Impacts of Horror
After the uproarious tiring activity of the day,
I rested my exhausted head upon the pillow,
And for a while shut up the lids of my eyes,
So that I could peep into my inner self,
To evaluate the endeavour I performed,
From dawn to dusk setting aside,
The principal task: to devote my existence,
For the fellow beings, to remove their pains.
A faint drowsiness occupied my mind,
That began to oscillate making me forgetful,
Of the conscious world of man that began to appear,
No more than a shadow of a dream.
A carriage I beheld advancing towards me,
Approached gliding as if it was weightless,
The coachman though was not human,
Yet had mild countenance, with snow-white,
Beard and brows; his hair flowed down,
Fell upon his shoulders with tight folded wings.
He signaled me to have a ride in the chariot,
And I settled in the cushioned seat,
And it began to advance with moderate move,
The scenes that I might faintly recollect,
Began to move behind.
We headed with no jerk or jolt,
Very close to the surface of the land,
And no conversation took place between,
At a certain spot the chariot rested,
And I found upon a murky ground,
Many children sitting very close,
The distant seemed like dots,
They were silent with harrowed pale faces,
And some half naked shivering with chill,
Their eyes were impressionless like a burnt piece of the mirror.
Then again the journey commenced,
This time a little faster than before,
I got grim glance of a serpentine river,
That mingled somewhere into the remote sea,
After passing over the fire gurgling mountains,
Again the chariot rested upon the ground,
And this time I beheld the collection of young men,
All in twenties or thirties they were,
Their faces were harrowed pale and eyes impressionless too,
And some of them had scars if they had fought,
Some extended war on the far flung domain,
For their structures carried the weight of exhaustion.
Then the third phase of the journey began,
Again a curvaceous river we had to cross,
Over the burning hills and forest we passed,
I smelt the stench and smoke entered though my nostrils,
Blazing air touched the flesh of my body,
It was almost the time of sunset when we landed,
In front of a dark cave in the basement of a mound,
The coachman again signaled which meant, “Come down”,
And gestured to have a glance of the inner part of the fissure,
I saw nothing except incense serpents and scorpions,
The serpent moved with the lashing tails,
And the scorpion with their stiff curved stings;
And for the first time the winged coachman spoke,
“God does not inflict unjust inflictions,
These are your doings, now taste the produce.”
When I came out of the mystical world,
The impacts of horror were upon my forehead.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Related quotes
Oh! Man Mend The Ways Old
I once in a dream flew into the world of future,
On the wings of fear, with the heart of agony,
And landed into a burnt zone,
Remotely resembled the world of man,
All wrapped in grimness of smoke.
I beheld men and women:
The remains of nations in rags,
All grubby with harrowed faces,
Impressionless eyes they had in the sockets.
They were at war against one another,
Not for high objectives nor to subjugate the Earth,
But for water, food and zones of fresh air.
They all carried the charred clubs,
Or the sable stones in their hands,
When they were at rest they shivered with cold,
Oh! Man mend the ways old.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Beginnings
It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.
They were not easily moved,
They were icy-willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.
Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.
It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud,
When the English began to hate.
It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Beginning
1914-18
It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.
They were not easily moved,
They were icy-willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.
Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.
It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud,
When the English began to hate.
It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Glinda's Theme
Come over here and rest awhile
Look at the trip you've made
I know you must be tired by now
So rest here in the shade
Oh, the journey that you've had to make
I've watched you bear the load
But you can always stay at my place
When you come off the road
And if you ever need someone (need someone)
Count on me anytime (you can count on me)
I'll be here to pick you up
Because a rested body is a rested mind
Because a rested body is a rested mind
(Because a rested body is a rested mind)
A rested body is a rested mind
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Sleep I Thought
I had died and found myself in a dark damp place
I couldn’t see my body, but I could feel my face.
Some distance away there was a dot of bright light
but I couldn’t get near it so it remained just a sight.
