Over my death
Let no one cry over my death
Let it be considered as last breathe
I may lay there as brave man
Faced odds in struggle but died as human
Bravery knows no bounds
All words seem so sound
That may encourage future generation
To strengthen the bond and cement the relation
Nation may pay homage to brave sons
"Here lies our future in person"
"He died for national cause"
The words may read thus
Let no one shed tears
Let no tragic words should fall in ears
That may undermine my sacrifice
As many more may have to lay life and fulfill the promises
Occasionally you may come and lay the wreath
Remember me with floral tribute and take oath
Not to have fears in consequences to follow
Let the nation develop and fearlessly grow
I knew nothing when ventured into enemy
I had full trust and faith in almighty
I heard a voice to dash against wall
In doing so it was expected a fall
What else can be so sacred?
When you are honored to lead
A mission to spread message and give warning
Not a place here to bargain or go for earning
My eyes may look beyond boundary
Demand more of sacrifice if necessary
Let enemy be taken by sudden surprise
I shall come out of grave and rise
I shall prefer thousand demises
If that is criteria to stand for promises
A honor very rare to any national
There is logic behind with strong rationale
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Our Captain's Last Words
Where the foremost flag was flying,
Pierce'd by manny a shot and shell,
Where the bravest men were dying,
There our gallant captain fell.
"Boys! you follow now another;
Follow till the foe shall yield;"
Then he whisper'd, "Tell my mother
Stephen died upon the field."
"Mother!"
"Moth er!"
"Stephen died upon the field."
Through the battle they bore him,
But his words were growing wild;
Heeding not the scenes before him,
Stephen was once more a child.
"Ah, she comes! there is no other
Speaks my name with such a joy;
Press me to your bosom, mother,
Call my still your darling joy."
"Mother!"
"Mother !"
"Call my still your darling joy."
Men who were not used to weeping,
Turn'd aside to hide a tear,
When they saw the pallor creeping,
That assured them death was near.
Kindly as he were a brother,
Strangers caught his parting breath,
Laden with the mumur "mother"
Last upon his lips in death.
"Mother!"
"Mother!&qu ot;
Last upon his lips in death.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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See what you like
There should never be "what" and "if"
We are only green leaf or leaves
Hear what we feel an act as not deaf
Feel to the pulse and say very brief
Love is to care
Love is to dare
Love is to be fare
Spread the fragrance in the air
Eyes may speak
But legs may feel weak
You may know it well
I have nothing more to tell
I loved it all
Waited for your sweet call
You were there in my dream
I always longed for you to swim
I lack the words
But look always forward
I feel warmth and her gentle touch
I never knew love will be as such
I missed her not for the beauty
But I considered it as my duty
Love demands sacrifice
Not words but with full promises
She may be far and away
But I see in her clear way
She guides me from the distance
What a luck and beautiful golden chance!
I may hold her whenever time comes
Offer all praises and heartily welcome
She may be for me and forever
I shall not doubt it any more
Not all people may be lucky
Whatever they want and get it easy
I must be thankful to her and almighty
Who have blessed me with such a fine beauty?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"
-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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A Soldier's Poem
There is a time when sounds of war will ring
And songs of Liberty and Freedom we will sing. As the brave soldier stands at the point of fight,
he or she may fear for what is right. For the reasons of war; land, power, hunger or greed,
We know to maintain peace, I guess "War" is what we need So as the soldier stands at the eye of his enemy,
He shoots the enemy down and prays for his eternity. Only God knows who is right or who is wrong
but with God's strength our country shall stand strong And for the lives that suffered, we will mourn
Because of them our flag shall not be torn! Let us learn and remember the important of peace,
And pray to God for this War to cease! "Desert Storm 90-91"
A mission never to be forgotten"
poem by Melissa L. Phillips
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You're right—
234
You're right—"the way is narrow"—
And "difficult the Gate"—
And "few there be"—Correct again—
That "enter in—thereat"—
'Tis Costly—So are purples!
