Barachel
My harp is turned into mourning and,
My flute into the wail of weepers!
Because i saw your nakedness and,
Another man took it away.
I gave you my full attention on this love and you left me,
So build your own home and your own city of love over there;
And of your lust that elided this man at last,
Because the dating and the seeking of your love was noted!
Barachel is my lover and i shall not want,
But the very eyes of the light do watch us all;
And a day came and i became the father to the needy,
Because my harp and flute had now turned into mourning!
Oh Barachel, why do this to me at this very hour?
For the muse of your love is now gone to another man.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Related quotes
Chagrin D'Amour
IF Love and I were all alone
I might forget to grieve,
And for his pleasure and my own
Might happier garlands weave;
But you sit there, and watch us wear
The mourning wreaths you wove:
And while such mocking eyes you bear
I am not friends with Love.
Withdraw those cruel eyes, and let
Me search the garden through
That I may weave, ere Love be set,
The wreath of Love for you;
Till you, whom Love so well adorns,
Its hidden thorns discover,
And know at last what crown of thorns
It was you gave your lover.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Saabi
It was like a dream! And i did see your nakedness beside me;
For you were very attractive and very beautiful to see.
Come to me my lover,
Come and let us make love tonight;
Saabi my love, you are the poet on my mind with songs so sweet.
I will be there always with my muse for you and,
We will live together in this tent of love and peace;
For it was like a dream to me! !
I did see your nakedness beside me and i need this sweet love.
Come oh my sweet lover,
And come and take me home.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Her Nakedness
In the winter house you will meet her garden of love and,
In the summer house you will meet her nakedness!
And like the message of the fowls of the air who do view us all.
With my soul i have desired you my love,
For you are naked under the apple tree of love;
With my love i will be with you always,
For your nakedness is before me like a film!
But i saw the face of a man, a woman and a child within.
Old and patched,
My life is like the gragons of the sea!
But being crafty and deceitful is your love,
For you are always naked in the heat of the summer.
Her nakedness,
And of the lust of the flesh that is always seen around;
But try to learn from the double walls of love,
For it is time to wake up from the lust of the eyes.
Soot, smoke and dust;
The red sea dried up for her nakedness to appear!
But watch and see who is playing around her,
For her summer house is ready for her lovers.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Raffael
The full vigour of your imagination and,
Of the beauty of your love in the land of peace;
But, you are the seasoned affection on my love.
Your name is Raffael and, i will drink and eat on this muse!
For you are like the romantic bush-meat in my village.
The bunches of fire-woods! !
Surprisingly noted within the muse of your love;
And like the sun's ray of love from the Western Sky,
But, let me tell 'Maami Abaa Yaa' thart, you are my lover.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ruth Fecyeh
When the rain falls, it doesn't fall on one man's head!
So this is the way of my muse to you;
For you can still lay down in your nakedness for my love.
You need me to satisfy you and,
You need this muse to tell you who you are;
For the walls af Jehrico are all around you.
I am full of words and of the love that brights your way,
But i am like the writer that crowns your way as well;
So lay down in your nakedness for the this harmony of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Harps We Love
The harp we love hath a royal burst!
Its strings are mighty forest trees;
And branches, swaying to and fro,
Are fingers sounding symphonies.
The harp we love hath a solemn sound!
And rocks amongst the shallow seas
Are strings from which the rolling waves
Draw forth their stirring harmonies.
The harp we love hath a low sweet voice!
Its strings are in the bosom deep,
And Love will press those hidden chords
When all the baser passions sleep.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Love Me Like I Love Everything I Do
Love me like I love bathing under the glorious sun
Love me like I love dreaming inside of heaven’s arm
Love me like I love crying in the mourning rain
Love me like I love sitting on top of a mountain
Love me like I love waiting next to forever in vain
Love me like I love grinning to the devil’s pain
Love me like I love watching the stars falling upon
Love me like I love spending time on my own
Love me like I love finding something true
Love me like I love falling in love with you
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
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Love Me Like I Love Everything I Do
Love me like I love bathing under the glorious sun
Love me like I love dreaming inside of heaven’s arm
Love me like I love crying in the mourning rain
Love me like I love sitting on top of a mountain
Love me like I love waiting next to forever in vain
Love me like I love grinning to the devil’s pain
Love me like I love watching the stars falling upon
Love me like I love spending time on my own
Love me like I love finding something true
Love me like I love falling in love with you
poem by Alexander Foald
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Thousand Pieces
Thousand pieces of broken glass,
Thousand pieces of sweet love to share;
But fools don't go to heaven.
