Bones in the desert
Where pilgrims seek the Prophet's tomb
Across the Arabian waste,
Upon the ever-shifting sands,
A fearful path is traced.
Far up to the horizon's verge,
The traveller sees it rise, --
The line of ghastly bones that bleach
Beneath those burning skies.
Across it, tempest and simoom
The desert sands have strewed,
But still that line of spectral white
Forever is renewed.
For while along that burning track,
The caravans move on,
Still do the way-worn pilgrims fall,
Ere yet the shrine be won.
There the tired camel lays him down
And shuts his gentle eyes;
And there the fiery rider droops,
Toward Mecca looks and dies.
They fall unheeded from the ranks: --
On sweeps the endless train,
But there, to mark the desert path,
Their whitening bones remain.
And thus I read the mournful tale,
Upon the traveller's page,
I thought how like the march of life
Is this sad pilgrimage.
For every heart hath some fair dream,
Some object unattained,
And far off in the distance lies
Some Mecca to be gained.
But beauty, manhood, love and power
Go in their morning down,
And longing eyes and outstretched arms,
Tell of the goal unwon.
The mighty caravan of life
Above their dust may sweep,
Nor shout, nor trampling feet shall break
The rest of those who sleep.
Oh! fountains that I have not reached,
That gush far off e'en now,
When shall I quench my spirit's thirst
Where your sweet waters flow.
Oh! Mecca of my life-long dreams,
Cloud palaces that rise
In that far distance, pierced by hope,
When will ye greet mine eyes.
The shadows lengthen toward the East
From the declining sun,
And the pilgrim, as ye still recede,
Sighs for the journey done.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
The Maker
(daniel lanois)
Oh, oh deep water, black and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open
Ive run a twisted line
Im a stranger in the eyes of the maker
I could not see for the fog in my eyes
I could not feel for the fear in my life
From across the great divide, in the distance I saw a light
Of jean baptistes hes walking to me with the maker
My body my body is bent and broken by long and dangerous sleep
I cant work the fields of abraham and turn my head away
Im not a stranger in the hands of the maker
Brother john, have you seen the homeless daughters
Standing there with broken wings
I have seen the flaming swords
There over east of eden
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Oh, river rise from your sleep
Oh, river rise from your sleep
Oh, river rise from your sleep
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Spirit of Rumi-39-The Desert
As the cool dawn brings the light
to the desert where the blue-white sky
meets the sand that time and man have brought,
and you wake the camel boy
to lead the camels from the waterside –
before you mount the lurching beast
and sway off into the desert on your path,
the camel-bells tinkling on the harness,
look into the camel’s eyes.
There you will see mingled,
pride in its being; patience in its duty.
The wise men say that God is found
where opposites meet and are resolved.
Proud in its being, patient in its duty –
no great wonder, then, that the camel
has been chosen of God to take you
across the desert of your destiny in faith and trust;
for in the world of metaphor, where man meets God
in the mind’s own language,
the camel is your body; dutiful proud servant
for the journey you must take; your company
for the length of time that journey takes.
So, traveller, when you reach the green and cool oasis
at the ending of the day’s sufficient journey -
first tie your camel by the waters of refreshment
before you kneel; for food; for prayer; then
resting in the bright-eyed company;
the eyes of those who scan the round horizon as they ride
and wonder always, what oasis lies beyond.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Maker
Oh, Oh Deep water
Black, and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open
I've run a twisted mile
I'm a stranger
in the eyes of the maker
I could not see
for fog in my eyes
I could not feel
for the fear in my life
From across the great divide
In the distance i saw a light
Jean baptiste
walking to me with the maker
My body is bent and broken
by long and dangerous sleep
I can work the fields of abraham
and turn my head away
I'm not a stranger
in the hands of the maker
Brother john
Have you seen the homeless daughters
standing there
with broken dreams
I have seen the flaming swords
there over east of eden
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
oh river rise from your sleep
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Crooked Stick
First Traveller: What's that lying in the dust?
Second Traveller: A crooked stick.
First Traveller: What's it worth, if you can trust to arithmetic?
Second Traveller: Isn't this a riddle?
First Traveller: No, a trick.
Second Traveller:It's worthless, leave it where it lies.
First Traveller: Wait; count ten;
Rub a little dust upon your eyes;
Now, look again.
Second Traveller: Well, and what the devil is it, then?
First Traveller: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know.
Second Traveller: Someone's loss!
First Traveller: Bend it, and you make of it a bow.
Break it, a cross.
Second Traveller: But it's all grown over with moss!
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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The hajjis go to Mecca
The hajjis go to Mecca.
My beloved Ranjha is my Mecca.
Yes, I am crazy!
I am wedded to Ranjha.
Still my father pushes me.
Yes, I am crazy!
The hajjis go to Mecca
My bridegroom, within me, is my Mecca.
