No More
I hear the silent death of words yet to be uttered,
Seeping down the abysmal corridor of failed beauty,
Strangled by a constriction in my soul - a moment where none suffered,
Futile, this thought, already gone, faded away into yet another forgotten memory.
Hope swells, joy stuttered,
I laughed again, but as always, somewhat hesitantly,
The vision cast down, a moment drew by, chilly, the solitude, yes, just, lonely,
Something rose, the words enshrouded, barely murmured,
But no more, no more, forever shut off to me.
I grasp, I clasp - I pour over meaningless lines, all cluttered,
So cluttered, so full, yet useless, endlessly,
Ah yes, they stir, they whisper, they breathe life again into me,
Then lost in another drift of wings never to be shuttered,
Cold, lifeless, dead, not again, no more, I had it, it was mine, it always came,
So effortlessly.
But no more, no more,
No more they know me.
Abandoned, betrayed.
The origin of it all, a mystery now, to me.
So I seek still, for that beauty, I call it to it, I beg of it,
I pray to it, for it is all, my forsaken deity.
She has turned her back on me,
So no more, no more, I weep, I fall, I die,
In the twilight of dread I cry,
To be reunited to my destiny, my one, my all, my only.
But no more, no more, she answers,
No more shall it ever be.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Memory
Again, the pieces of my memory,
Have reunited to create this untold story,
Reflective beams of brilliant glory,
Paint the words that bloom from the mists of allegory.
The sunlight dances on the eve of January,
The mystical shafts as slivers of Winter,
Fade into the fields of the soothing whisper,
Above the starry snow strewn sanctuary.
The night is light, the hearts are merry,
The soft-spoken coos of moonlight tarry,
Beyond the adoring gaze of auroras fairy,
The souls embrace the depths of their aerie.
The lustrous delight of the warmth of the end,
Exhale sweet perfumes of the blissful melody,
Joy dances among the hearts of the visitor and friend,
As all are united together in the purpose and journey.
A world to come, another to cease,
Faith mingles in the Time of one history,
Lost in a word, the ignorant peace,
In pieces above, the divine mingles in Beauty,
The life of the moment, the breath of release,
All is one, in the night, in the path of eternity.
Remember the night,
Bask in the innocence and serenity,
The decision was right,
Under the haze of Winter's finality,
Your gaze was in sight,
We drank in the last, the last of the story,
I was married your knight,
Do not forget the joy of eternity,
For our love was our might,
I never lost the pieces of memory,
On the eve of the final night,
That drew you towards me,
We were promised the light,
In the arms of our journey,
Our purpose fulfilled, we awaited destiny,
Unbound into flight,
We flew off through infinity.
The memory sealed,
In the whisper of Winter,
The moonlight descended,
And hope ever did linger,
When we were befriended,
By the angelic figure,
The one that you are,
That I am,
That brought us together,
To rest in the Beauty,
Of our created slumber,
For all else did fall,
On Winter's eve of January,
All cast out forever,
In the nihilistic reality,
Forever lost, Forever gone,
But for us, my love;
Who live in the Memory.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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The Other
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me returns to slumber.
So fleeting the instant, so silent the time,
Already Fall slips into December.
The twilight has come.
The end is near.
The final sigh of Winter.
Nature heaves, my heart dies.
Life poised on a balanced whisper.
That cannot fly, is already gone,
Far away, twisted by a convulsive mutter.
I am lost, I am dread,
The illusion so faint, so sweet.
It was said, I once said.
You are mine, I am yours,
In you fulfilled, I drink and meet.
Lost, oh lost, hopelessly lost forever.
Escape, escape, I fly, I run, I go.
On the precipice of dreams, I roam.
Roam in search of another.
But I am, no more, I know,
No more will Beauty shine.
For what is right, what was mine
Has left, has left me for no other.
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me has fallen.
Fallen asleep, away from me,
Fallen in the hands of another.
It was said, I once said.
That love lasted forever.
The brilliant bushel of light
I surmise
Has fallen to the shadows of Winter.
So have you betrayed me,
With lies,
In lies, you lied with another.
So fall I have, in Fall I shook,
In Fall I met with a stranger.
Not of peace, not of hope.
The sightless eyes of restless demise,
These eyes of sorrow did whisper.
Of the deed you did, of the cries of joy,
The cries you never would utter.
