They'll all be gone
both the twilight thorns
and good flowers of dawn
torn apart dressed
and millstoned water
dripping through my hands
fate contained in traces
of a large scale manslaughter
sprinkling all the lands
it'll be gone as well
alongside the last of hours
when a single moment can tell
life from birth that death devours
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Related quotes
Dripping Water
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the horizon of heaven,
on the land, on the sand,
makes me happy, and so elated,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the dark black clouds,
on the leaves, on the tress,
gives them a slow quick bath,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the thunderstruck light,
on the eyes, on the cheeks,
makes everyone to turn the face up!
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the beauty of sky,
onthe mud, on the rivers,
makes musical splashes when gets strike,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the love of vast scream,
to the beautiful murmors of land,
makes me sing, and dance.
poem by Tayyeba Mustafa
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Cut Flowers
If you love me - please never bring me cut flowers
Because I know that they will die soon after a few hours
I would feel that whatever the flowers represent
Would be equal to the time we have left to spend
Straight stems, soft petals and a lush green leaf
The hours and minutes are numbered - you better believe
Picking a flower is like a sure sentence to death
Like taking a fish out of water watching his last breath
Cut down their life brutally shortened with a sharp knife
All hope diminished knowing that they will not survive
Sure the flowers may get nourishment from the water in the vase
But their life is over as they know it in just a few days
So do not buy any cut flowers for me pretty please
I rather watch them outside visited by many bees
It is so beautiful to see them sway softly outside
And so sad to see them slowly die and lose their pride
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Death - The Gift of Life
There’s nothing certain but death
Nor beyond nor before
We are born and live to die
Death the only gift of life
We fret; make noise, shout and cry
We skid from hills to valley and back
Get torn among home, work and friends
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We fight, we scream, we spurn
We step on each others’ toe
All to achieve and amass
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Walk we straight with pride
Look we people in the eye
Seldom do we stop and stoop
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We make friends, yet sly
Break hearts and water eyes
Too proud to bend or mend
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Each death promise another
Our last breath gives forth life
To another birth to die again
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Never can we live past in life
In death we reach the very start
From grains we come, to grains we go
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
poem by Thomas PJ New Delhi
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The Village
When a new life turns towards you
And the night becomes a bay
We shall remain forever
Everyone who meets his way
Oh, our love is like the flowers
The rain and the sea and the hours
Oh, our love is like the flowers
The rain and the sea and the hours
When the rain falls to the sea
Theyll be waiting for you and for me
And the sky reflects our image
Trying to sleep right through our lives
Oh, our love is like the earth
The sun and the trees and the birth
Oh, our love is like the earth
The sun and the trees and the birth
I am still here two days later
Same place, same time
And Im stuck here two years too long
Same place, the wrong time
Oh, our love is like the flowers
The rain and the sea and the hours
Oh, our love is like the flowers
The sun and the sea and the hours
Their love died three years ago
Spoken words I cannot show
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Time Of Albion
Here comes the birth of a new dawn,
a time when every hopes can be look up.
A moment of divine transformation,
that will change the destiny of our generation.
A generation of great attribute,
where the fate of the world will be accepted without dispute.
A generation of people with good character,
whose theme will be ' THEY LIVED HAPPY EVER AFTER '.
A time when sound of war will be forgotten,
and where every sins will be forgiven.
A time of divine & everlasting peace,
were our joy and happiness will not be on lease.
A world full of happy citizen,
with enermous blessings from heaven.
A time when evil will be erradicated,
and every single good deed will be counted.
A time full of brotherly love,
from people who are as gentle as a dove.
A realm of unity amongs nations,
where people will have to live without segregation.
A time when people are shown care,
where they won't have to live their lives with fear.
A time when there will be a chance of a rebirth,
without walking through the path of death.
A time of equal rainfall and sunshine,
when every darkness will be outshine.
A generation of people connected by a single bond,
and euthesastic of a peaceful world beyound.
A time of heavenly bliss,
when every thing will not be done amiss.
A time when everybody will be seen as one,
when the battle for good will have been won.
It is only through the acceptance of God,
that this extraordinary generation can be applaud.
Through the repentance from our sins,
that's only when this amazing time can be seen.
If only we can trust and love God with our heart,
our hope for this unique world will not be torn apart.
For he alone can put this world in the palm of our hand,
and give ur a reassured and a peace of mind.
poem by Stanley Oguh
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You speak to me and say
Cherish
The brilliance of the day,
Come what may
The warmth descending from our sun
Which coddles each and everyone
The breath of life on this planet earth
Until our death, from our inconsequential birth
Thank you, Oh great uncaused first cause,
Whoever you are, wherever you may be,
Because
I am so glad to be around
To hear each and every sound
See each and every sight
Experience every single day and every single night
To breathe each and every breath
From my birth until my death
And waste not one single second
Of your great gift - this is my bond.
poem by Terry Brewer
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The Flowers of Thy Being
Being the human beings
Undiscerning is our Art
The thoughts are merely feeble
The Actions, unwise
Me Lord! Me Lord!
