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The Last Bargain

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Poetry Contest

The Classic Corner : Rabindranath Tagore tribute

Co-Hosts - Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze  

Part XXXVI in an ongoing series introducing serious writers of DUP to the most well-known poets, both classical and modern. 

Rabindranath Tagore  ( born Robindronath Thakur, 7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941 ) was a Bengali polymath who went on to become a Nobel Prize-winning poet. He played a leading role in Indian cultural renaissance and came to be recognized, along with Mohandas Gandhi, as one of the architects of modern India.

Although Tagore prioritized poetry, he also made notable contributions to literature as a dramatist, novelist, short story writer, and writer of nonfictional prose, especially essays, criticism, philosophical treatises, journals, memoirs, and letters. In addition, he expressed himself as musician, painter, actor-producer-director, educator, patriot, and social reformer.

Referring to the variety and abundance of Tagore’s creative output, Buddhadeva Bose declared in An Acre of Green Grass, “It would be trite to call him versatile; to call him prolific very nearly funny.” Bose added, “The point is not that his writings run into a hundred thousand pages of print, covering every form and aspect of literature, though this matters: he is a source, a waterfall, flowing out in a hundred streams, a hundred rhythms, incessantly.”

On his 70th birthday, in an address delivered at the university he founded in 1918, Rabindranath Tagore said: “I have, it is true, engaged myself in a series of activities. But the innermost me is not to be found in any of these. At the end of the journey I am able to see, a little more clearly, the orb of my life. Looking back, the only thing of which I feel certain is that I am a poet (ami kavi).”

For more about Rabindranath Tagore, visit


- Write a new Poem honoring Tagore inspired by only one of his poems.

- While you are allowed a maximum of 2 entries, only the best of your entries is considered viable for the trophy.

- Do your best to make us feel as though we are reading poetry by Tagore.  The more we feel you "capturing his essence" in "your own words" , the higher you will score. This scoring will involve choice of wording, delivery, subject material, formatting, target audience - a wide range of factors.   

What is the "essence" we are looking for? It will be a combination of the poet's personality, emotional investment, and message delivered in the inspiration poem you chose.

The Rules 

1. Two entries per DUP persona allowed. Keep this thread clean of everything but entries until after the awards announcement is made. Comment on entries directly to the member's page if you feel moved to. Post any questions or concerns about the comp in the Classic Corner Discussion thread @

2. No extreme erotica; this is open to all ages and can't be viewed with an ECW ( Extreme Content Warning ).   

3. No exact word limit; however, attempt to keep it no more than 250 - 300.   

4. Any form is acceptable ( but studying the poet is advised ). While we accept Spoken Word and Visual Poems, please include a text version in your submissions.   

5. You MUST tag your entries with the theme #RabindranathTagore. If the theme is currently not available, be sure to add it before the competition expires.

6. In your poem's Author Notes box, provide a title and a direct link to the one poem by Tagore that inspired yours. Without such, we have no way of determining if you were truly inspired by Tagore or simply swapped fresh words into his existing poetry ( which is a form of plagiarism ). This is a requirement regardless if you include a copy of the inspiration poem along with your entry or borrow its title. Failure to not include this information will automatically disqualify your entry.

7. You may edit your entry up until the moment the competition closes and is locked for judging. In fact, we highly encourage you take a few minutes to review your entry to ensure that it is error free in terms of spelling, grammar, and punctuation, and adheres to these guidelines.

Comp will be judged by Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze. As in the past and in the event there is a tie, we will call in third ( and possibly fourth ) judge.

You have one month; best of luck to all entrants!

