En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Magnetic Force

With the Baraat we went amid the pipes,
Peeling forth the sounds casting magic,
And rhythmic beats of the drum beaters,
Did lead us to the fairy world of negation;
Where from a man can behold the truth,
Luminous clear from distance very close.

Hobby horse would no doubt amuse us all,
That led the procession alluringly colourful,
And dancing, jumping kicked each passerby.

In streets of the village on both the sides,
The damsels clad in the new gaudy dresses,
Stood smilingly with overspreading shyness;
Holding the glasses of sugared milk warm,
They giggled, they chattered and chuckled,
The words dropped from their delicate lips,
As the dewdrops from the moisty petals fall.

Then we were received, feasted like guests,
All young and old then sat in the circle large,
To join the couple in sweet companionship,
On the hazardous, serpentine route of life.

Then Palki covered with deep red satin or silk,
Was brought and the bride with heart piercing
Shriek she did enter into the frame wooden,
As the young men lifted upon the shoulders,
The attached long shafts of the bamboo brown,
Some one would throw up a handful of coins,
Silvery, shining, and they came rattling down,
All looked opened mouths, extending hands,
Alert ready to catch them as they came down,
And some in vain groped, some fell prostrate,
All stiff backs bent and all erect heads bowed,
Like the grazing sheep in the pastures green,
I astounded, coins might have magnetic force.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On The Drum Beat

On listening to the measured sound,
Of the distant drum beat,
With sweeping sounds of the pipes.
On the other end of the village,
On wedding of couple,
I was carried out of myself.
And thrilling blood ran into veins,
With the sense of vitality.

I lost my control on me,
As if my limbs were not mine.
For the spell queer.
Worked on me and my fellows,
Of the same age,
Who being charmed ran,
Attracted by the drum beat.
As pleasing smell attracts,
The bees, flies and moths.

Each taking two rods wooden,
Hastened to the cottage of groom,
Gathering around the beater,
In the airy yard,
Who stood pivoted in the center,
Black and tall, with pink faded turban,
His rhythmic hands beat,
On vibrating ends of the drum,
Hanging with his neck,
With long leather belts.

We danced and danced in circle,
In ecstatic heightened spirit.
Our hands, feet and limbs,
Mechanically moved with the beats,
Among the chorus of wedding songs,
And clapping of the adorned ladies.

Striking of the wooden rods,
Produced sounds harmonious,
All dancing and cheering,
Were carried out of themselves,
To the fairy-lands of strange joys.

Then all of sudden,
The beating hands stopped,
And we came down to the earth,
Falling head-long, as wings of a bird,
Flying into the zones high,
Are clipped short,
So for him ceases everything,
When dashes to the ground
The broken spell of rhythmic beats,
Brought us again,
Into the world of woes and pangs.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Dancing The Night Away

Writers: russell smith & james brown
Standing beside of the ocean
Looking out across the water
Everything is beautiful
But I still dont feel like I oughta
Things we wanted, not so long ago
I got em all now, babe
But I aint got you no more
Still I remember
The way you held me
And all the sweet things you used to say
When we were two young lovers
Dancing the night away
I remember everything
Dresses you used to wear
You were so light and graceful
You seem to float right through the air
Me I looked so funny dancing
But you loved me anyhow
Now I wish I could find somebody
To love me like that now
Still I remember
The way you held me
And all the sweet things you used to say
When we were two young lovers
Dancing the night away
Standing beside of the ocean
Looking out across the bay
I should look for companionship
But it just gets in my way
All the lights are flickering
Out along the shore
I see people dancing there
But I just dont dance no more
Still I remember
The way you held me
And all the sweet things you used to say
When we were two young lovers
Dancing the night away
Let me see you dance
Let me see you dance
Oh, babe, let me see you dance
I can still see you dance
I remember you dancing
Oh, babe, let me see you dance

song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lover's Gifts LXX: Take Back Your Coins