Helpless we are, careless as well
The Moment, Thy Person reflects Thy Art
Visible is evrything, discerning we are!
What is Thorn? What is Flower?
Demarkation is accessible
Numerous Thorns we come across
Thorns!
Maybe are the Idols!
Yeah, they are!
Our 'self' leads us to Idols
Thy 'Self' takes us towards Flowers:
The Flower of Thy Word!
The Flower of Thy Path!
The Flower of Thy Guidance!
The Flower is nothing else but Thy Being
O' Lord save us from Idols!
Protect us from Thorns I mean
Shower upon us just Thy Flowers
The Flowers of Thy Being
The Flowers of Thy Being
poem by Azhar Hameed
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The Twilight Of My Life
THE TWILIGHT OF MY LIFE
The twilight of my life
May yet bring
A new beginning
in my writing life.
Hope springs eternal
Even when there is no dawn
Death can come any time
In the middle of this song.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Death And Birth
Death and birth should dwell not near together:
Wealth keeps house not, even for shame, with dearth:
Fate doth ill to link in one brief tether
Death and birth.
Harsh the yoke that binds them, strange the girth
Seems that girds them each with each: yet whether
Death be best, who knows, or life on earth?
Ill the rose-red and the sable feather
Blend in one crown's plume, as grief with mirth:
Ill met still are warm and wintry weather,
Death and birth.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Values
Did you deceive me? Did I trust
A heart of fire to a heart of dust?
What matter? Since once the world was fair,
And you gave me the rose of the world to wear.
That was the time to live for! Flowers,
Sunshine and starshine and magic hours,
Summer about me, Heaven above,
And all seemed immortal, even Love.
Well, the mortal rose of your love was worth
The pains of death and the pains of birth;
And the thorns may be sharper than death--who knows? -
That crowd round the stem of a deathless rose.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Time Ticks Like Death Crawling In My Skin
at 6: 15
twilight,
darkness chokes the neck of day
i hear nothing
i tell the fence, steel and rusty, feeling death itself
on its rails,
that death makes no sound, it is only the time ticking
like the dripping of the water from the gutter
to the rocks
at the foot of the house
it is only its hands that move
round and round my body
feeling the irrationality of my wrist,
the mind closes like a window at night
the thoughts are turned off like the lights of the village
the self loses itself in this darkness
you hear nothing of its insanities
no one talks no one listens
at 8 o'clock in the evening all the eyes pretend that sleep is just nearby
in bed my hands argue
there is something wrong
the feet stamp against themselves at the foot of the bed
there are no changes without a bloodshed
that is still the philosophy of life
this world is not a playground for saints
this world spins upon its own foolishness
at the center is the hub of all selfishness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Birth Of Hope
See, now we are left with nothing
A tiny desire of infinity no longer entails our songs
As they embark into the sky like vastness of our meeting
See, we have seen the light of darkest hours
And the cravings that we had are now blossoms of little delights
Now a dropp of failure and defeated shy
is taking its last leave from us
And we are weeping in consoling tears
But see, we have no sadness.
This is just a good bye.
And we have seen roads returning
begin with a small change, a small step that we are ready to take.
Not every road shows you a sign
And the nomadic allegory of life
Comes to life in such company.
We have explored happiness in almost
all of its possible hideouts, caves of pain.
The outcomes were summaries of insides of us.
A poem without language speaks the light of life.
The adventures of death have lured all our wonders
Now life is much and much in it is
more than a droplet of night
A traveler is about to be one with the night
Some homeless children are looking for shelters
of their hunger, a drought has just passed from our hearts
and we are flooded still
Like stars we sit at these dying hours staring at one another
with blinking pearls of our thoughts.
We are searching traces of life
Yet, yet, see there is no pain
We have explored all the possible hideouts
Life is never far from us.
If like me you too have a little nothingness
Let us sit in the next sunset and share these celebrations
of death and birth.
I am ready to disappear in life's waves
to eternity, an era of timelessness.
Let every exploration end but into a beginning
See in the envelope of sunrise
There are messages from the world beyond
raising the rays of birth of hope.
Are you ready for the morning?
Love and Death
Death? is it death you give? So be it! O Death,
thou hast been long my friend, and now thy pale
cool cheek shall have my kiss, while the faint breath
expires on thy still lips, O lovely Death!
Come then, loose hands, fair Life, without a wail!
We've had good hours together, and you were sweet
what time love whispered with the nightingale,
tho' ever your music by the lark's would fail.
Come then, loose hands! Our lover time is done.
Now is the marriage with the eternal sun.
The hours are few that rest, are few and fleet.
Good-bye! The game is lost: the game is won.
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Sonnet: The Kingdom Of God
Both good and bad species of trees has earth;
Good ones bear flowers/fruits right from their birth;
The bad ones have big thorns and poisonous spikes,
And give no shade and so master dislikes.
If your garden contains one such bad tree,
And birds can’t built their nests nor perch afree,
What will the master of the garden do?
The rear both the good one and bad too?
He’ll cut the bad tree surely into bits,
And throw them into fire in large pits,
And far away from any dwelling place,
For fear of poisonous wood-smoke, in case.
