"Justice"

A far fetched thing for the wretched of earth,
A lexicon existent only in form and name,
A tool of deceit and oppression by design
By those of muscle of money and fame;
An abused concept by the powerful few
In a mindless world of shame...
A waste of time and hope of the helpless,
For a winner-already-known type of game!

The life of Pi

Tiger and boy left afloat,
On a little ill-fated boat,
Spent days and weeks in tension,
In neither one's land in the ocean.
Without hope from across the sea,
As the weeks and months lingered by,
Their only choice is to go pacific,
Came to realize Parker and Pi;
Or go down fighting for a lost cause,
And on no-one's land both will die.
Two mortal enemies on a life boat,
As would never have been the norm,
Signed a pacta sunt servanda to survive,
From hopelessness and the sweeping storm.
From India across the Pacific,
For weeks and months with little break,
Pi would fish for Parker and Pi,
And Parker would keep Pi cautious'n awake.
As is written by nature's laws,
The struggling souls survived;
To Pi's concussioned eyes' surprise,
At a coast in Mexico they arrived;
But Pi was saddened to see Parker go,
To the jungles nearby to find a lair,
After hundreds of days together at sea,
Without a bye, a smile or a gloomy stare.

Annus amoris

If declare of love is all I do
And more of love is all I get,
Why have a day of amorous talk,
And the rest of year spend in hate?
While many a day deprived of peace,
But a fiesta a year, on what ground,
What's so boring about pristine love,
If saluted by all, all year round?

Let the bygones go

Today is the most we have,
Tomorrow is the potential of hope,
Real or imagined, in nature or form
Let talk of past glories stop.
Empty stories of past glories,
To whom are they of a benefit,
If they change no realities to the better
On the ground, under your feet?
Boast of the past is shame of today-
If yesters to now have nothing to share-
Disgrace to the progenies to come,
For whom no effort is left to spare,
To tell and teach the fruits of work,
And the values of peace and love,
Not the mysticisms of success through luck,
And the help of saints and gods above.

Africa speaking

I hear people talk in honest ire,
Of a hopeless continent in quagmire;
But the hopelessness in me I don't understand,
I am merely a mass of bountiful land.
The hopelessness in people I see,
In those who fight day and night,
O'er petty lanterns of power,
In dazzling, broad daylight.
Hopeless are those who bury me dead,
With my untapped resources intact,
And blame others far and beyond,
For a brief episode of historical act;
So brief like the blink of an eye,
For a continent of aeons of age,
Whose people crossed borders and seas,
And filled the earth from edge to edge.
Hopeless are those who scorch me in war,
In tireless generations of petty fight,
Those who give no time to think and know,
That I am the richest land in nature's might.
Blame me not, blame no history of times gone,
Wake up and think, people of luck,
Only through diligence and sweat and toil
In the quagmires of hopelessness you won't be stuck.