Yes, I am crazy!
Hajjis and ghazis both lie within us,
Thieves and pickpockets too.
Yes, I am crazy!
The Hajjis go to Mecca
But I am going to Takht Hazara.
Yes, I am crazy!
Wherever is your beloved, there lies Kaaba,
Though you search the four books.
Yes, I am crazy!
poem by Bulleh Shah
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The Desert Wind
I went with happy heart (how happy!) a while since
Behind my camel flocks,
Piping all day where the Nile pastures end
And the white sand begins
Among the rocks.
The wheeling eagles mocked me high there from the skies,
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
I saw a lady pass, (what lady?) none could tell,
Nor of her tribe nor race,
Of Roum or Franjistan or Fars or Hind;
None knew. But I knew well
That her sweet face
Had blossomed first within the gates of Paradise.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
Within a tasselled frame, rich wrought, she sat and sang
A song of love so sweet,
That beast and bird and serpent came behind,
And lizard with shut fang
And faltering feet.
My flocks strayed after them, and I who heard likewise.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
Upon a camel tall (how tall!) she rode by me
Enrobed in white and red,
And veiled to her bright eyes in bands that bind
But hide not all souls see;
And on her head
A crown entwined of wool with gold and various dyes.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
Out to the wilderness, all day, we followed her.
By winding paths untrod,
O'er rock and plain none knew nor I could find,
Although my home was there;
And still we rode.
The creatures tired and stopped; but I went on with sighs.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
We came to a deep pool (how deep!) I knew of none
In all that land accursed,
A pool of waters clear with white shells lined,
And there we lighted down
And suaged our thirst,
And bathed our weary limbs, we two without disguise.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
Upon the brink we sat (ah me!) alone, we two,
In that fair empty place.
I kissed her hands and told her all my mind,
And dared her grace to sue,
Her utter grace.
And she with smiles said ``yea'' to my too blest surprise.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
Ah me, that night of stars, those bridal stars of heaven!
Ah me, those eyes of hers,
So sweet, so near, of that same starry kind,
Which drank their light ungiven,
(Poor blinded stars!)
And left them dark as they have left me wise.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
How shall I tell it? All three months of happy love
I lived with her, blest queen,
Fed on sole joy and what God's care might send
Of milk and treasure--trove
Of sorrels green,
And roots and tubers fine and samh which we made prize.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
Since when I search the Earth (sad Earth!) in vain to win
Once more her wondrous voice,
Which led me forth to doom and left me blind,
Bereft of flocks and kin
And homely joys,
Of wife and children's love and to behold the skies.
The red blast of the desert wind
Hath seared mine eyes.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Great Grey Plain
Out West, where the stars are brightest,
Where the scorching north wind blows,
And the bones of the dead gleam whitest,
And the sun on a desert glows --
Yet within the selfish kingdom
Where man starves man for gain,
Where white men tramp for existence --
Wide lies the Great Grey Plain.
No break in its awful horizon,
No blur in the dazzling haze,
Save where by the bordering timber
The fierce, white heat-waves blaze,
And out where the tank-heap rises
Or looms when the sunlights wane,
Till it seems like a distant mountain
Low down on the Great Grey Plain.
No sign of a stream or fountain,
No spring on its dry, hot breast,
No shade from the blazing noontide
Where a weary man might rest.
Whole years go by when the glowing
Sky never clouds for rain --
Only the shrubs of the desert
Grow on the Great Grey Plain.
From the camp, while the rich man's dreaming,
Come the `traveller' and his mate,
In the ghastly dawnlight seeming
Like a swagman's ghost out late;
And the horseman blurs in the distance,
While still the stars remain,
A low, faint dust-cloud haunting
His track on the Great Grey Plain.
And all day long from before them
The mirage smokes away --
That daylight ghost of an ocean
Creeps close behind all day
With an evil, snake-like motion,
As the waves of a madman's brain:
'Tis a phantom NOT like water
Out there on the Great Grey Plain.
There's a run on the Western limit
Where a man lives like a beast,
And a shanty in the mulga
That stretches to the East;
And the hopeless men who carry
Their swags and tramp in pain --
The footmen must not tarry
Out there on the Great Grey Plain.
Out West, where the stars are brightest,
Where the scorching north wind blows,
And the bones of the dead seem whitest,
And the sun on a desert glows --
Out back in the hungry distance
That brave hearts dare in vain --
Where beggars tramp for existence --
There lies the Great Grey Plain.