God’s Kingdom appears in a similar way!
The impure souls can’t enter any day.
poem by John Celes
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Fate Factor
You choose your fate
By the things you do
If you are good
Your fate will be too
Fate does not choose you
It won’t take time to choose you
Just watch what you do
And fate will be good to you
A fate worse than death
For being bad that’s what you get
I’ve been there and back
So I know the facts
Take my advice
Live life right
Just do onto others good
And fate will do onto you
Follow one of the golden rules
Do onto others what you,
Want them to do onto you
And that’s how you choose your fate
poem by LaTisha Parkinson
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Church Not Made With Hands
Bye-bye shadowlands
The term is over
And all the holidays have begun
Now she walks in fresh fields
Her tracks are on the land
She is everywhere and no place
When its dark and evening falls
She moves among men
They would seek to have her as a prize
But she is in the shadows
The ocean and the sand
She is everywhere and no place
Her church not made with hands
Not contained by man
She is dancing high as clouds
Faster than the arrow
As straight as any crows that flies
Accross great seas she travels
Up through rising lands
She is everywhere and no place
Her church not made with hands
Not contained by man
Isnt that a pretty sun
Setting in a pretty sky?
Will we stay and watch it darken?
Will we stay and watch it darken?
The church not made by hands
Not contained by man
That precious place
Unmade by man
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Prime Commandment
The Prime Commandment
Of Murder, Manslaughter, Homicide! Oh! Such is this a Crime.
The three whilst so common are often much confused.
Murder is planned, intentional, real and with life, on the line.
With which DARK evil forces take hand in hand.
Manslaughter, whilst wicked is unplanned or premeditated.
Or so it is oft pleaded and said anyway.
Manslaughter, Murder, Homicide, ? The saddest of all fates.
Best avoided, if one is to reach an old age?
Learn? Homicide chiefly occurs in a Murder!
………………………………………………………….
Manslaught er, a soft cloak for Murder sublime.
In self-defence Murder can be culpable.
Most Cops and Crime victims from time to time agree.
Justifiable, some say, in preventing atrocious crime.
But! No one has a just cause to Murder.
Life of a King, President, Fly or a Bum is still precious.
To Kill, should not form any part of Life’s plan.
Make just natural life wastage healthy reason to develop.
May those a hawking DEATH rot forever in their HELL! -------------------
The Thousandth Man 12th December 2007
poem by Philip Winchester
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Opera Singer
I am an Opera Singer
I stand on painted Tape
It tells me where I'm going
And where to throw my cape
I call my co-star's brother
I call my co-star's name
I play both good and evil parts
I sing to Verdi's play
And every single morning
By 10 AM I'm dressed
My rehearsals last for hours and hours
With diligence I have been blessed
Some people they call me monster
Some people they call me saint
My talent feeds my darker side
Yet no one will complain
I am an opera singer
I sing in foreign lands
I've sung for kings in Europe
And emperors in Japan
And after each performance
People stand around and wave
Just to tell me that they love my voice
Just to tell me that I'm great
I am an opera singer
I will sing when you're all dead
I sing the mountains crumbling apart
I sing what can't be said
I am an opera singer
I sing in foreign lands
Most people seem to know my name
Or at least know who I am
song performed by by Cake from Comfort Eagle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The poem and her poet
Death once told poor life defeated by life:
Life's no life if lived on the edge of knife,
No more a struggle, nor is full of strife,
Do ye know how many deaths is Death rife?
Death's all death; the same is not true of life,
Life tries to knot her up snaps when death's knife,
But I've heard a man asking on death bed,
Pray, tell me Death, how long ere I'm all dead?
To him, said death, straightening up his head,
Moments might when look like minutes of dread,
Minutes stretch and stretch into hours, instead,
When hours take days, and days, years, you are dead.
Remember, life's lived moment to moment,
‘Tis measured too in a moving moment,
Forget not: Death alone is permanent,
I dwell in life from birth, live life dormant;
There's no freedom in life, nor should death call,
Death changes but the bricks of prison wall,
All quarrels ‘tween life and death, big and small,
Settled are, death when proves him far too tall.
Life is a small piece, but a paragraph
Of my poem, said Death, metre nor measure but in half,
Life may decide every new beginning,
But ‘tis me that knows the length, knows ending.
Eons pass sans measure for endless time,
While no clocks tick, nor dare their hours to chime,
Boulders of rocks break down whilst time stands still,
O grinding into grains of sands sans will.
While life is stuck with my poem's first rhyme,
Death challenged life to dare the worst she can,
I'm the Absolute trouser wearing man1,
I wonder how relative would tick time!
_____________________________________________ ___________
1. Death muses himself to be the male principle, the purusha.
The poem stands for life and prakriti. The piece here depicts
a dialogue between Life, or the matter, the poem and her
creator poet, the Death. In Indic philosophy, purusha is the
presiding deity, the atman or soul, which is eternal and body
is made of prakriti, the material nature, which is death-bound.
_____________________________________________ __________________
- Musings | 12.08.12 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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