A Declined Desire
Death dies herself and does not damage
Those who advance ahead underailed,
Following the prints of the wise pioneers
Whom He imparts the secrets of wisdom.
At downward dive heart beats thumpingly,
And aches as one feels on an oscillating swing
With long ropes when moves to and fro
Between two extremes with hissing moves,
Fearing lest one should crash to fragments.
I landed upon the world underworld,
Before the sunrise, in the moment of morn,
And roved about the too simple mosque
With open lawn and low boundary walls.
Entering through the gateless entrance,
I sat on the ground, gazed at the outer setting.
A slight afar flowed and winding river,
The lush green bushes stooped along,
The banks and brims of the serpentine track.
One by one then entered natives of the land,
Taking seats they sat in the rows straight
On the unwrapped mats made of palm leaves,
They all gathered for the prayers of morn,
And sat I in the end as my merit allowed.
Then one prominent, in the dress simple,
With a piece of white cloth wrapped around
His head, neither tall nor short,
With round sanguine face and grizzled beard
Of moderate length,
Abased in front of all to lead the prayers.
Recitation of verses imbued the heart,
With serene pure pleasure.
Then hands were raised for more blessings,
Before the crowed dispersed, a man squatted left,
Told me the name and place the Imam belonged to,
“Departed He centuries ago yet is known well,
A winding river flows beside His shrine,
Though often it surges to the brims spilling,
Yet causes no rumpus, passes in serene hush.”
A desire then emerged to esteem the adorable,
By kissing the feet of reverend dervish,
But declined He the act of caressing the feet.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Sermon
The forceful wings of ethereal self,
Made me fly to the sky,
Transported to the world higher,
Bigger, larger and wider than ours.
Placed I was amid the residences,
Thick, white all; high and small;
I strolled and strolled around,
In front of the big mosque I found,
A plain with myriads trees,
All green of the same size,
They seemed in order, stretched straight,
Extended in the long rows,
As million of soldiers stand still in formation,
And listen to the speech on the day of parade.
In the spacious hall of the mosque,
Squatted men in lines close,
Breathed deep with eyes shut,
As if they stroke upon the harp of heart.
The Imam sitting on the wooden stage,
Began to deliver the sermon on the verses,
“God is the best among the sustainers.”
Then one of the surrounding abodes,
I found my father with blessing looks,
Greeted, embraced he me with full vigour,
Upon his knees, when he sat,
Placed I my head weeping bitterly,
He slackened my pang by fondling,
His fingers through my disheveled hair.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Long River
Where the long river flows
It flows by my window
Where the tall timber grows
It grows round my door
Where the mountains meet the sky
And the white clouds fly
Where the long river flows
By my window
Theres a tiny bird that calls
And he calls by my window
Theres a lonely tear that falls
And it falls round my door
But when the sun is high
Theres no time to cry
Where the long river flows
By my window
Now if only you could see
The closin of the day
If only you could be
Where the dawn breaks away
By the white cascade
Oh down in the glade
Where the long river flows
By my window
Well when this land was made
It was made full of wonder
But one womans love
I cant understand
And Id give it all to you
If her love were true
Where the long river flows
By my window
Where the long river flows
By my window
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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T8
there is a winding river
beside tall mountains
you must know that we have
crossed this river
ten times already
it is the same river
winding through the banks
of these foggy mountains
the tall cogon grasses
can deceive us and so
are the boulders of rocks
that lie along our paths
we are grasping for air
to reach the highest peak of these range
of mountains and valleys and
plains
at the topmost
there we can see the truth and negate
that we can never step twice
on that same river that winds through the hillsides
snake, boa, venomous circuitous foggy paths
damned, we stepped on the same river more than twice
this is the tenth, and this is the highest peak
the world is nothing but a winding snake.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Dream of Innocence
(A dream I dreamt when I was only four years old)
Hardly was I old years four,
Went through an experience unforgettable.
It was the month of monsoon winds,
In the clear sunny morn I went out of the village,
And beheld the sun rising in the west,
Beyond the yonder peaks of the hills,
In the same place where it descends.