'Tis a desert not more barren
Than the Great Grey Plain of years,
Where a fierce fire burns the hearts of men --
Dries up the fount of tears:
Where the victims of a greed insane
Are crushed in a hell-born strife --
Where the souls of a race are murdered
On the Great Grey Plain of Life!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Desert Plains
Full moon is rising
The sky is black
I need your call Im coming back
The road is straight cast
Winds in my eyes
The engine roars between my thighs
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
Wild mountain thunder
Echoes my quest
My body aches but Ill not rest
Quartz light to guide me
Till sunrise leads
My passion screams, my heart it bleeds
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
Then in the distance
I see you stand
On the horizon you raise your hand
In burning rubber
I end my quest
You fall into my arms at last
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Path
There is no turning back from this unending path of mine
Serpentine and black it stands before my eyes
To hell
and back it will lead me once more
It's all i have as i stumble in and out of grace
I walk through the gardens of dying
light
And cross all the rivers deep and dark as the night
Searching for a reason why time would've passed us by
With
every step i take the less i know myself
Every vow i break on my way towards your heart
Countless times i've prayed for
forgiveness
But gods just laugh at my face
And this path remains
Leading me into solitude's arms
I see through the
darkness my way back home
The journey seems endless but i'll carry on
The shadows will rise and they will fall
And our
night drowns in dawn
Amidst all tears there's a smile
That all angels greet with an envious song
One look into stranger's
eyes and i know where i belong
And the path goes on...
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bullroarer
In the desert in the dry
Before the breaking of the rain
The temperature in the shade
Had reached a hundred and ten again
In the desert in the dry
On the overland telegraph line
Dont take the law into your own hands
Dont go looking for a fight
Ive heard the bullroarers
In the desert in the dry
Sun sits so high
Long days mile and the
Radio crackles and the bones bleached white
Its a knock-em-down storm
See the tin roof shake
Wild dog howls and the long grass
Whistles and the tall trees break
Ive seen the wild horses
Ive heard the bullroarers
Ive seen the wild horses
Shifting sands and broken plans
Lead me on to my homeland
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Most Sweet it is
. Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way,
Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,
The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Lost legion for Friend Thad
The earth beneath the desert sun is baked to shades of brown and dun.
A sea of sand which ceaselessly moves with wind uneasily.
The land marks here are far and few but known by those belonging to the nomad bands who freely roam this sea of sand and call it home.
A people fierce and proud and free who guard their secrets ruthlessly.
Intruders are not welcome here; invaders simply disappear.
Their fate is very seldom known, the desert can protect its own
Whole Roman legions were erased their resting place cannot be traced.
The desert knows but will not speak some bones are found by those who seek
to solve the ancient mysteries. Perhaps rewrite the histories.
To validate their theories of how an army disappears.
without a clues as to their fate. A subject open to debate.
The desert sands move constantly, sometimes revealing teasingly
bleached bones and weapons on the sand which scholars strive to understand.
Does it matter anyway? Why do we seek to know today
what happened to the lost legion. Although the legend lingers on.
The desert will not satisfy our burning curiosity
The desert knows but will not share the scholars find this hard to bear.
The desert lands conceal with ease volumes of untold histories.
Which earnest scholars yearn to read, perhaps one day they will succeed.
But until then the burning sun will bake the earth to brown and dun
Maintaining its long secrecy in brooding silent dignity.
30-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Great and Little Weavers
The great and the little weavers,
They neither rest nor sleep.
They work in the height and the glory,
They toil in the dark and the deep.
The rainbow melts with the shower,
The white-thorn falls in the gust,
The cloud-rose dies into shadow,
The earth-rose dies into dust.
But they have not faded forever,
They have not flowered in vain,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the rain.
Recede the drums of the thunder
When the Titan chorus tires,
And the bird-song piercing the sunset
Faints with the sunset fires,
But the trump of the storm shall fail not,
Nor the flute-cry fail of the thrush,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the hush.
The comet flares into darkness,
The flame dissolves into death,
The power of the star and the dew
They glow and are gone like a breath,
But ere the old wonder is done
Is the new-old wonder begun,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the sun.
The domes of an empire crumble,
A child's hope dies in tears;
Time rolls them away forgotten
In the silt of the flooding years;
The creed for which men died smiling
Decays to a beldame's curse;
The love that made lips immortal
Drags by in a tattered hearse.
But not till the search of the moon
Sees the last white face uplift,
And over the bones of the kindreds
The bare sands dredge and drift,
Shall Love forget to return
And lift the unused latch,
(In his eyes the look of the traveller,
On his lips the foreign catch),
Nor the mad song leave men cold,
Nor the high dream summon in vain, --
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving in heart and brain.
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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God, I Am Weary
tired...
and frustrated,
walking through
endless sands...
no path ahead,
and the wind removes
all traces behind.
god, i am weary...
this body is worn,
these eyes fade.
and the songs i sing
in the desert night,
haunt the distance with sadness.
Lover, where are you?
i've forgotten your face!
even the smell of your perfume,
fades in the darkness.
the trees are weeping,
even the moon sheds a tear.
as the small fire i built
fades down to embers!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You March On
You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.
