him.

But let him keep on asking in faith,
not doubting at all, for he who doubts
is like a wave of the sea driven
by the wind and blown about.” James 1: 5-6.

Therefore ask in faith and you shall receive,
a promise from God, but doubt receive not. James 1: 7.

'I went in search of a word from God.' Kevin Carney

Yet if you will read the Bible, God's word,
from cover to cover, not a single word,
but a flood you will discover, God’s word.

Would you search for God’s word in the world?

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Three Hours

Three hours from sundown
Jeremy flies
Hoping to keep
The sun from his eyes
East from the city
And down to the cave
In search of a master
In search of a slave.
Three hours from london
Jacomos free
Taking his woes
Down to the sea
In search of a lifetime
To tell when hes home
In search of a story
Thats never been known.
Three hours from speaking
Everyones flown
Not wanting to be
Seen on their own
Three hours is needed
To leave from them all
Three hours to wonder
And three hours to fall.
Three hours from sundown
Jeremy flies
Hoping to keep
The sun from his eyes
East from the city
And down to the cave
In search of a master
In search of a slave.

song performed by Nick Drake
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Cavity Search

It's a dirty job but someones got to do it
So open up your ass so I can look into it
'Cause you never know what you're gonna find
When you ram your fist up a person's behind
Cavity Search on the side of the road
I'm almost positive I'm breking a code
But I'm the one who's in control
It's my job to search your hole
With a rubber glove pulled on my fist
I search your every orifice
Probing you with icy tools
I search for drugs and stir your stools
Cavity Search on the side of the road
I'm almost positive I'm breking a code
But I am here to protect the souls
Of the people who pay me to look up prisoners holes
So drop'em
Spread'em wide
This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it's gonna hurt me
It's a dirty job but someones got to do it
So open up your ass so I can look into it
'Cause you never know what you're gonna find
When you ram your fist up a person's behind
Cavity search by the side of the road
I know damn well that I'm breaking a code
But I am here to protect the soules
Of the people who pay me to look up your hole

song performed by X-Cops
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cavity Search

It's a dirty job but someones got to do it
So open up your ass so I can look into it
'Cause you never know what you're gonna find
When you ram your fist up a person's behind
Cavity Search on the side of the road
I'm almost positive I'm breking a code
But I'm the one who's in control
It's my job to search your hole
With a rubber glove pulled on my fist
I search your every orifice
Probing you with icy tools
I search for drugs and stir your stools
Cavity Search on the side of the road
I'm almost positive I'm breking a code
But I am here to protect the souls
Of the people who pay me to look up prisoners holes
So drop'em
Spread'em wide
This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it's gonna hurt me
It's a dirty job but someones got to do it
So open up your ass so I can look into it
'Cause you never know what you're gonna find
When you ram your fist up a person's behind
Cavity search by the side of the road
I know damn well that I'm breaking a code
But I am here to protect the soules
Of the people who pay me to look up your hole

song performed by X-Cops
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Even As I Die It Will Continue To Go On

Back to building a website.
To put my ideas under my own design.
The internet is in the ages of all times.
Forever to be recorded so the kids of kids can remember it.
We must not forget
We must learn to forgive.
For injustices do not end with any other pretense.
If that make any sense.
Yes it does have relevance
Its not just more jargon to be heard.
By the crazy and the absurd.
In my constant drive I do not reach for the skies
But to understand the why.
The search goes on for truth and knowledge.
The search goes on for the true humanitarian.
The search goes on for a way to end all blood shed.
The search goes on for a way to eliminate all indifference.
The search goes on for the cures to diseases that remind us of how vulnerable we really are.
The search goes on.
Even as I die it will continue to go on.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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A Tale Of True Love

Not in the mist of legendary ages,
Which in sad moments men call long ago,
And people with bards, heroes, saints, and sages,
And virtues vanished, since we do not know,
But here to-day wherein we all grow old,
But only we, this Tale of True Love will be told.

