The Resurrection of Moths
The moths worship a flame
in a circular motions,
As lovelorn stars orbit the moon
in a Venus constellation.
Chant a mythical choir in
a mystical fashion-
To appease the divine goddess
of love and passions.
A lamp of love bejeweled with
cacoethes’s emotions,
Bedding a wick woven
with wonderful impressions
And feeding it with
fiery oil of passions.
The moths resemble
the martyrs
ready to die for a nation,
Are raring for kamikaze on
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poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Soul-Breakers
Oh! bloody thirsty soul breakers
Oh! manipulative nerve wreckers;
Playing with the beings like puppets,
Relishing their hearts in buffets.
Oh! Self righteous naivete
Don’t treat people as hapless pawns,
Don’t blackout their rose tinged dawns;
Stop thinking, you are beyond his laws,
Stop thinking, you can escape his claws.
Oh leech! Don't increase your karmic debts
Recall Ye! How evil doers wept.
Oh! Sower of the bad karmic seeds,
He longs to punish your talks and deeds;
He waits to strike at opportune time
And to make you pay for your heinous crime.
For the punisher watches from above
And keeps a tab on your talks and moves.
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poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Asylum Earth
Frustrated I stood in front
of the God to Pray,
And asked him why lunatics
are increasing day by day.
Why there is scarcity
of people in a synagogue,
Why popping up of
Prozac is in a vogue.
Why people look as they
are coming from morgue,
Why all minds are clouded
by the depression’s fog.
Then, God appeared suddenly
with his mischievous smile,
And he started to speak
in his inimitable style:
“Son! this earth is nothing
but asylum of the universe
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poem by Hitesh Sheth
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I'm Goona Copy
I’m surely gonna copy,
Be it poem, DVD or floppy,
And win Nobel Prize and trophy.
I will copy poets all
Whether they are big or small
Ya! No one can make me stop
Till I scale a fame’s highest top.
At the beginning of age
When God made men in his own image
He started this “Plagiarist” trend
Which I am not gonna end.
And what is creativity?
If not an ability to hide
a source of theft
with impunity.
When there is nothing
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Erotomania-A Delusion of Love
A moth or an innocent boy
Or incessantly talking toy
Caught helplessly
In a nature’s ploy:
Thought flame loves me
Thought dame thinks of me
Thought ma’am cares for me.
All the while
The flame
with a flickering smile
burning in a opaque
lamp of guile
with a global
all devouring vision
and feeding with oil of treason
Saw a moth adamant on
self sacrificing mission
The hypnotized moth
went near
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poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Tomorrow I will be Happy
Small child dressed shabbily,
His eyes dusty, hair shaggy.
'When I will grow big,
I would have sweets many,
I would play throughout the day,
And would be free from elder's tyranny,
Tomorrow I will be happy.”
Hearing, HITESH laugh heartily.
Schoolboy donning dress neatly,
His eyes sleepy, hair curly.
'When I will grow big,
I will see movies many,
I will roam throughout day,
And would be free from teacher's tyranny,
Tomorrow I will be happy.”
Hearing, HITESH laugh heartily.
Teenager sporting T-shirt trendy,
His eyes dreamy, hair lengthy.
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poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Sub Prime Crisis
I asked to the God:
Why America is on a verge of bankruptcy?
Why all are facing a drought of currency?
Do you think anyone should bank on banks?
Which have sunk a people of all class and ranks.
What quake produced a tsunami of sub prime crisis?
Can you explain it to the men, rich in vices?
Which is a better pill, communism or capitalism?
Can you illumine it with a dose of pragmatism.
God replied:
Son! There is nothing in this world like crises;
These are hidden opportunities in disguises.
One prime lesson still you haven't succeed to learn,
One should never spend more than one earn.
In jungle of finance, if you are led by economists,
Your fortune will be devoured by a debt’s beast.
If you mortgage future joys for a moment's passions,
Holy odyssey will fail to reach a divine station.
I replied:
In future, I will never take any kind of loans,
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poem by Hitesh Sheth
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A Live Poetry Bomb
All people, fearfully call him a live poetry bomb,
because his rhymes are deadlier than bullet’s storms.
When fires stanzas through his mouth’s barrel,
hapless mind feels naked, in their wisdom’s apparel.
He often emails unsuspecting people to read his poetry
and coax and beseech them to post their commentaries.
Many victims who had fell to fatal gunshots of his poetry,
are still smarting from his deadly epitaphs in cemeteries.
He assembles vague paragraph and slices it into two half,
so to fire it as a poem, and soar up his statistical graph.
Whenever he is short of ammunitions for poetic fights,
he searches for explosives on rhyming dictionary’s sites.
Then he fuses combustive lines for his lethal mission,
so to blow up all the literature with atomic poetry fission.
Then he ruthlessly bombs his poem on all poetry websites,
wherein community of poets gather to taste literary delight.
Then he selfishly comments on other’s poems with fervour,
knowing well that others would gladly reciprocate his favours.
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The Ultimate Game
The Creator asks to
the adventurous soul
Who returned to heaven
with a thrill seeking bowl.
The Creator asks:
“Did you enjoyed the game
of your staged abduction,
Which was done at non-
descript railway junction.
For that you merrily
bought the ‘Kidnap Package’,
And for few hours they
stuffed you in a cage.”
The Soul replies:
“Yes the fake game
was loaded with fun
But I want a real
not a virtual one.”
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Constipation
An urban teacher recently transferred to a rural school
Had complaint of, ‘Inability to pass his stool’.
His wife thought, “Husband may be speaking lie
Let me take him to Freud- City’s sexiest guy.”
Freud boasted, “I can cure this illness in fifty sittings
But since it is an emergency, I will call psychiatrist’s meeting”.
He decided to call psychiatrist all
And they gathered in a big conference hall.
Freud started, “Pt is fixated at phallic stage
And harbors suppressed sex and repressed rage.”
Karl Jung shouted angrily at Sigmund Freud
“You always bring sexuality, Are you Freud or fraud? ”
Then he mocked at Freud, “Do you have brain or bladder
You cannot diagnose even a simple matter”.
Sigmund Freud confessed, “You all know I am sexually perverted
But you also know, personality cannot be reverted.”
Then he added shyly, “Phallus comes in my mind uppermost
When I see pen, pendulum, pillar or post.”
Then Jung added, “It is a simple case of fight
Between a conscious complex and an unconscious archetype.”
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