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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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)

I prefer to post it here
Than regreting that I haven’t.

With love,
Barbara

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.

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)

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.

Your poems are so beautiful! Thank you for posting them here:)

Love
sheela

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

“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 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.

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?

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.

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)

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