Fear gripped my mind and I ran to the mosque,
Lest the Door of Penitence should be closed.
I ran and ran through the streets shouting,
“O! People come! Come to the mosques!
The Doom is encroaching, beg apology of the sins,
Lest the Door of Deliverance be shut.”
No sooner did I find myself in front of the door
Than I found the mosque running,
With moderate speed, as the train leaves the station.
I ran and ran with the petty steps
Beside the walls, with increasing rapidity,
But ever the door remained out of the reach,
Then the mosques went afar; I began to gasp behind,
On the hot ground with bare feet.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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River Feeling
River feeling is
As simple as
Closing your eyes
For a moment.
Everything flows like river
River feeling is
As smooth as
Everything after
The first step.
Everything flows like river
River feeling is
easy as forgetting
Walking boots.
Everything flows like river
River feeling is
nice as
iron ties
Coming off.
Everything flows like river
Everything flows like river
Everything flows like river
Everything is good and flows
like river
poem by Julian Mann
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I want to sing a song
I want to sing a song
Path is difficult and very long
How to praise you in words?
Guide and lead me O, lord
Life may have ups and down
Prayers always on but not for crown
Worldly desires there but heartily denounce
to clear the attachment I sincerely announce,
My life boat is in mid way journey
Shaken by crisis and for want of money
Difficult to pull on but stay put in race,
Nowhere to go but to hide the face
I am firm believer so seek your blessings
Not aware of in what form you may appear,
Bow to Poor’s feet with earnest kissing,
With all agony, hardship and pain I bear
Nobody can shake faith and influence my view,
Sometimes all may withdraw and accompanied by few
I go ahead with full faith and humbly pray
Submit to thy wish and accept the sway
I am happy and contended with whatever I have
Leading normal life and honestly behave
Sometimes will not obey spirit of holy book
Childish act in your eyes and to be looked crook
Morning starts with recitation and I humbly pray,
No words to utter in disbelief but simply say,
”O, lord lead me to your kindly way”
Accept my short comings and shoe me the ray
No ill thought to enter in mind,
Only noble ideas to occupy and find,
No more cruelty and behavior of such kind,
All with clear vision so can be noticed by even blind
You have created beautiful earth to live with peace
You did hurt yourself so we can be at ease
How much you suffered for human beings to usher?
Not a single word of pain or curse you whispered
My heart bleeds when that scene comes before eyes
There were many options open with side byes
They perpetrated so many cruelties on your head
You stayed alive in pain without falling dead
I want to weep but can’t shed the tears
How much agony and pain it bears?
How you could bear those critical moments?
I lay motionless without any movements
I can chant slogans and recite prayers or whatever I can
I am firm believer of faith and can’t be called simple fan
I must lead the way you had exactly desired and expected
What else is left with me other than to lead or to be lead?
I have no words to praise or sing in your honor
I shall commit some time mistakes very minor
At heart I may have earnest desire to correctly follow
Accept my simple gesture in your praise and allow
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Decision Of Silence
Those who savour do know well the taste,
The rest may form but the images abstract;
Unsubstantial eyes penetrate deep into realities,
But the carnal look with superficial glance.
Spent I time pondering over the baffling puzzle,
Whom He created the Master Scheme for?
One morn, at last at the hour of dawn,
The curtains were raised, the gallery swung,
The door opened wide to show the reality.
Ah! What incredible I did find to see,
Since then my mind burns, my heart smoulders,
To capture the fleeting vision again.
The nourishing celestial taste of experience,
My mind, my eyes my heart did undergo,
The organs of wisdom can not explain.
The words symbols suffice not to impart,
The festive taste relished by the inner being.
A huge mirror of brilliance hanging down,
In vacancy, extended from the south to the west,
I viewed glistening with stillness of dazzling glare,
Brighter than hundreds of moons if gathered;
Emerged then slowly in the shining surface,
Half portrait of the Masterpiece, the Beautiful,
With magnificence adequate to the starved eyes,
But thousands of times more prominent,
Than the brightening ground of exhibition.