I wandered around in the dark trying to find a way out,
but I bumped into things that began to moan and shout.
The stench of decaying flesh and sulphur hung in the air,
it was causing me to retch, and followed me everywhere.
But the sulphur seemed stronger when I faced one way
and it felt slightly warmer with less taste of decay.
As I headed in that direction I entered a dark red mist
that swirled and grew hotter, with a vapour that hissed.
I considered going back into the dark but I carried on
and then the mist began to clear until it had gone.
I was now in a place of unusual coloured fiery flames
some tickled my skin whilst others caused pains.
The strange heat was reacting on my sweating sore skin,
blisters appeared that began bubbling.
As they expanded and burst I made my way from this place,
and got splashed with their liquid all over my face.
The pain was so severe I felt I could lie down and die,
but I had already passed on, so I couldn’t if I tried.
In an instant I found myself in a place of misty grey cloud
and saw ghosts of people I wronged, and regretted it now.
One shouted out, “I see you have been to where all the bad go
and now you are seeing what your earthly eyes didn’t show.
For every wrong you’ve done you’ll bear a different scar blister
and with it the memory of your evil against each Mrs or Mr.
Whilst you are here you’ll learn your lesson over and over again,
you’ll feel great sorrow and regret, and even more pain.
Over an age of time when you have reached the lowest of lows
and there is nowhere left for your pains to go or show.
You will be born once more and given another chance
to be a sincere person, with no signs of arrogance,
and if you show that you have been true to your heart,
the next time you die the gates of heaven will part.”
poem by Orlando Belo
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Protest Of The Phantoms
At the time of dawn,
When the lights went out,
I bolstered my head,
On the pillow,
Closed my eyes,
To loosen my thoughts;
I felt negritude
Extending its limbs,
Into infinity,
And I began to ponder,
On the plight
Of my countrymen, times
We were going through,
And consoled myself
Thinking that we had
Better times to live in;
The era of crimes,
And brutal deeds
We had left far behind.
Our descendants
Would have bright future,
For we made ourselves
Secure from the suiciders,
We built high walls
Around the residences
And installed razor-wire,
Deployed gunmen
At the entrances.
My mind was occupied
With these imaginings,
When I began to behold
The darker images in the dark,
They began to surround
From all sides around,
They were numerous,
They were the phantoms
All of women in Burqas,
Their gloomy, irritated eyes
Were only faintly visible;
They assembled to protest
For a certain demand
And one of them said
With a mournful tone:
“We are passing
Through the darkest era,
The hardest times
Of the human history,
Ask them to do some legislation
At least for rights of the dead,
We are not secure even
Underneath stones of the graves.”
Burqas: Veils
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Doll
The Doll
When mum went to work at the fish factory, there was no
money for baby-sitters; she gave me a black rag doll, to play
with. The doll, called Tom, was a caricature and today would
be seen as an insult. We had no radio or TV, and in the long
hours, when it rained and I could not go out, Tom became my
friend. Mum didn’t believe me when I said Tom could talk, but
only when we’re alone. School began I had new friends, and
boys don’t play with dolls; Tom ended up at the bottom of
a drawer. Forty years later I found Tom, in a shoe-box in
the basement, his fuzzy head rested on a pillow. I thought of
the time when he could talk. I put him back in the box and
taped the lid. Tom is dead, so is my childhood. In the stillness
I hear winds of coming chill, blow leaves along the asphalted
lane and far from where it all began.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Journey From A Small Place
I think I'll journey out some day to wondrous lands afar,
Or even chart a journey to a distant blazing star.
