En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The eternal child

(after C.M. van den Heever)

His grey-headed mom pushes the wheelchair in the street,
with his big water-head that bounces to and fro,
an incoherent smile is on his face
but then suddenly he stares in front of him,
when his soft hand reaches out,
confusion and spit comes over his lips,
people are almost fleeing, are avoiding him,
while others stare astounded at him
and all of life is passing him.

[Reference: "Die ewige kind" (The eternal child) by C.M. van den Heever.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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The ABC

'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"

Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"

"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."

C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."

"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."

"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.

"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."

X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."

poem by Spike Milligan
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Lead "me" to "me

What is this place?
Where have I reached?
I stand infront
The mirror,
As a stranger
Stares back at me.
Do I know her?
Have we met before?
Why do I see in her traces of' me'?
Or is this…
The new ‘me"?
Do I like her?
Brazen she stands…
Her hair wind swept,
Her eyes, wild
No longer windows
To the divinity of her soul.
But her smile has
Traces of "me".
That strange
Devil in "me".
As I shudder in peril,
Where have I reached?
Its miles and miles of mist,
Paths untread,
Lonely beings.
But…
Its this mysterious "me"
Which terrifies my soul.
Did I ever want to be
"her"?
Do I have a choice?
Is it too late to decide,
Revert, run back?
Where did I lose the "me"
I was so proud about?
Pray, give me your magic hand
Do lead "me to"me"…
For without "you" holding "me"
I remain not even "me"
Daddy…
your little 'ai'is all lost
Please lead "me" to "me"….

poem by Anjali Kakati
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I Met a Seer

I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
"Sir," I addressed him,
"Let me read."
"Child -- " he began.
"Sir," I said,
"Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much."

He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me. --
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

poem by Stephen Crane
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No

Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."

poem by Michael Drayton
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By force

People took me away by force
I was in tears as mother was only source
She was laid on floor breathless
Eternal peace and calm was seen on the face

I was holding firmly her hand
She was not only mother but more than a friend
"I will stay with you "she used to tell me daily
I may stare at her eyes but know nothing really

All mothers on this beautiful earth may be same
"I prayed almighty and asked many times"
Where from they were sent or came?
I did not get reply but "Mom "I called her by pet name

She would come near if I was found asleep
Keep moving hand over my head and silently peeped
Only to see if I was really not deceiving
Though she loved me and was completely believing

I resisted all attempts to be dragged away
They were all powerful and took me off the way
I cried with loud voice and cursed almighty
"Why did he do it "and showed no mercy

It was desperate cry and not reaching to any one
"Who will now feed me with love" thought while being dragged on
The tears were not stopping and again I attempted with sullen eyes
"You can't go near by place where your mom rests or lies" I was told

I virtually went blind fold
People were cruel and mindlessly cold
Why were they not allowing me to see her last time?
I wondered whether this may be happening with all sometimes

I looked at the hollow sky and twinkling stars
They were silently staying with me but from distance and very far
I thought of them as real companion and good friends
At least stars were crying with twinkling lights

"Let no mothers die and separate child like me" I prayed
If possible then some of the years may be added from my life for her stay
I had no other clue as how to over come this death issue
As I was prevented from seeing her or having clear last view

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Last Bargain

"Come and hire me," I cried, while in the morning I was walking on the stone-paved road.
Sword in hand, the King came in his chariot.
He held my hand and said, "I will hire you with my power."
But his power counted for nought, and he went away in his chariot.

In the heat of the midday the houses stood with shut doors.
I wandered along the crooked lane.
An old man came out with his bag of gold.
He pondered and said, "I will hire you with my money."
He weighed his coins one by one, but I turned away.

It was evening. The garden hedge was all aflower.
The fair maid came out and said, "I will hire you with a smile."
Her smile paled and melted into tears, and she went back alone into the dark.

