They are like food for the soul. So, we were talking about soulmates, loneliness, fear…This week I want you to share your favorite poem. It can be in your language. I’m going to share my favorite poem, one of them of course. And you’re always welcome to return to this blog and share another poem. But if you have to single out one poem, what would it be?
I suggest you to post in English/Portugues/Françai/Espanol. But you can also post in your mother tongue. In this case, it will take more time to be moderated, because we need to translate to avoid spam.
Please feel free to put your favorite poem and share with other readers. I selected one Greek (in English) and one in Portugues. They are in the post # 1
Thank you!
Paulo
UPDATE: I am surprised with the quantity/quality of posts. Today I suggested a good friend in HP Printer Division consider publishing around 200 poems that are pubic domain. An anthology by popular vote! He is considering
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Journey of the Magi By T.S Eliot
A poem describing the Three Wise Men suffering the giving up of their previous world view when they embraced Christianity.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was birth certianly,
We had eveidence and no doubt. i had seen Birth and Death,
But thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our Death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here in the old
dispensation,
With an alien people clutching there Gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Love after Love by Derek Walcott
The time will come
When with elation
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror
And each will smile
At each others welcome
And say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the
Stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart to itself
To the stranger who has loved
You all of your life, whom
You ignored for another
Who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from
The book shelf, the photographs,
The desperate notes,
Peel your own image form the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your Life
Heya i am for the first time here. I came across this board and I in finding It really useful & it helped me out a lot. I’m hoping to give one thing again and aid others like you helped me.
i love this poem by William Butler Yeats
When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced among the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.
Considerably well executed blog
I am reading C.Milosz’s “The Collected Poems” and wanted to put this poem here.
Distance
At a certain distance I follow behind you, ashamed to come closer.
Though you have chosen me as a worker in your vineyard and I pressed the grapes of your wrath.
To every one according to his nature: what is crippled should not always be healed.
I do not even know whether one can be free, for I have toiled against my will.
Taken by the neck like a boy who kicks and bites
Till they sit him at the desk and order him to make letters,
I wanted to be like others but was given the bitterness of separation,
Believed I would be an equal among equals but woke up a stranger.
Looking at manners as if I arrived from a different time.
Guilty of apostasy from the communal rite.
There are so many who are good and just, those were rightly chosen.
And wherever you walk the earth, they accompany you.
Perhaps it is true that I loved you secretly
But without strong hope to be close to you as they are.
Good Morning Mr.Coelho, I always come back here as you see, here is Czeslaw Milosz, one of another Polish writers:)
Love by Czeslaw Milosz
Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills—
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn’t always understand.
Apenas leí este post, pensé en una canción que le escribieron a mi país, Venezuela. Es un poema precioso, cada vez que lo leo o la escucho se me aguan los ojos.
Venezuela
Llevo tu luz y tu aroma en mi piel
y el cuatro en mi corazón,
llevo en mi sangre la espuma del mar
y tu horizonte en mis ojos.
No envidio el vuelo ni el nido al turpial,
soy como el viento en la mies,
siento el caribe como una mujer
soy así que voy a hacer.
Soy desierto, selva, nieve y volcán
y al andar dejo mi estela,
el rumor del llano en una canción
que me desvela.
La mujer que quiero tiene que ser
corazón, fuego y espuela,
con la piel tostada como una flor
de Venezuela.
Con tu paisaje y mis sueños me iré
por esos mundos de Dios
y tus recuerdos al atardecer
me harán más corto el camino.
Entre tus playas quedó mi niñez
tendida al viento y al sol
y esa nostalgia que sube a mi voz
sin querer se hizo canción.
De los montes quiero la inmensidad
y del río la acuarela
y de ti los hijos que sembrarán
nuevas estrellas.
Y si un día tengo que naufragar
y el tifón rompe mis velas
enterrad mi cuerpo cerca del mar
en Venezuela.
Letra y Música: Pablo Herrero y José Luis Armentero.
Sea so blue
You and me like morning dew
I am morning the dew is you
Oh dear me, what am I to do
You so fresh and me so blue
Leaves of green in sky of blue
Aching apart all day through
Your eyes in mine do that too
You so green and me so blue
You with your female form imbue
The earth’s green creative hue
While mine is of the heavens true
You so alive and me so blue
So where can I meet you
Where both realities ring true
Together in a green blue hue
In the sea of you, sea so blue
Poetry is so hard to translate, that I will never attempt to do it. Poetry when translated can never reflect the true beauty of a poem. However I did find one translation of this poem by yet another of our poets that I want to post for you.