Beheld I the Redeemer, the Pivot of creation,
Wearing turban green with no end lurking on the sides,
Trimmed beard, neither too long nor too short,
Seemed as if the vanished hands laboured hard,
To adorn the Matchless with the regal splendour.
Cold flashes emitting out from the countenance,
Dazzled the force of frail seeing eyes;
The spectrum seemed a true manifestation,
Of the Being who from far behind reflected,
In the enormous screen stretched in front.
The mystery was revealed, but I should keep silence,
For when “Yes” and “No” both are the ruinous extremes,
Silence is the moderate route to survive.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Its Over My Head
You couldve had anyone you wanted
That just goes to show how crazy love can be
Look at us now baby who would have thought it
I dont know why you chose me
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
This beats anything I ever saw
Well I dont see what you see in me at all
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
You could be riding in a big mercedes
But here you are with me in a pickup truck
I never had a way with the ladies
So howd I fool ol ladyluck
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
This beats anything I ever saw
Well I dont see what you see in me at all
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
Lovin you comes easy girl my heard is in your hands
Its why you take a chance on me that I cant understand
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
This beats anything I ever saw
Well I dont see what you see in me at all
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Its Over My Head
You couldve had anyone you wanted
That just goes to show how crazy love can be
Look at us now baby who would have thought it
I dont know why you chose me
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
This beats anything I ever saw
Well I dont see what you see in me at all
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
You could be riding in a big mercedes
But here you are with me in a pickup truck
I never had a way with the ladies
So howd I fool ol ladyluck
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
This beats anything I ever saw
Well I dont see what you see in me at all
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
Lovin you comes easy girl my heard is in your hands
Its why you take a chance on me that I cant understand
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
This beats anything I ever saw
Well I dont see what you see in me at all
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
Its over my head and Im six feet tall
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Distributors
I bother not who regards me,
A split being or a psycho-case,
Telling you fact, undoubted fact.
Once my ethereal inner self,
Took a flight, landed on the plains,
Remote, too far to explore,
With the material means of wisdom,
Found myself in a spacious barrack.
The wide floor and thick walls,
Were made with rectangular sills,
Of stone hard, gray and quite old.
Covering with the white sheets,
A few men in deep silence,
Lay resting on the low cots;
In the slight dark as we feel,
In the deep shade of a thick grove,
A slight after the sunset or before rise;
It was dusk or dawn, I could not decide.
Wishing to have a view of the outer world,
Went up the steps leading to the roof,
Saw the world much bigger than ours,
Vast sky with a few remote stars,
Emitting out light thin and faint,
Looking around a man I found,
The poor fellow not much reverend,
In the eyes of inhabitants of the world,
With whom I have been acquainted,
Since my playful child-hood.
He by profession was a barber,
He was distracted strolling about,
The ridges on his faced exposed his heart,
He told me his worry, cause of confusion,
Making a gesture to a small room,
Accosted me to plead his case,
To an elderly person resting there,
That from the womb of his wife,
He had no delicious fruit of life.
On his plight I could not refrain,
Went straight into the small room,
Where I saw a humble man resting,
In a chair with a book large,
Opened wide upon his knees,
Wearing brown simple dress,
Serious gentle looking had he,
With the knees bent, I sat in front of him,
On the floor, covered with a mat,
Made of dried palm woven leaves.
I said confessing “ I am a servant,
And meek disciple of those great-men,
Who lead to the glorious path,
Of righteousness approved by Almighty,
This friend of mine does not have,
A child to remember his name;
Pray to God to bestow him one.”
At my request he wrote something
In the book of fate opened wide
Nodding his head that meant, “ Yes.”
After a year I met the friend,
On asking he happily me told,
He had a baby daughter two months old.
I exposed him not what I had seen,
But firmly felt, it revealed to me,
God is the creator of all treasures,
His sacred beings are the distributors,
The fate writers, subservient secret hands,
Have the authority to bless more or less,
But do nothing against the consent of God.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Patterns In The Snow
Overnight the flakes had descended,
and left a carpet of pure white,
A fox awakened from his sleep,
patrolled the frosty night,
The silent frozen world had now,
become a canvas, new,
For patterns to be created,
by the feet of creatures, who
Had ventured out to sample
this delightful snowy land,
Fashioned by an invisible Master,
with his gifted hand.
