On this day :
1957 Althea Gibson is first African American to win Wimbledon, 1775 Congress issues a Declaration on the Causes and Necessity of Taking Up Arms, 1958 Juan Manuel Fangio bids goodbye to Grand Prix racing in France, 1864 Confederate General Jubal Early occupies Hagerstown, 1963 US policymakers express optimism, 1946 George Bugs Moran is arrested, 1988 Explosion on North Sea oil rig, 1942 Frank family takes refuge, 1944 The Hartford Circus Fire, 1967 Civil war in Nigeria, 1971 Satchmo dies, 1976 Women inducted into US Naval Academy, 1994 Forrest Gump opens wins Hanks a second Oscar, 1935 Dalai Lama leader of Tibet and bestselling author is born, 1957 John meets Paul for the first time, 1862 Mark Twain begins reporting in Virginia City, 1946 George Walker Bush is born, 1933 Major League Baseballs first AllStar Game is held, 1957 Althea Gibson wins Wimbledon, 1955 Diem says South Vietnam not bound by Geneva Agreements, 1964 Viet Cong attack Special Forces at Nam Dong, 1918 Czech troops take Russian port of Vladivostok for Allies, 1944 Georges Mandel French patriot is executed,

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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