Whosoever eats bread without first washing his hands, it is as though he had sinned with a harlot.
Related quotes
It is strange! The ox eats hay and the dog eats bread, while the donkey carries wine but drinks water.
Krishna's Meal
Kanha eats in Yasoda's lap.
some he eats, some he drops,
as the ladies of Nandgaon watch,
some he eats and some he puts
in Nanda's mouth,
this joy is beyound recount.
some he eats, some gives to gopas,
butter in his hands, curd in doniyas.
The joy of Yasoda
the three worlds cannot account.
the meal is over, Kanha washes,
for Sur the left-overs count.
poem by Sant Surdas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emotional Food Chain
Anger eats Balanced
Balanced eats Confusion
Confusion eats Delight
Delight eats Exasperation
Exasperation eats Forgiveness
Forgiveness eats Grief
Grief eats Humor
Humor eats Isolation
Isolation eats Joy
Joy eats Knottiness
Knottiness eats Love
Love eats Moodiness
Moodiness eats Nicety
Nicety eats Outrage
Outrage eats Peace
Peace eats Quick-temperament
Quick-temperament eats Righteousness
Righteousness eats Stupidity
Stupidity eats Trust
Trust eats Unhappiness
Unhappiness eats Vitality
Vitality eats Weariness
Weariness eats X-citement
X-citement eats Yawn
Yawn eats Zest
Zest eats Anger
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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A Key To Nothing
no more doors
no more locks
no more windows
no more box
no more no less
no more nothing less
no more six foot digs
no more hypocrites
no more emptiness
no more consequence
no more puppet strings
no more disease
no more growing up
no more happiness
no more lying down
no more complacence
i have
i hold the key to nothing
it's a small killing
murder
murder's in the hands
of motion...as it seems to be
no more nothing
no more anything
no more you
no more me
no more posturing victories
no more nations to defeat
no more speaking truth
no more deceit
no more holding down
no more pushing me
no more new world order
no more ANARCHY
i have
i hold the key to nothing
it's a small killing
murder
murder's in the hands
of motion...as it seems to be
im washing my hands...of the whole thing(X3)
i want no more nothing!(X4)
i have
i hold the key...to nothing
it's a small killing
murder
murder's in the hands
of motion...as it seems to be
i'm washing my hands, of everything
of everything we are
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you would not step into the harlot's house, do not go by the harlot's door.
quote by Thomas Secker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Key To Nothing
No more doors
No more locks
No more windows
No more box
No more
No less
No more six foot digs
No more hypocrites
No more emptiness
No more consequence
No more puppet strings
No more disease
No more growing up
No more happiness
No more lying down
No more complacence
I have... I hold the key... to nothing... its a small
Killing
Murder... murders in the hands... of
Motion... as it seems to be
No more nothing
No more anything
No more you
No more me
No more posturing victories
No more nations to defeat
No more speaking truth
No more deceit
No more holding down
No more pushing me
No more new world order
No more anarchy
I have... I hold the key... to nothing... its a small
Killing
Murder... murders in the hands... of motion... as
It seems to be
Im washing my hands... of the whole thing
I want no more nothing
I have... I hold the key... to nothing... its a small
Killing
Murder... murders in the hands... of motion... as
It seems to be
Im washing my hands, of everything...
Of everything we are
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are The Sea
The cruelest thing to someone like me
You wash towards me, covering everything
Then pull away and disappear again
You infiltrate every cell of me
I gladly wrap my hope and joy in you
Then you gradually disappear again
I've been sitting in this hotel room for so long
I keep thinking I hear the phone ringing
But it's not
I keep thinking I see the sun rising
But it's not
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me
I say too much on the subject
I dwell too long on the subject
Can't shake your face
Can't shake your name from my head
Said too much again
I've said too much again
The cruelest thing to someone like me
Is what I do to myself, waiting for high-tide
Ignoring everything I have, torturing myself
The craziness in me is just spilling over
Diving into shallow water from the rocks
Forgetting everything I have, torturing myself
I've been sitting at this bar for far too long
I keep thinking I hear your voice behind me
But I'm wrong
I keep thinking I see you walking by
But I'm wrong
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me
It's been nearly a year of concentrated longing now
Nearly a year of pining after the sea and the girl
Nearly a year and no single step closer
Nearly a year and still I don't know her
I keep thinking this is what I really need
But it's not
I keep thinking this is all so clear
But I'm wrong
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me
You are the sea
Playing your tricks on me
You are the sea
And I should let go
I should let go
Why can't I let go?
Is pain all I can know?
I'm washing my hands
I'm washing my hands of you
I'm washing them
In the sea
I'm washing my hands of you
Washing them
In the sea
And letting go of you
I'm letting go of the sea...
(2009)
poem by B. Alexander
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Picture Of Greed
on one hand
he carries a
big loaf of bread
on the other
he carries a
basket
of the same
loaf of bread
on his head
is another
basket of
the same loaf
of bread
a little child
spreads his
hands for
a loaf of bread
then he speeds
his way
as he bites
a loaf of
bread in
his mouth
the little child
follows him
and there he
is closing the
door of his
house all
made of bread
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After School Tea.