I make a journey in a paper
A contemplation ink in white field
I make a journey inside the book
Traveling my imagination in the word ocean
I make a journey under the table
A furious food battle on the ground
I make a journey on top of the roof
Transforming myself among the cloud in the sky
I make a journey outside the glass
A different possibility faces on the transparent canvas
I make a journey at the bridge
Clearing the dark shadow with the water current
I make a journey above the tree
An adventure child who never stops to grow
I make a journey over my pillow
Bringing a piece of dream to reality world
poem by Selam G. Sekuar
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I began to hate
I was born a righteous man
Just like you, I'm a loving man
When you stole my land from me
I began to hate
I began to hate
I began to hate you and your children
I began to hate you and your friends
I began to hate with a passion
Maybe I am simply old fashioned
I feed my kids multiple hate pills
Then send them down the road to kill
This is the message I want to instil
Hate
Hate without debate
Hate, Hate, Hate
Hate like the darkness
That resents the day
In the land you took away my wealth
Along with my loss went my health
How can a man learn to love and forgive
When you have not returned
What you were never meant to receive
So I began to hate
I began to hate
I began to hate you and your children
I began to hate you and your friends
My children are taught to hate
Obey questions without debate
With their last breathe they dedicate
A moment of hate
2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Hard Headed Woman
(words & music by claude demetruis)
Well a hard headed woman,
A soft hearted man
Been the cause of trouble
Ever since the world began.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been
A thorn in the side of man.
Now adam told to eve,
Listen here to me,
Dont you let me catch you
Messin round that apple tree.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been
A thorn in the side of man.
Now samson told delilah
Loud and clear,
Keep your cotton pickin fingers
Out my curly hair.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been
A thorn in the side of man.
I heard about a king
Who was doin swell
Till he started playing
With that evil jezebel.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been a thorn in the side of man.
I got a woman,
A head like a rock.
If she ever went away
Id cry around the clock.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been
A thorn in the side of man.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Steppin In A Slide Zone
I took a ride in a limousine
I took a road Id never been
I met a stranger by the way
His coat was torn but his eyes were clear
Standing in a slide zone
I could be steppin in a slide zone
He told me where a river flows
He showed me how the apple grows
He told me of a magic stream
His face was worn but his eyes were clear
Standing in a slide zone
I could be steppin in a slide zone
Standing in a slide zone
I could be steppin through a time zone
He went to find a shooting star
Around the bend thats where they are
I went along just for the ride
Suddenly I began to glide
Standing in a slide zone
I could be steppin through a time zone
The air raced by there was no sound
We drifted high above the ground
And then said you know this place
And then a smile lit up his face
Standing in a slide zone
I could be steppin in a slide zone
Standing in a slide zone
I could be steppin through a time zone
I turned my head and looked below
And there was something there I know
Suddenly I began to fall
I looked around and tried to call
Standing in a slide zone
He had me steppin in a time zone
Standing in a slide zone
Falling through a time zone
Help me please I thought I said
Then something happened in my head
Music came from all around
And I knew what I had found
Standing in a slide zone
Falling through a time zone
Steppin in a slide zone
He had me falling through a time zone
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cataclysm
Water closed me in from behind
Water slowly spread to
All directions I moved
No, I was not alone
People thronged from all sides
Panic writ large upon the faces
I spotted some familiar
Though they seem not to care for me
The sky threw up
Dull subdued light
The shades of which
I see for the first time
I kept walking
The faces no longer around
The water that initially
Touched my feet playfully
Now came up to my knees
My conscious self felt a mild furor
My surreal self, as cool as
The waters closing in from all sides
Everything around moved
At its decisive pace…
As one eon began to fade
Slowly and steadily
The surreal surroundings
Echoed with the notes
That flowed with ease
Form the flute…
Whoever said cataclysm
Comes as a jolt with fire
Emerging from depths of the oceans?
16 Oct 2010
05.10hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Chase
At one hot noon, in the month of Ramadan,
A huge crowd of men and women,
Young and old, in crude dresses,
Looked to the same direction
With fretful faces and grim eyes.
All of sudden they began to run,
As if they were partaking Marathon Race.
Then they stopped out of breath,
Their chests were heaving,
A pause ensued and again they began to run,
They stopped again out of breath
With heaving chests,
And drops of sweat dropping down.
