A Trial Of Strength
Hard, narrow and straight is the route,
Those who are un-backed fall headlong soon,
The devotees face slippery spot at each step,
And go through a trial of strength.
A thing slight may culminate taking up,
Or throw down into the dark bottom of abyss,
Where from if you are not brittle hearted,
Start climbing afresh, with zeal and zest,
Submitting your wills before the Mighty Consent.
A journey long of the distant land allowed me
To have a pause in front of a mosque,
Very small like a turned half globe,
With a minaret in centre of the top.
Divided was its roundity with raised streaks,
As they do divide the soft crust of a melon,
Some invisible masters had made a show of craft,
The trailing branches of roses were laden
With the flowers ever fresh and leaves ever green.
Then I went in and saw the saints four,
Discussing the errors, I had committed
Since I became a traveller of the arduous route.
Came down then I, in the basement I found
The damsels four, standing at the door,
In the dresses red, yellow, pink and blue,
And I was to pass through them unheeded.
When they attracted gesturing with the moves of eyes,
I engrossed in thoughts carnal,
Their sweet beauty cast irresistible spell,
And I forgot the purpose of the distant sojourn,
Ah! Lust rode on the back defeated me again.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Related quotes
The Brook Rhine
SMALL current of the wilds afar from men,
Changing and sudden as a baby's mood;
Now a green babbling rivulet in the wood,
Now loitering broad and shallow through the glen,
Or threading 'mid the naked shoals, and then
Brattling against the stones, half mist, half flood,
Between the mountains where the storm-clouds brood;
And each change but to wake or sleep again;
Pass on, young stream, the world has need of thee;
Far hence a mighty river on its breast
Bears the deep-laden vessels to the sea;
Far hence wide waters feed the vines and corn.
Pass on, small stream, to so great purpose born,
On to the distant toil, the distant rest.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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A walk along the beach
I see a ship
passing beyond the breakers
white on the top
and red at the bottom
and the sea is calm
and a light wind
is blowing on the beach.
Alone I walk
on the hot soft sand
looking for shells
but here and there
I find one that’s not broken
and walk on further
and further
almost as if following a track
that’s just out of reach.
Climbing down
a small cliff
I am suddenly on a seclude beach
and in the blinding light
shells are everywhere
and I know
that no one else
has been here.
Some are brittle
like the leaves of flowers
and others hard as rock
with orange and pink embouchures,
a scope of blues,
hazing mother of pearl
shimmering like a rainbow,
brittle green circles
with holes in the middle
and some are more pure white
than snow.
I pick a ransom up at dusk
and lay down on my back
and watch the sun
setting above the sea
and time trail from me.
I must have been stuck
in my own thoughts
and caught by the serenity
when suddenly I noticed
a beautiful naked girl
looking at me
with a kiss in her eyes
that penetrates into my soul.
Her eyes shining
with shivering iridescence
(just like mother of pearl)
and her teeth gleaming
whiter than anything.
The second kiss
is on my lips
and hot and sweet.
Some perfume
almost dazes my head
and her nipples brush
protruding against my cheek.
“You have beautiful shells, ”
a husky voice says
and no words can express
my thoughts
while I kiss her back.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Where do I go from here?
The sun was hidden on the autumn seasons
And the wind whistled in their sadness song
The leaves start to fall scattered on the ground
They are like the memories that blew inside my mind
I bended my knees and pick them one by one
Hoping I could picture them in my palm
A long and wading road that I had to walk on
Following the footsteps that I could not be seen
It was vanished by the golden leaf of autumn
Here I am alone sat on a bench of memory lane
I kept wondering why, thinking I was lost and gone
Hoping for tomorrow, I will face the rising sun
Where do I go from here?
I don’t had the eyes to see the shades of green
Everything is like a shadow of gray
I was alone in this journey
I could not be able to see the beauty of spring
Looking for someone to hold my hands
Sometimes I forgot, how life is beautiful
To face the morning comes to inhale them,
I forgot to feel the magic of the sunrise
The wind that touches me every time I shiver
The rain that washes my pain and sorrow
and enjoys every dropp that falls inside my being
Where do I go from here?
I see the lights shining from a distant
I heard voices whisper in my ear
Perhaps, they are the angels that lead me
in this journey within the distant
and search the world, where I belong.
