Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis
I
Plague take all your pedants, say I!
He who wrote what I hold in my hand,
Centuries back was so good as to die,
Leaving this rubbish to cumber the land;
This, that was a book in its time,
Printed on paper and bound in leather,
Last month in the white of a matin-prime
Just when the birds sang all together.
II
Into the garden I brought it to read,
And under the arbute and laurustine
Read it, so help me grace in my need,
From title-page to closing line.
Chapter on chapter did I count,
As a curious traveller counts Stonehenge;
Added up the mortal amount;
And then proceeded to my revenge.
III
Yonder's a plum-tree with a crevice
An owl would build in, were he but sage;
For a lap of moss, like a fine pont-levis
In a castle of the Middle Age,
Joins to a lip of gum, pure amber;
When he'd be private, there might he spend
Hours alone in his lady's chamber:
Into this crevice I dropped our friend.
IV
Splash, went he, as under he ducked,
—At the bottom, I knew, rain-drippings stagnate:
Next, a handful of blosoms I plucked
To bury him with, my bookshelf's magnate;
Then I went in-doors, brought out a loaf,
Half a cheese, and a bottle of CHablis;
Lay on the grass and forgot the oaf
Over a jolly chapter of Rabelais.
V
Now, this morning, betwixt the moss
And gum that locked our friend in limbo,
A spider had spun his web across,
And sat in the midst with arms akimbo:
So, I took pity, for learning's sake,
And, de profundis, accentibus lætis,
Cantate! quoth I, as I got a rake;
And up I fished his delectable treatise.
VI
Here you have it, dry in the sun,
With all the binding all of a blister,
And great blue spots where the ink has run,
And reddish streaks that wink and glister
O'er the page so beautifully yellow:
Oh, well have the droppings played their tricks!
Did he guess how toadstools grow, this fellow?
Here's one stuck in his chapter six!
VII
How did he like it when the live creatures
Tickled and toused and browsed him all over,
And worm, slug, eft, with serious features,
Came in, each one, for his right of trover?
—When the water-beetle with great blind deaf face
Made of her eggs the stately deposit
And the newt borrowewd just so much of the preface
As tiled in the top of his black wife's closet?
VIII
All that life and fun and romping
All that frisking and twisting and coupling,
While slowly our poor friend's leaves were swamping
And clasps were cracking and covers suppling!
As if you had carried sour John Knox
To the play-house at Paris, Vienna or Munich,
Fastened him into a front-row box,
And danced off the ballet with trousers and tunic.
IX
Come, old martyr! What torment enough is it?
Back to my room shall you take your sweet self.
Good-bye, mother-beetle; husband-eft sufficit!
See the snug niche I have made on my shelf!
A.'s book shall prop you up, B.'s shall cover you,
Here's C. to be grave with, or D. to be Gay,
And with E. on each side, and F. right over you,
Dry-rot at ease till the Judgment-day!
poem by Robert Browning from Garden Fancies (1845)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Garden Francies
I. THE FLOWER'S NAME
Here's the garden she walked across,
Arm in my arm, such a short while since:
Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss
Hinders the hinges and makes them wince!
She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,
As back with that murmur the wicket swung;
For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned,
To feed and forget it the leaves among.
II.
Down this side ofthe gravel-walk
She went while her rope's edge brushed the box:
And here she paused in her gracious talk
To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox.
Roses, ranged in valiant row,
I will never think that she passed you by!
She loves you noble roses, I know;
But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie!
III.
This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,
Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim;
Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip,
Its soft meandering Spanish name:
What a name! Was it love or praise?
Speech half-asleep or song half-awake?
I must learn Spanish, one of these days,
Only for that slow sweet name's sake.
IV.
Roses, if I live and do well,
I may bring her, one of these days,
To fix you fast with as fine a spell,
Fit you each with his Spanish phrase;
But do not detain me now; for she lingers
There, like sunshine over the ground,
And ever I see her soft white fingers
Searching after the bud she found.