A bird's nest,
A soldier's boots,
Something to dig with;
But you've now humbled her so,
Take her as your wife.
You kissed her and brought her to your home,
And behind her veil with your muse;
But her wet places are now noted.
Cast lots for the two goats and,
Let her play with your muse;
For she's now with you at your residence!
Net, pet, let, set, wet, bet, get, jet, met, ret, yet, vet;
On the eight day with love to care for your lover,
And like the fat of the sin offering.
It must be eaten the same day with a pleasing aroma,
Strong and long to respect those in authority;
For her pleasing aroma brought you closer to her.
Smooth and soft from the dreamland of love,
For the fruits of her love was met by your muse;
And like fine flour mixed with oil.
Smooth and wet to respect the colours of the rainbow,
The raw flesh was what attracted you!
And of the beautiful bed that she laid on.
Just this once with the muse of your love,
So bathe and anoint yourself with love;
For the Wilderness of Egypt is like the colour of your love.
Coastline of sweet love from the great sea,
Wheedle the riddle and fiddle the needle;
And like the Vineyards of Romance at the Callers Spring.
Water came out of it and your sweet love was noted,
For she lulled you into a deep sleep!
And just this once with the muse of your love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet IX: Passion And Worship
One flame-winged brought a white-winged harp-player
Even where my lady and I lay all alone;
Saying: “Behold, this minstrel is unknown;
Bid him depart, for I am minstrel here:
Only my strains are to Love's dear ones dear.”
Then said I: “Through thine hautboy's rapturous tone
Unto my lady still this harp makes moan,
And still she deems the cadence deep and clear.”
Then said my lady: “Thou art Passion of Love,
And this Love's Worship: both he plights to me.
Thy mastering music walks the sunlit sea:
But where wan water trembles in the grove
And the wan moon is all the light thereof,
This harp still makes my name its voluntary.”
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Love Has Gone
(rick astley/d. spatsley)
The love has gone
The love has gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
Wake up beside you, and hear you breathing
And I can feel you in my arms
No one can know just how Im feeling
Knowing that our love can come to no harm
But as I open my eyes
Then I start to realise
That youre gone and I cant go on
The love has gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
The love is gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
What have I done girl, to make you leave me
Didnt I love you for all those years
If you open your eyes
Baby, then youll realise
That youre wrong, and I cant go on
You know I cant go on
The love has gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
The love is gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
Nothing will ever come between us
If you will just take me back once more
Ill show you just how much I love you
If youll just come walking through that door
The love has gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
The love is gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
(chorus to fade)
song performed by by Rick Astley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flute Lads!
I flute the up and down of sun,
I flute the pallid moon,
I flute the rivers deep and wide
And down the merry tide.
I leave the rose so red
And pluck the lily white;
I flute upon my bed
And play into the night.
If I could flute forever
And play a merry tune,
Then I would know no sorrow
In April, May, and June.
So up and down the golden sun
And up the pallid moon,
Flute my lovely lads, flute,
In April, May, and June.
poem by Samuel Hardman
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Love And Lust
Each shall have a room, as they are distinct
As love is blind, lust has eyes wide open for its games
As love is day, lust is the night at the bar
As love speaks the truth, lust can just lay silent looking for the tasty froth
Love need not be beautiful but lust makes it a requisite
Love may abstain, but lust cannot
By its nature it thrives in banquets
Love is pure but lust goes to mud in all wild wrestling for what it desires
I can love you without lust
But you may not like it after all
I love and lust you
And in you
Love and lust shall
Hold hands, kiss tight, hiss all the night
Love and lust
The two becoming one
To both of us
So this union may last
This communion of souls.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dear Harp of my Country
Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee,
The cold chain of Silence had hung o'er thee long.
