On this day :
1859 Origin of Species is published, 1807 Mohawk Chief Joseph Brant dies, 1849 John Froelich inventor of the gaspowered tractor is born, 1863 Battle of Lookout Mountain, 1947 Hollywood 10 cited for contempt of Congress, 1932 The FBI Crime Lab opens its doors for business, 1999 Ferry sinks in Yellow Sea killing hundreds, 1922 Irish author and nationalist executed, 1963 Jack Ruby kills Lee Harvey Oswald, 1971 Hijacker parachutes into thunderstorm, 1993 Robin Williams stars in Mrs Doubtfire, 1859 Origin of Species is published, 1973 Ringo Starr earns a solo 1 hit with Photograph, 1973 John Neihardt ghostwriter of Black Elk Speaks dies, 1784 Zachary Taylor is born, 1960 Wilt Chamberlain sets NBA rebounds record, 1963 LBJ to continue Kennedy policy in Vietnam, 1965 US casualty rates hit new high, 1969 US Army announces Calley will be tried, 1918 Yugoslav National Council expresses concerns about postwar boundaries, 1944 US B29s raid Tokyo,

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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