For me, for me, for me,
For me you ever did slumber.
But for him, this man,
The alien, the fool,
You did turn yourself traitor,
You gave yourself, so entirely,
So entirely to another.
I cannot write.
The poet is dead.
I finally put an end to the torture.
It was a beautiful night,
Not a breeze crossed my sight,
On this longest twilight of December.
I slew the poet,
I slaughtered the stranger,
I murdered the man, this Other.
But in shame, in shame,
In misery, I did exclaim,
In shock I beheld another.
Not a stranger, no other man,
Truly
None other, none other was the stranger.
One and the same,
Yes, one and the same,
I had been deceived forever.
This curse, this doom,
This misery, this gloom,
Must look no further for its maker.
The artist of design,
The creator of the Line,
The one and only Stranger.
I cannot write,
This poem is dead.
I am now trapped in eternal slumber.
The poet was right.
It was said, I once said.
Beware the longest night of Winter.
The Beautiful night, the absence of light,
Will bring you, truly,
Will bring you naught but dread.
And so it was, the poet was dead.
The deed was done,
I ended the stranger, the impostor,
The traitor.
But in death, in death,
Even with his final words he said:
My brother, my brother,
What have you done my brother.
There is no Other.
Rest peacefully brother.
For together, in each Other.
I am dead.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Renewal
I once knew a man, cursed to slavery,
He had been broken, yet did not understand,
Why he was imprisoned, he blamed society,
When he was king in this land, ruler of his reality.
He dreamed one night, it was quite a sight to see,
That he had grown wings, he was truly free.
When he awoke, he laughed joyously,
He could still soar, he could find liberty.
He had never lost his wings, only his ability,
To see clearly, this darkness was of his creativity,
He was the origin of this thing that lead him blindly,
And he had blamed all around him, oh what great irony.
So he arose, what a great and marvelous sight,
To see him fly, no more did he have to fight,
All witnessed his awakening, his majesty and might,
His gaze had shaken off it's chains, all around him was light,
Humanity's heart sang, Nature joined his kingly flight,
Beauty welcomed his return, his fall had only been slight.
He roared in triumph, vanquished his foe so imaginary,
Never again to weaken, death had been an illusory agony,
He begged forgiveness from all those he had forsaken,
His evident sincerity, he promised to never again be taken,
Yet in his essence and core being shone the brilliant honesty,
His vision had never forgotten its former intensity,
Love had given him all, his desire aflame so anxiously,
His soul sang courageously as it breathed anew, miraculously,
He prayed words of Truth and Longing, as he approached his deity,
She had never abandoned him, she awaited, loving, ever so patiently,
The pure goodness of her existence, the noble intentions glittered magically,
She had been steadfast, strong and had suffered utterly selflessly,
Her every thought and act perfectly exemplary, she loved, so curiously,
The majestic, so powerful, virtue of this entity, of her splendid Beauty,
Was the supernova of Time, the wonder of her graveness, universality,
This aura of hope, of dreams and of a life, made a lie of duty,
She gave purpose to the fallen angel, incarnated life so fully,
She was the symbol of sanity, the mark of individuality,
The victory of artistry, the ultimatum of human supremacy,
And she called in tears of pure love, so beautifully, wonderfully, happy,
To her lost companion now reborn, she beckoned to the abyss of all that is me,
And I answered her, crying waterfalls and elixirs of eternal harmony,
I soared to her, joined her in our dance that would last all eternity,
Forever was a word, Time our instrument of expression in perfect unanimity,
In her, in I, we are one, perfectly, so completely together, in utter unity,
And we made together this, our decision, our supreme Destiny,
To be once and for all sealed forever, One in marriage, united so beautifully,
To become even more, surpassing all, nothing was impossibility,
So we glided together, as a Family, illuminated in a halo so heavenly,
To be forever happy, in a bliss and fulfillment so celestially,
Hand in hand with Beauty, as we flip through the many pages of Infinity.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Maybe
I knew a God, he never answered, so I left him definitely,
His silence stung, his words were empty, but there was a hole in me,
I called to man, I searched the heavens, I dreamed of lands, of love, of beauty,
But always silence, met my tears, my mind searched on frantically.
So I moved on, to other thoughts, ones that would let me be,
Whole again, the amazement I sought, independent permanently,
So I pursued the path I chose, it was mine, this idea of liberty,
Yet chagrin arrived, and chastised my lies, and revealed this thing to me.
