Quotes about asia, page 24
Big Brother Syndrome
Burning! Burning! Whole world is burning
Erased ghettos, razing down skyscrapers
Mowed out farms, fields and meadows
Smoldering woods, thickets and vines
Thawing glaciers and boiling polar waters
War-fire far and wide; wild and torrid
Melting earth into oceans
Asia and Australia in shambles
Africa reduced to hot ashes
And South America under mercenary cap
Screaming, shouting and crying everywhere
Whole human world looking like God’s acre
In the bloody gore, pillage, mire and pyre
Scurrying kith and kin, in rubble, gathering
Scattered limbs of their near and dear ones
Tragedy reigning; hungry cinders remaining
In ravaged homes and ruined lives
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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These Aren't A Few Of My Favourite Things
Read to the tune of.......these are a few of my favourite things
Fat blokes with Volvos and beer bottle glasses,
people with promises spoke from their asses,
wild beasts that wander my garden in spring,
these aren’t a few of my favourite things.
Drivers with white sticks that won’t let your car in,
buggers with purses that don’t get a jar in,
baby on board signs and big heads that sing,
these aren’t a few of my favourite things.
Jobsworths with badges and slow council zombies,
bouncers with golf clubs hid under their Crombies.
Switchboards that juggle you round hyperspace,
press number four now or you’ll loose your place.
Bridge
When the sods write,
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poem by Jerry Pike
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Our Beautiful Children….
.
Our beautiful children are dying
In Africa, Europe, the Middle East
Asia, the Americas,
And in every projects where there is no peace.
Our black children are dying
For lack of basic necessities and because of the lies
And the carelessness of their greedy leaders.
Our white children are dying
Because of the expensive weapons and the nuclear reactors.
Our brown children are dying
Because of the selfishness of the oppressors
Our yellow children are dying
Because of the savagery of the dictators.
Our beautiful children are dying,
When will they stop suffering?
We forgot that we were once beautiful children.
When will this senseless carnage end?
We should love them and protect them.
We should feed them and help them.
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poem by Hebert Logerie
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A Disability Inside A Rustic Room...
someone writes about
a rebellion, a struggle of a set of native still not free
even in this age of
a shrinking world
where everything seems to be a text away
or that distance
which curls and tells you
they are all there and happy in green
and white
hands in prayer and minds in peace
and mouths speaking about abundance and wellness
and paradise thriving in skyscrapers
and parks
someone writes about the death of civilians under
oppressive regimes
brought about by leaders who refuse to step down
or someone exposes the trafficking of women somewhere in southeast Asia
and brought in bulgaria or
a black island
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where Nature She Loses Her Temper
The dead are past all cares and sorrows the survivors their life's dreams destroyed
'Tis said that in Nature's moment of anger in Kashmir that thousands of people have died
She leaves behind grief and desolation great buildings toppled to the ground
Where Nature she loses her temper death and destruction to be found.
For our disrespect to Mother Nature there has to be some price to pay
When she flies into fits of anger she flattens everything in her way
Her latest earthquake in Asia proves how destructive she can be
Yet us humans are her benefactors since she feeds all of humanity.
We abuse our marvellous Mother Nature when we pollute her land, rivers and sea
Yet without her we would quickly die of thirst and hunger and none quite so generous as she
And despite her odd fits of bad temper to Humankind she is a friend
And her moods are so very natural since she is not one to pretend.
The dead they are now past all feelings from all cares and sorrows they are gone
And the survivors head for refugee camps and life on the Planet goes on
Where Nature she loses her temper destruction and sorrow are rife
And buildings like pancakes are flattened and there is a huge loss of life.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Happy
We ate the cafes of Chancery lane
We danced Spanish Salsa in the rain
We spoke of visiting countries like Mexico
Later we listened in tunnels to our echoes
In the darkness of the truth
We searched for our roots
Friends make us happy
Family makes us happy
Good health makes us happy
Wealth makes us happy
Love makes us happy, but why?
We marched the parades in New York City
We attentively listened to war news with pity
We sang songs of freedom by great grandfathers
As we watched a salient fireworks extravaganza
In the discovery of the truth
Each made recovery by thoughtful input
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poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Fufu Momo and Kottu
Noises of different tongues
Occupying stoves in the kitchen
It is not belonged to any one
But belonged to a time
Spreading smells of continents
It is the global identity of art
Every one washes in same sink
Using the water in common
Asia Africa Arabia and Eastern Europe
People in the kitchen being refugees
Using material in same some extent
Make and cook the identity of own
Using flour and flour made
Decorate in an exhibition hall
Like amateur painters pain
Create noises and silence in mixture
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poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Requirements Cry Freedom
Where is
the dreamer of dreams
with visions
of new humane natural
reality always
underlying hard surfaces
of civilized life?
Peep within
catalysis aspects
of present political
global warming situations
ozone hole surrounding
the bi polar nature
in global politics.
Outline dynamics
in flux bi polar 2011
growth new world orders
China flexes muscle prosperity
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Vanguard [1]
While the crippled cruisers stagger where the blind horizon dips,
And the ocean ooze is rising round the sunken battle-ships,
While the battered wrecks, unnoticed, with their mangled crews drift past—
Let me fire one gun for Russia, though that gun should be the last.
’Tis a struggle of the Ages, and the White Man’s star is dim,
There is little jubilation, for the game has got too grim;
But though Russia’s hope seems shattered, and the Russian star seems set,
It may mean the Dawn for Russia—and my hope’s in IVAN yet!
Let the Jingo in his blindness cant and cackle as he will;
But across the path from Asia run the Russian trenches still!
And the sahib in his rickshaw may loll back and smoke at ease,
While the haggard, ragged heroes man the battered batteries.
’Tis the first round of the struggle of the East against the West,
Of the fearful war of races—for the White Man could not rest.
Hold them, IVAN! staggering bravely underneath your gloomy sky;
Hold them, IVAN! we shall want you pretty badly by-and-bye!
Fighting for the Indian empire, when the British pay their debt;
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poem by Henry Lawson
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The Pig
Of children who are poorer than a church rat,
Praise is beautiful but who will help them?
You have been bought like a prositute and,
You have to learn like an institute;
For all that you eat is pork-fried-rice.
Man is handsome and woman is beautiful,
But the pig is unclean to you;
And think of what you put in your body.
Unreachable,
Unsearchable,
Uncountable,
Of the nineteen worms found in swine (the pig):
Like the movement of Hellenism on the dangers of life.
Merciful, compassion, slow to anger;
Woman is beautiful and man is handsome,
But do think of what you put in your body.
The pig is unclean and it is always on your table,
For it is the cheapest meat in the market today!
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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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