Pranav Chaturvedi (PC) - Poet/Blogger/Email: poet@jpranavc.com / jpranavc@gmail.com - Copyright (c) Material
Slurping on an ultra-emancipated thought in my humble Hut,
A conservative within, a democrat first, on the presidential run;
Who saw upheavals within an abode; also across the borders,
Yet Mr. Biden taking balancing acts; at times via Executive orders.
Slurping on an ultra-emancipated thought in my humble hut,
Amidst dynasts, mainstream, lutyens’ shows, in the want of entrust;
Where atheism, liberalism, leftism for vernacular regionalism, crossed lines,
What’s wrong then if Mr. Modi emerged with Nationalists’ rules that rhymes?
Slurping on an ultra-emancipated thought in my humble hut,
There’s this rare Reformer amongst Saudis, a day emerged;
Who took the leap beyond, to define the mid-eastern Dream,
That’s Mr. M. Bin Salman, negating hindrances of western mainstream!
Slurping on an ultra-emancipated thought in my humble Hut,
From far away I watched a Revered Orator, from whom, I too Learnt;
And who took the American dreams within dreams; sky high,
A Nobel ‘War’ rior; spread olive branches, was Mr. Obama’s sight.
Slurping on an ultra-emancipated thought in my humble Hut,
Behind Himalayan rivers; holy water that couldn’t quench thirst;
Of a Leader, who once stood against the Elites, from Beijing,
Swayed betwixt capitalism-communism politics; that’s Mr. Jinping.
Slurping on an ultra-emancipated thought in my humble Hut,
I saw a father, a patriotic leader, a spy; but, a Politician first.
Who said by not saying amenably, against American dream,
“That such dreams wrecked all,” is what Mr. Putin thinks, it seems!
When an empire that once ruled, & fell; whom its populace trust?
Of course, who can bring glories back, where there’s no point of return!
Slurping on an ultra-emancipated thought in my humble Hut,
Thousands of miles away from the land of the Chosen Ones;
Where I too, wish, a day, could savour the sights of Jerusalem,
Shackled I, yet, listens to rightful rhymes, when to speak, it's Mr. Netanyahu’s turn.
Thousands’ of years’ took them to reach god’s gifted land. Agreed!
And one border to another, the wars it endured; too I accede!
Slurping on an ultra-emancipated thought,
Thousands of miles away in my Humble Hut;
Though shackled I, yet, hear many rhymes,
Of the rightful rise and smiles of Mr. Trump.
There’s a blissful scent of any original true,
Not contrived, nor outmoded that; to be renewed;
Mr. Trump is technically correct in stating that Vivek or even Ms. Haley isn't/aren't MAGA. As originally, they aren't.
There’s a blissful scent that lies behind the nectar of anything True. True love. True knowledge. True revenge. True altruism. True philanthropy. True sacrifice. True hate. True lust. True success. True evolution. True Nobel.
And I’ve been writing about the necessity of the scent of this particular kind of trueness for decade & a half; and how anything contrived eventually brings discord in civilization(s).
Yes, seasons change, so do impressions on face; from a humble touch, eventually to ash!