MY SONG (II)
by Cyprian Kamil Norwid
For that land where a scrap of bread is picked up
From the ground out of reverence
For Heaven’s gifts…
I am homesick, Lord!…
For the land where it’s a great travesty
To harm a stork’s nest in a pear tree,
For storks serve us all…
I am homesick, Lord!…
For the land where we greet each other
In the ancient Christian custom:
“May Christ’s name be praised!”
I am homesick, Lord!…
I long still for yet another thing, likewise innocent,
For I no longer know where to find
My abode…
I am homesick, Lord!
For worrying-not and thinking-not,
For those whose yes means yes — and no means no —
Without shades of grey…
I am homesick, Lord!
I long for that distant place, where someone cares for me!
It must be thus, though my friendship
Will never come to pass!…
I am homesick, Lord!
translated by Walter Whipple
Many beautiful poems here:) Thank you ALL for posting them:)
With love,
Barbara
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Three Oddest Words
When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.
When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.
When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no non-being can hold.
By Wislawa Szymborska
Translated by S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh
i love this poem by William Butler Yeats
When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced among the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.
Under One Small Star
by Wislawa Szymborska from “Poems New and Collected 1957-1997″
My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all.
Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minutes to those who cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at 5 am.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,
your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turned out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don’t pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can’t be each woman and each man.
I know I won’t be justified as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.
Unbound
I allowed my emotions
To discern the bliss of your affection
To sense the warmth of your caress
And be darkened by your tenderness
Unadulterated vow
Full of passionately rhymes
Plunged my fragile heart
To a melodious kind deceptions
Indeed, I became senseless,
Sightless and dazed
Adoration you presented
Ad infinitum you pledged
Then we parted,
Obscured from our memories
Grateful we are truly
For the truth that set us free
Letting go…
The face of you
Haunts me each day
Each passing moments
Each treasured nights
The sides of happiness
Lingers, nostalgic
Embracing our desires
Amidst our distance
Should I wait,
For a substitute
To end my agonies
And turn away my despair
Or should I set you free
Be happy with liberty
And open a new journey
For a countless tenderness
Being with somebody
The
Gauge of a good poem is
The size of the love-bruise it leaves
On your neck.
Or
The size of the love-bruise it can paint
On your brain.
Or
The size of the love-bruise it can weave
Into your soul.
Or indeed–
It could be all of the
Above.
-HAFIZ
(translated by Daniel Ladinsky)
Of course, I LoVe poetry, and I love many poems and poets, Wislawa is very special to me and I love “Nothing Twice” as much as “Possibilities”.
Possibilities
by Wislawa Szymborska
I prefer movies.
I prefer cats.
I prefer the oaks along the Warta.
I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
I prefer myself liking people
to myself loving mankind.
I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.
I prefer the color green.
I prefer not to maintain
that reason is to blame for everything.
I prefer exceptions.
I prefer to leave early.
I prefer talking to doctors about something else.
I prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.
I prefer the absurdity of writing poems
to the absurdity of not writing poems.
I prefer, where love’s concerned, nonspecific anniversaries
that can be celebrated every day.
I prefer moralists
who promise me nothing.
I prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.
I prefer the earth in civvies.
I prefer conquered to conquering countries.
I prefer having some reservations.
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimms’ fairy tales to the newspapers’ front pages.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
I prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
I prefer light eyes, since mine are dark.
I prefer desk drawers.
I prefer many things that I haven’t mentioned here
to many things I’ve also left unsaid.
I prefer zeroes on the loose
to those lined up behind a cipher.
I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.
I prefer to knock on wood.
I prefer not to ask how much longer and when.
I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility
that existence has its own reason for being.
I know it’s little long:)
I prefer to post it here
Than regreting that I haven’t.
With love,
Barbara
MIRROR
You have broken the mirror,
Look at your face but once
See how you look now
Do your eyes flash like they once did?
Or do you hesitate and turn away scared?
In this very mirror I saw a beauty
That was hard to believe,
I had asked with great pride
Can anyone be as beautiful as she?