For Earth to tender wisdom grows not older,
But to young hearts remains for ever young,
Spring no less winsome, Winter winds no colder,
Than when tales first were told, songs first were sung.
And all things always still remain the same,
That touch the human heart, and feed Love's vestal flame.

And, if you have ears to hear and eyes for seeing,
Maidens there be, as were there in your youth,
That round you breathe, and move, and have their being,
Fair as Greek Helen, pure as Hebrew Ruth;
With Heaven-appointed poets, quick to sing
Of blameless warrior brave, and wisdom-counselled king.

And, tho' in this our day, youth, love, and beauty,
Are far too often glorified as slave
Of every sense except the sense of Duty,
In fables that dishonour and deprave,
The old-world Creeds still linger, taught us by
The pious lips that mute now in the churchyard lie.

And this true simple tale in verse as simple
Will from its prelude to its close be told,
As free from artifice as is the dimple
In childhood's cheek, whereby is age consoled.
And haply it may soothe some sufferer's lot,
When noisier notes are husht, and newer ones forgot.

And think not, of your graciousness, I pray you,
Who tells the tale is one of those who deem
That love will beckon only to betray you,
Life an illusion, happiness a dream;
Only that noble grief is happier far
Than transitory lusts and feverish raptures are.

It was the season when aggressive Winter,
That had so long invested the sealed world,
With frosts that starve and hurricanes that splinter,
And rain, hail, blizzard, mercilessly hurled,
Made one forlorn last effort to assail
Ere Spring's relieving spears came riding on the gale.

For Amazonian March with breast uncovered

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Austin
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Hyperion

BOOK I
DEEP in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung above his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
By reason of his fallen divinity
Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds
Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.

Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went,
No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.

It seem'd no force could wake him from his place;
But there came one, who with a kindred hand
Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low
With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
She was a Goddess of the infant world;
By her in stature the tall Amazon
Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel.
Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
Pedestal'd haply in a palace court,
When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.
But oh! how unlike marble was that face:
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
There was a listening fear in her regard,
As if calamity had but begun;
As if the vanward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
One hand she press'd upon that aching spot
Where beats the human heart, as if just there,
Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain:
The other upon Saturn's bended neck
She laid, and to the level of his ear
Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake

[...] Read more

poem by John Keats
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An English Girl

A wonderful joy our eyes to bless,
In her magnificent comeliness,
Is an English girl of eleven stone two,
And five foot ten in her dancing shoe!
She follows the hounds, and on she pounds -
The "field" tails off and the muffs diminish -
Over the hedges and brooks she bounds -
Straight as a crow, from find to finish.
At cricket, her kin will lose or win -
She and her maids, on grass and clover,
Eleven maids out - eleven maids in -
(And perhaps an occasional "maiden over").
Go search the world and search the sea,
Then come you home and sing with me
There's no such gold and no such pearl
As a bright and beautiful English girl!

With a ten-mile spin she stretches her limbs,
She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims -
She plays, she sings, she dances, too,
From ten or eleven till all is blue!
At ball or drum, till small hours come
(Chaperon's fan conceals her yawning),
She'll waltz away like a teetotum,
And never go home till daylight's dawning.
Lawn tennis may share her favours fair -
Her eyes a-dance and her cheeks a-glowing -
Down comes her hair, but what does she care?
It's all her own and it's worth the showing!
Go search the world and search the sea,
Then come you home and sing with me
There's no such gold and no such pearl
As a bright and beautiful English girl!