V.
Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not,
Stay as you are and be loved for ever!
Bud, if I kiss you 'tis that you blow not:
Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never!
For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle,
Twinkling the audacious leaves between,
Till round they turn and down they nestle---
Is not the dear mark still to be seen?
VI.
Where I find her not, beauties vanish;
Whither I follow ber, beauties flee;
Is there no method to tell her in Spanish
June's twice June since she breathed it with me?
Come, bud, show me the least of her traces,
Treasure my lady's lightest footfall!
---Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces---
Roses, you are not so fair after all!
II. SIBRANDUS SCHAFNABURGENSIS.
Plague take all your pedants, say I!
He who wrote what I hold in my hand,
Centuries back was so good as to die,
Leaving this rubbish to cumber the land;
This, that was a book in its time,
Printed on paper and bound in leather,
Last month in the white of a matin-prime
Just when the birds sang all together.
II.
Into the garden I brought it to read,
And under the arbute and laurustine
Read it, so help me grace in my need,
From title-page to closing line.
Chapter on chapter did I count,
As a curious traveller counts Stonehenge;
Added up the mortal amount;
And then proceeded to my revenge.
III.
Yonder's a plum-tree with a crevice
An owl would build in, were he but sage;
For a lap of moss, like a fine pont-levis
In a castle of the Middle Age,
Joins to a lip of gum, pure amber;
When he'd be private, there might he spend
Hours alone in his lady's chamber:
Into this crevice I dropped our friend.
IV.
Splash, went he, as under he ducked,
---At the bottom, I knew, rain-drippings stagnate:
Next, a handful of blossoms I plucked
To bury him with, my bookshelf's magnate;
Then I went in-doors, brought out a loaf,
Half a cheese, and a bottle of Chablis;
Lay on the grass and forgot the oaf
Over a jolly chapter of Rabelais.
V.
Now, this morning, betwixt the moss
And gum that locked our friend in limbo,
A spider had spun his web across,
And sat in the midst with arms akimbo:
So, I took pity, for learning's sake,
And, _de profundis, accentibus ltis,
Cantate!_ quoth I, as I got a rake;
And up I fished his delectable treatise.
VI.
Here you have it, dry in the sun,
With all the binding all of a blister,
And great blue spots where the ink has run,
And reddish streaks that wink and glister
O'er the page so beautifully yellow:
Oh, well have the droppings played their tricks!
Did he guess how toadstools grow, this fellow?
Here's one stuck in his chapter six!
VII.
How did he like it when the live creatures
Tickled and toused and browsed him all over,
And worm, slug, eft, with serious features,
Came in, each one, for his right of trover?
---When the water-beetle with great blind deaf face
Made of her eggs the stately deposit,
And the newt borrowed just so much of the preface
As tiled in the top of his black wife's closet?
VIII.
All that life and fun and romping,
All that frisking and twisting and coupling,
While slowly our poor friend's leaves were swamping
And clasps were cracking and covers suppling!
As if you bad carried sour John Knox
To the play-house at Paris, Vienna or Munich,
Fastened him into a front-row box,
And danced off the ballet with trousers and tunic.
IX.
Come, old martyr! What, torment enough is it?
Back to my room shall you take your sweet self.
Good-bye, mother-beetle; husband-eft, _sufficit!_
See the snug niche I have made on my shelf!
A.'s book shall prop you up, B.'s shall cover you,
Here's C. to be grave with, or D. to be gay,
And with E. on each side, and F. right over you,
Dry-rot at ease till the Judgment-day!
poem by Robert Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Married Man's A Fool
(Willie McTell)
Had a friend, Louie Brown, he was a deacon
Just as wise as he could be
Now I realized he could read the Good Book
Back from Revelations down to Genesis
You know last Sunday morning we was over to the church
My buddy wants to take him a stand
And he looks out upon that whole congregation
The Good Book in his hand
Now he cast his eye about, and then he looks over in the Amen Corner
All the sisters commenced to shout [What'd he say ?]