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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The Climb
Step by step
I've come closer to reaching the top
Every step must be placed so that I don't fall off
Looking down to see about how much higher I am
Another cool wind comes through and brushes my skin
The harder I push the tension does grow
I gather my thoughts the further and further I go
With some luck I just might keep on climbing
So better to climb than to face a fall
So high the climb
Can't turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
So high the climb Can't turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
Pulling myself up by a rope
I better my view
The only thing in sight is what I must do
As I turned I could see myself falling
Which in return save me strength for the climb
So high the climb
Can't turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
So high the climb
Can't turn back now
Must keep on climbing up to the clouds
Although many failed I must now prevail with no question
Have no time to stop
Onward to the top of the mountain
And I can't turn back now
Its so very high but I can't turn back now
If I keep it up
song performed by by No Doubt from Tragic Kingdom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain-tree
Rain-tree
The rain-tree is of cassia family -
Like an elephant it stands on the road, clothed
With thick green foliage, dark against the sky
All along the Bandra-Kurla road in Mumbai.
You have to exert a little and see
Over the top to see the nazuna-type
Of pink flowers sitting above the foliage
In plentiful numbers, with up-thrust pink hairs.
Unlike the African tulip in front of ONGC
At Bandra Flyover visible from the distance,
Here the pink and green does not show off
As rain-tree flowers don’t advertise themselves.
Unlike copper-pod’s bright yellow flowers
The rain tree flowers don’t weave a carpet:
I’ve never seen the flowers on the ground below
Nor do they wither on the tree, how I wonder!
In monsoon rains, the leaves shine specially,
Transparent drops falling on walkers below,
Or with a thud on the racing car bonnets too,
Some choose to fall on road to rise a bit upwards.
I have not understood why it is called rain-tree:
Are they attracted, peacock-like, to the rain-clouds,
Or does the rain-bird which drinks water straight from heavens
Prefer this tree, and inspire Kalidasa to write Meghdoot?
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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Journey to Be
I think I'll journey out some day to wondrous lands afar,
Or even chart a journey to a distant blazing star.
But rest assured that when my journey begs to take its cue,
Always know that when I go, this journey takes you too.
We'll start our journey out from here by horse and cart of old,
The seaside docks - and journey pauses - where we shall behold
A noble schooner for the journey primed to launch as planned:
To sail with dolphins cross the seas then journey back on land.
And so our journey goes by foot to conquer mountains tall:
A chapter hence the journey reached, with scenes that should enthral.
But when we tire, let's rest our journey, stretched in fields of flowers,
And bathe atop the mountain from the journey - autumn showers!
Refreshed, our journey takes a turn - we'll venture back for home,
But first we'll let the journey take a tangent just to roam.
And in the winding route, this journey's bound to bide content,
But most of all take heed - let's make our journey life's event.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Winter abode
God has made it as magical home
Each and every living object is welcome
What a fresh air to breathe in and think!
Not a slight idea to get lost and sink
Whole universe is made an accommodating place
Anybody can fly off to save the life and face
As the skilled people go with consent and permit
The birds need no sanction as they are capable and fit
When severe winter sets in, they prepare for migration
My country has found for them a strong bond and close relation
We have warm and sweet fresh waters comfort their stay
How long and torturous journey they undertake to find the way?
No international boundary mars their onward journey
In thousands they flock in sky and land in plenty
Natural breeding ground opens for them with lots of safety
What a magical show with the blessings from almighty!
When we are fighting for piece of land and secured place?
They have all the techniques to prove and preserve the race
How many years of existence have they continued?
The safe passage with traditional love route nicely pursued
It is nice and heartily welcome step to observe their happy plight
How have they proved by showing to world that they are right?
There can be safe refuge without any bloodshed in this part
Not compromising with stated bitterness and to depart
When nature is with us to observe calm and peace
The birds show and present their nests at the beaches
Whole atmosphere is filled with great joy and happiness
What can we understand from these birds in such case?