Mother said
you were to go back
to Mrs Clark's house
for tea after school
and she would pick
you up later
after work
and so when
the bell went
for the end
of the school day
you went with Mrs Clark
and her daughter Helen
for tea and Mrs Clark
talked all the way
to her house
her words rough
as hewn stones
going over your head
to which you just nodded
or shook your head
and when you arrived
at the house
which smelt
of past dinners
and washing drying
and the baby's nappies
she said
What would you like for tea?
Bread and butter
bread jam
bread and Bovril
or dripping?
and how about
a large mug of tea?
Helen said
I'm having bread and jam
and a mug of tea
why don't you too?
you said
Yes that will be fine
and shyly sat in a chair
by the window
looking out
at the backyard
where washing hung
on a clothesline
and an old doll's pram
sat rusting by a wall
and Helen came
and sat next to you
in her grey skirt
and off white blouse
and swung her legs
back and forth
under the chair
her white ankle socks
and black scuffed shoes
coming in
and going out
of view
and she said
After tea
I'll show you my dolls
and the doll's house
my daddy made
out of orange boxes
and as Mrs Clark
made the tea
you sensed Helen's small hand
run along your arm
which set alarm bells ringing
in your head
and a sweating in your palm.
poem by Terry Collett
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Got If Right!
oh! boy, a child eats bread, even cap wave of handful
fingers linger in disarray
beautiful wish I see, letting that little cute sight
want to peep in the silent of the whole
laughter node in every tips of the flipping lips,
pushing it loud for other can be proud
hey! little handsome boy, what have your doing for as
if nobody made it all, look that crushing hands, amazing!
like it to be done, but seem somebody have made it gone
be guided, the oh! will make it fun...do it right again
poem by Antonio Liao
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I am on good terms with the friend who eats his bread with me.
Who eats bread with barley porridge will be sent to Siberia.
The City Mouse And The Garden Mouse
The city mouse lives in a house; -
The garden mouse lives in a bower,
He's friendly with the frogs and toads,
And sees the pretty plants in flower.
The city mouse eats bread and cheese; -
The garden mouse eats what he can;
We will not grudge him seeds and stalks,
Poor little timid furry man.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Rust eats iron
Rust eats iron.
Separation from wife
eats husband
Contempt by kith and kins
And serving evil master
Eats body by burning silently
Corroding heart and soul body
from within.
Rust eats iron.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Brain Washing
Ooh-ooh
Old mr. joe, he build a house away
On top of some hill
Old mr. joe knew he had to go, so he
He got right down and wrote bank will
He say now, heres to mother hen
And her chicken, lord have mercy now
Master, will you take a roll in the mud
Like you know you should?
The old barnyard, the old barnyard
Birds and the chick, ooh-wee
Whos got to watch out for brother mongoose
With his top hap and walking-stick?
Its just the poors brain washing
(poors ...) they told me a long time ago,
Its just the poors brain washing, ooh-wee
(poors brain washing) now look at a thing like this
Cinderella and her long lost fellow
In the midnight hour, she lost her silver slipper
Humpty dumpty sat on a wall
While jack and jill had themselves a fall
Its just the poors (... brain washing)
And I dont need it no longer (... washing)
Its just the poors brain washing
Coming through to a poor mans child, ooh-wee, look at this
Little miss muffet she sat on a tuffet
While little red riding hood delivered her grandmoms food
Ooh-wee ooh-wee
Ooh-wee, look at one more thing like this
The cow jumping over the moon
While the dish got jealous, he grabbed the handy spoon
Its just the poors brain washing
And I dont need it no longer, I dont want it no longer
I dont need it no longer (...washing)
And I dont care for no more brain washing (... washing) ...
song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sins burn
I have sinned;
Curses are in heaps.
I’ve been sinned.
Revenges are in store.
Either way I burn myself
23.07.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Nor can the Apostle mean that Eve only sinned; or that she only was Deceived, for if Adam sinned willfully and knowingly, he became the greater Transgressor.
quote by Mary Astell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pulsing Pulsing
Pulsing pulsing,
Theres a beat in his arm still.
Pulsing pulsing,
Like the throb of an anthill.
Pulsing pulsing,
No death in the rain.
Ive been washing my hands,
In the stuff I wash my brains.
Im pulsing.
Youre pulsing.
Whos pulsing? .
Whats pulsing? .
Pulsing pulsing,
Theres a lump in his throat still.
Pulsing pulsing,
At the site of a crash throw.
Pulsing pulsing,
No push in the vein.
Ive been washing my hands,
In the stuff I wash my brains.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pulsing Pulsing
Pulsing pulsing,
Theres a beat in his arm still.
Pulsing pulsing,
Like the throb of an anthill.
Pulsing pulsing,
No death in the rain.
Ive been washing my hands,
In the stuff I wash my brains.
Im pulsing.
Youre pulsing.
Whos pulsing? .
Whats pulsing? .
Pulsing pulsing,
Theres a lump in his throat still.
Pulsing pulsing,
At the site of a crash throw.
Pulsing pulsing,
No push in the vein.
Ive been washing my hands,
In the stuff I wash my brains.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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