There was nothing unique in the mirror
The beauty was there,it was there to see,
But the world had already discovered you
Only you had not made your own discovery.
And when you found yourself
Who knows why you broke the mirror,
This in itself was of no consequence
But why did you stop seeing your own reflection?
See yourself just once more
See now,how you appear.
-KAIFI AZMI
(translated by Pavan K Varma)
Hola Paulo.
George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron. 1788–1824
597. When we Two parted
WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 5
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow— 10
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken, 15
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me—
Why wert thou so dear? 20
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met— 25
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years, 30
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
In Response to a Question
The earth says have a place, be what that place
requires; hear the sound the birds imply
and see as deep as ridges go behind
each other. (some people call their scenery flat,
their only picture framed by what they know:
I think around them rise a riches and a loss
too equal for their chart–but absolutely tall.)
The earth says every summer have a ranch
that’s minimum: one tree, one well, a landscape
that proclaims a universe–sermon
of the hills, hallelujah mountain,
highway guided by the way the world is tilted,
reduplication of mirage, flat evening;
a kind of ritual for the wavering.
The earth says where you live wear the kind
of color that your life is (gray shirt for me)
and by listening with the same bowed head that sings
draw all into one song, join
the sparrow on the lawn, and row that easy
way, the rage without met by the wings
within that guide you anywhere the wind blows.
Listening, I think that’s what the earth says.
William Stafford
You raise me up
“When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,
Until you come and sit awhile with me.
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up: To more than I can be.
There is no life – no life without its hunger;
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;
But when you come and I am filled with wonder,
Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity.
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up: To more than I can be.”
Brendan Graham
I Remember
I remember a dress the color of sunflowers gently swaying to an enchanted melody; a floppy hat the color of fresh fallen snow and a small fragile hand cradling a little black missal being taken to Sunday Mass.
I remember longing to be the priest hearing her fervent confession and holding her meager sins in my ardent arms, while assigning only two Hail Mary’s to absolve her perceived offenses.
I remember her casual glance touching my spirit and turning my cold, cruel heart into an ember while a sweet feeling of contentment swept over me like the warm waves of the Caribbean.
I remember her slim waist and her hips that promised many offspring, while her legs in sheer stockings begged to be released from their confinement so that they could tenderly embrace my waist.
I remember she looked at me her eyes full of hope and dreams while I in my Sunday best held her hand while slipping a ring on her finger and hearing “I do.” Oh God how I remember.
Dear Carlos,
Your poems are so beautiful! Thank you for posting them here:)
Love
sheela
In Love with Love
When love calls then hides and sings
Youthful eyes can see its wings,
There is no doubt what love can bring,
How nice to be in love.
When deep affection swells your heart,
And yearning causes worries to depart,
When deep affection you impart,
How enchanting love can be.
When burning kisses light your way,
And passion fling your doubts away,
And moonlight walks are a bouquet
What a joy to be in love.
When one by one the vows are broken,
And doubts like secrets left unspoken,
And tenderness seems like a token,
Oh! How love can sting.
When the fealty and trust has faded,
And the frightful silence has invaded,
And the spoken word seems jaded,
Can we affort to Love?
SOMETHING
I did not hear the voice of faith,
That whispered in my ear.
My prayers were too loud,
And my soul just couldn’t hear.
I did not hear the voice of hope,
That cried inside my tortured heart.
For my mind was full of anger,
And my feelings were too tart.
Then someting crept inside of me,
And touch my vacant spaces.
My spirit felt it’s soothing presence,
And journeyed to uncharted places.
Nice poem Carlos
–
Because of our wisdom, we will travel
Far for love.
All movement is a sign of
Thirst.
Most speaking really says,
“I am hungry to know you.”
—
Because of Our Wisdom- Hafiz
(translated by Daniel Ladinsky)
ALL DAY I THINK ABOUT IT, THEN AT NIGHT I SAY IT.
WHERE DID I COME FROM, AND WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING?
MY SOUL IS FROM ELSEWHERE,
I’M SURE OF THAT,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began
in some other tavern.
When I get back around
to that place, I’ll be
completely sober. Meanwhile,
I’m like a bird from another
Continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
But who is it now in my ear,
who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip
of an answer, I could break out
of this prison for drunks.
I didn’t come here of my own accords,
and I can’t leave that away.