He said a married man's a fool to think that his wife love nobody else but him
She stick by you all your life the chances is mighty slim
Now you read the Good Book, chapter twenty-one:
Every married woman got to have a little fun
Read on over chapter twenty-two:
It's a sin to let that woman make a fool outta you
Now you read a little further, chapter twenty-three:
She two-time you, brother, like she double-crossed me
Read on back, over chapter ten:
She shimmy one time, you got the problem again
'Cause a married man's a fool to think that his wife
Loves nobody else but him, I mean, loves nobody else but him
Well, a married man's a fool to think that his wife
Loves nobody else but him
She stands by you all your life the chances is mighty and slim
Now you read on over twenty-fifth page:
Married womens, Lord, is hard to engage
Read kinda careful, chapter twenty-six:
Back door slamming you got to learn to get it fixed
Read on out, chapter twenty-eight:
Who's that back slidin' out through the back gate ?
I believe I'll close on chapter twenty-nine:
Woman get tired of the same man all the time
'Cause a married man's fool to think that his wife love nobody else but him
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Married Mans A Fool
(willie mctell)
Had a friend, louie brown, he was a deacon
Just as wise as he could be
Now I realized he could read the good book
Back from revelations down to genesis
You know last sunday morning we was over to the church
My buddy wants to take him a stand
And he looks out upon that whole congregation
The good book in his hand
Now he cast his eye about, and then he looks over in the amen corner
All the sisters commenced to shout [whatd he say ? ]
He said a married mans a fool to think that his wife love nobody else but him
She stick by you all your life the chances is mighty slim
Now you read the good book, chapter twenty-one:
Every married woman got to have a little fun
Read on over chapter twenty-two:
Its a sin to let that woman make a fool outta you
Now you read a little further, chapter twenty-three:
She two-time you, brother, like she double-crossed me
Read on back, over chapter ten:
She shimmy one time, you got the problem again
cause a married mans a fool to think that his wife
Loves nobody else but him, I mean, loves nobody else but him
Well, a married mans a fool to think that his wife
Loves nobody else but him
She stands by you all your life the chances is mighty and slim
Now you read on over twenty-fifth page:
Married womens, lord, is hard to engage
Read kinda careful, chapter twenty-six:
Back door slamming you got to learn to get it fixed
Read on out, chapter twenty-eight:
Whos that back slidin out through the back gate ?
I believe Ill close on chapter twenty-nine:
Woman get tired of the same man all the time
cause a married mans fool to think that his wife love nobody else but him
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The End Of The Chapter
Ah, yes, the chapter ends to-day;
We even lay the book away;
But oh, how sweet the moments sped
Before the final page was read!
We tried to read between the lines
The Author's deep-concealed designs;
But scant reward such search secures;
You saw my heart and I saw yours.
The Master,--He who penned the page
And bade us read it,--He is sage:
And what he orders, you and I
Can but obey, nor question why.
We read together and forgot
The world about us. Time was not.
Unheeded and unfelt, it fled.
We read and hardly knew we read.
Until beneath a sadder sun,
We came to know the book was done.
Then, as our minds were but new lit,
It dawned upon us what was writ;
And we were startled. In our eyes,
Looked forth the light of great surprise.
Then as a deep-toned tocsin tolls,
A voice spoke forth: 'Behold your souls!'
I do, I do. I cannot look
Into your eyes: so close the book.
But brought it grief or brought it bliss,
No other page shall read like this!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Book
Have you ever opened a book?
