By Bertrand N. O. Walker
Lonely, open, vast and free,
The dark'ning desert lies;
The wind sweeps o'er it fiercely,
And the yellow…
The dark'ning desert lies;
The wind sweeps o'er it fiercely,
And the yellow…
Explore Poems: Other Religions
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- By Bertrand N. O. WalkerFor ages long, my people have been
Dwellers in this land;
For ages viewed these mountains,
Loved these… - By Ishwar GuptaTranslated By Arvind Krishna Mehrotra & Rosinka ChaudhuriSuch is their greed that no part is thrown away.
Not crown, not base, not even the eyes
gouged out from the rind by the eye-eaters.
But why do I speak ill of them? I’m no better.
When I throw away the rind my... - By EnheduannaTranslated By Jane HirshfieldLady of all powers,
In whom light appears,
Radiant one
Beloved of Heaven and Earth,
Tiara-crowned
Priestess of the Highest God,
My Lady, you are the guardian
Of all greatness.
Your hand holds the seven powers:
You lift the powers of being,
You have hung them over your finger,
You have... - By Luke KennardAn extremely hubristic, unflattering, and accurate self-portrait, this episode saw Halberg in direct conversa-
tion with Cain, questioning his own methods. The passing allusion to Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin appears
to reference Chapter 4, stanza XXXV: “But I myself read my bedizened /fancies,... - By Duane NiatumRaven steals your name for an autumn joke:
buries it along with you under the broadest hemlock
known to squirrel or chipmunk.
He croaks it’s too bad you were awake for the event.
He accuses you of boring him
with the same old questions over... - By Ray DiPalmaMany of the oldest priests were there, their ceremonial robes
in tatters but the knives they held appeared bright and recently honed.
Most of these men had not been seen in years, having with the passage
of time drifted away without offering any... - By Kanya Kanchanadarkriver moonrise
girlrise locksdrip
firmfoot mudbank
starwheel skinflush
red
mouthswell tongueloll
breastswell hipswell
archback cockride
nailrake treebark
sunripe wombswell
cuntswell rockback
haunchsquat pullsquirt
babesquall blooddrip
sweatdrip slimedrip
devour
headfirst skullcrack
laugh
leaffall headback
laugh
you were seen mother
but there was nothing
to see - By Sangeeta SinghAji held onto the brown and black
patched calf’s tail
A pundit sang her mantra for
43 minutes
Years
Aji understood the calf would
lead her through oceans
into her next journey
My Aji and I
are alike
We have silver hairs
I am holding on to a dream tail
hoping it... - By Keki Daruwallawhat lights up
the lightbulb filaments
of your recall Old Man
this streak of fire
through the thin wire
of memory and mind
what line
from which poet?
the ibex looking down
quizzically
at our car from cliff
the croc sunning corrugated hide
on the banks of the Rapti
as I cross the... - By Rukmini Bhaya Nairi poetry
Pull down the crows from the sky
Piya, summer’s blood is barely dry
What is a poem if it cannot try
To call you a ****ing ***** or die
Whispering in your arms, this lie
When Kabira met Keats, he said:
Our poems make canopies... - By Biswamit DwibedyThese are all ancient names of what you will once call home.
The shape of the fire altar is independent of time.
Each temple is an offering made to the gods
by giving them a home.
An inward realization can only be achieved
by draining... - By Biswamit DwibedyAs a rule, we are only because
men have looked down upon
us with such kindness
straight into our eyes.
Warriors stare each other down.
Reach its climax at the Shikhara, or the Vortex
is the subject of the verse. Has been, since way before
Pound’s age,... - By Shivanee RamlochanAfter
the small bomb of his orgasm
I stole his mother’s crucifix,
darted through the back doors.
I never saw the dogs.
Quick like Krishna’s gopis they swarmed me.
Pink tongues of threat and purebred musk.
Rosaries of saliva.
Jaws open like warm ovens for bread and fish.
I... - By Danielle Boodoo-FortunéThere is a place not far from here where
two rivers meet the sea, a shore dark
and pitted as a caiman’s back.
My thoughts drift here when I pray to you,
to swollen water and lonely spit,
tide-risen belly of a mangrove god.
Every white... - By Cyril DabydeenWhat’s Godhead—
now standing upright,
fecundity no less
I tell you more about.
Phases of the moon, you see:
an auspicious moment I’ve
come to believe in with
Shiva or some other deity.
What Greece from antiquity
bestowed upon us with an
outsider named Sikander—
Alexander the Great going
to the Indus... - By Rajiv MohabirSunrise ocher marks
the river’s forehead,
wet dhotis betray supplicants
bare as opaque windows,
their secrets. It’s no secret,
my petals wreath
my crown in marigold, a glow
I’ve nursed into nova
when I cracked, from drought,
my pericarp, thirsty for God.
I have always been
a honey man,
coat of a... - By Meena AlexanderIn a crumpled shirt (so casual for a god)
Bow tucked loosely under an arm still jittery from battle
He balanced himself on a flat boat painted black.
Each wave as I kneel closer a migrant flag
A tongue with syllables no script can... - By Chinua AchebeSomething in altitude kindles power-thirst
Mere horse-height suffices the emir
Bestowing from rich folds of prodigious turban
Upon crawling peasants in the dust
Rare imperceptible nods enwrapped
In princely boredom.
I too have known
A parching of that primordial palate,
A quickening to manifest life
Of a long recessive...