Tyrant of Words
United States
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[ CC ] The Third Stanza

Seeking interpretations of the poem
"The Last Bargain" by Rabindranath Tagore,
Mister Sykes navigated the classroom  
as if Alladdin floating on his magic carpet.  
Susie Speckledbottom zealously raised a hand.  
It's about how power always fails to deliver  
on it's promise of alleviating your hardships,  
symbolized by the King in the first stanza  
flaking on hiring a man desperate for work.
Proud of her answer, she beamed, riding    
upon a ninth cloud of her own self worth.    
The teacher nodded, somewhat impressed ...    
yet hardly satisfied with the intuitive response.  
Why is that? he queried, quite down to earth  
now in his pacing, same as anyone in his shoes.  
Johnny Proudfoot couldn't help blurting out:  
Because Money is Power; the more you spend  
towards easing burdens, the more you expend  
time and energy earning it back! This is evident    
by the man counting gold in the second stanza  
who didn't want to toil in the afternoon heat!
Sykes, feeling a migraine developing, rebuttled.  
Neither did the narrator turning down his offer.    
He rubbed his temple as if it were a genia's lamp  
wishing for the nagging feeling to go away  
while meandering through rows of desks  
occasionally glancing at the overbearing clock.  
Ann Architect timidly raised her hand.  
His poem is about doing what you love  
for the sake of enjoying yourself at play,  
without expectation of anything in return.  
Thus, you become truly free of obligations  
---no longer is there need for money or power;  
time lost and energy exerted is inconsequential.  
The final stanza is very self explanatory.
Excellent! Mister Syke exclaimed.  
However, he suddenly whirled about  
with a crazed look in his eyes reminiscent of  
Victor Frankenstein or Gene Wilder or both  
simultaneously grappling great mysteries of Life,  
hands slamming hard upon Bobby Rottenbrain's desk!  
But what of Stanza Three that reads:  
"It was evening. The garden hedge was all aflower.  
The fair maid came out and said, "I will hire you with a smile."  
Her smile paled and melted into tears, and she went back alone into the dark."  
Can anyone tell me what this means?!  
Bobby sort of wet himself, while the remaining  
students nervously glanced at one another.  
The entire classroom was deathly silent.  
The teacher sighed in exasperation, defeated.  
I was hoping you could tell me, because even  
I don't know.
The bell rang.  
Children more than less fled the room.  
On the way out, Abby Rhodescholar  
handed him an apple from her bookbag.  
Don't worry, Mister Sykes,    
she said with a smile wide beyond her ears.  
Now that you've asked the question  
the answer will surely come  
when it is time for you to know.
Written by JohnnyBlaze
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Non-entry entry

Fire of Insight
United States
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A beautiful call from deep in your soul, I listened but did not hear.
My anger rose at your simple requests and you left with an ache in your heart.
When your love burned to bright I hid in fear of being blinded.
Now, I sit alone in the dark in painful regret for what might have been.
Written by anvinvil (Anvillan)
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Fire of Insight
United States
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The absence of the anxiety of the unknown is what I wish for all my people and the loss of the ponderous weight of uncertainty of things to come.
Let false dreams in the nighttime of future realities and potentials be ignored.
May the curse of eternity pass us by.
Stay the course though the way be hard and the end be infinity
Vanquish the journey charted by fate, fixed and prescribed.
I wish for a world of individuals without constraints, free to be themselves, outside of what may be acceptable to some cosmic force from the sky
Written by anvinvil (Anvillan)
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Forum Posts: 11661

Gitanjali *

( After Rabindranath Tagore )      
For the life is in the blood.**    
From an early age, I'd an aversion to blood-    
pooling plates from the rarity of steaks;    
tinged lips bathing in the carmine river      
of conquered meat between teeth    
By teenage years, I understood blood;    
it struck chords within my solar plexus—    
a many-pointed star of immense knowledge    
resonating amid a lost recollection of Love      
Nothing ever dies: it survives in crawlspaces    
of life, beneath the skin of each birth;    
its ichor passed down from generations—    
awakening within the proximity of itself    
We do not choose those we truly love—    
only what we receive from each offering;    
we celebrate a reunion of joy—    
or, suffer the agony of letting go    
Walk onward in this world. . .    
yet, such recalls are not only human    
They're loyalty between a bear and wolf—    
unlikely pairs whose alliance is forged    
by unexplainable phenomenon beyond      
our homo sapient reasoning: bonding    
between a kitten and duck; a dog and fox—    
because the soul knows what a mind forgets;      
blood is the life, the mechanism of flesh      
fueling every sentient being on earth      
It is no mystery to preceive one another    
after death;  your sub-conscious waits    
rather than settles for less; it's innate—      
instinctual when honed by life after life      
and could never be explained in words—    
only felt within its vast array of cells;    
those immortal red and white messengers      
carrying eternal scrolls of ancestors—    
crusades of experience and Love    
registered in our own blood    
each time one rediscovers the other      
wearing whatever chosen form    
Written by Ahavati
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Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
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Joined 1st Jan 2018
Forum Posts: 756

