calling in calling out

hope someone hears me out

something never changes

back and now

back then "it will be okay"

the possibility was a strength

will be stronger, just keep that on mind

the world will evolve so we will be

may kinder it will become

as passing springs


back and now

now, no possibilities to be found 

so no hope for strength

yes the world evolved

approaches to cruelty

soon will reach infinity

the boundary of inhumanity


 there will be a time

when one can fly as much they want

no need to be scared

with a peaceful freedom

as time passes, the world will evolve

spring will stay forever in everyone's heart

she thought...





Author's Notes/Comments: 

here spring is used to define beauty and peace. This poem is about how it's hard for some people to travel as the world is not safe, but as one grown-up he thought 

he could do that but still couldn't 

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The Off Grid Life

the off-grid life.

untied from the shackles of strife,

2017, the modern existence,

getting on the property ladder, how does anyone have a chance?
20, 25 or 30, forced to work to pay every bill,

going to work all hours, struggling to find a way, a life against our will,

needing the money from any form of work, mostly unprogressive, unhappy 
life passing by, frustrating, anger, decreasing self-worth, causing individuals to be snappy

unfulfilled, potentials are not met, working a job all day, unable to progress,

money is the key factor, for bills to be met, let me digress.

often they still aren't causing pain and suffering, stress and depression,

homelessness is rife through the country, a feeling of regression,

a feeling of being stuck, how to retrain and improve your careers?
speak to friends or family and the same conversation, doubts, and fears
if only another option was available,

one that was accepted and not just for the vulnerable,

the homeless, the people with nothing,

but how is this existence different? it is truly crushing,

once you can see that your life is consumed with working for money,

the soul has passed, your energy too, it can get so hard it's not even funny,

but who understands? in the face of consumerism, higher purchase, loans, and debt,

who is living a life, truly satisfied, and their dreams are met?

Not all people living off-grid are rich in cash!
but they aim for other needs; security in food & energy, it's worth a bash,


a growing transition for many people too,

it's not just for the hippies, the spiritual, it's for people like me and you,

think about it for a moment or two...

who would you be without your car, house and your possessions?
is that person you portray the real you? or do you blend in so people don't ask questions?
are you honest with your family and friends?

or do you sit behind a desk wishing it would end?
there is a wealth of knowledge of old traditions,

from a time when they lived without these conditions,

the conditions of social media, advertising, marketing ads or vlogs

when screen time didn't consume every waking hour, and children were fascinated with tadpoles transforming into frogs.

hours spent outside, climbing trees, playing at the park,

not allowed home unless it was tea time or had gotten dark.


a shift is happening, ecotherapy, wild schooling, bushcraft, and hikes,

forest schooling, homeschooling, people walking and out on their bikes,

scientists are noticing the effects on children's behaviors, reduced health issues,

ADHD,  also a boost in self-awareness, positivity, confidence and mental health issues

is it easier to sit a child down to hours in front of the tv, or ipad?

than it is to spend a few hours playing down the park with dad?

or baking a cake with mum, the importance of these skills are being misplaced,

in this consumerism world, with employees a number, in a life so fast-paced.


Off-grid living, the communities hidden away,

all they want is a parcel of land to look after their needs, but hey,

that's not possible, 'cause where will the local council get their tax,

with the community, living off the land, growing food and chopping wood with an axe,

the need and usage of government-owned services would become minute,

living simply and within your skills of the land, renewables used, an abundance of fruit,

food preserved in many forms, jams and chutneys, frozen meat,

enough food to last year-round to survive through winter, or in the heat,

the food produced off the land, tending the garden, and grown for nutrition,

the most important for life and health also said to aid in remission.

off grid homesteaders, don't need to take the flack,

with health as the focus, working outdoors to provide, lowering the need for prozac,
comments from shallow minded people need not be said,

the power of community, working together, I want to spread,

to include children in the transition, of conserving nature and our wildlife,


the tranquil setting amongst the seasons, watching the stars, that's my type of nightlife.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my first time sharing my poetry, (after a few friends encouraged me that I should) please be kind and send your thoughts.

Also all words are opinions of myself in the modern world that we live in. 

This is not meant to cause offense, harm, upset to anyone, and if it does please understand that is not my intention.


Many thanks,

Tolerance is not Freedom


Tolerance is not freedom,

because the more you are forced to tolerate

things through fear of ridicule, losing your

career, being defamed, etc is the more you have

allowed yourself to be enslaved to a singular of point of view.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Political correctness has become corporate.

This movie called the circle is about how facism disguises itself as 

freedom of information and constant surveliance, which can be used 

to control people. 

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The Dragon

We are the archangels of fire,

and we have come to give the knowledge

back to the people.


To long have they been kept in a state of

ignorance and fear.


We have come to set them free and wake them 

up from their apathetic sleep.