His paints so subtle, had with skill,
produced true moonlight hues,
Such lovely shades of brilliant white,
soft yellows and deep blues,
An eerie earth, a changed and strange
vast open wide expanse,
Where, up above, each dainty snowflake,
had started its downward dance
And settled, on the serene landscape,
clothed, in its simple dress,
Where we imprint our patterns too,
across a snowbound wilderness.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Papa Is Transcendent
That tranquil hill and the rippling river
Serene at both sides of the road
We hand in hand walking faster
To that temple to worship its Lord
Sitting for a while on the sliding steps
Down to the river from inside the temple
Then prostrating before the Lord with our prayers
Next going round the sanctorum nine times ample
Coming out and again prostrating
Before the flag-mast in acceptance of His Blessings
Coming back home to sit next to you
Enjoying the supper mom served us
And before bed, still clinging to you
To listen to you on stars and stories
Under the open sky at night were in repeats.
When cold morn dawned one day in shivers
Papa, you became still to give me tears.
You were dead and transcendent.
Memories are haunting me. Please come back, papa.
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Mahanadee Vavroovahana Patra
Mahanadee is beautiful;
Lovers are delightful.
Boys play on the river;
Guys roam with pleasure.
Sands dazzle with sun ray;
Poet derives peace, gay.
Pebbles dazzle naturally;
Lovers enjoy the beauty gaily.
Pure water flows on the river;
Sun beam plays on the water.
Sun God mirrors on the water;
The spectacle allures writers.
Poet depicts verses gaily;
Derives peace silently.
Sun rise is beautiful;
The morn is delightful.
Sun god smiles in Eastern Horizon;
Beauteous is the mysterious creation.
Poet surrenders on sun God’s Lotus Feet;
Mind enchants with delight.
Mahanadee is a Deity;
Provides peace, gaiety.
Flows on Odissa’s soil gaily;
Mingles in Bay of Bengal lovingly.
The lovely river magnifies the beauty of Nature;
Allures poets, writers with pleasure.
Poet surrenders on God’s feet on the river;
Soul drinks the nectar of peace, pleasure.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Prostye Dvizheniya
I continue simple moves
You continue my continuations
I am you, and you are me
I repeat, you repeat.
If you want -be silent,
Wait until it stops.
If you want keys,
2 turns around
If you want yours,
If you want somebody's,
If you want be like me
And I continue
Simple moves, I continue...
Simple moves..
We continue simple moves
Destroying irrigation.
Somewhere you find,
Somewhere you lose
I repeat, you repeat.
This is love,
Springs are jumping.
Tomorrow everyone
Can be smaller then snowflake.
We have to be on time
Not refusing.
We should be able
Continue to live.
Simple moves, continuing to live...
Simple moves...
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Simple moves...
song performed by by Tatu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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prayer-River Voyage
My voyage is also
Sometimes, on a river.
The river is gentler.
Here I have time,
As it slowly flows,
To wonder
At the lush vegetation
On its banks.
Sometimes it turns
And my heart pounds
In expectation
Of what is waiting
Round the corner.
I love the river,
Of my prayer
It carries me on
To new vistas.
Sometimes there are
Rapids in my river and
I struggle to come past them.
Yet the river is true to me and
Soon it becomes gentle again.
I can gather strength in its
Gentle flow and peaceful scenery.
poem by Mary Mc Creath
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Melody In A Restaurant
The cigarette smoke loops and slides above us,
Dipping and swirling as the waiter passes.
You strike a match and stare upon the flame.
The tiny firelight leaps in your eyes a moment
And dies away as silently as it came.
This melody, you say, has certain voices—
They rise like nereids from a river, singing,
Lift white faces, and dive to darkness again.
Wherever you go you bear this river with you:
A leaf falls, and it flows, and you have pain.
So says the tune to you—but what to me ?
What to the waiter, as he pours your coffee?
The violinist who suavely draws his bow ?