In hurriedness and clamour

A sculptor.? Make such pale cool limbs
with beauty and such curves endowed.
Could I pause, in hurried clamour
whereby pray to likeness.
Shallowness to skin and spirit warm its core
a mortal cloud, plucked from the dawn.
In supplication knelt before; I knew.
by whatever, the everyday and commonplace,
to blink and rub the eyes.
Find and hold the Buddha's countenance.  
Transcendental ingot borne.
 Heart still beat the pulse.  
Handed, gifted on the thunders clap,
refreshed in quietness.
The pool beneath the waterfall,  
the weight of beauty from the rush,  
after all in love our hands are clasped
Written by slipalong
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 29th July 2018
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Related submission no longer exists.

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Forum Posts: 5572

Hey, CCCompers, this is the final reminder to double-check your entries to ensure they meet the guidelines. Check One, themes. Check Two, inspirational poem title and link in your Notes. Check Three, everything else such as spelling, punctuation, and grammar errors. A simple typo may as well result in handing the Tropheee over to another.

What about extraneous words? Enjambments? Good luck to everyone.

For anyone else dragging their feet, only a few more days left to enter!

Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
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Forum Posts: 481

Jayne and James

With the hand of my anger,
a fist of dolomite to the moonlight,  
I forced this prescient night to bruise the floor
and turn up the corners of its sheet.
Where a life lay unbeholden to the laws of my eyes,
my radio and scent. A ley of dark beehives with black honey
 dripping. Glistening under the thunder, the birthday parties
in which I didn't cry; for when I pulled back my hand,  
would I, could I ever not give away their secret.
So I had them make for the morning
a mirror from the skin of a snake,
from which it could shy and shiver away,
  to slide away in nudity's shame.
 But this at least to possess at most, a garment to shed.
A sheet big enough to lay over both the morning and night.
Written by nomoth
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 29th July 2018
Forum Posts: 754

Related submission no longer exists.

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 1550

The Greatest Love Poem Never Published

She was a thing of extraordinary beauty,
  So you can imagine my surprise when she spoke to me,
We spent several hours in deep conversation,
     Until we had to go our separate ways.

I spent the next couple of nights unable to sleep,
     That is until I penned the most wonderful verse,
And upon realizing what I had written,
     I knew I had to share it with my mentor.

At four in the morning I rushed to his home,
     Banged on his door so loud I woke up the neighborhood,
I was a young man in love and in possession
     Of the greatest love poem ever composed.

But the professor was angry with me,
     I admit, I must have sounded like a babbling madman,
So I went away promising I’d come back later in the day,
     Only to come back with an even better verse.

When I returned I was screaming at the top of my lungs,
     In my euphoria I read the lines and rhymes,
I had crafted an incredible poem, I couldn’t calm down,
     But the professor sent me away again.

Later that evening as I walked the streets with my lantern,
     I was determined to show him my masterpiece,
And upon knocking on his door I held the paper to the light,
     Only for it to catch fire when all he saw was the flames.

