Here Pushkin’s Endless Exile Has Begun
Here Pushkin's endless exile has begun,
And Lermontov's exile turned out fatal,
The mountain grass has a smell so sweet and gentle,
And only once I managed to discern,
By the lake under the dense shade of a chinara,
In the early evening and ferocious trice
The glare of insatiable dark eyes
Of the immortal lover of Tamara.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Too Long In Exile
Too long in exile
Too long not singing my song
Too long in exile
Too long like a rolling stone
Too long in exile
Too long in exile
Baby those people just aint, just aint your friends
Too long in exile my friend
You can never go home again
Well that isolated feeling
Drives you so close up against the wall
Till you feel like you cant go on
Youve been in the same place for too long
Too long in exile
Baby you can never go back home
Too long in exile
Anyway you want
Oh that isolated feeling
Drives you up against, up against the wall
cos youve been on the mainland baby
Been on the mainland, cominon strong
Too long in exile
Too long people keep hanging on
Too long in exile
Too long like a rolling stone
And the wheeling and the dealing
All takes up too much time
Check your better self baby
Youd better satisfy, satisfy your mind
Too long in exile
Too long youve been grinding at the mill
Too long in exile
Man, Ive really just had my fill
Too long in exile
You can never go back home again
Too long in exile
Youre about to drive me just insane
Too long in exile, been too long in exile
Just like james joyce, baby
Too long in exile
Just like samuel beckett baby
Too long in exile
Just like oscar wilde
Too long in exile
Just like george best, baby
Too long in exile
Just like alex higgins, baby
Too long in exile
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God In Exile
Why is God in exile?
Why is He banished from thy midst?
None gives any answer.
God in exile has no regrets,
God in another world is safe,
Nothing shatters His self and pride.
'God is love', they said.
'He is the redeemer', X said.
And God felt humiliated and He fled.
God in His exile is free from dawn to dusk.
He needs no solace of introception there
He is sure to win the battle of nothingness.
God in exile won`t read these lines
Nor will he bless a poet unknown.
God in exile has gone back to His mystery.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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My Time In Exile
Used to worry for each other
No ones bothered like before
We sleep with each others friends
Sneak around, fall apart
And come back for more
We sit around drinking tables
Stabalized and keeping score
But my mind is somewhere out the door
Oh, we have grown
Maybe I've overstayed a while
In my time in exile
Oh, time has flown
And the only thing I've learned
I want a life now of my own
We go to clubs
The songs are old
The evening's blown
We go our ways
And take taxi's home
We talk of sunday outings
And medicate to fight the doubting
But we know
We'll always be
Alone
We have grown
I've overstayed a while
In my time in exile
Oh, time has flown
And the only thing I've learned
I want a life now of my own
Of my own
Well that's my years spent in exile
Second guessed and dressed up in tatters
My birth feet didn't take this path
And I'm still looking for a life that matters
More than chit-chat we listen to the streets
We're all dead beats
And these old habbits are starting to show through
Sorry I didn't get to know you
Oh, time has slown
I've overstayed a while
In my time in exile
Oh, well we have grown
The one thing that I've learned
I want a life now of my own
Bye bye
To the friends I've known
In my time in exile
song performed by by Third Eye Blind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Feed The Early Signs Of Boredom?
Why feed the early signs of boredom
With sinister and dismal thought,
And wait for separation, burdened
With sorrow, lonesome and distraught?
The day of grief is close at hand!
You’ll stand, alone, out in the sun,
And try to bring back once again
These days, but they will long be gone.
Misfortune! then, you’ll be ready
To die in exile, on the street,
If you could only see your lady,
Or hear the shuffle of her feet.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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In His Eyes
In his eyes are empty wells
where waters only flow endless
when I stare;
and in his eyes are dark skies
where stars only shine endless
when I glare.
You'll hear in his voice silent graveyards
where melodies only stream endless
when to me he sings...
and together in his lips lie broken leaves
where flowers only bloom endless
when to me he speaks.
In his cheeks are forsaken streets
but sweetest heaven in my eye;
in his heart are dying secrets
that live in mine, I know not why.
I read in his soul forgotten poems
that i write immortal in these lines.
For in his worst, I love him best.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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The unequal soul
Mother is the sole forgiving soul.
While she is alive, see she’s not in exile.
Else, you have to repent it for ever
And your exile in turn will be its reward.
28.04.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My exile was not only a physical one, motivated exclusively by political reasons; it was also a moral, social, ideological and sexual exile.
quote by Juan Goytisolo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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10 Things.....
