Varanasi
Amongst the filth
the sweet sound of the flute player
carries through the heated air
and everywhere,
down the Ghats
at sunrise,
the pilgrims gather
along the sacred river Ganges;
devoted to life,
birth and death.
Here in ancient Varanasi
against the backdropp of temples centuries old,
the soul of man
finds its own way home
amongst the filth.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Related quotes
Varanasi
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi
A revered shrine at bank of holy river Ganges.
Founded by God himself, Lord Shiva's adobe Kashi
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi.
Bathing in Ganges purifies soul and remits the sin,
Dying in Kashi ensures, obtaining the final release.
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi
A revered shrine at bank of holy river Ganges.
***
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven,
Ghat, temples and festivals, are icons of Varanasi.
Sacred river, sacred place; Hindu's great pilgrimage
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven.
The city has given birth to many great personalities
Great souls Tulsi, Kabir, Ravidas lived in varanasi.
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven
Ghat, temples and festivals, are icons of Varanasi.
***
Varanasi is the city, where Budhism was founded
Sarnath, Budhist's holy place, is too in Varanasi.
First sermon to his disciples Budha here sounded
Varanasi is the city where Budhism was founded.
Glorified by creation of great music and literature,
Classical folk culture, music, craft and philosophy.
Varanasi is the city where Budhism was founded
Sarnath, Budhist's holy place, is too in Varanasi.
***
Triolet form
(C) S. D. Tiwari
sdtiwari1(at) gmail(dot) com
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Fountain Of Filth
There it was
Just like old faithful
The eternal fountain of filthi
I took a walk straight out of town
But then I stopped and took my time for pleasure
I was alone, I looked around
I heard a voice 50 I buckled for safety
And there it was down on the ground
A pool of sound that showed my own reflection
In a fountain of filth
Eternal fountain of filth
I tried to run I couldnt move
Frozen solid while the thoughts of men
Attacked me
Out of my head the fountain shot
And drowned me in a serum that I couldnt
Put a stop to
It was me myself and I locked in a struggle
With the talking head below me
In a fountain of filth
Eternal fountain of filth
I got a hunger that makes me say things
I got a hunger that makes me do things
I got a hunger that makes me want things
Im just a victim of filth
Nowhere are we safe
From the power of
From the reach of
From the appeal of
The eternal fountain of filth
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After The Filth Has Been Filtered
After the filth has been filtered,
And drained from minds forced to open...
There will be more honest discussions,
Attempted and made...
Between those in shadows,
And those accustomed to giving shade.
After the filth has been filtered.
With more uninhibited wishes,
From those who escaped away from those days...
When people were afraid to remove those masks,
Some homemade...
That did not convey true portrayals.
But were worn instead,
To deny and hide themselves with choices to be led.
And after the filth has been filtered,
More of life for them begins.
More of life is felt and shared.
With the necessity of charades and masquerades,
For them to end.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Temples Of Carrion
Where PAZUZU yells with pain
Where carrion awaits!!!
Where death's reborn
Are temples of carrion!
It's time of the other time
It's time to remember
It's time for sacrifice!!!
Come sumerian magic
Come from chaos
When nature break the silence!!!
Rise the walls of temples
By KINGU by ABSU!!!
Ancient's temples
Chambers of shells!
Where the smell of filth and carcass
Are the smell of HUMWAWA
-abomination's lords!!!
Where the evil words are strong
And the act are filthy
You'll be inside the dark shine world
In the temples of carrion!
Where PAZUZU yells with pain
Where carrion awaits!!!
Where death's reborn
Are temples of carrion!
When the mother TIAMAT will be
Restless and rejoicing
It's time for sacrifice!!!
Come sumerian magic
Come from chaos
Come the dark shine world
In the temples of carrion
song performed by by Undercroft
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful the Virgin
Beautiful is the virgin, whose tainted purity causes pity in all man's breast.
