Democracy poems bring the best collection of short and long democracy poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great democracy rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these democracy poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on democracy are here for you.
Along the way to Washington, a red Indian is still holding in his hands his scalp and a quiver filled with stock exchange, while not comprehending why European prisoners carried old Athens on the ship of Columbus and settled at
After many years of slavery we still end up being enslaved today After many years of exploitation We are still being exploited till today Oh! brother is revolution time is time to live in a real world stand up and
With stoicism writ on face I invite the chisels for giving birth to a dialogue between me and the shaper. Where did the things go wrong in making the life a simple page to write a beautiful poem? Buddha give
To slice a hope in stark terror he thought to bid holy goodbye to destiny, and let himself go in the shadow of weeping deads. The orange moon looked mutilated. Quietly stood a suicide bomber, ready to get killed for
Little child in me remembers the phantom, Muscular and masked, Penetrating eyes, Outwitting the enemies in a flash, Reading with bated breath; Here I am glued to the screen, Phantoms running and scaling heights, Crawling with creepers around, With little
Let us all bow , my countrymen In reverence, and gratitude To the memory of those bravehearts Who stood like an iron wall To defend the sanctity of Parliament The all faith shrine of democracy Despite death dancing around In
…like no other. Tiny blue speck in a void unfathomably large. Self aware beings truly not aware of much. Self impressed with no reason to be. Obsessed with sex and violence driving forces of existence. Compression point coming. Evolution of
Are you educated? Have you an injured heart? Have you a purified brain? Do you believe in truth? Are you alone? Do you seek problematic truth, solvable truth, real magic? Are you a secular person? Do you believe in democracy?
There’s a saying I know well, The road to hell, Is paved with good intentions, Pay attention crusaders, Freedom fighters, And bigot haters, When I was young, At heart and in mind, My kind of justice, Was just as true,
It’s happening right in front of our eyes. We who live today are right in the middle of it. Being swept up in the wave breaking on humanities shoreline. The global brain being born all around us, exponentially expanding, most
George Washington and Abraham Lincoln commanders in chief epitomized supreme martial mien and vocalized special flair talents summoned from their native heart-land motif in Modus Operandi of bootstraps dare acquired evanescent mythic reverence extant within bibliographic brief and closest role
I love thou not, o land of high hypocrisy, My country of the totalitarian democracy! I’d rather not hear thy people’s speech Or behold thy men’s disgraceful binge! I love thou not! If thou be a chariot, Old steeds are
We Talk about a Nation Under God, My how wrong have we become. We stand divided on so many things, Even on God’s name we have shunned and try to pretend that it means nothing, to everyone . Many profess
It is not on you, dear poet, but on your Nation, and its rulers, spread all over Their body, mind and soul; irreparable, Their cancerous thoughts and deeds; ‘The red salute’, they offer to all, a mean, Cheap and cruel
In a temple without god, They performed a cryptcastration on a colossus, targeting a total annihilation, and liquidation of a beautiful saga. And then, layer by layer unspeakable pain was released. Nobody looked at my red eyes. Half dead, half
Between rainy days Brought by the northern wind And days trembling Under the caress of the southern, I go for a walk with my silence. I was weaning to speak- The words have lost their meaning Since there is no
In mangled bodies and severed limbs, the blood gives up its claim. A twisted window blocks the landscape of silvered faces. Nobody talks with the moon. Night burns, the fat floats on the dead mouthings. Death has the foulest taste.
Her body is the ever-punctured typewriter Pricked by the fingertips of lovers and liars alike, Since brick has been put upon brick to build – She has been made into verse. She is laced in souvenirs, splinters of a dismantled
Well and we are just like One big happy family Travelers by day, party Animals by night, singing And dancing around Firelight… Some are my lovers, Some are my friends Still I love all of them And I am their
Audacity to live with your demons, putting up a fake love belief, who was the time, of that dark night? Distinctly alive to what I was not just putting up the shades of death into nothingness of peace in war.
I dipped my hand within my soul To stir the ebon ink And placed a smear upon the scroll Where loathsome mem’ries sink And write the script of heart’s lament With words from blank abyss In colors mixed with aged
You lived your life, now you’ve passed away Cremated with nothing left to decay Grief endlessly lingers more so some days, eternal peace for your soul I do pray. I have had to begin the process of change Our home
Oh! My mother, sues thy sole cell daughter, An unborn baby, before its loving lover- Prays it to dad, thy, my best creative will- “Let me come, not look at me- thy angry shrill!” Oh! Doc. You dog! You dig
We found the kid outside of McCleary walking in a daysuit like some land owner off some nineteenth-century hacienda he got in the car stinking of moss and unwashed armpits there were at least two kinds of fluff in his
sensations sense the limited bound by the apertures that read time my conditioned mind interprets the words that come through in streams, as lines of information a matrix of data, through the windows of the sensual eyes, my faded account
Now, I like walking in the rain, but I hate lightening and thunder. I like the fragrance of the soil, but why this yucky mud? I wonder. I prefer raincoats to umbrella, and rain-boots to match and pair. “Bare feet
Bemoan the fate as you will the emptiness would still eat you away futility of existence and facade of importance the glitter of attention and tears of oblivion loath of loneliness and fear of attention no one can feel you,
Little drops of rain fall from the space, like droplets of sweat dripping from her face . Cool breeze propels, saturated with moisture, compel to cherish her moist body, and nurture . Rain drops pelt the window and makes her
I remember telling my mother (this was a lifetime ago) “It asked me to let it go: it had something important to do.” There was that look on her face, the deep frown of accountancy, another couple of dollars doled
Every time has a beginning and the laws of the universe are binding that’s why your soul grows weary, the curse, if you are not law abiding, seeing things blurry and of course, staring into the distance during that divine
I must accept the insignificance and solve the puzzle of night. Possessed sunlight always pursues the shadows of words. Philosophy of veils descends on awareness casting silhoutte of differences. Nocturnal sweat of sky overwhelms the grass with dew. I pick
It so happens. these days, I come to you with forgotten sails, with abandoned poems, with a heart worn away by the salt of this world. It so happens that I arrive at your door empty-handed. I have nothing to
When Mum first presented you I thought you were a trick. Your attempts to buy me off with a Metallica C.D. demonstrated your pettiness. I didn’t say anything at the time ‘cos I didn’t want to hurt her feelings in
She had changed colours to please her eyes her soft sight covers the earth , her fond beauty dumbs the earth , commenting ‘silence ‘. She was green back in her old days , had changed, green to golden .