'Tis just the price of Breath—
With but the "Discount" of the Grave—
Termed by the Brokers—"Death"!
And after that—there's Heaven—
The Good Man's—"Dividend"—
And Bad Men—"go to Jail"—
I guess—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Gardener XXVII: Trust Love
"Trust love even if it brings sorrow.
Do not close up your heart."
"Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
"Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop,
while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is
strong and abiding. Let sorrowful
love wake in your eyes."
"Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
"The lotus blooms in the sight of
the sun, and loses all that it has. It
would not remain in bud in the
eternal winter mist."
"Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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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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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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An Old Story
(Retold in Rhyme)
They threw him in a prison cell;
He moaned upon his bed.
And when he crept from coils of hell:
"Last night you killed," they said.
"last night in drunken rage you slew
A being brave with breath;
A radiant soul, because of you
Lies dark in death."
"last night I killed," he moaned distraught,
"When I was wild with wine;
I slew, and I remember naught . . .
O Mother, Mother mine!
"To what unbridled rage may lead
You taught me at your knew.
Why did I not your warning heed . . .
And now - the gallows tree.
"O Mother, Mother, come to me,
For I am sore distrest,
And I would kneel beside your knee
And weep upon your breast. . . ."
They stared at him; their lips were dumb,
Their eyes tear filled;
Then spoke the Priest: "She cannot come . . .
'Twas she you killed."
poem by Robert William Service
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Act as defender
Who can act as defender of holy land?
Who will come forward for sacrifice and raise the hands?
Is it the sacred soil that you are prepared to defend?
Will it be the lip services and you mean to pretend?
It has always remained great honor in defending the motherland
How many people have shed their blood in defending the fatherland?
It is our glorious past that keeps on striking the mind all the way
It is national honor and pride that we may protect and have no other sway
The basic question is who will rise and revolt?
The assault may be all of sudden and may come as blue from bolt
this can be countered effectively with fine resolve,
if we are ready to go to any extent with the aim to solve
There are enemies outside and from within
They form invisible line and firmly set in
There main task is to sabotage the peace talk
Wreck the economy and wait for cake walk
It is easy to flat the enemy on ground
There may be some separate ways and it has to be found
The enemy may strike from within by remaining invisible
They may breach the defense line and force us to be defensible
How do we arouse the national feeling?
How many may come forward from their own and willing?
Will it not be called a significant move to attain martyrdom?
Will it not be considered a token prize for preserving freedom?
Will it not a weakening sign if we fail to respond to a call?
The enemy may be waiting to get in to break the wall
It may be their pre plan to catch us off the guard
It is known practice and procedure very standard
You may loose your precious life and perish
The war may not come an end easily or finish
it may be their grand design and simple wish
We are loosing everything and chances simply diminish
Let right thinking poets come forward,
Let them not wait for any trophy or reward,
Time may tell about your contribution for struggle
Your pen may strike and enemy may face the trouble
Everybody should raise banner with single voice,
Who ever is there must have other choice
the sky should be limit and eagles should dare
Enemy should be wiped out and found no where
There may be cause and enough reasons
The nation may pay homage for brave sons
It is the history that speak well of martyrs
Eyes always down and eyes full of tears
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Subalterns
I
"Poor wanderer," said the leaden sky,
"I fain would lighten thee,
But there are laws in force on high
Which say it must not be."
II
--"I would not freeze thee, shorn one," cried
The North, "knew I but how
To warm my breath, to slack my stride;
But I am ruled as thou."
III
--"To-morrow I attack thee, wight,"
Said Sickness. "Yet I swear
I bear thy little ark no spite,
But am bid enter there."
IV
--"Come hither, Son," I heard Death say;
"I did not will a grave
Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,
But I, too, am a slave!"
