Let Us Go Mad And Be Happy
Let us go mad and we will be happy,
We shall go to the streets and we shall be the lords of the crowds.
Let us go mad but if you all can come along with me.
We are to tell the world what have I once.
In the peak of my sense I told the world
About the rights and the wrongs
But it laughed at me at my very face
And now I am bent upon treading the other path.
Go mad if you wish and dare
You will reap the harvest of laughter
Tell the world in your peak of folly
About the wronged rights and the righted wrongs.
The street is waiting for another spell of utterances
That mark the dawn of civilization unknown hitherto.
Let us go mad and speak out the things
Till the Sun begins to go round the Earth.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Related quotes
We so Great
we so great
we all want
to be somebody
seeking him
in the moon,
in the star,
in the sun
we so great
we all want
to be somebody
seeking him
till the ends
of the universe
in ourselves,
in friends and foes
in the almighty,
we so great
we all want
to be somebody
some do it right
some do it half right
some just plain all wrong -
not an echo of themselves
we so great
we all want
to be somebody
despite all the odds
the rights learn
from half rights
and the wrongs learn
from all wrongs
we so great
we get the world going
with all the rights
wrongs, half rights
and half wrongs
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of Your Feelings On Human Rights
Of your feelings on human rights never leave others in doubt
Of wrongs against others one ought to speak out
To those who abuse others rights let your feelings be known
Them for their behaviour you ought to disown
Though with what I say here many may not agree
Those silent at human rights abuse seem in agreement to me
With the offender whoever the offending one may be
Silence in the demonization of others is saying yes to inhumanity
Speak out against racism for racism is wrong
In the Human World it does not belong
There is far too much racism in the big World out there
And a racist person one can meet anywhere,
Against abuse of human rights never fear to speak out
On your feelings on such never leave others in doubt.
poem by Francis Duggan
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As long as the world shall last there will be wrongs, and if no man objected and no man rebelled, those wrongs would last forever. The objector and the rebel who raises his voice against what he believes to be the injustice of the present and the wrongs of the past is the one who hunches the world along.
quote by Clarence Darrow
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The belief in some being who can be the judge of all human matters is a very comfortable one - all wrongs will be righted and all rights will be rewarded.
quote by Eli Khamarov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A moment in time! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Summer at peak;
a young man
in a white singlet.
Summer at peak;
a young girl
in short sleeves.
Summer at peak;
A child licks
Ice cream.
Summer at peak;
an infant
On inhaler.
Summer at peak;
A young couple
Cosy in cinema hall seats.
Summer at peak;
A vendor
Sells lime water.
Summer at peak;
Gulmohar petals
lie limp on grass.
Summer at peak;
Dust haze,
Road rage.
Summer at peak;
beads of sweat
slide on lips.
Summer at peak,
Street wars,
Blame it on heat.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Secret People
Smile at us, pay us, pass us; but do not quite forget;
For we are the people of England, that never have spoken yet.
There is many a fat farmer that drinks less cheerfully,
There is many a free French peasant who is richer and sadder than we.
There are no folk in the whole world so helpless or so wise.
There is hunger in our bellies, there is laughter in our eyes;
You laugh at us and love us, both mugs and eyes are wet:
Only you do not know us. For we have not spoken yet.
The fine French kings came over in a flutter of flags and dames.
We liked their smiles and battles, but we never could say their names.
The blood ran red to Bosworth and the high French lords went down;
There was naught but a naked people under a naked crown.
And the eyes of the King's Servants turned terribly every way,
And the gold of the King's Servants rose higher every day.
They burnt the homes of the shaven men, that had been quaint and kind,
Till there was no bed in a monk's house, nor food that man could find.
The inns of God where no man paid, that were the wall of the weak.
The King's Servants ate them all. And still we did not speak.
And the face of the King's Servants grew greater than the King:
He tricked them, and they trapped him, and stood round him in a ring.
The new grave lords closed round him, that had eaten the abbey's fruits,
And the men of the new religion, with their bibles in their boots,
We saw their shoulders moving, to menace or discuss,
And some were pure and some were vile; but none took heed of us.