And feel like it’s your life
As you watch each page go pass
You think where did I get lost
Each chapter is an ending
Of what was or what could have been
But each new chapter a beginning
Brings you hope to live again
But the hardest thing in life
Is as you turn each page
You must learn to pass the pain
That lies between the pages
Each chapter a lesson
In life’s little games
Then we smile at ourselves
As we close the last page
To look forward to anew
Of a new chapter in our life’
We smile and nod
At the new book of life
poem by Kaila George
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Book Of Love
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Who wrote the book of love
Well, Ive got to know the answer
Is it someone from above
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Baby, baby, baby
I love you, yes I do
And it says so in this book of love
That Im the one thats true
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Chapter one says you love her
You love her with all your heart
Chapter two says youll never
You never, never... never gonna part
Chapter tree, remember
The meaning of romance
In chapter four you break up
Oh, wont you give me just one more chance
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
I wonder who
Who wrote the book of love
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am in love
I am in love
With books
As they are
Like my life
My Life is like
A page written
In Black and white
Read and turn
Never look back
As the past been
Eaten up
Good or bad.
Tomorrow my future
The Next chapter
An adventure
Between the lines
I find life- a beauty
The new opportunity,
The second chance
Which I under lines
With a color full pen
Never mind whether
Lose or win, loss or gain,
As The story never end
Of the true lovers
In pain or pleasure
Chapter after chapter
Grief or relief
Story must go on.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Book Of Days
Your life is as a book
Written on the pages are the weeks
For you would give anything to take just one look
Into the next chapter, the next page
Each page is a new thought, a new dream
Sometimes it takes so long to pass that page
And sometimes nothing is as it seams
For you know you can not go ahead or back
You know you are where you are
You know you can't change that
As you read page to page, so near to fear
You write the chapters as you go, with each turn
Each turn, each move changes what's to come
And you know each moment could be the last
With this in mind you go so mumb
So numb to the touch, to the thought
You turn page after page
until you reach the 'end'
And only then, you are freed from the title
The title that has kept your thoughts bound, and tight
You turn the pages one by one
You take the pain, take the joy
Until you are done
And your story becomes another on the shelf of eternity
(1/24/2008)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Book Of My Life
Let me watch by the fire and remember my days
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I'm afraid to write
It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as the section reveals
There's some sorrow in every life
If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days
I'm still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life
There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
There's a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons
There are pages of conflicts that nobody won
And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat,
There's a page where we fail to meet
There are tales of good fortune that couldn't be planned
There's a chapter on god that I don't understand
There's a promise of Heaven and Hell but I'm damned if I see
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
Now the daylight's returning
And if one sentence is true
All these pages are burning
And all that's left is you
Though the pages are number
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Book Of Love
In the book of love come of age
When you lose your love, you turn the page
Hey-ho the book of love,
Life is written in your own blood
Say forever and it all sounds fine
When youre holding hands,
With the hands of time
Hey-ho the book of love
Laugh at the dead but tomorrow you cry
Chorus:
My broken hearts from a to z
Dos and donts on bended knees
Change of lovers endlessly
And this book of love is writing me
Chapter 2 you walk away
But in chapter 3 a man made me stay
Hey-ho the book of love
Why dontcha look up
All the games you played
Chorus
Theyll be sweet love in a darkness
But the book of love
Is a story of your loneliness
Finger tipped it on a holy night
And a page is ripped for a name of life
Check the back cause the datell be due
When theyll throw the book of love at you
They are broken hearts from a to z
Dos and donts on bended knees
Disappointed right to be
Celebrate a celebrity
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
Ah stupid cupid set me free
Took a look and whatll I see
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A book.
Shelves of books with variant topics:
Medicine, Engineering and comics,
Languages, Management and Marketing,
Tourism, Text books and Computing,
House hold, Carpentry and plumbing,
Trucks, Driving and operating.
Must choose one to taste,
Read regularly to last,
A full term of life and love,
Nourish it with the dose of care,
Can buy it from the stores,
That sells New, second hand and old,
When the new book is bought,
The smell itself fresh and great,
To remember for the life throughout,
Keep it as a Holy book and enjoy,
When the used books are purchased,
Rarely used books, never opened,
A few half read and half left,
A few stained and battered,
A few has the quotations underlined,
When the old books are bought,
The papers are oxidized and yellow,
Touch it, fragile, handle with care,
Though the contents may be good,
Prints are washed out and hard to see,
Heavily tainted of weather.