V
We smiled upon each other then,
And life to me had less
Of that fell look it wore ere when
They owned their passiveness.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Strengthen the friendship
Strengthen the relation
Countries can remain divided
All commodities can be freely provided
Yet man to man contact strengthens the relation
That is sign of friendly and very encouraging indication
Entire globe is divided into continents
People prefer more contacts and affiliation with sentiments
I, too, am no exception and stick to some kind of bond
I like more and more and develop the fondness
I am inclined more to poetry
And as such thank powerful almighty
For giving me an instinct to follow inner conscience
In each line you may find beauty and his presence
"Hello sir, " broke my silence and concentration
It was call from distant land as understood by indication
I had seen her several times on the friends list
She was all for praise of poems and considered as best
I fast slipped in to dream land
Where I could anticipate and think of good friends
Poets need good environment and natural surrounding
Her call was of my liking and made me joyous on finding
"Can you be my best inspirational subject? "
It was fine gesture to call on me and can be considered as fine act
"I am confused at your proposal" came back the reply
Now it was my turn to feel bad and shy
"Skip it" I hastily retraced the steps and waited for reaction
"No problem with arrangement" was the words for action
I found sky so close to me and inviting to touch the horizon
I wondered at the folly of man who created such different zones
Poets mind can travel at far end and come back with good message
Peace and harmonious atmosphere can prevail in all ages
Why at all we should go for boundary clashes and wars?
The peace should never elude us and look at distance or far
"I may take leave but certainly look at" was her response
My worry lines just disappeared as I was looking tense
She had shown marvelous quality and presence of mind
For me she was not less than then the precious treasure of any kind
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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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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The Lord, my God was crucified
"My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me? "
You cried as You suffered in deep agony.
The unity of the Godhead divided
as atonement for my sin was provided.
There, "Father forgive them, " from the cross You cried
words of intercession from The Crucified
and for my sins You paid that awful price
by Your death upon the cross and sacrifice.
"Into Your hands I commend My soul, " You said
closed Your eyes and entered the realms of the dead.
Your love in all its fullness flowed out to me
Lord, when You laid down Your life at Calvary.
(See also "It is finished")
Under the Pines
"LIFE is sad," says the wind in the pines
To the still soul listening,
While the pale, pale day declines
Like a white bird on the wing.
"Life is sad," says the quiet earth
5
Under the churchyard wall,
Where the spring flowers have their birth
And the autumn leaflets fall.
"Life is sad," say the daisies that blow there
And stretch out their heads to the sun;
10
"Life is sad," say the poor hearts that go there
To weep when the day's work is done.
"Life is sad," from below, from on high,
From forest and meadow and tree,
From the clouds that drift over the sky
15
And the days that die into the sea.
Then up and be brave with thy sorrow,
Like a man with his face to the blast;
Not from hope of the joys of to-morrow,
Nor rest when the warfare is past;
20
But strong that weak souls may grow strong,
That men may take heart by the way,
Till the heavens break forth with the song
That will herald eternal day.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Promises
Remember how it used to be,
Remember how you promised me,
That life would always be good,
You forget the fact you lied to me,
You locked my heart and threw the key,
I'm so misunderstood,
What to say when all the words have gone,
Promises, promises,
What to do when all our thoughts have flown,
Promises, promises,
Remember how I gave my heart,
And all at once we fell apart,
Was I supposed to forgive you,
You forgot the fact you said to me,
That we were for eternity,
You're so easy to see through,
What to say when all the words have gone,
Promises, promises,
What to do when all our thoughts have flown,
Promises, promises,
Remember that I'm over you,
And know that I will make it through,
Hope you never forget it,
The promises you made to me,
Were really lies and fantasy,
Hope you come to regret it,
What to say when all the tears have dried,
Promises, promises,
What to think when all our love has died,
Promises, promises,
The promises we used to keep have gone,
And with them all the words,
That kept us both from seeing what was wrong,
The rest is silent, What to say when all the words have gone,
Promises, promises,
What to do when all our thoughts have flown,
Promises, promises,
What to say when all the tears have dried,
Promises, promises,
What to think when all our love has died,
Promises, promises.
song performed by by Kylie Minogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is—
215
What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—
Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—
You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Seventh Day
Forget not the day of the Sabbath,
Its mention is like a pleasant offering.