No one is loosing path and gets lost
It may be long but has nothing to cost
If will power is strengthen with belief
We, as sensible race, can provide the relief
*Migratory birds visit Gujarat desert every year in winter from Russia*
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The last thing I have, to offer you
Not long back
I was standing tall with
My branches spread
Upwards, downwards and
In all directions sideward
It was green all around my trunk
My leaves glittering in the bright sun
They fell just after winter
Only to strike again with full vigour
I used to blossom in yellow
With pendant like red dots in the middle
And my flowers shared in secret
The whispers of young lovers in my town
Some offered my flowers to their gods
And felt blessed by the divine
These flowers attracted insects
And colourful butterflies
Who returned intoxicated
Totally nectar drunk
I bore cherry red fruits
They were feast to sparrows
Squirrels and crows
Children of the town
Squeezed my fruits
And enjoyed the sweet flesh
Coated over the big seed inside
My branches housed nests
With young birds waiting for
Their mother's return to feed them
And my thin branches helped
These young birds launch their
First flights under their mother’s guard
At times over my dark rough bark
Snakes ran up to the nests
To prey on the eggs and young ones
I was happy never once these snakes succeeded
My roots were ever busy
Tapping soil nutrients and
Sending them up to each of my tip
My leaves waved and ensured
Regular flow of oxygen rich cool air
Adding comfort to those who chose
To rest a while beneath my mammoth shadow
It was all pleasure for me
To see many around me in comfort
With whatever I can offer to them
All these came to a sudden end
When an unkind lightning struck me
I received the shock of my life
A hot wave ran through the entire me
From the top to the root bottom
And what happened
All functions in me
Came to an abrupt end
My leaves turned yellow and brown
To leave me and they fell in silence
My branches dried and turned black
The fruits did not ripe
I started drying up with no more
Supply of water from the ground
I am stark naked standing like a
Threatening skeleton
Birds, insects and people
Do not visit me
Am I turning useless
But let people know I have some thing
Also to offer
Delay further not and cut me
Burn me and enjoy the warmth
Of my heat and of my burning heart
The last thing I have, to offer you
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Journey through the furnace.
Many were called
But few were chosen
Into the call of academic glory
The journey many started
Ended with but a few.
7 scores and a decade*
Started the journey towards greatness
On the same path and terrace.
Some took another route
Some fell out fortuitously
4 scores and a half decade*
Got to the end of the road.
We who ended are no better
Than we who started the journey
In this great academia
With moral prison yards
And religious bigotry.
Those who have fallen out
Or, rather
Taken another route
Shall forever remain in our heart
As we end this journey
And close this phase of our life
Taking a bold step
Into the universal city
Of the world beyond…
poem by Phillips Olayanju
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The Shield
At how many spots, at the moment same,
A reverend man subservient to God,
Is present, is a puzzling thing of wonder.
On the remote plain of the distant recesses,
I beheld the sphere of dancing beauties,
Far above, in hundreds were the groups of stars,
All in formation, not a single one alone,
They glistened like scattered heaps of diamonds.
Told was I, those were the seats of devotees,
Around the masters’ residencies.
Then I to the west turned my gaze,
Saw the rockless numerous mounds,
Dotted with low shrubs and cypresses green,
With pink-yellow mist descending upon,
Dim light was perceptible but with no source.
To the south-east I found a plain,
Vast and even, covered with fluffy grass,
And with wild commotion ran the men,
All shrouded white, hastened to one direction,
Followed one another in hurry burry haste,
Lest they should miss their fortune.
A man standing on the side right,
With snow-white locks, beard and brows,
Loose white robes flowed beneath the knees,
Told me the cause of hurrying excitement
That all ran and raced to receive greetingly,
A saint ‘Farid’ who stepped from the world,
To freshen the devotees with a shower of faith.
A confusion for the mild meek man
That possessed my mind was removed;
The status he enjoyed in the world celestial,
Confounded the core of my wisdom.
While receding down, on another ground,
I did find the same reverend dervish,
Watching from a cave my farm of melons,
Fence by the dried hewed thorny branches.