As my van overtook the crowed I beheld,
They were the denizens of my country,
The voters of my dear land,
Being gamed in the hands of politicians,
They held red currency notes,
And chased a truck of flour.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Port of Tuban
At the mouth of the river overlooking the Java Sea
You tie up your boat
Near the gate
You jump to the horse without a saddle
Trains in the car park inn
The coachman, while the horses were fed
The coachman chatting in the coffee shop, while smoking
Accompanied-svelte svelte, swing-swing and talk Nudity
Delicate fingers thrusting cupcake
China steam wine, glasses handed the svelte
Mingle with tobacco smoke
Swirl by kitchen smoke
affair with the roof of the hall wuwungan
interim pastor
The pupil burned incense and incense
while reciting prayers to Goddess Durga
Shiva's wife
As a prayer for Ancient Desires
Does not know age
Not familiar with the space and time
Because of that desire
Maya sheer
World of shadows
Maya world
poem by Prasetya Utama
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I Was Shot
It was night,
The whole nation was in freight,
For starvation prevailed over
Each nook and corner.
I went out with an empty pocket
And a blank bag,
To manage commodities for my own kids,
And walked timidly
Through the lanes and lawns,
I came across men and women
With harrowed pallid faces,
There was stifling in the airs
As if something had rotten
Beneath the crust of time.
I advanced through the streets
To seek an opportunity,
A chance to carry out my intents:
The maiden adventure.
I saw the houses big and small,
But the doors were shut,
At some spots I saw the guards
Watching at the gates with guns.
I found a mansion with the walls
Neither too high nor too small,
Inner contents of the house were visible
And the watchman seemed to be dozing,
In the chair with the mozer in his lap.
I quailing my strength and courage,
Jumped over the bordering wall,
And I stealthily went ahead through
The plants and flowering shrubs;
All the time caring lest sound should disturb
The sleeping indwellers.
I made a sudden survey,
And my eyes located the kitchen,
A place of treasure, it was simply bolted,
Merely hooked with out any lock.
I with making a noise least
Searched for the containers
Containing the precious articles,
And discovered many of them empty.
I found a tin-box with a little quantity of flour,
No more than kilo two and a half,
And a bag of sugar laid beside.
I turned up the tin-box,
Poured the flour into my own bag,
And carried along the packed sugar too.
I moved back and strove to leap over the wall,
But my legs staggered
As if they began to revolt against my wills;
In the effort I fell and thump awoke the guard,
He pointed his mozer and fired twice, “Bang, bang”,
One shot hit in the shank of my leg,
I lay on the ground,
Gripping the targeted spot tight,
The piercing pain of the shot woke me up,
I found myself on the floor, instead of in the bed,
But I was holding my leg tight.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I'll Never Smoke Weed With Willie Again
I always heard that his herb was top shelf
I just couldn't wait to find out for myself
Don't knock it till you tried it, well I tried it my friend
I'll never smoke weed with Willie again
I learned a hard lesson in a small Texas town
He fired up a fat boy and he passed him around
The last words I spoke before they tucked me in
I'll never smoke weed with Willie again
I'll never smoke weed with Willie again
My party's all over before it began
You can pour me some old whiskey river my friend
But I'll never smoke weed with Willie again
I hopped on his old bus, the Honeysuckle Rose
The party was Vegas, it was after the show
Alone in the front lounge, just me and him
With one parting puff grime creeper set in
I'll never smoke weed with Willie again
My party's all over before it began
You can pour me some old whiskey river my friend
But I'll never smoke weed with Willie again
Now we're passing the guitar, telling good jokes
I know ones a coming cause I'm smelling smoke
No I do not partake, I just let it pass by
With a smile on my face and a great contact high
I'll never smoke weed with Willie again
My party's all over before it began
You can pour me some old whiskey river my friend
But I'll never smoke weed with Willie again
In the fetal position with drool on my chin
I messed up and smoked weed with Willie again
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks
All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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The Reoccurring Dream
I am running.