Innocence there is not, trickery is their everything.
Has no one spared a thought to wonder?
Has no one spared a spark to the imagination?
Beautiful is the virgin, deflowered filth.
Whore to those that pity such filth, anger against those disgusted by filth.
Innocence, an illusion with such vivid imagination, whose trickery is this?
poem by Prince Daugherty
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Food and waste
From the cradle to the grave,
We gulp every thing as sweat
And after the process of digestion
The food defecates as filth.
The world to a child is honey.
The world to the old turns a filth.
24.12.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Keep That Beat Just Heated
You keep that conga beat strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed to stir up a good mood.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
You keep that conga beat strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
You keep that conga beat...
Strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
You keep that conga beat...
Strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Keep that beat just heated.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Fascinating Pilgrim-Centre(Haridwar)
The Ganges was flowing
with a face furious
and the tides were looming;
We paused to have a holy dip.
We put our right foot into water,
and took it up feeling dead chill;
Smelling danger from within,
“ We already bathed at Rishikesh”,
some of us said and put on clothes.
But some local boys dived into the river
and swam to the bank with ease.
Holding the chains tight,
We dipped and felt as we had all
comforting effect to our body and soul,
and failed not to murmur
the name of the goddess, Manasa Devi.
Walking on the long bridge
across the holy Ganges
seeing her alarming face,
journeying in trolleys
to worship the goddess
at Her abode on the Siwalik hills,
marveling at the tributaries
of the mighty Ganges,
is a solacing experience
in our birth on this earth.
People set afloat
leafy boats with flowers
and a lit lamp put on each,
on the sacred river after dusk
and see them till they go off,
saying prayers to the goddess
for blessing all of them.
People of farther planets
will amaze at the glowing lamps.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Beautiful River
And he showed me a pure River of Water of Life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the Throne of God and of the Lamb." -- Rev. xxii. 1
Shall we gather at the river
Where bright angel feet have trod;
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?
CHORUS.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
On the margin of the river,
Washing up its silver spray,
We will walk and worship ever,
All the happy, golden day.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
On the bosom of the river,
Where the Saviour-king we own,
We shall meet, and sorrow never
'Neath the glory of the throne. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
Ere we reach the shining river,
Lay we every burden down;
Grace our spirits will deliver,
And provide a robe and crown. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
At the smiling of the river,
Rippling with the Saviour's face,
Saints, whom death will never sever,
Lift their songs of saving grace. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
Soon we'll reach the shining river,
Soon our pilgrimage will cease,
Soon our happy hearts will quiver
With the melody of peace. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
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Trave; l India Poem - First Sight of The Ganges At Vanarasi
the first sight of the ganges
i walk the ghats with names of gods
shiva, vishnu, brahma, hanuman,
sadhus put thick white powder on my forehead
three lines to denote the shiva sect
the lingams, oh the man told me
not to walk inside the sacred ring
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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My Soul's Name
Going to the Akashic records up in then air
I found my Soul's book I did share.
No, not really is Zenoch my soul's name
I have to keep my real soul name a secret
it is sacred so I refrain.
My Soul's book has my hieroglyphic
for my soul also has a sound.
It is very harmonious to me I have found.
Now I will say my soul's name and go
back there once again
My soul gives me power to be my best friend.
Written by Christina Sunrise on November 11,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Can A Player Find A Soul Mate?
I asked a guy yesterday,
'Will you be a player in your golden days? '
He said, 'Once a player always a player'
I guess that is what I will be
he sounded for sure at least he
was honest with me.
I said 'Don't you want to find your Soul Mate?
He says, it doesn't matter anymore I'm having fun,
I'm still young, my dating life has just begun.
I guess if he is happy and content
maybe he will never have regrets.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Mere Mortals
A mortal thought carries a flute,
Singing this breathing will give birth.
Over hills and into tunnels, a small touch
Brings the body to a nearness with death.