I flew on wings of foreign design, of mechanical build, you see,
What I thought was mine, naught but a hoax, a fool I was, in tragedy,
I wallowed anew in my senseless shame, for a time, lost in memory,
To arise again, the pain still fresh, the hole still gaping in me,
Unanswered questions, blooming in death, the end had arrived for me,
Even this crime, I desired for myself, was not my own, not certainly,
So I dug through all, I lived again, hoping for some possibility,
A glimpse of Truth, a hint of joy, somewhere, some certainty,
But from my soul it rose, this forbidden song, this forgotten melody,
That soothed my heart, calmed my ardor and bathed me in harmony,
It whispered, it cooed, it breathed the words, the words that would guide me,
Impossible it was, that it came from none, truly, none other than me,
No truth there was, no beauty from above, no rules, not even morality,
So I speak now the words, these marvelous words, these words so dear to me,
''Look not above, look not below, instead look back through what you would see,
There is nothing at all, for us to love, naught but what you wish to be,
In you is enough, in you is all, all is found in this, yes, all of reality,
In this simple way, this way of life, one of great simplicity,
Not a truth, not a must, this is the mystery,
Weep at the word, mock your Gods, shame all that came before me,
Here is the answer, here it is all, the sum of all finality:
Maybe. There it is all - Your's is a world, the greatest of worlds;
One of infinite possibility.''
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Thee
Thy sun is the hope of mine cold day,
Thy rain of tears the hope of mine arid desert
To thee I hope, to thee I pray
My soul's anguish for thee to comfort
Thy carmine rose leaf's the beauty of mine hurt
Thy delicious breathe, mine soul's fresh air
With thy power mine mind doth flirt
And thy life, mine life's only care.
Thy dew mine soul's most precious treasure
Thy bodies heat, mine bodies fire place
In thy freedom, mine soul's lonely leisure
Thy bodies shape, mine eye's holy grace
Mysterious art thou, none shall ever know it
But thou art and the muse of this poet
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Wild Eyes
As I sit here now
In the throne of my becoming
Numb with cold
And old with age.
Each page fresh
A life anew and breathing.
I feel at ease,
At one with the soul of the world forgiving
Living the moment
Within each movement in expression.
Each day I re arrange what it is to be so real
Never as I think and always as I feel.
Forever will it be such golden a dream
Such distant star moving silent silver gleams
Forever yet never to know
What the movements really mean.
Am I to forget myself in the memory ever loosing?
Am I to loose myself in the decision forever choosing?
Strange emotions stir
Wild eyes.
I feel the demon rising
So slow it stirs at first
The memory of the mountain within the serpents curse
Virgins mounds, unfound fantasies
Dance this night of mystery
Fall into the arms of twilight
Embrace the night as it finds you.
poem by David Lacey
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The Rose
This immortal rose that lovers seek
will be glimpsed by all in youthful peak
for her presence will be on every corner.
And those who confuse that heady perfume
with a lust for love,
will only find winter in an unknown heart
for beauty was always a fragile thing.
We who have seen this gift from above
will always get burned by its light.
The poet and the painter
have perfumed our existence
with loves testimony to this.
The pain and tears fall on empty shield
for love will break your heart
but when we reach out to hold the rose
picked from these fields of hope,
a moment in life unfurls,
love will kiss your soul
and the world belongs to you.
Fleeting are the petals of time
the rose is a symbol to love.
For others it is the pain of life,
to find and lose this immortal gift
leaves a desert where life cannot breathe.
The laughter replaced by silence
the smile that is kept in darkness,
the kiss exiled to the memory.
Love is lost in the deepest pit
of your despair,
the thorns will bleed your soul red
but she can never die.
Love will always leave a spark
that will lead you to redemption
and only death can take this from you.
The rose was never yours to pick
but its creation yours to admire
for your being was made for this.
And as our mortal bodies die
the spirit will seek the rose once more
for in death its petals fall too
blessing the ground of your resting place.
The rose was always yours
and its beauty a source of life
the chains of doubt will always
break in its presence.
The rose is pure
as is your faith in mankind.
It can show you a deeper meaning
for you are the petals of life
she is the perfume of your existence
and it is you that made her life complete.
poem by Steven Cooke
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Black Rose
Black Rose
By: Adam M. Snow
My dreams are broken;
these words are forever unspoken.
