En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Flower To Auroville Mother-102

Masipachchai(Artemisia absinthium)

Fertile green festive and favourite
Much mattered the leaves of 'Pachai'
Variegated lot of Artemesia-delight
Temple lords'most sought-after'Pachai'

Short and salient fragrant and sweet
Medicated my garden scenting sanative
Mellowed gray helping the leafy treat
Buddy flora tiny pale such formative

Monitor o'Pachai enlaced with the rest
In enchanting bliss of the following
The above hundred and one in knotted zest
To make all a garland in divine touching

poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-108

Kathir pachai(Pogostemon patchouli)

Do you not think she's ordinary
Realised, 'll say extra-ordinary
Calm and soft in sheer simplicity
Yet in great demand of utility
Here is joining our flower group
Kathirpachai to make a floral-troup

They're busy making the garland
Kathirpachai to final knot grand
Ovate her leaves with strange scent
Forgetting earthly needs here bent
Herself stooped to a divine task
Purple-white her flowers along bask

A murmuring hush between each other
Caring deep their work for the Mother
Kathir is fastening all so proper
In right pull and tangle and order
Garland is ready with great ardor
Adorned in distinction by the Mother

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Jasmine

Jasmine of the night;
She is a delight.
The tiny flower is bright.
She is very white!
The Night Queen is fragrant;
Sweet-smelling is her garland.
When placed at God’s altar,
She glitters like a star!
The Night princess is enchanting;
Her perfume is captivating.
When she graces the neck of God,
She is loved by the Lord.

THANK YOU

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Champak Vavroovahana Patra

Champak of the Night;
How is it sweet!
The tiny flower is aromatic;
How is it enthusiastic!

The Bride is so fragrant;
How is it stimulant!
The yellow Bride is on the earthy altar;
How does it glitter!

The essence pervades in the firmament;
How is it looking pleasant!
She dances in the vernal Breeze;
How is she zealous, crazy!

She is the celestial boon of Nature;
How enchanting is she forever!
The Night princess is perfuming;
How is it enchanting, captivating!

The garland crowns the creator;
How he operates all the creatures!
The entire universe becomes calm and quiet;
How glamorous are the human beings with delight!

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Spring

Spring appears with yellow mango blossoms everywhere;
Bay-leaf trees with tiny silvery blossoms bear.
Cuckoos melody from mango groves reverberates in the sky;
Poets become enthused with peace and inspiration high.
Tiny birds twittering in the sky fill the poet’s minds with ease;
Green leaves dance with the mild vernal breeze.
Fragrant yellow blossoms invite the bees for a kiss;
For these honey-seekers, its nature given bliss.
Sun rays falling on earth make it alluringly rosy;
The rays make the earth-dwellers warm and cosy.
The wavy streams flow down with a melodious muttering;
The green forest all around is most enchanting.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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To A Silvereye

I see you almost every day you fly from tree to tree
And I envy you your happiness for you are wholly free
You tiny insect eating bird in olive fawn and gray
And I feel glad so very glad to see you every day.

No boss to order you around to tell you what to do
Wish you were me dear tiny bird and wish that I were you
For you have freedom in your wings the freedom of the sky
And I envy you your happiness dear tiny silvereye.

On garden tree and green hedgerow close to the homes of men
I see you almost every day you and your tiny kin
From garden tree to garden tree and to and fro you wing
And midst the leaves the sunlit leaves you preen and chirp and sing.

I see you almost every day from tree to tree you fly
And I envy you your happiness the freedom of the sky
And I've a wish a secret wish when my turn come to die
That I will come to life again a tiny silvereye.

poem by Francis Duggan
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-103

Look, she too joins to flavour
Smiling at each other ambrosial
Her leaves stuck to woody server
In whorls tiny flora of sweet basil
Curative culinary sacred aromatic
Hark, entwining through how well
In tangling hush joining together
Help making of a garland wonderful

poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-106

Marikolundu(Dhavanam
Artemisia pallens Walls.)

