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Melody in cacophony | English Poetry
Melody in cacophony | English Poetry
The journey stopped when the light went red,
Clouds were harsh, the night was dead,
The thunder was at its best, the rains were about to take the test,
Burning were the car lights, screaming were its horns,
Shouting was the entire crowd, waiting to move on.
Soon the droplets began, making the chaos at the best it can.
I was at odd, totally dry,
Unaware all those activities going nearby,
All those sounds didn’t matter at all,
I was in love at the first rain fall.
In my car I was smiling,
At the girls gossiping and giggling
At the a small boy who was laughing
The clouds which were roaring with rain,
At the voices which were going, were going in vain
Nothing was about to matter once the light would go green,
No hustle, no rustle, no anger and no screams,
It was just a glimpse of time,
To wait with patience to get the dime,
At the end, Everything was and will be same,
Hope with patience and let the time play its game.
—————–@ ramtajogi
Melody in cacophony | English Poetry
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The dialect of my country: Do we have a voice against the government?
The dialect of my country: Poetry: Do we have a voice against the government? is a take on our voices in the present scenario. #dialect :- a particular form of a language which is peculiar to a specific region or social group.
It’s easy to listen,
Hard to believe,
Difficult to decipher
It used to vary;
With each human,
Like salt in Soup;
According to their taste
,But lately no options whatsoever,
The wavelength of the tone is set,
And frequency is monitored,
Not by you, not by me,
But someone know as masses !
Who are they ?
You don’t know them,
They don’t know you
But they know,
That you believe,
That they exist,
Yes they do !
The country comes to a consensus.
But the individuals are confused ?
Who brought this consensus ?
They are still amused
Unity in diversity we stand for,
Diversity in this unity, we abhor.
We no longer have a voice,
The diversity of states, color , religion and culture has been ceased.
In the society where melody in cacophony would have pleased our ears,
We are left to be just a similar noise
A noise, which is,
Difficult to listen,
Hard to believe,
Easy to decipher
And it never varies,
I don’t know
Whether it is good or bad,
I just don’t understand the same dialect of my country..
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The dialect of my country: Poetry: Do we have a voice against the government?