We saw the King as they killed him, and his face was proud and pale;
And a few men talked of freedom, while England talked of ale.
A war that we understood not came over the world and woke
Americans, Frenchmen, Irish; but we knew not the things they spoke.
They talked about rights and nature and peace and the people's reign:
And the squires, our masters, bade us fight; and scorned us never again.
Weak if we be for ever, could none condemn us then;
Men called us serfs and drudges; men knew that we were men.
In foam and flame at Trafalgar, on Albuera plains,
We did and died like lions, to keep ourselves in chains,
We lay in living ruins; firing and fearing not
The strange fierce face of the Frenchmen who knew for what they fought,
And the man who seemed to be more than a man we strained against and broke;
And we broke our own rights with him. And still we never spoke.
Our patch of glory ended; we never heard guns again.
But the squire seemed struck in the saddle; he was foolish, as if in pain,
He leaned on a staggering lawyer, he clutched a cringing Jew,
He was stricken; it may be, after all, he was stricken at Waterloo.
Or perhaps the shades of the shaven men, whose spoil is in his house,
Come back in shining shapes at last to spoil his last carouse:
We only know the last sad squires rode slowly towards the sea,
And a new people takes the land: and still it is not we.
They have given us into the hand of new unhappy lords,
Lords without anger or honour, who dare not carry their swords.
They fight by shuffling papers; they have bright dead alien eyes;
They look at our labour and laughter as a tired man looks at flies.
And the load of their loveless pity is worse than the ancient wrongs,
Their doors are shut in the evening; and they know no songs.
We hear men speaking for us of new laws strong and sweet,
Yet is there no man speaketh as we speak in the street.
It may be we shall rise the last as Frenchmen rose the first,
Our wrath come after Russia's wrath and our wrath be the worst.
It may be we are meant to mark with our riot and our rest
God's scorn for all men governing. It may be beer is best.
But we are the people of England; and we have not spoken yet.
Smile at us, pay us, pass us. But do not quite forget.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Secret People
Smile at us, pay us, pass us; but do not quite forget;
For we are the people of England, that never have spoken yet.
There is many a fat farmer that drinks less cheerfully,
There is many a free French peasant who is richer and sadder than we.
There are no folk in the whole world so helpless or so wise.
There is hunger in our bellies, there is laughter in our eyes;
You laugh at us and love us, both mugs and eyes are wet:
Only you do not know us. For we have not spoken yet.
The fine French kings came over in a flutter of flags and dames.
We liked their smiles and battles, but we never could say their names.
The blood ran red to Bosworth and the high French lords went down;
There was naught but a naked people under a naked crown.
And the eyes of the King's Servants turned terribly every way,
And the gold of the King's Servants rose higher every day.
They burnt the homes of the shaven men, that had been quaint and kind,
Till there was no bed in a monk's house, nor food that man could find.
The inns of God where no man paid, that were the wall of the weak.
The King's Servants ate them all. And still we did not speak.
And the face of the King's Servants grew greater than the King:
He tricked them, and they trapped him, and stood round him in a ring.
The new grave lords closed round him, that had eaten the abbey's fruits,
And the men of the new religion, with their bibles in their boots,
We saw their shoulders moving, to menace or discuss,
And some were pure and some were vile; but none took heed of us.
We saw the King as they killed him, and his face was proud and pale;
And a few men talked of freedom, while England talked of ale.
A war that we understood not came over the world and woke
Americans, Frenchmen, Irish; but we knew not the things they spoke.
They talked about rights and nature and peace and the people's reign:
And the squires, our masters, bade us fight; and scorned us never again.
Weak if we be for ever, could none condemn us then;
Men called us serfs and drudges; men knew that we were men.
In foam and flame at Trafalgar, on Albuera plains,
We did and died like lions, to keep ourselves in chains,
We lay in living ruins; firing and fearing not
The strange fierce face of the Frenchmen who knew for what they fought,
And the man who seemed to be more than a man we strained against and broke;
And we broke our own rights with him. And still we never spoke.
Our patch of glory ended; we never heard guns again.
