En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Spare any one seldom

"Jhuem- jhuem jhuem"* came the little sound
One hunter fly attacked me when I was on round
The workers were in the field and awaited
All of sudden they came in formation and attacked

As there is one specialty particularly lies
They are called hunter bees
They will spare no one and attack passers by
One has to run away or escape death trap and try

They will attack one by one and repeat three times
Each time they will create special sound sometimes
Many more may come on scene and fiercely try
You will have no other way than to die

I ran for life and at the same time tried to kill
Pick by one hand and run away towards vehicle still
I fell down number of times on the way
Yet they were not leaving me and pushing away

I saw death before eyes and prayed
I had powerful will and so forcefully stayed
Picked the scooter by one hand and started
I thought time was near I will be departed

Some how I gathered strength and resisted
I was not to leave scene and so forcefully insisted
As the scooter moved ahead with speed
They were pushed back by air I maintained the lead

I was saved from their clutches
Yet they were after me to catch
Many farmers told me about their menace
I was the lucky one to escape luck by chance

I tried to know the reason behind
As they will be in search of their habitat to find
The vultures may attack an pick some of them as food
I now formed an opinion and clearly understood

The forest life is not easy
All insect lead the life and remain busy
If they are troubled in their kingdom
They will spare any one seldom

*"Jhuem- jhuem jhuem"* sound created by hunter bees

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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What Goes Around . . .

In position and out of sight,
hiding until the time was right,
the cat crawled forward with such skill,
the bird could not escape the "kill." It happened almost every day.
The cat would never miss its prey.
So many kills against its name,
it loved to play that "pouncing" game. But then one day, the cat outside,
not chasing birds, no need to hide,
just lying in the grass to rest,
and dreaming of that new found nest. But suddenly, an angry cry,
the sound of many birds nearby.
Like bombers on a bombing run,
they started "swooping" one by one. The battle on, surprise attack,
the cat "pinned down," could not fight back.
The "message" on that battleground,
what goes around does come around.

poem by Art Milkes
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Hunter bees

Persons tend to become arrogant and turn atheist when attain so much wealth and fame. It is natural phenomena and comes with the sudden attainment of unseen wealth. The supreme lord has also kept one stick to correct such people. In normal times when tide is in his favor then everything will go well unexpectedly. Even if you do a wrong thing then also things might turn right for you.

I was allotted with Government waste land on retirement form the armed forces. I had to make lots of efforts to make it cultivable. I employed lots of labourers for the purpose. I use to go daily on site and supervise the work done by them. One day when workers were on the job then suddenly one hunter bee came and sudden struck on my face and made big humming noise. Since workers were from village and knew the behaviors of bees, they suddenly shouted all the people at work to lie down on the ground to escape their attack. I was just back from military service and took affront to such move. Meanwhile hunter bees attacked me with big force and started biting me on the face and all parts of the body.

The quality and symptom of hunter bees are that they come and attack once, make noise and report back to their companions. They will just multiply and attack with more force. This happens so because if they are antagonized then they won’t see whether it is human being, animals or any living being. They will continuously attack till the person is dead. Even if you run and hide in the water then also they will hover over water and attack the moment you take out your head.

I just didn't loose my head and thought of escaping unhurt. I prayed God and ran toward my bike, thinking that I may take ride and go away. The bees followed me, making several bites and making me half dead. Still I continued the quest and reached the spot. The moment I started the bike, the wind stopped them from following me with speed. I just escaped assassination attempt by bees.

I just narrated this incidence because getting the land from the Government had made me to think little proud. Since it had come to me as gift but still it had created a superior complex in mind.

So I take this opportunity to express my belief in Almighty that whatever be the fortune HE endows on you must be accepted with grace and not feel so arrogant about it.

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Swinging the Lead

Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "I've got noises in me head
And a kind o' filled up feeling after every time I'm fed;
I can sleep all night on picket, but I can't sleep in my bed".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "Do you think they'll send me back?
For I really ain't adapted to be carrying a pack
Though I've humped a case of whisky half a mile upon my back".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"

"And my legs have swelled up cruel, I can hardly walk at all,
Bur when the Taubes come over you should see me start to crawl;
When we're sprinting for the dugout, I can easy beat 'em all".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"

So they sent him to the trenches where he landed safe and sound,
And he drew his ammunition, just about two fifty round:
"Oh Sergeant, what's this heavy stuff I've got to hump around?"
And the Sergeant said,
"That's Lead!"