Behold, all spellbound
In surpassed fragrance
Flowers of this garland
Stuck in added affluence

Marikolundu, she's the new
Beyond crores of heavens
Born and traversed through
Pregnant with aroma heavens'

Grown on earth with leaves
Pairs pinnasect, pamatisect
Perfuming sweet in opposites
Flora golden like her scent

Now glued together strung
All sunk in curative aroma
A song in dulcet mood sung
Stay on Davana, stay on Davana

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Chains Invisible

THE lilies in my garden grow,
Wide meadows ring my garden round,
In that green copse wild violets blow,
And pale, frail cuckoo flowers are found.
For all you see and all you hear,
The city might be miles away,
And yet you feel the city near
Through all the quiet of the day.

Sweet smells the earth--wet with sweet rain--
Sweet lilac waves in moonlight pale,
And from the wood beyond the lane
I hear the hidden nightingale.
Though field and wood about me lie,
Hushed soft in dew and deep delight,
Yet can I hear the city's sigh
Through all the silence of the night.

For me the skylark builds and sings,
For me the vine her garland weaves;
The swallow folds her glossy wings
To build beneath my cottage eaves.
But I can feel the giant near,
Can hear his slaves by daylight weep,
And when at last the night is here,
I hear him moaning in his sleep.

Oh! for a little space of ground,
Though not a flower should make it gay,
Where miles of meadows wrapped me round,
And leagues and leagues of silence lay.
Oh! for a wind-lashed, treeless down,
A black night and a rising sea,
And never a thought of London town,
To steal the world's delight from me.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Under The Ivy

It wouldn't take me long
To tell you how to find it
To tell you where we'll meet
This little girl inside me
Is retreating to her favourite place
Go into the garden, go under the ivy
Under the leaves, away from the party
Go right to the rose
Go right to the white rose
I sit here in the thunder
The green on the gray
I feel it all around me
And it's not easy for me
To give away a secret
It's not safe
To go into the garden, go under the ivy
Under the leaves, away from the party
Go right to the rose
Go right to the white rose
Go into the garden, go under the ivy
Go under the leaves with me
Go right to the rose
Go right to the white rose
I'll be waiting for you
It wouldn't take me long
To tell you how to find it

song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vaijayanti

What the flowers, what the flowers o'my Lord
Doeth cherish Thy garland
Flowers forest wild?
Strung up five elements, a loud chord
Whilst Pandavas and Kauravas
Clashed and crashed and crushed in thunders?
A kind otherwise different
Of a change fervent?
To Arjun Bhagavadatta's slaying vaishnavastra
Forbade Thy merciful neck; to Thine whirled a Vaijayantimaala?
Mother ours, Thy consort, Thy conscience
Sanctifying our flow of transcience
Variably altering Radha to Godha
Seethai to Kothai, Rukmini to Satyabhama
All but one Lakshmi when conjoined
Thy heart garlanding fragrance piled?
And those colours highly bewitching
Thy enchanting flute so matching
What a poise Thee and Thy Vaijayanti
Doeth look like Gopis resting on Thee
Else, gentle Alwars reciting Paasurams
Nestled Vaijayanti genuinely toes down in tassels
Each end velvety bearing on a blot
Me, Thy child a tiny dot
At thy lotus feet joyously feel
Myself soused in fragrant Vaijayanti whole
Jasmine and lily all varieties white
Lotus, rose, nerium all red and bright
Scented leaves of tender green delight
Yellow, blue, purple potpourri intrusively right
Interspersed with a leafy craft of nerium-parrot
Intertwined with entangled strands of basil
Thy vivid persona divine and tranquil
What else for doeth quest this soul mortal
Other than Thee Thy mercy immortal
O' Krishna, fasten me unto Thy lotus feet
My closure amid Thy mercy flowers tight

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Submission To The Baby God

The music of Bansuri-the flute,
Fastened me in trance in a heavenly spot.
Little Krishna! i saw you under a tree,
As a cow-herd playing your Bansuri.

Your soft velvety tiny feet,
Dancing in rhythmical gentle beat,
Myself sinking deep, deeper in devotion,
Little Krishna! harmonic was my emotion.

My closed eyes touching your petal-feet,
My arms hugging around your legs resplendent
My nose smelling-in your divine basil,
My bowed body sensing your garland's tickle,

'Ma' you said to make me calm,
Touching me with your tender palm.
Enthralled by your tranquil blessing,
No mind to get back to my living.