I know not who I am;
I know I am a rose without a stem;
a black rose that bleeds red;
my heart is full of dread.
I try to go beyond this reality;
to a place they call fantasy;
to try and find myself;
by looking for a heart shaped box left upon a shelf;
for I am a black rose that bleeds red;
it seems I am better off dead.
I am a lonely lost ghost;
nevermore will I be your host.
These wounds are but a memory of my affection;
if only you could see my broken reflection.
You caused my hands to be tainted with your blood;
now I have been swept away by this tormented flood.
You left me in solitude;
all alone, cold, and nude.
I know not what to do;
all I wanted was to be with you;
yet you spoke of broken truth;
for you have showed you're uncouth.
I have withered away;
I am no longer here to stay.
I am a black rose;
tormented by my woes.
It's just like I said;
I'm only human, I bleed red.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Sweetness Of The Sweetest Angel
the super sweetness a silent moment in time a magical mystery surrounded in a shroud of fog a heart beating so quietly beating along as the seconds turn to minutes into moments so on and so forth a soldier marches on ward and upward to his objective into battle onto war the moon shines bright tonight your beauty shines as equally bright that look of delight in your sexy beautiful eyes those sweet soft words that you speak so sweetly my heart swells my heart beats hard like the sounds of thunder heavens above angels singing so wonderfully those words you speak thats how you are when i speak to you when i dont hear from you my soul feels like it plunges into hell and im alone in darkness without a care without a freind the coldness and lonliness feel like lookin uptoward the sky on a cold dark night on a starless and moonless night a cold wind blows on my face a tear rolls down my cheeks as i stumble thru darkness but my memory falls back into times of happiness of wen i did smile and my soul doesnt feel torn a sunder no more i get up and go and march towards my destiny to where it lead me to the heavens or thru hell in the valleys or thru halls of madness in the shadows with the memory of the sweetness of the sweetest angel to light my way.
poem by Dorian Suchelle
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I Hope She Knows
i hop she knows who she is to me,
i hope she knows when i look at her true beauty is what i see
i hope she knows i see her like no one else
i hope she knows when she smiles it just makes my heart melt
i hope she knows shes not just anybody, not just some girl
shes mine,
i have loved her all this time
i hope she knows she sweetens my breathe
without her air it would bring death
i hope she knows that in my eyes
shes the brightest light, the shine of the moon in the essence of the night
the beauty of the waters on the shore, without her love i would be no more,
i hope she knows i love her the way she is
i hope she knows when shes gone shes all i miss
i hope she knows that all i have to say and all i feel
that the love for her could never be so real
i hope she knows shes the life of my life
the heart of my heart, the day of my day
and no matter how long i will forever feel this way
and this moment that im looking at her, that im looking at the most amazing thing i will ever see
her,
i hope she knows without the gaze of her eyes, i would be blind all my life
but at this moment,
i hope she knows
that i love her.
poem by Richard Ferdin
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Eve (original beauty)
She stood naked in the garden
With more beauty
Than the first full bloom rose,
The kind and depth of
Beauty
God in Heaven only knows.
The kind of
Beauty that is deep and wild,
The kind of
Beauty lost like the days of a child,
The kind of
Beauty mankind
Has been trying desperately
(without realization)
Forever to find.
The kind of
Beauty
God has put upon
Every souls mind.
The kind of
Beauty
That forever causes God
To call us:
'Mine! '
The kind of original beauty
God understands,
The kind of beauty awaiting
The return of each woman, and man.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Aurobindo 129 Savitri Book 9
An appreciation on Savitri-
Book Nine: The Book of Eternal Night
Canto One: Towards the Black Void
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's
Ho, look, how bittered the God of Death..
''Thy passionate influence and relax, O slave
Of Nature, changing tool of changeless Law,
Who vainly writh'st rebellion to my yoke,
Thy elemental grasp; weep and forget.'
'weep and forget'...as a common folk does
Did it suit Savitri? no, she pursued..
'Entomb thy passion in its living grave.'
'Leave now the once-loved spirit's abandoned robe:
Pass lonely back to thy vain life on earth.'