Whoever brought me here,
will have to take me home.
by:-Rumi
dard-e dil likhun kab tak,
jaun un ko dikhla dun
ungliyan figar apni,khama(h) khunchukan apna
For how long shall I write about
the anguish of the heart?
Instead,I should go and show her
My wounded fingers and the blood -dripping pen
(Ghalib-translated by Dr.Sarfaraz K.Niazi)
Ishq par zor nahin,
hai ye woh aatish,Ghalib,
Jo lagae na lage
aur bujhai na bane
There’s no rein on Love
It’s that fire,Ghalib
That you can’t either light
Or blow out at will
koi mere dil se puchche
tere teer-e neem-kash ko
ye khalish kahan se hoti
jo jigar ke paar hota
Ask not my heart
about your half-hearted shot
It would not have ached
had it traversed across.
(Ghalib-translated by Gulzar ji)
***
Love
sheela
Hello People! Just wanted to tell you that I got tickets to American Idols Live event on Aug 02nd. In this site you can find tickets for other dates too. It’s amazing their performance on stage, this is my second time and I’m still so excited about listening those guys live! On this page you can see the section where you’re buying the ticket, so it’s very recommended! Hope you can get yours!!
LETTRE OUVERTE AUX ARTISTES…
Dans le sombre ministère
De la nuit orageuse
Avancent, palefrenières
D’une cohorte hideuse,
D’un escadron tribal,
Les harpies colossales
Dont les pas Hitlérien
Seront chez nous demain.
Le mot d’ordre est donné
Et il est sans quartier :
« Haro sur les tyrans,
Les traitres aux mains de sang
Mais aussi sur les justes.
La guerre n’est pas auguste
C’est comme un couperet
Où même l’innocent paie ! »
A qui le privilège
Serra donc-il échu
D’arrêter ce cortège
De suie, de souffre nu
Armé pour un combat
Qui sonnera le glas
Et sans ultimatum
De la race faite homme ?
Pour crever le suaire
Qui menace notre terre,
Cette dernière réclame
Plus de conscience et d’âmes
Etincelles réunies,
Provenant de la sève
De voix qui se soulèvent
Dans la même harmonie.
Artistes, dans vos regards
Dans vos cœurs sans rempart,
Existe un chapiteau
Fait de flammes et d’émaux
Dont la lumière radieuse
Vaincra la fossoyeuse :
Musiques, Verbes, et Couleurs
Levez-vous, car c’est l’heure !
OPEN LETTER TO THE ARTISTS…
Advance stable girls
Of a hideous troop,
Of a tribal squadron,
The colossal harpies
Among which the Nazi steps
Will be tomorrow at home.
The watchword is given
And without district:
” Haro on the tyrants,
The traitors in the hands of blood,
But on the just men, too
The war is not august,
It looks like chopper,
Where even the innocent pays! ”
To whom the privilege
It will thus have fallen
To stop this procession
Of soot, of suffer nude
Armed for a fight
Which would sound the knell
Without an ultimatum
Of the made race man?
To burst the shroud
Threatening our earth
This one demands us
More consciousnesses and souls,
Gathered sparks,
Making sink the sap
In voice which lift up themselves
In the same harmony.
Artists, in your glances,
In your hearts without rampart,
A big top exists,
Fact of flames and enamels,
Of which the radiant light
Can overcome “fossoyeuses:”
Musics, Verbs, and Colors,
Get up, it is the hour!
I love all your poems Brigitte.
Thank you
SO BE ALWAYS IN LOVE
Always remember that hate begets hate and love begets love and vulnerability, as well.I choose to mention vulnerability here;for once in love, one becomes a thorough giver and once one becomes a giver,people may ask for his forgiveness for every folly and wrong doing on their part. At times they may even as for his soul. But the mere act of reaching out to that soul may turn themselves into givers and such is the power of soul so full of love. SO BE ALWAYS IN LOVE.
Hello :) What an amazing poem, you are a great writer!!