The sun glistened on the sand, and the sea waves broke waywardly.
A child sat playing with shells.
He raised his head and seemed to know me, and said, "I hire you with nothing."
From thenceforward that bargain struck in child's play made me a free man.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Arcturus

"Arcturus" is his other name—
I'd rather call him "Star."
It's very mean of Science
To go and interfere!

I slew a worm the other day—
A "Savant" passing by
Murmured "Resurgam"—"Centipede"!
&q uot;Oh Lord—how frail are we"!

I pull a flower from the woods—
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath—
And has her in a "class"!

Whereas I took the Butterfly
Aforetime in my hat—
He sits erect in "Cabinets"—
The Clover bells forgot.

What once was "Heaven"
Is "Zenith" now—
Where I proposed to go
When Time's brief masquerade was done
Is mapped and charted too.

What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I'm ready for "the worst"—
Whatever prank betides!

Perhaps the "Kingdom of Heaven's" changed—
I hope the "Children" there Won't be "new fashioned" when I come—
And laugh at me—and stare—

I hope the Father in the skies
Will lift his little girl—
Old fashioned—naught—everything—
Over the stile of "Pearl."

poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Drunkard's Child

He stood beside his dying child,
With a dim and bloodshot eye;
They'd won him from the haunts of vice
To see his first-born die.
He came with a slow and staggering tread,
A vague, unmeaning stare,
And, reeling, clasped the clammy hand,
So deathly pale and fair.

In a dark and gloomy chamber,
Life ebbing fast away,
On a coarse and wretched pallet,
The dying sufferer lay:
A smile of recognition
Lit up the glazing eye;
"I'm very glad," it seemed to say,
"You've come to see me die."

That smile reached to his callous heart,
It sealed fountains stirred;
He tried to speak, but on his lips
Faltered and died each word.
And burning tears like rain
Poured down his bloated face,
Where guilt, remorse and shame
Had scathed, and left their trace.

"My father!" said the dying child,
(His voice was faint and low,)
"Oh! clasp me closely to your heart,
And kiss me ere I go.
Bright angels beckon me away,
To the holy city fair --
Oh! tell me, Father, ere I go,
Say, will you meet me there?"

He clasped him to his throbbing heart,
"I will! I will!" he said;
His pleading ceased -- the father held
His first-born and his dead!
The marble brow, with golden curls,
Lay lifeless on his breast;
Like sunbeams on the distant clouds
Which line the gorgeous west.

poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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In The Moonlight

"O lonely workman, standing there
In a dream, why do you stare and stare
At her grave, as no other grave where there?"

"If your great gaunt eyes so importune
Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,
Maybe you'll raise her phantom soon!"

"Why, fool, it is what I would rather see
Than all the living folk there be;
But alas, there is no such joy for me!"

"Ah - she was one you loved, no doubt,
Through good and evil, through rain and drought,
And when she passed, all your sun went out?"

"Nay: she was the woman I did not love,
Whom all the other were ranked above,
Whom during her life I thought nothing of."

poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Gardener XXVI: What Comes From Your Willing Hands

"What comes from your willing
hands I take. I beg for nothing
more."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If there be a stray flower for me
I will wear it in my heart."
"But if there be thorns?"
"I will endure them."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If but once you should raise your
loving eyes to my face it would make
my life sweet beyond death."
"But if there be only cruel
glances?"
"I will keep them piercing my
heart."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Hill, The

Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,
Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass;
Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still,
When we are old, are old. . . ." "And when we die
All's over that is ours; and life burns on
Through other lovers, other lips," said I,
-- "Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!"