How easily said He..but Savitri was exceptional
For she the god-child..and she in Thy words Guru, marvelous
'It ceased, she moved not, and it spoke again, '
'Wilt thou for ever keep thy passionate hold,
Thyself a creature doomed like him to pass,
Denying his soul death's calm and silent rest? '
'Relax thy grasp; this body is earth's and thine,
His spirit now belongs to a greater power.
Woman, thy husband suffers.' Savitri
Drew back her heart's force that clasped his body still'
'She rose and stood gathered in lonely strength, '
'The dim and awful godhead rose erect
From his brief stooping to his touch on earth, '
'brief stooping'..oh, very picturesque...
'And, like a dream that wakes out of a dream,
Forsaking the poor mould of that dead clay,
Another luminous Satyavan arose,
Starting upright from the recumbent earth
As if someone over viewless borders stepped
Emerging on the edge of unseen worlds........
............My consciousness this moment,
O'Guru, I'm in awe....in invincible heights
Ineffable Thee embellishing poetic creation
My inquisitive apprehension, erring Thee may opine
May thereso, let Savitri in my self arise
Aroused thereso be knowledge and fortune
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Cold Beauty
What is beauty without warmth n love,
Brrrrrrh cold seein but cannot hold.
No grasp of this beauty, only a distant touch,
Maybe from giving beauty to much.
Or not givin beauty enough,
Seein the distant gaze of green, grey, n blue haze
In the place where beautys eyes go.
But to the touch beauty is cold as snow.
How did beauty get so?
Why did beauty let go, of the warmth that imbrased her so tight?
Guess beauty is still beauty inspite,
Only dream of beauty every night.
To wake everyday in dismay not to see beautys face.
So my thoughts of beauty remain in solitude,
to respect beautys mind not to be rude.
Still wantin to intrude because of my pain.
But what if beauty calls anothers name,
In the hours that I dream of her.
So my words remain a secret to beautys ears,
As i quickly wipe away the tears.
And wish beauty the best of life.
As i grasp myself and my dutys,
Still lingering in my mind is cold beauty.
poem by Ozie James
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Two Stones
a promise of unbroken chain wait to spark for an
end, the fears tremble in thy two hearts of stone, the
waited is staying, crying soul hunger to slash, till the
breathe conquers no return in the lifeless bodies
brings
sweat fall to the ground, of no want to brings it back
to the head that fall, shame brighten and frighten the
glow of every eyes, dumb to speak only a words of
hurtful goodbye, pale reach out the sky and the lips
cried so loud where nobody looks to be
a scene of pendulum swings up to the sky and fall
down into the deepest sea of nowhere to found, the
returning day is over and nay! my sweet darling
drown to see forever they flew way
as i close the sweet memory and call that day to
come back, suite my cloths, ready to accept you; if
ever your heart promise to stay in my faded glory
mark, i will still love you again
limit brings no end, the destiny is yet! to walk and
the path seems no one knows the end of the dark,
waits no light to come, for the waiting is over and the
glow started to feel the wondering puzzle hearts
live me to the highest full and let me show you that,
even in the sky i will wait you forever, till then i die,
my love, my memory, and my wonder of life.......
poem by Antonio Liao
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Something
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.
I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.
I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.
I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.
I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?
I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?
I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
Maybe not an everlasting one, but even just a brief moment,
A moment of realization that you are now reading what I have written,
That for one moment in time our minds share the same space and thought,
Each word playing in our head the same as the other's.
Can you hear my voice, can you feel my thoughts?
I don't know why I am writing, or why I am writing what I am writing,
But I know that it has accomplished one thing,
It has given a purpose to something, if even just a piece of paper,
It has given worth to something that at one point was just a blank sheet,
Waiting for something to be etched into its surface, making it something.
I guess that's why I'm writing, I'm just writing; something.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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This Is The Moment
This is the moment
This is the day
This is the moment
When I know
I am on my way
Every endeavor
I have made ever
Is coming into play
Is here and now today
This is the moment
This the time
When the momentum
And the moment
are in rhyme
Give me this moment
My precious chance
I'll gather up my best
And make some sense atlast
This is the moment
When all I've done
All of the dreaming,
scheming
And screaming
becomes one
This is the day,
Just see it shine
When all that I have lived for
Becomes mine
This is the moment
This is the hour
When I can open up,
Tomorrow
like a flower
And put my hand to
Everything I plan to
Fulfill my grand desire
See all my stars align
This is the moment
My final test
Destiny beckoned
I never reckoned second best
I won't look back
I must not fall
This is the moment
The sweetest moment
Of them all
This is the moment
So double the odds
This day or never
I'll sit forever
with the gods
When I look back
I will recall
Moment for moment
This was the moment
The greatest moment of them all.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aurobindo 152 Savitri Book 10
An appreciation on Savitri-
Book Ten: The Book of the Double Twilight
Canto Three - The Debate of Love and Death
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's
'Death bowed his sovereign head in cold assent:
'I give to thee, saved from death and poignant fate
Whatever once the living Satyavan
Desired in his heart for Savitri.