SO LONG…
by KEI
my head is out.
my heart–it was here before..
i used to feel it was here–
the smile, the look, the clandestine desire..
the place, the time..i wouldn’t mind.
but they haunt me..
taking me back to the days…to the nights.
ecstatic chance..
oh, chance!
a six-letter word that i wish did not fade in my own presence.
it was supposed to be taking me back there–
there where we frenzied under the night sky..
there where the jilted souls found each other–
where my head trip came into senses..
tripping beyond the lonely stars.
why too soon?
you asked me why goodbye?
you should have known, just, oh, why..
time: abbreviated. chance: atomic.
my heart is out..
i could whine but you wouldn’t hear it–
of all the things i never wished to lose–
don’t say a word. please.
i hate to see you.
i don’t wanna hope for another fall,
i don’t wanna miss you when i don’t see you.
i don’t wanna lose myself for wanting you back.
i know i couldn’t get you back..
yeah, we couldn’t get back..get back..get back..
but i should start hugging goodbye,
kiss the pain of losing you..
love the fact that we, are gone.
“A vingt ans on reve de conquerir le monde.
A trente ans on construit sa vie.
A quarante ans son destin se realise.
A cinquante ans la reussite est au rendez-vous.
A soixante ans on recolte les fruits de son travail.
A soixante dix ans on profite des loisirs.
A quatre vingts ans on decouvre l’harmonie de chaque journee.
A quatre vingt dix ans la vie reprend toute sa valeur et on attend de feter ses cent ans.”
ecrit par une dame qui va bientot feter ses cent ans.
Hmmmmm true!!!! very true!!!!
I really liked the way you have expressed it. I am very poor with words, always grope for the right words to express certain things. But i really liked this extract of your mind and also have copied the same and updated it as a note in facebook in my profile (I am sorry for that, i hope you won’t mind).
Take care!!!
Harsh Singhal
el amor es un sentimiento que no se puede explicar pero si sentir y cuandoen verdad logras sentirlo es idescriptible pareciera que el amor de dios es eso solo sentirlo y dejarse amar y sobretodo hacerse merecedor de el quiza algun dia pueda yo sentirme de esa manera
poème à la fin du film “la tête en friche”
C’est une rencontre par ordinaire entre amour et tendresse
Elle avait pas d’autre adresse
Elle avait un nom de fleurs
Elle vivait au milieu des mots, des adjectifs qui réparent les tiffs
Des verbes qui poussent comme des herbes.
Y en a qui passent en force
Elle est passée en douceur
de mon écorce à mon coeur
Dans les histoire d’amour, y a pas que d’l'amour
Parfois, y a même pas de “je t’aime”
Pourtant on s’aime.
C’est une rencontre pas ordinaire.
Je l’ai trouvée par hasard
sur un banc de mon square
Elle faisait pas trop d’écume
Pas plus grosse qu’une colombe avec ses petites plumes.
Elle était au milieu des noms communs
Elle m’a donné un livre puis deux
Des pages qui m’ont éclaté devant les yeux
Meures pas maintenant, t’as le temps
C’est pas l’heure ma petite fleur
Donnes moi encore un peu de toi
Donnes moi encore un peu de ta vie…
attends…
Y en a qui passent en force,
Elle est passée en douceur
De mon écorce à mon coeur
Dans les histoires d’amour,
y a pas toujours que d’lamour…
Parfois, y a même pas de “je t’aime” .
Whenever
I draw
The caricature
Of my own desire
It frowns at me
And cries
Mostly treading
The path of
Disillusionment
And with intentions
So flagrant
Carrying the weight of
It’s own identity
So rigid
And fragile
And I have
Often found it
Submerged in
The chimera
Of it’s own satire
And so often
Have found it
Trying to stand erect
On a quagmire
It has a face
So full of scars
And with
Been there
Seen all attitude
It derides me
With a plea
To erase it
A bit
Each day
Dear Nandni that’s a good one from Kaifi Azmi.I am waitng for your poems. please post one soon.
Regards and love
“Yet I Am Thirsty”
The ocean
Of my tears
Is so near
Yet I am
Thirsty
The mile stone
Heralding the
Proximity
To my destination
Is in
Close vicinity
Yet I am
A nomadic
And existence
Offers me
With
Ingenuousness
Yet I am
Skeptic
Some times
I wonder
If I will stay
For a while
Or simply
Wither away
Into oblivion
And will
Never be able to
Revisit
All the things
Those were
Once upon a time
Entirely mine
My breathing space
And my moment
In time
Epitome
Of my being
Bearing
The testimony of
My joy
My sorrows
My tavern
And my shrine
Sunil Jugran April 22 at 12:04am
“Dedicated To Good Friday”
If you were to sing
Sing as if
It was
Your Swan Song
Draw to a close
Today
And never prolong
Live as if
It is
Your last day
Eat as if
It is
Your last meal
And deal as if
It is
Your last deal
Be bold
And behold
Then
My dear friends
You will have
No compunction
In the future
That awaits
It may be
A bright sunny morning
Or it may be
A cloudy day
But pray
And just pray
For you are
Still here
While good shepherd is
Taking good care
Of you
And of every thing
Around you
The invisible hands
Of Good Samaritan
Are always raised
To bless you
And to consecrate
An abstract conversation
The telephone was still ringing
But, I know it was not you,
You are so departed.
