On this day :
1564 William Shakespeare born, 1778 John Paul Jones burns Whitehaven England, 1987 Chrysler buys luxury automaker Lamborghini, 1865 Panic has seized the country writes Davis, 1945 Truman confronts Molotov, 1969 Sirhan Sirhan receives death penalty, 1967 Soviet cosmonaut is killed, 1014 King Brian of Ireland murdered by Vikings, 1986 Otto Preminger dies, 1564 Birth and death of William Shakespeare celebrated, 1961 Judy Garland plays Carnegie Hall, 1859 Byers publishes first Denver newspaper, 1791 James Buchanan is born, 1954 Hank Aaron hits first home run of his MLB career, 1975 Ford says that war is finished for America, 1915 Poetsoldier Rupert Brooke dies in Greece, 1942 Germans begin Baedeker Raids on England,

Poems

Unrequited

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All unfeigned relationships,

Commence, in celestial efflorescence.

But, passion unreciprocated-

Is like an exanimate corpse,

(vehemently 'lifeless' 'cause there are throbbing dead bodies in the present world!)

A fish out of water,

A sky without Sun,

A night without stars,

An orphan with no fortune.

 

All relations, mightn't be deemed towards eternity,

But only some, on echt, veritable grounds-

Jaunt towards eonian fraternity.

 

Friendship-typically reckoned-

To be the adept beginning,

Is proved by the modern-world,

To take the helm of counterfeit.

 

"No offense", best allies-

Germinated, life mates,

This isn't the Victorian era prolonged,

A long lost Shakespearean whim,

Nevertheless fancies a few, apiece,

Persistent remnants of the currently debarred-

"Golden Age".

 

Somewhere, we all have read,

"Love is a hollow sham. Life's a farce!"

That's almost nigh today,

When mostly heartless automatons-

Commune, indigent and insolvent,

In emotions. Mostly, the debated counterparts-

Are allies,

Who eruditely know each other,

Who bask a sapid walk together,

Who confide, and entrust-

Their inscrutable mysteries, to each other,

And, colossally more to go on,

Towards making the perfect match.

 

But still, one's proffer to other,

Is an effete disposition.

The other will indisputably twitch-

The unsought, abominable nerve,

Assaying to accentuate the better one's-

Impuissant frailties, and to bash it-

With all vigour.

 

Then follows,

The debouched,

Cold-blooded, jubilation-

Of the one who inflicted anguish-

Over the inauspicious one who still-

Haven't subdued his inner conflicts,

Grounded on the savage, flimflam sting,

Of petty coquetry, or the hollow, vacuous,

Sham of unrequited love.

 

Guys, to plunge yourself in-

Irrecoverable grief,

Might match an epic ballad's restating.

But, 21st century Rhapsodies,

Should be based on protagonists,

Who easily convalesce,

Wiping off ineffective dust from his torso,

Who care no more for lost sands,

Cause a lustrous horizon of Life,

Lies Ahead,

And 'cause'Robert Frost' had written invaluable verse,

For generations to emulate.

 

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