Purpose of Everything
If one is to drink water,
urinate to dispose water,
and later be thirsty again.
What is the use of drinking water?
If everything is for naught?
Why do most creatures eat, sleep, labor and fight to survive?
Some believe in life after death,
but there are those who do not.
Why do they persist doing good
when there are others doing bad?
If everything is for naught?
Why mate, procreate and strive daily in order to have better life?
Why do people even care to seek to understand when all is for naught?
Why do people seek power, fame, and glory when all is for naught?
Or is everything really for naught?
Deadliest Weapon
Guns to be banned. Knives to be banned
I am waiting for when rocks are banned. After all, a rock was known to be the first murder weapon. Or so I heard about Cain and Abel.
But then, how should we go about herbs, drugs, missiles, bombs, media and tongues?
Mind is the deadliest murdering weapon I think.
With so many ways of killing weak and innocent ones, even without any logical reason at all. With so many wicked moves for different kinds of death, not only by losing one's life.
So sad that it is innocent ones being snatched from the living stage, and the culprit never dies, just changing names and bodies to dwell in.
So sad, when the culprit is being protected, while the innocent ones are ignored. When data is accepted without confirming the accuracy of information.
So sad, that right belongs to the might, and blame belongs to the shield. When one is compelled to stand on the sides or be a collateral damage as well.
So sad, that a candle lighted to face the darkness seems to be losing a battle against a collective wind that trespasses a private room.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry. Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and consider poetry as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
(1) AGENT VISNU 999 (Story and Screenplay) (2) THE BANK THIEF (3) THE TRUE HERO (4) RICH MIND (5) TUNE, SING AND DANCE POEMS (6) SOUND OF SONG (7) SUCCESS KNOW-HOW (8) LADY POLICE (9) THE CRAZY BEGGARS (10) ENTANGLEMENTS (24 STORIES) (11) POETRY LYRICS (WORLD POPULAR) (12) SPECIAL QUOTATIONS (80 Photos) (13) ANIMAL STORIES KIDS (14) THE DEAD AND GHOSTS (15) CLASS 1-8 COMPUTER LEARNING, (16) ONE STANZA POEM (17) MARK’S POEMS (18) WINGS OF LOVE (19) MY DARLING (20) 1000 PROVERS (21) NATURE & FORESTS (22) SOCIAL IMPOTENCE (23) NGO WORLD (24) SUCCESS KNOW-HOW (25) VISHAL AND THE EVIL KING (26) MANTRI’S MICRO POEMS (PART 1, 2 AND 3) (27)ONE STANZA POEMS (COLOR)
(28) రావే రావే బాల (29) మోహిని (30) బావంటే బావ (31) బ్లేమర్ (32) రాణి, IPS (Telugu) (33) తెలుగు పాటలు, 100+ (34) వీర విశాల్ (35) దయ్యాల గోల (36) మినిస్టర్ ప్రేమ్ (37) ముళ్లబాట (38) చిట్టి కథల లోకం (39) బుజ్జాయికి చిట్టి కథలు (40) పసందైన బాలల కథలు (41) సామెతలు. (42) ఒక్కసారి మోహిని (43) 80 రోజుల్లో భూప్రదక్షణ (44) సాయిసంకీర్తనామాల (పార్ట్శ్ 1,2,3,4,5) (45) ఆగిన గుండె (46) TELUGU SONG LYRICS AND MINI STORIES (COLOR PHOTOS)
Address: Plot No. 37, Anupuram, ECIL Post, Hyderabad-500062 Telangana State – India
PROPER AT THE TIME
The law allows crimes
of forethought or passion.
Playwrights try out lines
and dancers do their actions.
Quiet as dryads
avoiding a giant,
oysters hide their pearls
displayed later on girls.
Belfries have their chimes
and seasons their fashions.
Boldness has its time
but so does discretion.
There were were times I squirrelled
when I should have lioned
and times I lioned
when I ought to have squirrelled.
PERSISTENCE: SONNETS
Shirtless skin carries snow air.
Shoeless, I wear icy earth
when I, rarely, leave my lair,
You perch secure in your church.
Trusting my brow as my shield,
I mustered force at the mouth.
I thrust my tongue like a spear--
your dogma against my truth!
I abhorred your insistence
on self-mortification,
I championed subsistence
and you upheld starvation.