Her soul is sweet as the ocean air,
For prudery knows no haven there;
To find mock-modesty, please apply
To the conscious blush and the downcast eye.
Rich in the things contentment brings,
In every pure enjoyment wealthy,
Blithe as a beautiful bird she sings,
For body and mind are hale and healthy.
Her eyes they thrill with right goodwill -
Her heart is light as a floating feather -
As pure and bright as the mountain rill
That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather!
Go search the world and search the sea,
Then come you home and sing with me
There's no such gold and no such pearl
As a bright and beautiful English girl!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A2 Story

Lot of hunger and empty bowl without food is poverty,
Not having one more dress to take bath is poverty,
Sheltered, willing but failing to accommodate a guest is also poverty,
Mother's sick but cannot afford treatment is also poverty,
If treated, prescribed but cannot buy medicine is poverty;
A mother's thought,2 mouthful of rice with 3 children is poverty.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

The fort of confidence is dismantled by poverty and frustration;
They can build castles in air though lack inspiration,
They simply look for food threw in dustbin in month of May!
They die while living, live in dying daily with their life of dismay;
Poverty is not crime but it is a curse and worse...
I'm brand ambassador of poverty and I endorse!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

Don't show poverty as excuse...
God gave you brain and make use and bemuse,
No matter if you are born in poverty's slum-dom
While some are handicap blind, dumb, deaf and a cough;
You work and Strive dawn to dusk with inspiration, if
You make education oxygen of your life and your kingdom.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

Hence, don't look up to someone or don't cry and cry;
Go far, father and farthest, Age is no bar so try and try!
Take all ladders, Surpass Eiffel Tower and reach the sky!
Remember one Booker T Washington and Abraham Lincoln
Became presidents of America, and poverty is won!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

From in India to Cambodia and Georgia to Indonesia,
From Kazakhstan to Afghanistan, China and all Asia;
From Namibia to Zambia and Algeria to Nigeria,
From Uganda to Rwanda, Morocco and all South Africa;
Bolivia to Columbia, Guyana to Argentina and all South America;
Third world is resounding with Mania! Mania! Food Mania!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
........................................ ................................................. ........................
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> >>>READ PART ONE >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
BIG NOTICE BOARD: Sorry, if you LIKE to grasp central theme of poem Just take a break! Now READ PART1 to make your reading wholesome.

April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A1 Story

poem by Harindhar Reddy
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April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A1 Story

World has advanced in many days...
Yet in 21st Century poverty retains in umpteen ways;
Hunger glinted in his eyes...
He does begging and petty thievery, at the same time!
Cheeks were sunken and clothes were in rags but still, a crime!
Believe I swear in the name of god, my words are not lies.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

I saw a rag picker scrounging for a coin in the garbage,
Though he is with bare foot who knows as bub, he is cute!
Owing to the troubles he met, made him mute.
He can fill the rivers with poverty's tears...
His eyes were pale and mouth opened for food cabbage!
One among is he, pleading and begging the passersby yet nobody hears.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

The street is lighted with half naked
Bodies go begging down, the street and half fed,
From head to toe they're covered with poverty, yet
With pain and misery as their make-up set;
Hunger is present in their stomach and a rat's race!
And it is vaguely seen on their face and a food race.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

Labourers in construction breaking the stones...
And lifting the bricks while scorching sun is the witness!
They work bodily, resembles awkward dance of a heap of bones,
The skin saturates and swallows the heat, I bet!
Leaving it dark as the midnight sky, oh! What a mess!
Their hopes are dashed; life is smashed of body’s sweat!

The Mother weeps and father yells!
Sitting in the house of poverty and what-else!
Small sister sleeps and her little brother dies and I linger;
His father only stares as he is killed by hunger...
Why doctors only cure diseases and why not
Poverty - the biggest disease of all. Is it not?
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

Every now and then in newspapers, I hear
The death of a peasant or two, oh my dear!
Unable to feed family, life has become Herculean task,
Drowned himself in melancholy, under hunger mask!
Bogged down under wheels of Pressure, not to hide...
Due to debts of treasure, he committed suicide!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

Lot of hunger and empty bowl without food is poverty,
Not having one more dress to take bath is poverty,
............................................. ..............................................

[...] Read more

poem by Harindhar Reddy
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