But the squire seemed struck in the saddle; he was foolish, as if in pain,
He leaned on a staggering lawyer, he clutched a cringing Jew,
He was stricken; it may be, after all, he was stricken at Waterloo.
Or perhaps the shades of the shaven men, whose spoil is in his house,
Come back in shining shapes at last to spoil his last carouse:
We only know the last sad squires rode slowly towards the sea,
And a new people takes the land: and still it is not we.
They have given us into the hand of new unhappy lords,
Lords without anger or honour, who dare not carry their swords.
They fight by shuffling papers; they have bright dead alien eyes;
They look at our labour and laughter as a tired man looks at flies.
And the load of their loveless pity is worse than the ancient wrongs,
Their doors are shut in the evening; and they know no songs.
We hear men speaking for us of new laws strong and sweet,
Yet is there no man speaketh as we speak in the street.
It may be we shall rise the last as Frenchmen rose the first,
Our wrath come after Russia's wrath and our wrath be the worst.
It may be we are meant to mark with our riot and our rest
God's scorn for all men governing. It may be beer is best.
But we are the people of England; and we have not spoken yet.
Smile at us, pay us, pass us. But do not quite forget.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Voice of the Voiceless
I am the Voice of the Voiceless
Through me the dumb shall speak
Till the world's deaf ear be made to hear
The wrongs of the wordless weak.
Oh shame on the mothers of mortals
Who do not stoop to teach
The sorrow that lies in dear dumb eyes
The sorrow that has no speech.
From street, from cage, from kennel
From stable and from zoo
The wall of my tortured kin proclaims the sin
Of the mighty against the frail.
But I am my brother's keeper
And I shall fight their fight
And speak the word for beast and bird
Till the world shall set things right.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There is no consensus even today on the merits of Napoleon - and certainly no agreement on the rights and wrongs of the origins of the First World War.
quote by Douglas Hurd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down On Me
Well, down on me, oh, down on me,
I said it looks like everybody in this whole round world
They're down on me.
One of these mornings proud and fair
Get on my wings, i'm gonna fly the air.
I said it looks like everybody in this whole round world
Lord, they're down on me.
You know they're down on me, lord, down on me, oh, oh,
And it looks like everybody in this whole round world
Down on me.
Now now now look at your door,
Can't find me 'cause today i'm gone.
And it looks like everybody in this whole round world
Are all down on me.
You know, they're down on me, now down on me, oh, oh!
And it looks like everybody in this whole round world
Is down on me.
Oh now i've never been to heaven, no, but i've been told,
Streets up there are lined with gold.
I said it looks like everybody in this whole round world
Are all down on me.
You know they're down on me, oh, down on me, oh, oh!
And it looks like everybody in this whole round world
Down on me!!
Heart is gone, rain is rain
You know i got a man and he don't never mean
Because it looks like everybody in this whole round world
Is down on me.
You know they're down on me,
Down down down on me baby
Down on me,
I said down!
Oh, oh!
And it looks like everybody in this whole round world
Down on me!!
Thank you very much. we're big brother and the holding company
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grace And Beauty
Steady yourself, your very life hangs in the balance!
Will this venue finally serve as your affirmance?
Deceit and its promoters stand in your way,
Verity is your only friend, will it win out that day?
Vindication, with the whole world as audience!
All was arrogated, yet you ask only truth's credence;
Though this will serve only as your initial conflict,
Many other wrongs shall also be lain to interdict!
Rights and protections, guaranteed by fundamental law
Never offered, maliciously, not merely through flaw!
Egregious wrongs, shall be addressed and made right,
The world entire shall be made privy to your plight!
Put behind yourself all the ugliness, all that is vile;
See only grace and beauty, now and all the while!
Maurice Harris,27 September 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Knowledge
What is more large than knowledge and more sweet;
Knowledge of thoughts and deeds, of rights and wrongs,
Of passions and of beauties and of songs;
Knowledge of life; to feel its great heart beat
Through all the soul upon her crystal seat;
To see, to feel, and evermore to know;
To till the old world's wisdom till it grow
A garden for the wandering of our feet.