Faster and faster,
from what or
who, I don't know.
The adrenaline pulsing
through my veins,
pushing me to
keep going forward
even though my body
wants to collapse.
I am screaming.
Screaming his name.
I don't know where
he has gone!
I have lost him!
But still I move
forward with hope
that I can
find him!
I see a clearing.
And I see something
in the distance.
Someone hovering over
a shadow on the ground.
Before I do
anything, the person
disappears in the
darkness beyond.
Leaving the shadow.
My heart starts pounding
as I slowly move
toward the shadow
to take a look.
One thought keeps
raising in my head,
but I push it back.
I get closer and closer,
but I still can't see.
When I finally do
my heart stops
and everything spins
all around me.
I fall forward
on my knees.
The tears come
in a rush,
making me loose
my breath.
This has to
be a dream.
This can't be real!
He can't die!
I love him too much!
I pick up
his head gently
and place it on
my lap and
just rock back
and forth
trying to keep calm!
My tears falling
onto his face,
but he doesn't move!
He doesn't even
make a sound.
My love has
been taken from me!
It has been
destroyed forever!
How can I
possibly love now?
How can I do anything
without him?
Why would the
world take him
away from me?
What did I
do to them?
All I did was
love him with
all of my heart and soul!
The tears are
coming so fast,
I can hardly breathe.
It comes out
in gasps making
me very light-headed.
My vision is
blurred by my
constantly falling tears!
But I can
clearly see his
pale, dead face.
So I close my
eyes to try to
make the image
of it go away,
but I still
can see it!
Just like it
was right in
front of me!
I open my eyes
and he is not there!
Like he has
never been there,
Just like he had
walked away.
Leaving me alone
in this cruel world!
But he wanted
to be with me.
He loved me
and does love me still!
I wake up,
drenched in sweat.
Realizing that it
was just a dream.
That is wasn't real.
It wont happen.
Or will it? ...
poem by Jaana Coon
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Finding You, Finding Me
When I set on a journey to find you
I found standing at the door was me
And when I asked if you resembled me
The smiling answer was, 'do you resemble me'
I stood there for the moment eternal
The journey began through the dark tunnel
Towards the glowing spark that I called you
Which now I realized was me
The journey ended from where it began
From finding you to finding me
poem by Tara Acharya
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God Will Judge
I came upon a fork in the road
And I didn't know which path to take
Should I take the path most traveled upon
As that decision I just have to make.
So I ponder the decision for a while
Till an outcome came to my mind
I would take the one that was less traveled
And truthfully I still know not why.
I started my journey down that path
As down that road I began to walk
I then began to think the thoughts to myself
And also to myself I began to talk.
I came upon two men and a woman arguing
Screaming back and forth about hate and love
I bowed my head and then I walked away
And I said to them, one day GOD he will judge.
I walked down the road a little bit further
Then I noticed water upon the path
It formed a pond which became my mirror
Then I saw myself looking in, so I had to laugh.
I looked so sad and I look so confused
As at first I didn't think that it was me
But they say with age comes wisdom and sadness
So maybe that really was myself looking back at me.
I continued my journey down the path
Just seeing were it was going to take me next
Or will the road just end like how it began
So later in the day I might sit back and reflect.
I then came across some people stealing and fighting
While an innocent man was screaming that's enough
Then like cowards I saw them all just run away
Then I said to the innocent, one day GOD he will judge.
So I continued my journey down that path
Out of curiosity to see where It would take me then
But it took me back to that same fork in the road
My ending was also where my journey did begin.
Then suddenly I had awaken from that dream
My journey was really a dream that I just had
And was it a dream about my very own circle of life
Especially my pain and suffering and what made me sad.
So I sat up in my bed and started reflecting back
Into my soul which is full of sadness of love
I think the dream was telling me do not ever forget
And that also in time to all, GOD He will judge.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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