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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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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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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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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My Friend, The Parking Lot Attendant

—he's a dandy
—small moustache
—usually sucking on a cigar

he tends to lean into cars as he
transacts business

first time I met him, he said,
"hey! ya gonna make a
killin'?"

"maybe," I answered.

next meeting it was:
"hey, Ramrod! what's
happening?"

"very little," I told
him.

next time I had my girlfriend with me
and he just
grinned.

next time I was
alone.

"hey," he asked, "where's the young
chick?"

"I left her at home...."

"Bullshit! I'll bet she dumped
you!"

and the next time
he really leaned into the car:

"what's a guy like you doing driving a
BMW! I'll bet you inherited your
money, you didn't get this car with your
brains!"

"how'd you guess?" I
answered.

that was some weeks ago.
I haven't seen him lately.
feIlow like that, chances are he just moved on
to better
things.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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At Lulworth Cove a Century Back

Had I but lived a hundred years ago
I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
And Time have placed his finger on me there:

"You see that man?" -- I might have looked, and said,
"O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban's Head.
So commonplace a youth calls not my thought."

"You see that man?" -- "Why yes; I told you; yes:
Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
And as the evening light scants less and less
He looks up at a star, as many do."

"You see that man?" -- "Nay, leave me!" then I plead,
"I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!"

"Good. That man goes to Rome -- to death, despair;
And no one notes him now but you and I:
A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
And bend with reverence where his ashes lie."

poem by Thomas Hardy
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I want to see

I don't know about what a way to feel?
Not to express in open but still!
I earnestly feel that she belongs to me
Only she has to respond and make me feel free

"She will come like rain and shower"
"Deplete all her energy and power"
Such words from her drive me to craziness
But I get lost in her glitter and shining face

"I love you" may come to me as recognition
That shall clam me down and need no ignition
She has descended from far and distant land
Taken a vow to stand fast till the end

"Only your picture of thumb impression" I plead
She opens her eyes and coolly tries to read
Extends her hand and invites me to lead
I pick the chance and tie a knot with thread

I float on water with no wish for any more ground
She is there for me to be always found
I can't afford to loose her at any time
Such thoughts invade my mind many a times

Will she emerge on my eye window screen?
What will she be looking like when actually seen?
So far she has eluded me from seeing her in real
Beauty is hidden purposefully and concealed

"I am here" open your eyes and see it happen
You have pulled me near heart is taken
I am at your gate point and wait for entry
What will you be doing to lift me and carry?

Her magical words hunt my memory
I try to pick each word but feel sorry
She is no where around but airs the presence
"I want to see you by chance" and at once

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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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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Hide and Seek

All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still,
All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill;
Through the noonday silence, down the woods of June,
Hark, a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune.
"Hide and seek!
"When I speak,
"You must answer me:
"Call again,
"Merry men,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

Now I hear his footsteps, rustling through the grass:
Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass?
Just a low, soft whistle,--quick the hunter turns,
Leaps upon me laughing, rolls me in the ferns.
"Hold him fast,
"Caught at last!
"Now you're it, you see.
"Hide your eye,
"Till I cry,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

II

Long ago he left me, long and long ago:
Now I wander through the world and seek him high and low;
Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,--
Ah, if I could hear his voice, I soon should find his face.
Far away,
Many a day,
Where can Barney be?
Answer, dear,
Don't you hear?
Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!

Birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heart with joy,
Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy.
Surely he is waiting till my steps come nigh;
Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die.
Heart, be glad,
The little lad
Will call some day to thee:
"Father dear,
"Heaven is here,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

poem by Henry Van Dyke
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I have lived with Shades

I

I have lived with Shades so long,
So long have talked to them,
I sped to street and throng,
That sometimes they
In their dim style
Will pause awhile
To hear my say;

II

And take me by the hand,
And lead me through their rooms
In the To-Be, where Dooms
Half-wove and shapeless stand:
And show from there
The dwindled dust
And rot and rust
Of things that were.

III

"Now turn," they said to me
One day: "Look whence we came,
And signify his name
Who gazes thence at thee" --
-- "Nor name nor race
Know I, or can,"
I said, "Of man
So commonplace."

IV

"He moves me not at all:
I note no ray or jot
Of rareness in his lot,
Or star exceptional.
Into the dim
Dead throngs around
He'll sink, nor sound
Be left of him."

V

"Yet," said they, "his frail speech,
Hath accents pitched like thine --
Thy mould and his define
A likeness each to each --
But go! Deep pain
Alas, would be
His name to thee,
And told in vain!"

poem by Thomas Hardy
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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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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 Swagman

Oh, he was old and he was spare;
His bushy whiskers and his hair
Were all fussed up and very grey
He said he'd come a long, long way
And had a long, long way to go.
Each boot was broken at the toe,
And he'd a swag upon his back.
His billy-can, as black as black,
Was just the thing for making tea
At picnics, so it seemed to me.