Oh for a life of leisure and broad hours,
To think and dream, to put away small things,
This world's perpetual leaguer of dull naughts;
To wander like the bee among the flowers
Till old age find us weary, feet and wings
Grown heavy with the gold of many thoughts.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Peak
Peak is here
Peak is there
Go here go there
Go anywhere
and find peak
only peak.
Reach peak
find chick
with chic
be chief.
Chirp, chirp
keep, keep.
Where is peak
where is peak
It is only you
who can pick peak.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lunch Break: Peak Hour
I see it all through my window it seems
Never failing like millions of bees
All that is wrong
No time will be won
All they need to do-o-o-o
What can be done?
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
Minds are subject to what should be done
Problem solved, time cannot be won
One hour a day
One hour at night
Sees crowds of people
All meant for flight
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
It makes me want to run out and tell them
Theyve got time
Take a step back out
And look in at their debt
And their time
Minds are subject to what should be done
Problem solved, time cannot be won
One hour a day
One hour at night
Sees crowds of people
All meant for flight
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monsoon at peak! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Monsoon at peak
I hear a monologue-
Rain speaks…
Monsoon at peak,
Thatched roofs
Leak…
Monsoon at peak,
Corn on cob
Wins over coffee…
Monsoon at peak,
Can I go out, mother?
A child pleads…
Monsoon at peak,
A boy steals a look
At a girl soaked to skin…
Monsoon at peak,
Roads flooded,
Where is MCD?
Monsoon at peak,
Umbrellas
New fashion accessory…
Monsoon at peak,
Sun gets much needed
Rest…
Monsoon at peak,
Bathes
Foliage and trees.
Monsoon at peak
Schools closed
Children squeal,
Wish, it rains
Everyday of the week…
Monsoon at peak,
Leave your shoes at the door-
Mother screams…
Monsoon at peak,
Driver stops
To wipe the wind shield…
Monsoon at peak,
Open pavements
Home to many,
Wear deserted look …
Monsoon at peak,
Wet laundry-
Sun rise, please.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peak Hour
I see it all through my window it seems.
Never failing, like millions of eels.
All that is wrong,
No time to be won.
Only to do
What can be done.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
Minds are subject to what should be done.
Problem solved, time cannot be won.
One hour a day,
One hour a night
Sees crowds of people
Home-aimed for flight.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
It makes me want to run out and tell them
They've got time.
Take a step back out and warn them
I've found out I've got time.
Minds are subject to what should be done.
Problem solved, time cannot be won.
One hour a day,
One hour a night
Sees crowds of people
Home-aimed for flight.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dont You Think It's Time?
children have rights,
women have rights.
lovers have rights.
people of all religions,
and even atheists have rights.
people of all colors,
speaking every language have rights.
trees and rivers have rights.
cats and dogs have rights.
cattle have rights,
homeless people have rights.
prisoners have rights.
democrats and republicans have rights,
even socialists have rights.
the jobless have rights,
old people have rights...
and the hungry have
the right to be fed!
damnit! dont you think it's time?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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High Civilization
Cryin' in the streets
They run for their lives
How can you lead them to heaven
They don't realize
Children of the night
How far can we fall
That which we say is forever
Ain't no time at all
Father and the son
Not too young to be old
Reach out for each other when
The world goes cold
Feel so good to be home
Are you ready for
(CHORUS)
My high civilization
Are you ready for
My high civilization
Are you ready for
My high civilization
Civilization
Everything for us to see
The ultimate society
Keeper of the sword
You fight for your rights
How can you live for the hour
When there's no yesterday
Dyin' in the streets
Your number your name
All that which keeps us together
Is bringing us the pain
Thunder of the guns
Comes the criminal mind
Working for the power of
The evil eye
We are never alone
Uncivilized
(CHORUS)
New York
song performed by by Bee Gees from High Civilization
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As long as the world shall last there will be wrongs, and if no man objected and no man rebelled, those wrongs would last forever.
quote by Clarence Darrow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out There I Shall Meet You Then
out there
after all these things are over
there are no more wrongs
there are no more rights
out there
we have no names
i shall meet you then.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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