I surrender in deep rest of peace,
Unto your abode for your divine solace.
You are my sole, solemn, SAVIOUR!
Krishna! may my soul never waver! .

poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Flower To Auroville Mother 28

Kodi sampangi, (chambangi, Telosma minor,
Telosma cordata)

Yellow-green pale in subdued hidden silence
Sparse and scarce and slack you're this day
Of mechanised life moulded of machines, mindless
Man to remind and commend you to world of today
Yet of your fragrance divine in evening bloom
A rare beatitude hued creamy in dulcet nightfall
Leafing hearts supporting along the vine as you groom
Bewitched people some treasure you in closer hearts
Salient, sanative cupped perfume an abundant spray
In grip of a hardy trunk as you blossom in clusters
Of culinary exotica too, Telosma, what else? 'Hurray...Hurray..'

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Venus in the Garden

'Twas at early morning,
The dawn was blushing in her purple bed,
When in a sweet, embowered garden
She, the fairest of the goddesses,
The lovely Venus,
Roamed amongst the roses white and red.
She sought for flowers
To make a garland
For her golden head.

Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.

White roses, red roses, blossoming:
But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.

poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Conspicuous by its Absence

While tending to the garden one balmy November,
Helping my mother wash the leaves of the dust,
And gently cut off the dead branches and flowers,
Spraying the ones still seeming bright and robust…

She picked some reeds lying by her side,
Puzzled, I asked what are these for mother.
They are for the infants of the garden my child,
They need support to grow and are called climbers.

Sweet pea is one garden flower of such a family,
So I am going to use these reeds to make a trellis.
By January, despite chill the flowers will be smiling gaily,
Soft hues, translucent, capricious and sweet scented...

They are really my favourite as they have no flamboyance,
Growing them is like meditation and needs a lot of patience.
Now, in gardens, they are conspicuous by their absence,
Perhaps because we like things with zero maintenance...

To thrive, plants or relationships need love and nurture
No wonder, they wilt and have an uncertain future....

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Genius of Painting

ADDRESSED TO D——M——

The Genius of Painting one summer eve stray'd,
In a moment of leisure, to Flora's bright bower,
Where, scatter'd around, by the hand of the maid,
In the richest profusion, bloom'd many a flower.

“Oh, see,” Flora cried, as the Genius drew nigh,
“What an Eden of beauty is blossoming here!
But yet”—and a tear-drop stood bright in her eye,—
“How soon will its loveliness all disappear!

“Oh Genius! bid them still live in your art,
And my gratitude well shall your kindness repay;
To some favour'd mortal your spirit impart,
And teach him to rescue my flowers from decay.”

Behold I have rear'd, in my favourite bower,
A shrine, and an altar, dear Painting, for you;
And there will I offer each loveliest flower,
As often as morning their sweets shall renew.”

“Many thanks, dearest Flora!” the Genius cried,
“Though many an altar and temple is mine,
That with richer and costlier gifts are supplied,
Yet none of them all shall be dearer than thine.

“I will gift with my spirit whoever you will,
Yet choose not, dear Flora, the renegade man;
For the ingrate from you will be wandering still,
O'er fields more extended and varied to scan.”

At this instant, a maiden drew near to the bower,
And Flora's own fondness beam'd soft from her eye,
As with rapture she hung o'er each beautiful flower,
Or heaved o'er the dying a tremulous sigh.

Flora turn'd on the Genius a smile of delight—
“There, Painting,” she cried, “is my favourite maid!
Infuse in her bosom your genius bright,
And soon shall your altar be richly array'd.”

“On that maid, then,” said he, “shall my spirit descend,
A bright, and unfading, and beautiful gem;
The young favourite of Flora my shrine shall attend,
And the priestess of painting shall still be D. M.”

poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Green Delight

Green Delight

The green pastime
pastures sweet and tame
up in smoke today
sticky small green leaves
let me bit you up
we'll hit the streets
and fly like kites
colours soft and blue
pastel gel
me and you
go well together
lamb and shine
we melt ice and time
shelter me
peaceful green delight
you grow to please me
tease me
release me
enter me
satisfy me
green parade in my brain
I'm so alive
in the wonder of life
I love you
green delight

poem by Sara Winters
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The Flowers

Ye offspring of the morning sun,
Ye flowers that deck the smiling plain,
Your lives, in joy and bliss begun,
In Nature's love unchanged remain.
With hues of bright and godlike splendor
Sweet Flora graced your forms so tender,
And clothed ye in a garb of light;
Spring's lovely children weep forever,
For living souls she gave ye never,
And ye must dwell in endless night?