Whether you buy the new or the used book,
Make sure that you choose the right book,
Then read chapter by chapter leaving no nook,
Sometimes it thrills and shrills,
It is hilarious and comical,
If it is full of mysteries,
Try to solve it with your knowledge,
Don't slam and tear it,
Not touch it with your drug fingers,
Not read it with your spirited mind,
You will misunderstand the contents,
Promise yourself you will not make,
Your book an used and neglected book again.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Usually, when people get to the end of a chapter, they close the book and go to sleep. I deliberately write a book so when the reader gets to the end of the chapter, he or she must turn one more page.
quote by Sidney Sheldon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Hope Poem) Clinging On To The Last Bit Of Hope
Writing The Next Chapter,
Always The Next Chapter.
Clinging To The Last Bit Of Hope Knowing It Will Have To Due.
Know The Very Next Day Is Another Follow Through.
Where Is That Day Of Rest?
Where Is That Day Of Success?
A Life Full Of Emptiness.
Completely Monotonous.
Like A Soldier I Keep Putting One Foot In Front Of Next.
I Harbor No I'll Will Or Regret.
But I'm Still Getting Tired Of The Next.
Writing The Next Chapter,
Always The Next Chapter.
Clinging To The Last Bit Of Hope Knowing It Have To Due.
Knowing The End Is Far Beyond My Reach.
Even With All I Got It Means little To Nothing.
Materialistic Is So Unrealistic.
The More You Take The More You Got To Pay.
Maybe Sometime
But For Now I'm Just So Tired Of Next.
Writing The Next Chapter,
Always The Next Chapter.
Clinging To The Last Bit Of Hope Knowing It Will Have To Due.
Take Some Anti Depressants To Spread It Out.
Just Got Make It Again And Again.
Like A Constant Buzzing In My Ear That Just Won't Go Away.
It's Giving Me A Headache.
Think Soon I Just Might Break.
Like An Earthquake Everything Is Starting To Tremble And Shake.
I'm So Tired Of The Next,
But Still I'm Writing The Next Chapter.
Always The Next Chapter.
Clinging On The Last Bit Of Hope Knowing It Will Have Due.
I'm Holding On As Long As Can.
But Slowly I Feeling Less And Less Like A Man.
Just Another Weakling.
And Here Comes The Next,
Oh The Next,
THE VERY NEXT.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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An Open Book
My life is an open book
that can be read at anytime.
Sometimes it has sunshine,
sometimes it has rain,
sometimes there is great happiness
and sometimes there is dreadful pain.
On every page there is something new,
some good, some bad, some indifferent,
some smiles, some laughter
and sometimes many tears.
Life is life and we make it
the best we can do.
Even when the odds are against us,
we somehow make it through.
Therefore, when you read each chapter
that is what you will get,
a life that has been
well and truly lived in.
7 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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Parody Of “Uncle Ned”
DERE was an old nigger, and him name was Uncle Tom,
And him tale was rather slow;
Me try to read de whole, but me only read some,
Because me found it no go.
Den hang up de auther Mrs. Stowe,
And kick de volume wid your toe—
And dere's no more public for poor Uncle Tom,
He am gone whar de trunk—lining go.
Him tale dribbles on and on widout a break,
Till you hab no eyes for to see;
When I reached Chapter 4 I had got a headache,
So I had to let Chapter 4 be.
Den hang up, etc.
De demand one fine morning for Uncle Tom died,
De tears down Mrs. Stowe's face ran like rain;
For she knew berry well, now dey'd laid him on de shelf,
Dat she'd neber get a publisher again.
Den hang up, etc.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Read Me Like a Book
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
You will find each piece to fit.
Very little of it will be misunderstood.
I am not a one dimensional quick read at all.
I lay it on the line.
You will find I wont allow anyone,
To sit and pick my mind.