And guarded he me well when the two damsels,
With sinful intents and wishes sable,
Invited with captivating delicacies,
He defended me against diabolic tricks,
As a shield does against the sharp blows.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Climb
Step by step I come closer to reaching the top
Every step must be placed so that I dont fall off
Looking down to see about how much higher I am
Another cool wind comes through, brushes my skin
The harder I pust the tension does grow
I gather my thoughts the further and further I go
With some luck I just might keep on climbing
So better to climb than to face a fall
So high the climb
Cant turn back now
Must keep climbing up to the clouds
So high the climb
Cant turn back now
Must keep climbing up to the clouds
Pulling myself up by a rop I better my view
The only thing in sight is what I must do
As I turned I could see myself falling
Which in teturn gave me strength for the climb
Chorus:
Although many failed
I must now prevail with no question
Have no time to stop
Onward to the top of the mountain
And I cant turn back now
Its so very high but I cant turn back now
If I keep it up, Im gonna make it
Im so very close cant you see
Chorus:
Im getting closer...
song performed by by Gwen Stefani
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shambling Fellow
I neither smoke nor drink sippingly,
Nor eat sweeping essence of flowering puppies,
Nor ever tasted the potion of hemp green,
Nor I have cancerous tumors in the brain.
I was thrown from the lofty zones,
Down deep headlong into the dungeon,
Dark narrow subterranean round cave,
Darker it grew at each moment of the down fall,
And journeying against the culminating heights.
Beholding behind nothing except horror I felt,
Only I could see a circular patch of the blue sky,
Then the dark channel began tuning at last,
To the right with imperceptible slow bend,
And I soon came out gasping of the deep tunnel.
In front then I saw the houses small and white,
Painted not afresh, extended left and right,
Numerous congested like a city inhabited thickly,
Smokeless, clear and with no profanity of the noise,
Tranquil like village in the days of harvest.
Like a swallow I darted from roof to roof
With light movements,
Much speedier than the flight of a hawk,
And soon I saw a slim tall damsel standing,
Awaiting, anxious in the middle of a yard,
Beside the two children, playing in silence.
Ah! Then a sable thought confounded my heart,
And irresolute frail mind with weak intents;
Overpowered by immodest possessing lust,
And with overhasty dart, suspending the sense of piety,
I made an instant leap to realize the desire.
Landed in the yard, subduing shrieking voices,
In front of those deep blue inviting eyes,
And red-brown face wreathed with smiles,
I seized her from the arm left; she turned the face aside,
Stretching a thin covering of gauze between.
Then whispered she a secret blushingly,
A thing hopeful, indicating my own woeful follies,
“Be not impatient, restless, no one would step,
Into the yard, though very small,
Immodest longings cause decline headlong,
Spoiling life long endeavours to rise.”
When this broke I felt ashamed on finding,
Stinging serpents and devouring dragons,
Biting into the neck of my shambling fellow,
In rags, drooping with feeble faltering legs,
Wriggling in vain to uncatch the firm grips.
Note: This poem is purely based on a spiritual experience, and nothing else. In my life I passed though a certain period (from 1992 to 1998) when I often felt a sort of titillating sensation and something dispatching from my physical body and flying with all sensations and consciousness, into the distant corners of the universe, beyond imagination where I observed other worlds much vaster than ours, saw spirits of the diseased men and women, often I had a chat with them, revealing mysteries. My poem is a narration of the same experience and it is not merely a vain imagining; I have evaded myself from exaggeration; I put my case to the psychiatrists, and spiritualists for comments and criticism, the poem also contains a substance for the cosmologists.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Y... Magical Moments of Amazing Beauty
Walking on the beach
Children seeking shells
Running around, having fun
Evening sun setting over the land
Shining a wonderful light on the breaking waves
The sky soft and blue
Tattered clouds above the sea
Taking on a breath-taking mixture of colours
Yellow orange in front, purple gray tales
Fluffy here and solid there
Living colours reflected
in the green of the deep sea
Part of me wanted to sing
But my mind ran out of words
Magical moments of amazing beauty
After 5 minutes it was gone
The dark clouds were dark again
The green sea had turned gray
The sky was still soft
I tried to close my eyes,
Focus on the sound of the waves
But the magic of the moment was gone
The colours had vanished
Leaving nothing behind but a memory
Nothing more than a memory
Nothing less than a memory
A memory to cherish
A memory of moments
Magical moments of amazing beauty
When will the next one come?
poem by Aufie Zophy
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{painted Pink Sky}
My eyes set their gaze across the horizon
The sun is setting in late fall afternoon
Cold snap in the air as the leaves swirl about
A welcoming view is the painted pink sky
Streaks of pale blue dotted with white
Have been suddenly brushed with a soft pastel
The beauty is breathtaking, such natural artistry
I am in awe of the painted pink sky
I think of you now, how magnificent it would be
To find ultimate and much needed serenity
Wrapped up in your strong arms in loves sweet embrace
To be held by you under the painted pink sky
poem by Lillian Jamison
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And then there were none
There were ten
Waiting by the road
Ready for a journey
Of an entire lifetime
The ten crossed the lake,
But the tenth was too scared
He left the others to their fates
And departed with some joy.