He said I’d gone crazy and closed the door in my face,
     So I ran all the way home in a panic trying to remember,
But it was useless, I lost the words to the greatest love poem,
     And never visited my mentor ever again.
Written by wallyroo92
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Forum Posts: 595

Poems (The One Light)

'These paper boats of mine are meant to dance
on the ripples of hours,  
 and not to reach any destination.'  
                 - Rabindranath Tagore  
To wherein falls the one light,  
there my heart is full of Thou;  
you, the one who sets me free  
is the one to whom I belong and flee:  
I am in her, she in I; we are the one love  
boundless as sky.  
The mystery is without end    
but in the one light exists my true friend.  
I see it afar; I play on its shores,    
as ever it glints and winks and lures.  
I cannot reach it, but it finds every corner of me:  
She, the one lotus to bloom long and sweet.  
I cannot die where no flower can't live,  
and here in my heart the one light softly gives.  
Written by PoetsRevenge
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Dangerous Mind
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মাউনাধারা~ MAUNADHARA~ The Flow Of Silence

midnight rains incessantly play  
an overbrimming ‘Mega Malhar’ raga  
in a fuller mojo amidst a hustle bustle
Kolkata’s day of bazaar’s booming  
noisy unruliness, a whining painy  
holing in ear drummy orchestrations

-those thunderous meteoritic  
hitting demonic warning  
hurriedness acoustical skies  
& surreally firing bright  
hi-watt electric lightnings  
mar their so clumsily musical  
yet rapidly formative flurrying  
rhapsodic rhythms in an align  
..as eyes look upon a sole lighted  
amber~ red  sodium vaporous lamp-  
the micronic irrigating mystical mists  
inundates this soul in a magical muteness
of shimmery golden dusts over & infusing  
inner the awaiting irises as fullmoon  
the pulsating beats & a flaming soul  
in steadiness feels this new flush of  
fuelling blood & life in a gripping  
SILENCE… when in these November~ ish  
nights of north east monsoonal outpour..  
you declare this your  
L O V E eternal

Written by summultima (uma)
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( Aww A& J..posted  late by few minz.. if not as per comp need, consider it NON-ENTRY plz:)

Dangerous Mind
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RAKTAKARABI~ BLOOD OLEANDERS: From My Congolese Times… Towards The Light Of Liberation


I am her ‘Madaame’ Of Everything  
ingrained in her rarity flashing ivory smiles    
to her ever red rising simmering eyeful suns  
in delicate armours of tearful hanging glistens  
that she unfallibly holds within the kohl  
black lashes that yearns to touch  
skyhigh liberating flights  
Yet,  mellowed down rustic  
earthen tones of perseverance  
she heavily bears forevermore  
as weighing down destiny..  in those  
simplistic mellowly beaming rays  
she sprightly blooms with…  
her vivacious pagne’s striking  
colours try vainly to digest in her aching  
darkness complexions &  deathly dark  
pangs of generational oppressions  
it surfaces as the dragging baritone  
of her drowning  in densifying voice that  
further wants to scream aloud farther..  
all those Manioc Cassava Fufu Dumplings  
are almost the mimicking maniacal monotones  
of a cheaply starchy carb food that are  
the enforced staple of a povery-stricken  
wartorn land .. miscreant(ly)~ (mis)designed  
by plundering cartels & dictatorships in labels  
of modern democracy...  scrapping them of their  
homely diamond gleams & mineral alchemy  
of golden Love in an eternally galvanising  
radioactive booming eternal spring fields..  
Her, the force of Nature in the militarizing  
language of power & arrogance & lies..  
My passage through Her Elusive Darkness  
feels an echoing motherly wombing depth  
of an abyssal sanctum sanctorum.. in  
labouring pains of her embryonic freedom  
of a primordial sunning One ~ Singularity  
that no meddling divisive middle men of  
dubious sophistications & but with inner~ spiralling  
in heady~ toxic crowns of insane greediness  
will ever succeed in their nefarious plotting  
It’s Her Time. Ever Been . Then & Now & Forever.  
its SHE,  Births The Light of Truth.  BRAVE NEW WORLD  
Written by summultima (uma)
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(yet again, lately posted by few minz, dear hosts A&J.. if not as per comp. rules, consider it non-entry plz:)

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 20th Mar 2015
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Alrighty, CCComp Peeps.

Due to honest confusion regarding the time change in the USA, Uma's entries have qualified for this competition.

Please be patient as we continue with our assessments and subsequent honest critiques before awarding the Tropheees!

< A & J

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