"We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here.
Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said;
"We shall go down with unreluctant tread
Rose-crowned into the darkness!" . . . Proud we were,
And laughed, that had such brave true things to say.
-- And then you suddenly cried, and turned away.

poem by Rupert Brooke
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Ang Tunay Na Lalaki Meets Barbie At The Shark Bar

on Mulberry and Spring on a rainy night.
Her head sticks out of some woman’s tote bag
placed on top of the bar, she winks
at Ang Tunay na Lalaki. He looks at his gin and tonic,
looks back at the doll and hears her tiny voice
even though her lips aren’t moving. "Hi there,
big guy. I was made in the Philippines. You look
like you were made there too." He responds
just to humor himself, "Where, at the Subic Bay
manufacturing plants? Did you enjoy
being made by exploited laborers?" Barbie crawls
onto the sticky bar and sits herself on the edge
crossing her legs. "I remember those delicate fingers
expertly sewing the hairs to my head. Those women
were so nice to me." She bends at her waist
to let her hair down and dramatically lifts her head up
so her blond locks turn into a glamorous puff,
"See, they did a good job. You must admit."
"You’re incorrigible," he exhales a cloud of smoke
after lighting up a cigarette, "And you’re
all plastic, petroleum based plastic."
Barbie places her palms against her face
and begins to sob. Ang Tunay na Lalaki sticks out
his middle finger, strokes the back of her head,
"Now, now, doll. First time anyone ever told
you the truth?" Barbie lifts her left arm
to swipe away his finger, "My name’s Barbie!
Not Doll, Sweetie, Honey, or Dolly. It’s Barbie!"
Ang Tunay na Lalaki sips his gin,
"Look, Barbie. You have the perfect life,
you’re the world’s best-selling doll
and millions of little girls are buying you dresses.
Even the top fashion designers design
outfits for you." Barbie straightens her back
as if she had a spine, places
her hands on her lap, "But you don’t know
how hard it is to be beautiful all the time. See,
you made my mascara run." He takes a napkin,
dips it into his drink, proceeds to wipe off
the small black streaks on her cheeks, "It’s acrylic,
a water based paint." He reaches into his pocket
for a ball-point pen, draws rich eye lashes
around her eyes. Barbie slides over to a shot glass,
stares at her reflection, "Hey, you’re good
at this. Have you ever considered a career
in make-up? I could recommend you
to our designers, you know."
Suddenly a woman’s human hand plucks
Barbie off the bar, stuffing her
back into a tote bag. His eyes follow
the tote bag out the door. All he can see
is a puff of blond hair and a stiff arm
swaying back and forth like a metronome.

poem by Nick Carbo
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The Cord Of Gossamer

The gossamer cord it tightens,

As I try to move away.

Although I love you Eternally,

We can't live day by day.

I puzzled over this anomaly

Down the years that passed so full,

And asked myself, what can I do?

"Nothing" came reply, "just null."

But still I puzzled, beat my brow,

Felt I should do it all.

"No child" you gently chided,

"You're riding for a fall."

Only live your life for you,

Though interlinked you be.

This gauntlet is not yours to run.

Let go your agony.

Though partners through the Universe,

Evolving along with he.

You cannot move his pieces (chess) ,

You have to let him be.

And if he honours his Karma,

Then the choice is yours to live,

But if he should choose to turn away,

Then freedom you must give.

Not just for him my child you said,

As I turned bewildered face.

In puzzlement to you I cried,

But we won't win the race.

Then if that's so my darling one,

Accept it and move on.

For you can't be he as well as you,

For this life at least it must be gone.

Maybe in the lifetimes still to come,

You still could join in pace.

But two it still takes hand in hand.

‘Tis never just one face.

poem by Rosi Caswell
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I, She And Silence

First, first...
Over phone...
"Hello"... "Hello"
For hours… sweet talk…
Many a laugh…

3 years later...
Face to face
"Hi"... "Hi"
Two shy smiles…
Silence...

Two cups of coffee...
Silence...

