Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)
Twisted, Revolutionary, Hair raising, yet at the end, so homely.
I carry a huge burden.
Not of love, or labor.
To keep the audacity in poetry alive.
To keep the French Revolution Alive.
To keep the 1857 Mutiny of India Alive.
To Keep the boston Tea parthy going.
To have the Square in Beijing, think it's a circle.
To Che, To all the unknow Che's does not matter
Whether they be Marxists or Capitalists,
To the Soldier in Vietnam, who ever's son.
To the sands of Iraq, who cares which eyes they burnt.
To the Euphrates,
To Luther Kings assassinated soul,
To John F Kennedy's murdered youth.
To the first step on moon,
Many believe was an idiot box dream,
To the Mother Teressa,
She too was a rebellion
Blood flesh fire, refusing to surrender,
Long after the evolution of us
To Sir Charles Darwin, To Marrie Currie, To James Watt,
To Sir Issac Newton, to Sir Francis Circk, To Sir Wingston Churchill,
You may call us idiots,
A gang who follows the half clad man.
But I have the chest to take your rebellion.
It is in the fire of the fight,
That the mothers of tomorrow,
Will cook the meals at dusk and twilight,
I am not a feminist,
Men are brilliant cooks but in Restaurants,
Moms food is the best,
And wives may go to courts to get a new rebellion.
Comments about this poem (Twisted, Revolutionary, Hair raising, yet at the end, so homely. by Hardik Vaidya )
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