'Twas hard to earn a bite of bread,
He told me. Then he shook his head,
And all the little corks that hung
Around his hat-brim danced and swung
And bobbed about his face; and when
I laughed he made them dance again.
He said they were for keeping flies -
"The pesky varmints" - from his eyes.
He called me "Codger". . . "Now you see
The best days of your life," said he.
"But days will come to bend your back,
And, when they come, keep off the track.
Keep off, young codger, if you can.
He seemed a funny sort of man.

He told me that he wanted work,
But jobs were scarce this side of Bourke,
And he supposed he'd have to go
Another fifty mile or so.
"Nigh all my life the track I've walked,"
He said. I liked the way he talked.
And oh, the places he had seen!
I don't know where he had not been -
On every road, in every town,
All through the country, up and down.
"Young codger, shun the track," he said.
And put his hand upon my head.
I noticed, then, that his old eyes
Were very blue and very wise.
"Ay, once I was a little lad,"
He said, and seemed to grow quite sad.

I sometimes think: When I'm a man,
I'll get a good black billy-can
And hang some corks around my hat,
And lead a jolly life like that.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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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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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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My patience

I controlled my passion but could not
Tears forcefully contained but rolled out
I have strong will but failed this time
Attachment is such relation you fail sometimes

I had beautiful times good moments
I used to wait for him and remain present
He will sure come and close in
To embrace me and win

That was all good for me to find a friend
He had vowed to stay till the life end
I fell for him and vowed to stay together
He took my hand and promised not to bother

Today he is leaving me behind
Lone figure to wait and find
His fond memories and nice time
I hold my tears and think sometimes

What will he look like when come back?
Will our sweet life be at jeopardy or at stake?
What will he do if earned a lot fortune?
Will he maintain same relation with fine tune?

I slipped in to thoughtless dream
We had so far worked as team
He was to stand all the time by my side
As our horizon was vast and very wide

I wished him long and happy journey
I thought" it may be wish of almighty"
He is on the board of ship to cruise
To fulfill all the dreams and promises

I stayed at shore and witness
His ship sailing towards sea surface
Never ending and never disappearing
But sending me shock waves and fearing

I brush aside such thoughts
I wish all the good in life without being caught
It is part of the life and one must venture out for good
The philosophy of life must be clearly understood

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sonnet 145: Those lips that Love's own hand did make

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said "I hate"
To me that languished for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
"I hate" she altered with an end,
That followed it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
"I hate" from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying "not you."

poem by William Shakespeare
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The Australian Slanguage

"Tis the everyday Australian
Has a language of his own,
Has a language, or a slanguage,
Which can simply stand alone.
And a "dickon pitch to kid us"
Is a synonym for "lie",
And to "nark it" means to stop it,
And to "nit it" means to fly.

And a bosom friend's a "cobber,"
And a horse a "prad" or "moke,"
While a casual acquaintance
Is a "joker" or a "bloke."
And his lady-love's his "donah"
or his "clinah" or his "tart"
Or his "little bit o' muslin,"
As it used to be his "bart."

And his naming of the coinage
Is a mystery to some,
With his "quid" and "half-a-caser"
And his "deener" and his "scrum".
And a "tin-back" is a party
Who's remarkable for luck,
And his food is called his "tucker"
Or his "panem" or his "chuck".

A policeman is a "johnny"
Or a "copman" or a "trap",
And a thing obtained on credit
Is invariably "strap".
A conviction"s known as "trouble",
And a gaol is called a "jug",
And a sharper is a "spieler"
And a simpleton's a "tug".

If he hits a man in fighting
That is what he calls a "plug",
If he borrows money from you
He will say he "bit your lug."
And to "shake it" is to steal it,
And to "strike it" is to beg;
And a jest is "poking borac",
And a jester "pulls your leg".

Things are "cronk" when they go wrongly
In the language of the "push",
But when things go as he wants 'em
He declares it is "all cush".
When he's bright he's got a "napper",
And he's "ratty" when he's daft,
And when looking for employment
He is "out o' blooming graft".

And his clothes he calls his "clobber"
Or his "togs", but what of that
When a "castor" or a "kady"
Is the name he gives his hat!
And our undiluted English
Is a fad to which we cling,
But the great Australian slanguage
Is a truly awful thing!

poem by William Thomas Goodge
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