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Surya Gupta Poem
Don't allow him to corner you, punch him hard on his face, kick him hard and make him cry, just one nice smack and the title is all yours.
These are some of the expressions which I keep on shouting on the top of my voice when I watch brutal combat sports like Muay Thai Kickboxing, Western Boxing (USA), wrestling etc. Unlike other combat sports like Boxing or martial art games such as Karate, Taekwondo ; these sports have much higher degree of violence, witness about 30 – 35 deaths every year and not to mention innumerable fatal injuries. I cannot help but wonder how these fighters feel after winning their respective matches and crushing their opponents to death, or leaving them in a handicapped state making sure they don't have enough guts to face them again.
In the poem below written by me, I have tried to capture the thoughts of a fighter from my own perspective.
. I punch you, you punch me,
I kick you, you kick me,
Driven by a frantic rush to kill each other,
Tell me something - O my opponent,
Do we know each other, you and me?
Couple of minutes since I first saw your face,
Glittering and shimmering, like a rainbow after a rainy day,
Now it is drenched in your own sweat and blood,
And I don’t know why I loathe you so much.
Was it just destiny – your end so near,
Or you were just a fool, for you had no fear,
Broken nose, bruised face – you gave me much pain
In return, I favor you by digging your grave.
Parents, in laws, wife and children – you had many mouths to feed
Fight against me!!!!
You should have thought about them before trying this remarkable feat.
No family, no friends, no money – I have nothing to lose,
Did you ever think about this, you benumbed fool.
. This remarkable piece of poetry, you won’t be able to read,
For you will be busy paying for your deeds,
Fractured arms and shattered spirit - you will suffer many injuries,
Because against me there is nothing but miseries.
. Every second spent against me you will beg for mercy,
You won’t get any, you can trust me on that.
No achievements under your belt, its time you make me proud
I will set an example for others, by gifting you a shroud.
Copyright © Surya Gupta | Year Posted 2016
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Surya Gupta Poem
Girl are born. But not every time they are lucky enough to live. Many a times they are killed by their families who were expecting a boy child.
This poem captures dreams of a girl child. Her dream revolves around getting love, affection, acceptance from her parents but these dreams can never be fulfilled. Her destiny has something else in store for her.
Poem – My stupid little Dreams.
(Some dreams are never meant to be fulfilled)
My dream is to be born cuddling in my mother’s arms and staring in her eyes,
My dream is spending my childhood hopping in my father’s lap,
My father tickling me until I cry out of joy,
My dream is feeling my mother’s soft tender lips, as she kisses me wishing me
goodnight,
My dream is enjoying weekends hopping on my father’s back;
As he play a horse and I a brave knight,
My dream is to fall down, bruise my leg and watch my mother rushing out for me,
My dream is spending endless nights sitting beside my father,
His hands coiled around my neck, re-living my favorite bedtime stories,
My dream is treading on roads shimmering with sun rays escaping from canopy of trees that leads nowhere,
My dream is racing down endless streets crowded with people; teeming with life;
Happiness, fervor and excitement spread everywhere,
My dream is to live, prosper and watch all these and thousand other dreams come true,
But I won’t live long enough, so bye-bye dreams; I bid you adieu,
I have committed a sin, as grave as a crime,
My family needed a boy, but I am born a girl child,
My dreams, my wishes will stay alive with me till I am in my mother’s womb,
Seconds after I am born; they will travel with me to my final destination – my own personal tomb.
If born; No respect, no acceptance would have been the saga of my life,
Thanks to my father, he saved me, by taking my life.
No time for my dreams, I died paying for my sins,
Once born; I was send on a long vacation in some local dustbin.
I was born like a flower that could bloom and thrive
But I was plucked as a bud, never allowed to ripe,
Not only me there are thousands more lying in rains,
Moaning in pain, their blood gushing down the drains,
No more dreams, no more wishes just one cry,
O God! It’s enough. Please no more girl child.
Copyright © Surya Gupta | Year Posted 2016
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