The nightingale and lark still sing
In your tranced ears the bliss of love;
The toying sylphs, on airy wing,
Around your fragrant bosoms rove,
Of yore, Dione's daughter [6] twining
In garlands sweet your cup-so shining,
A pillow formed where love might rest!
Spring's gentle children, mourn forever,
The joys of love she gave ye never,
Ne'er let ye know that feeling blest!

But when ye're gathered by my hand,
A token of my love to be,
Now that her mother's harsh command
From Nanny's [7] sight has banished me--
E'en from that passing touch ye borrow
Those heralds mute of pleasing sorrow,
Life, language, hearts and souls divine;
And to your silent leaves 'tis given,
By Him who mightiest is in heaven,
His glorious Godhead to enshrine.

poem by Friedrich Schiller
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The Tree Of Knowledge

I PLUCKED the blossoms of delight
In many a wood and many a field,
I made a garland fair and bright
As any gardens yield.

But when I sought the living tree
To make new earth and Heaven new,
I found--alas for you and me--
Its roots were set in you.

Oh, dear my garden, where the fruit
Of lovely knowledge sweetly springs,
How jealously you guard the root
Of all enlightening things!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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April

April, pride of woodland ways,
Of glad days,
April, bringing hope of prime,
To the young flowers that beneath
Their bud sheath
Are guarded in their tender time;

April, pride of fields that be
Green and free,
That in fashion glad and gay,
Stud with flowers red and blue,
Every hue,
Their jewelled spring array;

April, pride of murmuring
Winds of spring,
That beneath the winnowed air,
Trap with subtle nets and sweet
Flora’s feet,
Flora’s feet, the fleet and fair;

April, by thy hand caressed,
From her breast
Nature scatters everywhere
Handfuls of all sweet perfumes,
Buds and blooms,
Making faint the earth and air.

April, joy of the green hours,
Clothes with flowers
Over all her locks of gold
My sweet Lady; and her breast
With the blest
Birds of summer manifold.

April, with thy gracious wiles,
Like the smiles,
Smiles of Venus; and thy breath
Like her breath, the Gods’ delight,
(From their height
They take the happy air beneath)

It is thou that, of thy grace,
From their place
In the far-oft isles dost bring
Swallows over earth and sea,
Glad to be
Messengers of thee, and Spring.

Daffodil and eglantine,
And woodbine,
Lily, violet, and rose
Plentiful in April fair,
To the air,
Their pretty petals do unclose.

Nightingales ye now may hear,
Piercing clear,
Singing in the deepest shade;
Many and many a babbled note
Chime and float,
Woodland music through the glade.

April, all to welcome thee,
Spring sets free
Ancient flames, and with low breath
Wakes the ashes grey and old
That the cold
Chilled within our hearts to death.

Thou beholdest in the warm
Hours, the swarm
Of the thievish bees, that flies
Evermore from bloom to bloom
For perfume,
Hid away in tiny thighs.

Her cool shadows May can boast,
Fruits almost
Ripe, and gifts of fertile dew,
Manna-sweet and honey-sweet,
That complete
Her flower garland fresh and new.

Nay, but I will give my praise,
To these days,
Named with the glad name of Her
That from out the foam o’ the sea
Came to be
Sudden light on earth and air.

poem by Remy Belleau
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Tiny Drop

Waste of Tiny, Tiny Water Drops.
Always Trigger my Conscious Thoughts.

A Tiny Water Drop can make a Sapling Laugh
Tiny, Tiny water Drops can get you sweet Pod.

Tiny, Tiny Water Drops can make a Plant to Stand
As a Tree, This can give Shelter to a Lot.
Because of Waste of Tiny, Tiny water Drops
Many lives have become short.

So try to save even tiny water Drop, Which will
Get you Heartily Laugh.

poem by Narendra Kuppan
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