Your sweet kiss on my lips
Your eyes connecting with mine
Our endless touch
Your enticing smell
Your uproarious sense of humor
Our long kisses
Your vast of intelligence
Your passionate charm
You and me arm in arm
My insatiable appetite for you
poem by Tina Shanteler
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Buck
Andy stroud
Buck
Youre a whole lot a man
Just take a look
At your great big hands
You know you can crush
Poor me in two
But gentle, oh so gentle
Are the things you do
I say I never have to worry
bout you goin out
There aint no other woman
Aint no need to doubt
So early to bed
And early to rise
I know just what youre thinkin
Bye the look in your eyes
I say buck
So sweet is your back
I like to wash you
And kiss you when youre wet
So hold me close
And squeeze me till I sigh
Please love me, honey
Till the day I die
I say buck
There aint no other man around
Get your lover gal
To calm right down
No question bout the way
I feel for you
So gentle, oh so gentle
Are the things you do
Oh so gentle, oh so gentle
Are the things you do
Oh so gentle, oh so gentle
Are the things you do
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A tale of summer
Swallows catch insects on the wing
In the early morning sun,
And a cuckoo calls to tell us
That the summer has now begun.
The flowering meadow comes alive
With butterflies and the sound of bees,
Cherry blossom showers down like confetti
Carried on the summer breeze.
Swift and house martins arrive back from afar
Making a welcome sight,
And a nightingale sings on a summer evening
And on into the night.
The sweet smell of honeysuckle
Fills the evening air,
While fox cubs play on the edge of a coppice
The beauty of summer is everywhere.
A skylark sings high above
Fields of barley corn and wheat,
While on the lake swans with thier cygnets
Make the summer complete.
poem by Gordon Butchers
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Pursuing employment or climatic relief, we live in voluntary exile from our extended families and our longer past, but in an involuntary exile from ourselves and our own past.
quote by John Thorn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Exile
life in exile
drudgery reluctant
flashes of light
hunger for!
up keep, all it is
try as may
tis, life in exile
They have exiled me now from their society and I am pleased, because humanity does not exile except the one whose noble spirit rebels against despotism and oppression. He who does not prefer exile to slavery is not free by any measure of freedom, truth and duty.
Kahlil Gibran in Spirits Rebellious
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Grave Of Charles Lamb, In Edmonton
Not here, O teeming City, was it meet
Thy lover, thy most faithful, should repose,
But where the multitudinous life-tide flows
Whose ocean-murmur was to him more sweet
Than melody of birds at morn, or bleat
Of flocks in Spring-time, _there_ should Earth enclose
His earth, amid thy thronging joys and woes,
There, 'neath the music of thy million feet.
In love of thee this lover knew no peer.
Thine eastern or thy western fane had made
Fit habitation for his noble shade.
Mother of mightier, nurse of none more dear,
Not here, in rustic exile, O not here,
Thy Elia like an alien should be laid!
poem by William Watson
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Kalahari Butterflies
white blossoms in the air
one more spring in the exile I chose
that becomes addictive to itself
cold April London streets
and record bins in Soho basement stores
the damp smiles which invite me from afar
white Kalahari butterflies
the smell of fresh cow dung
the taste of ripe marula fruit is sweet
sitting by acacia trees
fingers in the shallow dusty soil
caressing Africa as a lover would
then she embraces me
like a soul in memory
an orphan child finding its mother's knee
to protect her now in turn
I witness her defence against
all blind and negative publicity
in the maelstrom of the West
that speaks no unconditional word
in generosity, be sure
a new thing each day is begun
as I fight off voices whispering
my life's work has been done.
poem by Frank Bana
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Rain at Night
North of Solitary Mountain Temple
and west of Chia Pavilion
the water's surface is flattened
by the wet feet of clouds.
Early warblers dart and flutter,
squabbling amid warm trees;
around someone's house new swallows
peck mud for their nests.
Wildflowers will soon flourish
enough to overwhelm one's eyes,
but now the shallow grass
barely submerges a horse's hooves.
I love the east lake most--
I don't come this way often enough;
in the shade of green willows
lies White Sand Embankment.
La grâce exilée
Va-t-en va-t'en mon arc-en-ciel
Allez-vous-en couleurs charmantes
Cet exil t'est essentiel
Infante aux écharpes changeantes
Et l'arc-en-ciel est exilé
Puisqu'on exile qui l'irise
Mais un drapeau s'est envolé
Prendre ta place au vent de bise
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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ten years in exile...
even Lake Ontario holds
a wedge of snow geese
haiku by Chenou Liu
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Home from Exile
Welcome home from exile
A note I wrote in exile
I cant read anymore
I dont even want to think
Of it anymore
Those were my trying days
I try to make up for my lost days
I strived to get to the top
Yet I kept slipping down
People kept trying to bring me down
But I kept fighting to the top.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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