Look back, never, even by mistake
forget, never, the hardships you bore
guide, will be your past deeds of life,
full of pangs on the bed of stake
What holds destiny?
Not to worry?
............Just march on, march on, march on.
Adversities make you a fast learner
Desires are snakes, so be a shirker
search the deep sea to find a pearl
get to the shore, while facing the whirl
Think never to be feeble & meek
deliver everyone from the misdeeds
while truth you seek
clear all hurdles regaining your strength
you will reach the destination
march on...march on....march on.
Carve out your name on the horizon
as your stars are on the ascendant
work towards the goal night and day
be illuminated in such a way
sluggish should appear the milky way
You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Compensations
Not with a flash that rends the blue
Shall fall the avenging sword.
Gently as the evening dew
Descends the mighty Lord.
His dreadful balances are made
To move with moon and tide;
Yet shall not mercy be afraid
Nor justice be denied.
The dreams that seemed to waste away,
The kindliness forgot,
Were singing in your heart today
Although you knew them not.
The sun shall not forget his road,
Nor the high stars their rhyme,
The traveller with the heavier load
Has one less hill to climb.
And, though a darker shadow fall
On every struggling age,
How shall it be if, after all,
He share our pilgrimage?
The end we mourn is not the end.
The dust has nimble wings.
But truth and beauty have a friend
At the deep heart of things.
He will not speak? What friend belies
His love with idle breath?
We read it in each others' eyes,
And ask no more in death.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Path
There is no turning back from this unending path of mine
Serpent turning back it stands before my eyes
To hell and back it will lead me once more
Its all I have as I stumble in and out of grace
I walk through the gardens of dying lights
And cross over rivers deep and dark as the night
Searching for reasons why time passes by
With every step I take the less I know myself
And every vow I break on my way towards your heart
Countless times Ive prayed for forgiveness
But God just laughed at my face
And this path remains
Leading me into solitude zones
I seek through the darkness my way back home
The journey seems endless but Ill carry on
The shadows will rise and day will fall
And a night turns in dawn
And after the tears this smile all angels grieve with an envious song
When looking into strangers eyes
And I know where I belong
I walk through the gardens of dying lights
And cross over rivers deep and dark as the night
Searching for reasons why time passes by
I seek through the darkness my way back home
The journey seems endless but Ill carry on
The shadows will rise and day will fall
And a night turns in dawn
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holy River
Washed in the Holy River, purified by faith,
Darkness calls but is seen dead like a wraith,
Your spirit, enlivened by the Holy Dove,
Desert wastelands beckon, calling to your love,
Fountains of JOY bubbling beneath the surface,
You remain FREE from the devils furnace,
Your life a prayer mastered,
Your fathers call is answered!
In your eyes I see my souls reflection,
Breathe the spirit of souls redemption.
Your heart and mind are at one,
It seems your work is never done.
Forgiveness feeds your soul,
Your Love and peace make us whole,
Spirit cleansed to perfection,
We dream of your selection,
Fountains of JOY bubbling beneath the surface,
You remain FREE from the devils furnace,
Your life a prayer mastered,
Your fathers call is answered!
When the waters lie still at night,
Under a sliver of moon we see your light,
Giving us hope to rise up, never give in,
We defend our right to end all sin.
April 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Faded Words Among the Footprints
Mystic beneath the moonlight beckons
Forever humbled at my feet
The shooting star that rises in the heavens
To only fall upon the light of flint and bone
To break away the burdens of the flesh
Within the light of Heaven's soul
Am I forever humbled by the swaying in the breeze
As the lonesome traveller
Comes to pass amongst us in the trees?
For now the light has faded
Beneath the beat of Heaven's wings
The sound of angels singing
Within the depths of my very heart
As the tears fall from the heavens
Will my soul be swept away?
In the distance there's a beacon
That lights the passage of my way
Only in the shadow shall I wait
For the light of the rising day
Swept away by life's sweet sorrow
Beneath the light of Heaven cleft
Where I wait within the light of gentle slumber
Where the footprints leave no mark
Be still my beating heart for I am forever humbled
By the light within my soul
poem by Darryn John Murphy
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The caravan of sleep
The caravan of sleep waits outdoor
My eyes are already red
They see without despite themselves
The caravan calls me
My eyes are closed
Now I am a captive
The caravan carries me off along the silk road
Now I am crossing the desert of Taklamakan
There are no birds in the skies
There is no trace of life on the earth
Sand sand and sand
Sand sand and sand everywhere
The same sight everywhere
And there is no longer any north or south, east or west
The devils of heat gambol here
preying on whatever life could be there
Oh God! Rescue me from sleep
I donot want to go to China any more
I donot have any longing for silk
I donot want to visit the kingdom of Emperor Wu
who is efficient but cruel
I want to alight from the caravan
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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