Again and again, my significant breath
Grows deeply enough to revive my soul.
Near death is a light of speech so powerful,
Hands and feet struggle with me, so violently.
The light of the stars, when the nights passed,
Lost me, spoilt me with my heart as I lived.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Scars Of Our Past
you say you wana know me,
But do you really?
do you see who i am?
Do you see my scars?
look closer, their carves straight into my arm.
Do you see my pain, the tears, streaming down my face.
you hold me in your arms, tell me you care,
but do you really?
How?
Im covered in their filth from what they've all done to m, no matter how many times i shower the filth wont ever leave, it will never go away. cant you see the scars that my past have left behind.
But thats okay becasue today im choosing to make a stand im leaving my scars and past behind.
poem by Alicia Tschantre
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At the River
Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod,
With its crystal tide for ever flowing
by the throne of God?
Gather at the river!
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river,
Yes well gather at the river
that flows by the throne of God.
Shall we gather? Shall we gather at the river?
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
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Familiarity With The World, Finally....
no place does not give you a distraction
the sound of the machine that lingers in the air and pierces your ear
it will always be there
the sound of engines
more cruel than thunder
and folding waves of the storms at sea
bigger than houses
shall always meet you straight in the eye
deeper in your mind
there seems to be no peaceful place of the leaves and
grass
where you can rest your body where your soul finds an imaginary
home
where the heart can sleep and dream
there seems to be none
and so you run and run as fast as you can to find it
but the running even if it does not stop
finds no such place
and hopeless then
you rest upon a field of destructive sounds and then begin to
accept them as they are
the mad cry of the baby, the heated exchange of hate between
couples, the war of governments and people,
all these are very real
are becoming spots in your skin
your very own shadow that goes with you everywhere you go
you too, is that sound of anger and despair
this is the world
this is your place
now, you must learn what is this all about
rest your head upon the madness of the crowd
sleep amidst the chaos
this is finally what we call as home
yes, a home in a very crowded mall, in a very narrow path
towards a broken door, that slanted room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Smell
Poverty exudes odors
Desperation takes on hues
Uncertainty loudly clamours
Homeless move about
In a cacophony of sound
Illness of the street people
Odors abound
Fear of future flattens
Death of innocence cries loud
Odors of the madness
Smell of poverty abounds
Senses acutely caressing
Filth of necessities sins
Odors changing futures
Individuals meld in sound
Poverty exudes odors
Ignorance carries loud
Smell of desperation
No matter the flattened feelings
Horror of distorted senses
Keeps the homeless
In storms
Odors abound
poem by James Smallwood
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The Sound Of Silence....
it speaks no words,
yet they fall on the soul..
quietly falls on the heart so heavy,
pain wrapped, the words of silence....
filth and grime,
pure and honest,
the words do a medley of sorts,
ever felt the sound of silence..
the world pulls down,
the dust seems sticking,
tears entrapped in the soul,
commotion in the worldly shows.
what's life? regret, remorse..
the dull light always burning,
resonating from inside,
try listening, the sound of silence...
the voice screams,
it brings the truth,
momentarily, the pain halts,
with the tasting of the salt.
ironical the world is,
contradiction filled...
sounds stupid, but true,
the sound of silence...
befriend silence,
redemption u find...
the lost answers,
u will find.
sound, so enthralling,
sound, so enigmatic..
yet so healing, , ,
the sound of silence..
poem by Nupur Singhal
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I Grieve
It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
Theres nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
Its just the way that you would tied in
Now theres no-one home
I grieve for you
You leave me
so hard to move on
Still loving whats gone
They say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on
The news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
While the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
And I cant handle this
I grieve for you
You leave me
Let it out and move on
Missing whats gone
They say life carries on
They say life carries on and on and on
Life carries on
In the people I meet
In everyone thats out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
In the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Its just the car that we ride in
A home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
And life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Did I dream this belief?
Or did I believe this dream?
Now I can find relief
I grieve
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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