And then there were nine
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime
The nine walked over a bridge
But the ninth saw a beauty
Pursued her, leaving the rest
And sealed his own fate
And then there were eight
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the gorge,
The eighth saw a tree
Laden with fruits. Hunger
Consumed his life away
And then there were seven
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the mountain
Cold consumed their hearts.
The seventh saw a route
To escape from the way.
And then there were six
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
The trail went on and on
Never showed a sign of ending
The sixth lost all hope
And left the party, disgruntled.
And then there were five
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the desert
Their throats parched
The fifth simply
Lost the will to carry on.
And then there were four
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked by the river..
And the fourth saw
His family dead. Grief
Caused him to kill himself.
And then there were three
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked into the cave
And the third saw gold.
Left the journey and
Retired to a new world.
And then there were two
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked by the plain
Feet overcome with pain
They began to hate the other
And the second lay dead.
And then there was one
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
He struggled to reach the box
His left hand stretched
But at the moment of glory
His wounds killed him.
And then there were none.
Walking by the road,
Consumed by the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
poem by Devdan Vaidyanathan
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Panorama...
Thick veil of cloud.
And the forces of the mighty wind,
Colliding,
Bruising one and the other,
Like demons from ages, scarring the land.
For supreme authority-they battle,
For kingship of the sky...
With sudden activity, the foreground changes-
A new competitor, he joins along with an army of unending waters.
The rain.
Merciless, he drives away both...
Reigning supreme on the landscape.
Fog on the misty mountain road,
Just as thick as mystique.
See what you can,
For two feet ahead is all you will!
Afraid to step ahead
As fear of the unknown looms ever...
Half a step-just as half hearted.
A fluttering eyebrow,
Hands wringing,
The mind knits deep furrows on the forehead-
Thinking,
About where the it might fall?
A wrong step, a slipping stone,
A narrow bridge, a falling rock cone?
A deep abyss,
Or a valley with a mile long dropp maybe?
The fog is thick, no doubt.
But even thicker is the hide of adventure...
Step up-no fall is slick enough,
For fall you will into the curtain of wind!
Surf the world-
For noone will dare to stop you...
Puncture the silence of the dark abyss,
Tear it with speed-
A whole new world it is for exploring.
The fall grows-
Make it an endless one.
A freely dropping stone, never to stop for rest.
Ever lasting, the tranquility-
Spare the noise of rushing adrenaline,
Defying gravity,
And breaking the barrier of sound...
Jump onto the ledge and then another...
Until you find the bottom of the valley
The water leaps-like you did,
Exhilarating, eager to bring many more.
Raindrops love the mountain side,
They leap with added life
Back they go-to the ocean and
Come back with the first cloud...
Only to leap again.
Never noticed how curious the raindrops are?
Congratulation! You just started a waterfall!
Shimmering head lamps-blinded eyes...
The fog thins slightly.
A confident forward lunge,
With an unsure mind-nevertheless.
Because the fog still prevails...
Just another step closer,
To infinity, insanity, solace and serenity...
Just another step closer,
To your worst nightmare-
Staring out of the fog with bulbous yellow eyes...
Just another step closer,
To what you choose of the two.
Just another step closer,
That you need-to define you.
One step closer,
Not to life, but to living it...
Just one step.
poem by Ameya Sawadkar
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Back-door Angels
In and out of the front door, ran twelve back-door angels.
Their hair was a golden-brown ---
They didnt see me wink my eye.
'tis said they put we men to sleep with just a whisper,
And touch the heads of dying dogs --- and make them linger.
They carry their candles high --- and they light the dark hours.
And sweep all the country clean with pressed and scented wild-flowers.
They grow all their roses red, and paint our skies blue ---
Drop one penny in every second bowl ---
Make half the beggars lose,
Why do the faithful have such a will to believe in something?
And call it the name they choose,
Having chosen nothing.
Think Ill sit down and invent some fool ---
Some grand court jester.
And next time the die is cast, hell throw a six or two.
