Tag: Hope

Notre Dame

How prayers that stood on tongue tips, Carving plumes of noise, as She, the lady of Paris, resists the dragons,  Looming like the sun at sunset, and still, She will rise to the heavens, unlike Babel, To prove that no man can Vanquish Notre Dame, or decimate The memory of pilgrims scattered all over this

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Resilience

The broke man pockets a lottery, Every time, dawn rises, with an orb of fire, Aurora’s surprise, light’s epiphany, Crossing a crack in a curtain, How the crow is now cawing, On an electricity line. Ominous you could say. While the magpie and the myena, search for seeds Like I am, tiny seeds to renew

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A Sailor’s Hope

Nothing is fair in life. Even hope is an illusion sometimes, And Midas’s hands had no control. Everything he touched turned to gold. And hope is the fuel in the tank, The broom that gathers the negativity And cleans the shelves of termite dust. And I’m just a desperado, Like a fool who thinks hope

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St Elmo’s Fire

If you’re a toddler, who’s a Sesame Street fan, You would know “Elmo” the baby monster, And still the TV faithful, Have heard alarm bell ring from all corners, On how popular this little red monster, With an orange nose, has become. Elmo has stolen Not just hearts but airtime. Still, let me tell you

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Hope TV

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out That this light box, invented nearly A century ago, by a Scotsman.  Is just a paradox on its own right, Part entertainment and part Pandora’s box, Where everything comes out to convince and then convict The man in front, to a lazy sorrowful existence As a couch

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Hope

There is the somber, and the outright dark. We can’t hide from the inevitable, Death, strikes us like a gong,  We are only armed to handle the delicate. As you remind yourself, epiphanies are never always good. We send SOSs from our dungeons Searching for a rope ladder. You too have stumbled on to sorrow

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Two Poems on Hope

Hope 1 Down on Hollywood walk of fame There are stars ascribed to celebrities And I like a fool jumping into chase The stars given by arm-chaired editors Of journals far. Glory I realize Is just like the aluminum kettle that blows once And then tea and cake are served. How dreadful to To taste

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Abrahamic Fogs

I floated like Aladdin To see young men rape the beauty of Palymra And desecrate the Buddha statues of Bamiyan We are a plague, us humans, that do not See another’s beauty, the tiger shark That cannot see innocence – the tender shell Of armor and the soft feet of a hatched turtle Floating to

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Hope

I fished out Something beautiful When we talked that day About Hope, not the type That hypes fate but loses out In reality but a little girl What is part of you and me What stands as our bridge Holding on to an aqueduct Rooted to your uterus She will be Your princess and my

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