During it the dove found resting place,
And there the weary may relax.
The day is honored by the Children of Faith,
Careful to observe it are fathers and sons.
Engraved upon two tablets of stone,
From great power and mighty strength.
And they all came in Covenant together,
In unison they said, "We shall do and we shall listen."
And they commenced and answered, "God is One,"
Blessed is He that gives strength to the weary.
He spoke in His holiness by the mountain of Mohr spice
"Remember and guard the seventh day."
And all of his commandments to be completed together
Strengthen the loins and gather up power.
The nation that is in motion, like lost sheep,
By covenant He will remember to recall it,
So that an evil happening may not befall them,
Just as You have sworn by the waters of Noah.
poem by Yehudah HaLevi
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I did not cry
In that day I didn't cry
I didn't know exactly why?
People around and relatives wept
But not all tears except one I had kept
He was laid on the ground
Very quietly and peacefully found
He deserved praises from all
Now I feared all tears may fall
He was man of principles and known as down to earth
He was not at all afraid of death
He used to say" life may be over one day"
Hence never loose patience all the way
Enjoy with whatever you have
Treat all equal and nicely behave
Words may fall as if from sage's tongue
Crystal clear with echo and not a vague
"Dear son, I have a high hope in you"
Never loose a hope and always prove true
I was always upset with his advices
As if he was about to leave me on his demise
He lived his life peacefully
Not all the people might have proved it successfully
I was sure of his life mission
"Life for the people" was his dear ambition
How can I weep over his demise?
When he had taken from me a promise
I will not dropp a tear for whatever reason
As he was not for me at all as single person
I had spent most of my time with the forces
But he had never regretted with simple word of remorse
I controlled my emotions with great difficulty
As he had told me not to feel any kind of sorry
: "Life is not what people firmly believe in and lead"
He used to tell me in private "people must observe and read"
What you are doing and how are you useful for the noble cause?
He may then take deep breath and wait for my response
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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When You Get Home, Remember Me
Lieutenant De Long, commanding the Jeannette Artic
Expedition, having seen his vessel crushed by the ice,
undertook a perilous journey through the ice and snow
toward the coast of Siberia. With a part of his command
he finally reached the wilderness near the mouth of the
River Lena. Disabled by sickness, hunger and cold, the
little band was compelled to halt, while two of their
number went forward. When the pathetic parting was over,
and after the two seaman had begun their battle with the
snowdrifts, they heard a call, and on turning, recognized
the voice of one of their officers feebly shouting: "When
you get to New York, remember me!" From that group of
brave men, these were the last words that ever reached
human ears.
Starving beside the frozen Lena!
Perishing in a snow blockade!
From a lone group of shipwrecked seamen
Two are sent forth to seek for aid.
'Tis a sad, a solemn parting;
Life or death! who can foresee?
Hark! on the wind floats this last message:
"When you get home, remember me!"
Gallant and brave! together clinging,
True to the last! with but this plea;
Still in our ears its words are ringing,
"When you get home, remember me!"
Ready to sink, yet persevering,
Southward and helpward toil the twain;
Close in the rear an Artic winter
Binding the land with icy chain.
Weary wait the suff'ring comrades;
Help they ask on bended knee;
But to their friends come these words only:
"When you get home, remember me!"
Succor at last! the twain find helpers;
Shrieks the fierce gale, "Too late! too late!"
Valiant De Long and brave companions,
Manfully, calmly meet their fate.
One by one, they lie down dying;
All obey that stern decree---
Last on their lips this plaintive whisper:
"When you get home, remember me!"
Starving beside the frozen Lena!
Perishing in a snow blockade!
Had we but known their need, what thousands
Would have rejoiced to render aid!
There was want, while here abundance;
Naught had they, while plenty we.
Shall we not heed their last entreaty:
"When you get home, remember me!"
poem by Henry Clay Work
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