In and out of the back-door, ran one front-door angel,
Her hair was a golden-brown ---
She smiled and I think she winked her eye.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trusting God
I don’t know what will be, or what God has planned for me,
When I face certain needs, where ahead God’s Spirit leads,
Or what means, He will raise, for my needs in coming days,
But as God fills in the blanks, His Spirit fills me with thanks.
God has led me in times before, to what was a closed door,
Opening up that door for me, in ways, which I could not see,
So I must wait upon The Lord, for by God, I am not ignored,
For God will move in His time, in His ways, by God’s design.
The Lord’s Ways are not mine, for all God’s Ways are divine,
Far above what I understand, as He moves His Mighty Hand,
God moves in ways we cannot, when we are put on the spot,
To change the focus of our story, as God receives the Glory.
Planning from His Heavenly Court, The Lord will not fall short,
As He cares for all His own, from His Lofty Sovereign Throne,
With the king’s heart in His hand, for He rules over every land,
God shall take care of all of us, while we trust in Christ Jesus.
The Lord is not hampered by, our conclusions of how or why,
We can always trust God’s heart, to finish all that He will start;
God has purpose in all He wills, and every purpose He fulfills,
For the Glory of Jesus Christ, in each and every believer’s life.
(Copyright ©11/2010)
New Light New Colour
An old man
welcomes
his four day old
grandson
white stillness pure gold purple wonder gold strength pink joy
pink infinity navy blue now strong indigo blue light blue fountain
the green first reason endless yellow compassionate orange
royal red
single red free orange free yellow
green depth as clear as crystal all attractive light blue
strong indigo blue strong navy blue pink wishes gold compassion
compassionate purple gold of golds of creativity
who is quiet
and naturally very small and delicate
red inspirer orange giver yellow help dazzling green
light blue of the delicate with indigo blue eyes navy blue good
with pink kind eyes golden hair
golden complexion purple complexion
gold warmth of white space
white of whites
gold truth purple mentor funny gold pink friend of children
navy blue of nature indigo blue knowledge light blue song of nature
green creation yellow in senses orange guide red way
white and gold love
of all purple knowledge gold presence pink in thunder and storms
navy blue pleasure indigo blue beauty light blue lines
all attractive green of yellow stirring music of orange red refuge
clear red orange orange yellow yellow with green giving hands
of green light blue truth indigo blue essence navy blue sparkle
pink with gold purple guide gold here here white
His feet are curled
His fingers as small as tiny magic wands
His eyes large
Some skin is peeling off his small face
Everything is perfectly formed
white
is the sun with penetrating vision purple and golden constant winner
gold reach of all pink infinite navy blue indigo blue knowledge
light blue care
deep green in greens dedicated to yellow
orange truth
red peace
This perfect body was in his mother only a week ago
thinks the old man
He places his hand on the boys stomach
red glory orange beauty yellow
of green and light blue evenings handsome indigo blue
intelligent navy blue pink of pinks of gold golds purple purple
gold friend openness formless
white and gold
prevailing purple efficient purple purple origin purple form
gold and permanent pink navy blue belief indigo blue blue
dense green yellow orange red friend red
The boy almost gasps at this touch
He yawns
His eyes remain anxiously focused on the window
eager to understand the Australian light
poem by Bhupen Thakker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Prayers
The rocking hands swayed me back,
The centuries full four and ten behind;
Placed me on the cold wet sandy bank,
At the time of dawn, half light, half night.
Behind I saw stretched sandy plains,
In front calm sea with small ridges
Moving when gentle air moved.
Far away I beheld a ship coming
Ashore from the remote distant land,
Anchored instantly after the voyage long.
I beheld then the men four riding on
The steeds, galloping along splashing waters;
Fully armoured,
Equipped with sharp shining swords;
And captured they the descending voyager,
From the shoulders who cast at me,
A resigned patient look.
Ah! I can recall the heavy rough brows,
Long nose, thick lips, complexion black,
Perforated ear with a silvery ringlet,
Long dress and loose sleeves.
Turned then he to the centre,
Bended knees, sat to offer the prayers,
Under the lurking long curved blades.
Then the same rocking hands brought me back,
To sign a bond, to make a new turn,
And rectify direction of the derailed gait,
Eyes I found watering full flowing,
Drenching cheeks and the whiskers all.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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