We need manna and diamonds
just because we are humans.
Emperors love their hermits,
who won’t covet royal wealth.
Their hereditary health
rests on strategic remits
to pious institutions,
the prestige of excellence,
and the strength of regiments
to forestall revolution.
Creeds leverage prayers and thanks.
Psychiatry thrives on angst,
and martial glory on rank.
Artistry is fixed by merit,
aristocracy by kindred,
and longevity by spirit.
My heresy, though reasoned,
was opposed by fat scholars.
Artists and philosophers
denounced me as a traitor.
The entire establishment
against me was arrayed,
so I was indeed afraid.
And, soon, my armor was bent,
but it remained unbroken.
I was driven from the field
but was never forced to yield.
I tend unfamined gardens:
We know the rose is the crown
worn upon the throat of thorns.
AS SPARTANS, ENGAGED
The sky was perforated
by the moon’s silver bullets
that hit granite’s armor gray
and ricocheted.
Under that wounded mirror
we advanced our tongues like spears
upon our breastworks and flanks
in tight phalanx.
And we held our positions
until the day’s divisions
maneuvered to enhostage
our exhaustion.
But truce is propaganda,
a celibate’s tired banter.
We knights must bare arms and thrust
until we’re dust.
SEEKING REDEMPTION
I admit it: I’ve been tempted
by this Temporal.
I have attended all your temples
and confessed all my faults,
and I’ve attempted to chorus
your stories and creeds
by breaking like untamed horses
the sounds in your teeth,
and, in stillness, to contemplate
the shape of my soul
and to decipher its template
in part or in whole.
Your incense, vestments, candles, bells,
and chants fail to steel
your myself against my myself--
are you even real?
YOUR VOTE MATTERS
Puppets, oblivious to your strings:
Pilots guide us to the best moorings.
Nominees have agreed to debate face-to-face
behind plastic surgery and camouflage
(poets explicate morning’s meanings)
and to present their platforms and programs
comprehensively in sound bites and slogans.
Plaintiffs blame hangovers on mornings.
It is hard to tell sincerity from cant,
(Pirates always give a fair warning.)
but it’s true, positions change with circumstance.
Prophets foretell an end to morning.
--puppets, oblivious to your strings.
“social worker’s lament”
drunk chasing herons,
i pause to reflect—old friends,
open roads, less thoughts
“coldblooded prophets”
speeding home i pass a turtle
holding the universe
inside its shell
“distracted by everything”
an egret glides overhead—
my watch is at home,
i wish for autumn
“they know no laws”
sparrows refuse adhering
to red traffic signals
they keep flying
“gravity sucks”
black ivory wings
beat through a cloudy blue sky—
i am just a man
FOUR SEASONS WITH DEAD LEAVES…
Passed four seasons with the dead leaves,
Which season we have expected other than this,
Why haven’t we bloomed in any season?
Why have all of them hated us,
What bad evil have we done to them while,
We were busy with ourselves and the world?…
Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by Yunus Emro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey and five years in Ukraine. Currently lives in Switzerland. Married, mother of five children. It was not possible to publish poems and translations written by the poet in the next ten years.
*The Lost Balloons*
In this year's Canvass
Balloons embark on an ethereal plane
Above the sky, balloons soar in farewell weather
With each gentle breeze, their spirits take flight
Escaping gravity's hold.
A doctor's healing touch
A neighbors nod
An Aunt's counsel
A friend's embrace disappears.
As they ride neutral balloon in the sky of departure
Balloons which left colors of pains and grief's heavy veil
Carrying stories of dreams like frayed nylon
A symphony of farewell under the same sun.
As their eyes close *Almaut* '' they whisper.
Guided by *Manrobbuka* call
A question asked as souls commence their dance
In whispered prayers their name etched my tongue.
As my eyes curse this silent stranger's bitter sting,
How do I say this?
the courageous ''Moremi'' has lost her courage as every passing time, it shrinks like the sand of
time.
In my talk to the Almighty '' Let their nostrils perceive the sweet fragrance of paradise''
Muhammad Habibat Sani (Ummuyasmeen) is a 300-level law student at Usmanu Danfodiyo University Sokoto. As a poet and story writer, she uses words to explore themes of loss, courage, and spirituality.