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song.
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy livliest thrill,
But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness,
That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
Dear Harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers,
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine!
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine.
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own.
poem by Thomas Moore
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101 Ways Of My Love
Food and water,
Shelter and care;
But, stopping down low for somebody to see your nakedness!
And, there i met your love.
101 ways of my lov e,
Called to satisfy your muse! !
Dress, repress, mistress, stress, press, witness, pointless, wireless, politeness;
But, to lodge there and to wait for your love!
And like he manner of your usage,
But i am a teacher of the message is what i am.
101 ways of my love,
To be set aside;
And to aboard the muse of your love! !
On the left and of the right sides of the mango tree;
But, watch and remember the 101 ways that we shared,
Night and day in the land of your muse.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Weary body
She gave him her dreams,
he made them nightmares.
She gave him her love, he
turned it to hatred, she gave
him her warm kisses, he
turned them into regrets.
She gave him her enthusiasm;
he turned it into distress.
She gave him her sweet hymns;
he turned them into howling wolves.
She gave him the flavor of her
craves, he turned it into bitterness,
She gave him the nectars of her
fruits, he made them go bad.
She gave him her time, he took
it for granted. All she gave, became
in vain; a weary body and broken
lies, are the only truth she has to
confront. Her heart was still alive
she gave it to him, he took it in
warm blood, and let it bleed to death.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Old Ireland
FAR hence, amid an isle of wondrous beauty,
Crouching over a grave, an ancient, sorrowful mother,
Once a queen--now lean and tatter'd, seated on the ground,
Her old white hair drooping dishevel'd round her shoulders;
At her feet fallen an unused royal harp,
Long silent--she too long silent--mourning her shrouded hope and
heir;
Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow, because most full of
love.
Yet a word, ancient mother;
You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground, with forehead
between your knees;
O you need not sit there, veil'd in your old white hair, so
dishevel'd; 10
For know you, the one you mourn is not in that grave;
It was an illusion--the heir, the son you love, was not really dead;
The Lord is not dead--he is risen again, young and strong, in another
country;
Even while you wept there by your fallen harp, by the grave,
What you wept for, was translated, pass'd from the grave,
The winds favor'd, and the sea sail'd it,
And now with rosy and new blood,
Moves to-day in a new country.
poem by Walt Whitman
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You Are Seen Everywhere
Your laughter have turned to mourning and your joy to grief,
Because inpleasure and in self-indulgence you left your lover;
And today you are seen everywhere barefooted.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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0245 The Sound of The Flute
Listen to the sound of this reed-flute –
hear what it says. First, it laments
its banishment; its tearing away
from its home, its reed-bed. And
this alone, tears at the yearning heart
of all those whose heart feels far from home.
Listen to it.
Then behind its breathy air
is fire – the fire of love; that sound
which tells every love-story in the world,
of lovers, parted, yearning to be
together once more. This flute first
tells of separation; then of unity.
Listen to it.
Do not listen to this dangerous
flute, unless you wish to hear
the innermost secrets of your heart –
the parting and the separation,
the yearning, yearning, for return –
Dare you listen to this story of pain, of love?
Listen to it.
(freely taken from the Prologue to Book I of the Masnavi I Ma’navi
of Maulana Jalalu’din Muhammad Rumi, the founder Dervish)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Mourning Son
Dawn arrives on Golgotha
Shedding light
On the place of the Skull
The Dawn...
Bringing with it
The Mourning Son
The Mourning Son came
Carrying His
Forced Death
on his back
Shunned by those who had loved him
Mock by those he'd shown his love
The Mourning Son rose over the hill
Held only by three nails
Then
Uttered but four more words
Eli! Eli! Lama sabachtani?
Then
The tears
Burning
Stinging
Weeping for those he had lost
poem by Erick Carrasco
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