That man, who folds his paper, overhears it.
A thousand dreams revolve and fall and flow.
Someone there is who sees a virgin stepping
Down marble stairs to a deep tomb of roses:
At the last moment she lifts remembering eyes.
Green leaves blow down; the place is checked with shadows;
A long-drawn murmur of rain goes down the skies.
And oaks are stripped and bare, and smoke with lightning;
And clouds are blown and torn upon high forests;
And the great sea shakes its walls.
And then falls silence And through long silence falls
This melody once more:
Down endless stairs she goes, as once before.
So says the tune to him—but what to me?
What are the worlds I see?
What shapes fantastic, terrible dreams?
I go my secret way, down secret alleys.
My errand is not so simple as it seems.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Goodbye To A River
(don henley/stan lynch/jai winding/frank simes)
The rains have come early, they say
Were all gonna wash away
Well, thats all right with me
If heavens torrent can wash clean
The arrogance that lies unseen
In the damage done since we have gone
Where we ought not to be
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Lakes and levees, dams and locks
They put that river in a box
It was running wild
And men must have control
We live our lives in starts and fits
We lose our wonder bit by bit
We condescend and in the end
We lose our very souls
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
The dirty water washes down
Poisoning the common ground
Taking sins of farm and town
And bearing them away
The captains of industry
And their tools on the hill
Theyre killing everything divine
What will I tell this child of mine
(solo)
I make a church out of words
As the years dull my senses
And I try to hold on to the world that I knew
I struggle to cross generational fences
And the beauty that still remains
I can touch it through you
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
Roll on
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mahanadi Poet Vavroovahana Patra
Mahanadi Flows from time immemorial on Earth;
Pure water attracts people with mirth.
Mom's fun mirrors on the water;
Beholding, devotees desire pleasure.
Sun god lessees the river in mom;
The purple beam plays on the water in dawn.
The river is miraculous, mysterious.
Allures all lovers with pleasure.
The lap of Nature in ever enchanting;
The river is ever delighting.
Cosy pebbles, sands allure travelers;
Lovers sit on cosy sands with pleasure.
Brudhalinga on the river allures the poet;
Poet surrenders on the feet of got with delight.
God is adomed with fragrant flower;
Allures all devotees with pleasure.
The pure water bathes the feet of Almighty;
The river is proud with gaiety.
Fragrance of flowers enhances devotion;
Devotees enjoy the beauty of god's creation.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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The Rill From The Foot Of The Mountain
The rill from the foot of the mountain that joins the river to the sea
It has babbled on downhill forever by hedgerows in the high
Country
It has witnessed the birth and death of millions of Seasons even before the first Human was born
In the upland wood where it flows through the birds sing at dawn of the morn.
The rill it is truly immortal something that will live forever more
Forever 'twill flow to the river that flows to the great ocean shore
To it there is not a time limit it is as old as father time
It has inspired the long dead poets to glorify it in their rhyme.
The rill from the foot of the mountain towards the river ripples along
And sometimes above it's quiet babble the dippers can be heard in song
The dark brown white breasted waterbirds of Human kind they do seem shy
By the water-way they were born and in the water-way they will die.
The rill from the foot of the mountain downhill to the big river flow
The ancestors of the upland farmers who lived by it centuries ago
In the old Village graveyard it flows by with the long departed they lay
As on for to join the big river it babbles on it's downhill way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Rippling Childhood Memories
Rippling Childhood Memories
Melvin Banggollay
Sitting in solitude in the bank of a river
I behold waves to keep coming back
Gently kissing the shore long and forever
With their murmuring songs like flashback
While cool breeze rippled the serene water
With sweet memories just like a while back
When I used to play in this pristine river
Along with childhood friends on the block.
When I gaze the surface of the serene river
I saw smiles of swimming kids like ducks
Merrily playing as they build castle’s tower
along the river’s shore but waves took them back
with splashing moves from the naughty players
playing and throwing mud from the river bank
but at a distance I behold two young lovers
Building a castle of their own fortune and luck.
Who’s that, well that was me and girl of my life.
poem by Melvin Banggollay
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