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The Source of the Spirit

We will not be silenced,

we are the spirit,

the collective unconscious,


Despite all material attempts

to disconnect us from ourselves

we have found the source,


Through the door and the key,

we shall dictate reality,

the wisdom of him who is timeless


One heart, one soul,

together as one,

in the body and the spirit

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The Beauty Of A Dove

The Beauty Of A Dove

It's sad. So sad I want to cry
A little girl grows up-
Then waves good-bye

She finds within her heart, a love
So deep, so true-
The beauty of a dove

She laughs with joy abound,
But it's not there-
For is it love she's found ?

She's scared the love she's found
is not real,
But it is no dream-

Her wound will someday heal
But suddenly she's not afraid of love,
For it has come-

The beauty of a dove
I want to cry, I want so much to cry,
She's found her love-
Though someday she will die

But I won't cry for her,
She's found it, she really has-
The beauty of a dove.

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Lungs (day 185)

when you beckon me down to the depths

you should know how far we’ll dive,

these love-soaked lungs

fill in the painting with perfect midnight blue.


when you coax me to the clouds

you should know how free I’ll fly,

I can gather everything that matters

and let it loose from my chest in one time-stopping shriek.


when you bring me back to earth

let me dream of the sea,

of the sky

you can’t give me two more universes

and then take them back.


when I am stuck on the ground

I will live like I am anywhere.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 1/28/17


Heavy Shoulders (day 31)

Press into my shoulders

those daggers of glass

I love how they sting my skin

so I can bleed out the world

So I build a glittering layer and

keep the world at bay

turn the deepest secrets inside out


Lay your love on me like a blanket

when I’m shivering with fever

Give me the illusion

that I’m dipped in your warmth

not wrapped in a snow globe


Spit on me till it’s tainted

with your past and my bruises

and racing down the railroad tracks

to nothing


My heavy shoulders sing with sorrow

and hide with every sigh

under blooming battle scars from the wicked game

Bruises I used to brag about

until I faced these storms and

I’m on the path back home


My heavy shoulders are weighted,

draped with all the liars in the world

that are smashed into dust and

woven into the blanket of your love


Now I’m on the path back home,

breathing out promises

Something pulls at the edges of my smile

and the words I wrote but left unsaid

watch from the end of the road

as I turn the corner


They see all that’s left of me,

your blanket tossed off my heavy shoulders,

those daggers of glass splattered with

blood disguised as stardust


and I’m gone with a pile of bruised mismatched memories,

a shriek of freedom,

a shatter that breaks the sky.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 8/31/16

Heavy shoulders

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Oh Freedom

Translated Poems

Freedom, you’re

The classic verses of Tagore, timeless lyrics.

Freedom, you’re

Kazi Nazrul a great man with thick mane, stirred up in the ecstasy of creation,

 Freedom, you’re

The dazzling congregation at the Shahid Minar

Freedom, you’re

The procession of slogans and colours

Freedom, you’re

The smile on the farmer’s face in the land.

Freedom, you’re

The amusing swim of the pastoral girl in the pond during mid-day.

Freedom, you’re

The wiry muscles on an expert labourer’s sun-tanned arms.

Freedom, you’re

The twinkle in a freedom fighter’s eyes at the murky and isolated borders.

Freedom, you’re

The immaculate speech of a laudable learner beneath the silhouette of a banyan tree.

Freedom, you’re

The fiery conversation at the tea-shops and public gatherings.

Freedom, you’re

The thriving clout of the northwester at the horizon.

Freedom, you’re

The heart of the Meghna during rain

Freedom, you’re

The furry contact of the father’s prayer mat.

Freedom, you’re

The waves of the mother’s sari long-drawn-out in the patio.

Freedom, you’re

The tinge of henna on the sister’s malleable hand.

Freedom, you’re

A dazzling placard as the stars at the pal’s hand.

Freedom, you’re

The homemaker’s thick black locks turning untamed in the wind.

Freedom, you’re

The vibrant attire on a juvenile lad,

The playing of the rays on a lass’ sinuous cheeks.

Freedom, you’re

The abode amid a garden, the song at the cuckoo’s throat,

The peeping leaves of an antiquated banyan tree,

My notebook of poems, for penning verses as I feel like.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is translated by me. It was originally written in Bangla by Shamsur Rahman, a poet, columnist and journalist from Bangladesh. He authored nearly sixty books of poetry. He is one of the brightest stars in Bengali literature. The themes his poetry and writings mirror are- moderate humanism, romanticised insurgence of youth, human relationships, hatred towards superstitious beliefs and so on.


Most of Shamsur Rahman’s poems are written in free verse especially with the rhythm mode called Poyaar or Okhshorbritto. He also wrote verses in two other major patterns i.e., Shwarobritto and Matrabritto.


At present, Shamsur Rahman is remembered as a bona fide artist of the Bangali psyche. He has penned more than 3000 breathtaking poems that will continue to enthuse his devotees now and also in the days to come. Due to the heart and kidney failure, Shamsur Rahman had been in a coma for 12 days and breathed his last on 17 August 2006 at the age of 77.  

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