I don't waste that kind of time.
Unless,
Of course...
You are divorced from that as well?
Hmmm...
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
You have no idea how much I wish,
To get you hooked.
Craving to salivate.
Drooling!
Each chapter has been crafted,
With some sentiment and pain.
You will find some sorrow and regret.
And some expression of heartache left.
You will discover blemishes and flaws,
With attempts to have them corrected.
Notice I admit imperfection...
With self reflection I don't neglect.
Or regret it is you I wish to impress.
No games of tit for tat I play.
I say what I mean.
Not what you wish to hear me say.
And none of it is from mumbled lips.
I want each word read you 'read' conveyed!
I want what I say in your mind to stay.
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
But you will never comprehend...
How long this process took.
Flip through each page,
As if you seek definition.
You will discover I am not perfect.
But freed by a peace...
To solict your complete and total admission.
Willing to show you mended scars.
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
I knew you were coming!
That's why it is already open.
Take your time.
I want you to find me an easy read.
Hopefully to collaborate on new chapters.
Together,
You and me.
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
Take me with your eyes.
Hold me in your hands.
And bring me close to your heart!
There we are.
Touching!
That's how I like it.
Do you?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Read The Book
Dolce said to read the book.
Don’t skip any pages though,
Lizzy; I want you to read it
From cover to cover. Ok lover,
You said and examined the
Book’s covers; the hard leather,
The well sewn pages. You knew
He wrote it without his name on
The spine with the title. It was
As he spoke, the words flowing
Across the page, the meaning
Carried on and over and into
Your head. You stopped on page
Nine; he’d written about the night
He’d screwed you five times, although
No name was mentioned, you knew
It was you. Even the bed and room
Were as it had been, written right
Down to the creaking springs and
The man next door banging on the
Wall with his darn shoe. You read on
Carrying that image with you, the way
He’d caught it all with the right words,
Hammered that night right home like
Some crucified butterfly onto the page
And into your head. You paused at page
Twelve. Some paragraph about some
Lark in the bushes in the park after dark.
That didn’t ring true, at least not with you.
Who was the woman? Who was the screw?
You closed up the book; refused to look
Or read anymore; you wondered who it
Was he’d had that night in the bushes
Beneath the moonlight. Maybe it was just
Poetic licence made up to make it sell well
And the cash machines ring loud and true.
But the bitch in the bushes wasn’t you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Epic love story.
It was not meant to be,
its a chapter closed and finished.
An epic story of loves young dream,
has faded and diminished.
A fairy tail of happiness,
was not a mutual ending.
For i remember the chapter closing,
with bitterness and hatred.
It started of typically,
a once upon a dream.
page after page was wrote,
with all our history.
An unprofound tale of love,
nurtured with inquisitive minds.
Had run its course long ago,
I've said all my good byes,
The book is now forgotten,
and its shrouded all in dust.
An epic story of loves young dream,
best forgotten and lost.
poem by Jenna Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Book Has 20 Chapters
this book has only 20 chapters
filled with suspense, romance,
and some tragedies at the
later part, chapter 12 & 13 at
most show how weak the
character is, but it does not
really matter. I am now reading
chapter 19 and i am about to
finish the witty ending at the
last chapter. I am waiting at
the predeparture area, looking
beyond the glass door where
the plane bound for Thailand
is unloading cargoes and
passengers and then the rain
starts the pour with some gusty
winds. Umbrellas start to unfold.
i sit straight like i have a new idea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Book
My life is a leaf
Bind together in a book
Written
With sweat and blood
Pages after pages
With the taste of Pain and joy
Every emotion
Big or small
Fully charged
Packed and sealed
Every incident
Recoded in details
For the experience
Good or bad
If you want to learn
Whether there is any love
For you and mankind
You just need to turn
The page number twenty one
Chapter after chapter
Written with mixture
Of success and failure
If any one
Written badly
And Tastes sour
It is my life
Full of blood and flesh
Please pass on to another
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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