While parting two broad grins...
Silence…
She turned aside …bit her lips
I sighed…scratched head
Silence…silence…silence…

2 days later........
Over phone...
"Hello"..."Hello"
for hours …sweet talk…
Many a laugh

poem by Sathya Narayana
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Intimacy

I hear people say, "I love my iPhone, "
Or, "I love drinking a Starbucks coffee."
Sometimes: "I love my Versace cologne, "
And also: "I love having this money."
I hear people say, "I love my Walmart, "
Or, "I love the drive-thru at Taco Bell."
"I love my TV. It's state of the art."
"I love the shoes that Nike has to sell."
I hear this: "I love American Idol, "
And, "I love a nice, cold Budweiser."
"I love medicines such as Demerol."
And, "I love my internet provider."
Yet, one thing I don't hear is, "I love you."
Saying that is too intimate to do.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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The New Knighthood

Who gives him the Bath?
"I," said the wet,
Rank-Jungle-sweat,
"I'll give him the Bath!"

Who'll sing the psalms?
"We," said the Palms.
"Ere the hot wind becalms,
"We'll sing the psalms."

Who lays on the sword ?
"I," said the Sun,
Before he has done,
"I'll lay on the sword."

"Who fastens his belt?
"I," said Short-Rations,
" I know all the fashions
"Of tightening a belt!"

Who gives him his spur?
"I," said his Chief,
Exacting and brief,
"I'll give him the spur."

Who'll shake his hand?
"I," said the Fever,
"And I'm no deceiver,
"I'll shake his hand."

Who brings him the wine?
"I," said Quinine,
"It's a habit of mine.
"I'11 come with his wine."

Who'll put him to proof?
"I," said All Earth.
"Whatever he's worth,
"I'll put to the proof."

Who'll choose him for Knight?
"I," said his Mother,
"Before any other,
"My very own Knight."

And after this fashion, adventure to seek,
Sir Galahad was made--as it might be last week!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Astronomer

I only said, "When in the evening the round full moon gets
entangled among the beaches of that Dadam tree, couldn't somebody
catch it?"
But dada laughed at me and said, "Baby, you are the silliest
child I have ever known. The moon is ever so far from us, how could
anybody catch it?"
I said, "Dada, how foolish you are! When mother looks out of
her window and smiles down at us playing, would you call her far
away?"
Still dada said, "You are a stupid child! But, baby where
could you find a net big enough to catch the moon with?"
I said, "Surely you could catch it with your hands."
But dada laughed and said, "You are the silliest child I have
known. If it came nearer, you would see how big the moon is."
I said, "Dada, what nonsense they teach at your school! When
mother bends her face down to kiss us, does her face look very
big?"
But still dada says, "You are a stupid child."

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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I'm

199

I'm "wife"—I've finished that—
That other state—
I'm Czar—I'm "Woman" now—
It's safer so—

How odd the Girl's life looks
Behind this soft Eclipse—
I think that Earth feels so
To folks in Heaven—now—

This being comfort—then
That other kind—was pain—
But why compare?
I'm "Wife"! Stop there!

poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Domestic Tragedy

Clorinda met me on the way
As I came from the train;
Her face was anything but gay,
In fact, suggested pain.
"Oh hubby, hubby dear!" she cried,
"I've awful news to tell. . . ."
"What is it, darling?" I replied;
"Your mother -- is she well?"

"Oh no! oh no! it is not that,
It's something else," she wailed,
My heart was beating pit-a-pat,
My ruddy visage paled.
Like lightning flash in heaven's dome
The fear within me woke:
"Don't say," I cried, "our little home
Has all gone up in smoke!"

She shook her head. Oh, swift I clasped
And held her to my breast;
"The children! Tell me quick," I gasped,
"Believe me, it is best."
Then, then she spoke; 'mid sobs I caught
These words of woe divine:
"It's coo-coo-cook has gone and bought
A new hat just like mine."

poem by Robert William Service
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You Are Old Father William

"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head --
Do you think, at your age, it is right?

"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And you have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door --
Pray what is the reason for that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment -- one shilling a box --
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak --
Pray, how did you mange to do it?"

"In my youth," said his fater, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as every;
Yet you balanced an eel on the tend of your nose --
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?

Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs.

poem by Lewis Carroll
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