Castle in the sky
In the vicinity of spirit
was singing a song.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you were here With me on a road
having the shared chocolates,
Weaving a trance of marriage.
A desired, elongated jouney of togetherness
was creating a true dependence,
Bliss full solitude of adore.
If you were here
With me in a ball dance,
My weary head
Would find its destination,
For the first and last time
You had told a lie, that….
Your shoulder was not bushed enough.
If you were here
With me in my farewell party,
making a new launch of duty,
A life of rest, a life of serenity.
A life of Painting, a life of colours.
A voyage of a new honeymoon,
You and I, rising in love again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The departed you are still within me,
Telling me, “I love you!”
Unpaid promises are still to be reserved
The dreams will be in veracity,
But, the telephone was still ringing
And I know it was not you.
Dear PAULAMI i am speechless what words what expressions you are a poetess indeed–god bless you and keep it up
“Often Seen Is”
Using acronym
For names
And with
Still missing
Addendum
Displaying claims
To his fame
While
Moving from conformist
To a maverick
And denying
The very existence of
Ecstasy and hope
Amidst
Transient delight
Often seen is
The man
Carrying
The weight of
His own idealism
Never in a day have we never held each other’s arms…
Never in a day have we lose hope and gaze forward towards tomorrow…
Never in a day have we never laughed.
Never in a day have we never forgotten to communicate
because no words can explain best how much we love each other.
Never will I let go of your hand
never will I lose sight on us
Never will I weep…
Never will I fail you…
Because never will I say never on us.
Never will I say never!
Never will I regret having you
never will I neglect my responsibility
never will I find another you
because I am happy and contented spending each day w/ you.
Cross-Road
Perplex in this world of unlimited desire,
We seek answers of what may transpire.
In this difficult and complex set of circumstances,
Confusions loom on the course of all acceptances.
How is one to choose the right path?
Or one, just lie there on the cross road choosing not?
This known moral question in life,
A forced notion to seek a certain type.
In this burdened world we walk into the dark.,
Thinking we make the routes as we go along.
Some are acts of your own doing;
Other, being reactions of an outcome.
A cocktail of action and reaction blending in a bowl
How we think, we have done the best of all.
But then again,
May be there are no choices, no dilemma,
We just walk ignorant into what is already written.
——————————————————
Something I wrote a while back… I believe man wastes too much time thinking how to control his own life.. instead of just living it with al its glory…
Hello Shiv, your nice poem reminded me of one of my own on the same subject, love, Bout
Crossroads
Wherever I may roam in the kingdom
of my mind, wherever I keep looking for
some music resonating, wherever on
my way I meet the crossroads yet again,
in doubt of paths to choose, it is you I
turn to, and silence then is overwhelming,
still I am carried, and to my wings your
breath is life supporting, even in deepest
darkness your lighthouse penetrates and
should it be the sun revoked its rays,
or oceans’ waves were nevermore to
kiss the sandy beach, I know a harbour
there, beyond all words there is your
kingdom, beyond my dreams there is
your answer: wherever you may roam
be welcome here.
Love…have I ever been in love, you might say that. Horrible,isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable it opens ur chest n opens ur heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess u up. U build up all these defenses nd build up tis armor for years so that noone can hurt u, then one stupid person , no different frm any other stupid person, wanders into ur stupid life. U give them a piece of you. They don’t ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you or smile at u and then your life isn’t yours anymore! Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats u out & leaves u crying in d darkness. So sometimes a simple phrase like “maybe we should jus be friends” or “how very perceptive” turns into a glass splinter working its way inside ur heart. How picturesque! It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. Its a soul-hurt, a body-hurt a real gets-inside-u-and-rips-u-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially love.
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