Bright noons I give thee and unwounded dawns,
Daughters of thy own shape in heart and mind,
Fair hero sons and sweetness undisturbed
Of union with thy husband dear and true.'
A ransom-whim to provoke her to return to earth
Wonderful cunning words by Death..
'The opposite sweetness in thy days shall meet
Of tender service to thy life's desired'
'Two poles of bliss made one, O Savitri.
Return, O child, to thy forsaken earth.'
'But Savitri replied, 'Thy gifts resist.
Earth cannot flower if lonely I return.'
'What knowst thou of earth's rich and changing life
Who thinkst that one man dead all joy must cease? '
O'Death fair your words to Savitri? much unfair
'Hope not to be unhappy till the end:
For grief dies soon in the tired human heart;
Soon other guests the empty chambers fill.
A transient painting on a holiday's floor
Traced for a moment's beauty love was made.'
'Give me back Satyavan, my only lord.
Thy thoughts are vacant to my soul that feels
The deep eternal truth in transient things.'
'Death answered her, 'Return and try thy soul!
Soon shalt thou find appeased that other men
On lavish earth have beauty, strength and truth, '...
............My consciousness this moment,
O'Guru, I'm in awe....in invincible heights
Ineffable Thee embellishing poetic creation
My inquisitive apprehension, erring Thee may opine
May thereso, let Savitri in my self arise
Aroused thereso be knowledge and fortune
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Think Of Myself As Dead
WHEN I THINK OF MYSELF AS DEAD
When I think of myself as dead
I think of what it will mean for my loved ones
I pray they will not lose heart and hope because of it-
When my father died my brother lost hope-
When I think of myself dead
I wonder about God and God�s purpose
Is there really an afterlife?
What could it mean?
Will I meet again those who have gone before me?
When I think of myself dead
I think about a body in the ground
Worms eating it, cold paining it-
When I think of myself as dead
I think about never feeling anything again-
When I think about myself as dead
I think about the work I have left behind
And whether it will mean anything to anyone
And for how long-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of all the memories that will go with me
I think about nothing and more nothing and the end of the universe-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of life going on down below
Life with all its beauty and pain
And I pray and I pray again
My loved ones will be able to manage and make their own lives still happy
When I think of myself as dead
I pray to G-d
That somehow in some way
It will not be the end for me forever.
When I think of myself as dead
I think of myself as living again somehow
In a way I cannot now know-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Aimless Song
I rake the air,
For the image now gone,
A faded memory,
An unknown treasure,
An unspoken song.
I cling to the pieces of the deed,
But never will a thought be enough,
To conjure life in what had me freed,
That is now my bane,
My wound, my unwanted greed.
I ask for less,
I got it all,
The empty room,
The frigid hands,
I look down the well once filled,
Brimming with tears of the shaky haze,
Of roses red, of passion bright,
When all around was filled with light,
Far gone days, in a daze,
I wagered.
Gone, tossed away,
What I am regurgitated by its own gaze.
I sleep no more, my hunger gone,
When I believed it better for me,
All along.
The blindness blessed,
The morning broke,
Scenes of perdition I alienated and forsook,
Now I clasp a lifeless sound,
That resonates hollowly,
With none around.
I gave it up,
I lost the way.
The joy I had,
Now cast away.
I am now one of them, part of the fray,
None to guide,
No purpose; dismay.
So I seek now a humble home,
To let me in,
To clothe my lone.
Never to take it all away,
What was the sweetest the other day.
But I cast it out,
I shattered the Beauty,
Of that which contemplation cursed me.
So now I wander by the path,
Which I forsook, in my own wrath.
The day is long, and I grow weary,
I wonder if you will ever hear me.
Or if all is lost, all hope is gone,
I am doomed to sing,
This aimless song.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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