Take back your coins, King's Councillor. I am of those women you
sent to the forest shrine to decoy the young ascetic who had never
seen a women. I failed in your bidding.
Dimly day was breaking when the hermit boy came to bathe in
the stream, his tawny locks crowded on his shoulders, like a
cluster of morning clouds, and his limbs shining like a streak of
sunbeam. We laughed and sang as we rowed in our boat; we jumped
into the river in a mad frolic, and danced around him, when the sun
rose staring at us from the water's edge in a flush of divine
anger.
Like a child-god, the boy opened his eyes and watched our
movements, the wonder deepening till his eyes shone like morning
stars. He lifted his clasped hands and chanted a hymn of praise in
his bird-like young voice, thrilling every leaf of the forest.
Never such words were sung to a mortal woman before; they were like
the silent hymn to the dawn which rises from the hushed hills. THe
women hid their mouths with their hands, their bodies swaying with
laughter, and a spasm of doubt ran across his face. Quickly came
I to his side, sorely pained, and, bowing to his feet, I said,
"Lord, accept my service."
I led him to the grassy bank, wiped his body with the end of
my silken mantle, and, kneeling on the ground, I dried his feet
with my trailing hair. When I raised my face and looked into his
eyes, I thought I felt the world's first kiss to the first woman,
-Blessed am I, blessed is God, who made me a woman. I heard him say
to me, "What God unknown are you? YOur touch is the touch of the
Immortal, your eyes have the mystery of the midnight."
Ah, no, not that smile, King's Councillor, -the dust of
worldly wisdom has covered your sight, old man. But this boy's
innocence pierced the mist and saw the shining truth, the woman
divine....
The women clapped their hands, and laughed their obscene
laugh, and with veils dragged on the dust and hair hanging loose
they began to pelt him with flowers.
Alas, my spotless sun, could not my shame weave fiery mist to
cover you in its folds? I fell at his feet and cried, "Forgive me.
" I fled like a stricken deer through shade and sun, and cried as
I fled, " Forgive me. " The women's foul laughter pressed me like
a cracking fire, but the words ever rang in my ears, " What God
unknown are you?"

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Afterlife

Coins fall in a
Myriad of colors, as
Confetti thrown at a surprise party-
From a place that could be heaven
My thoughts, broadcasted aloud.

Listen
None but a celebration-
A surprise is to see the dancing waters
Rise and fall to the tune of Chopin’s waltzes.
Drop a coin in a fountain, no matter how fluorescent the color.

My thoughts are muted, as
Cotton fills each hollow space in my brain
A strange and inexplicable sensation this is,
Forever misunderstood-as the hands
Of my digital watch, I would turn
If it deemed possible- and count backwards fifty-one years
A power struggle, it would be, against the romances of nature
.
Every clock ticks as
Each hand, second by second advances,
Carrying me to the unknown?
Ashes to ashes, to hell or heaven, or could there even be an
Afterlife
At all?

Coins fall from where could be heaven.
I hear strange voices within a charnel house,
Every clock in this world must be ticking. As
Second hands advance about every watch face.

Pendulums sway, as metronomes beat,
While my night was sleepless…
I never celebrated a party where I threw confetti, or neither
Did I ever catch a handful of coins- no matter how colorful, as they
Fell from the sky.
I was never enticed by the sight of waters dancing.
I lived in the charnel house while the rest of the world was alive.
Cotton stuffed in
Every empty space of my brain
Dampened my spirits.
A lone coin tumbles from the could-be heavens.
Perhaps I did not hear the time lapse?

poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Open Eyes

How often a thought of unfair deeds,
Terribly haunt my vain guilty mind,
Shaking inner self, core of conscience,
The wanton pleasures of indelible past,
Become tormenting, painfully torturous,
Make troublesome the whole existence,
And running substance changes into gall.

I set once my sheep and goats free,
To graze in the uneven green pasture.
Seeing something edible in my hands,
A bird after hovering over my head,
Rested slight afar, at distance safe,
Out of breath, bent the eyes to me,
With hopeful accosting innocent gaze.

It was beautiful, all shining blue,
But against cherished hope in mind,
I hurled a round stone with force full,
That fell too heavy on the too weak,
Instantly the delicate breathing life,
Was lying prostrate, crumbled, motionless,
With loose legs and flexible wings,
The limp neck hung with ajar beak,
The open eyes queried complainingly,
“O! Man what wrong did I do to thee? ”
And I justified not the deed in response.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I Believe In Fairies

THERE ARE FAIRIES AMONG US
LIGHT ON THEIR FEET, DANCING AROUND,
WITH LITTLE FLUTTERING GREEN WINGS
THEY LIFT UP OFF THE GROUND.

THEY TOUCH OUR SHOULDERS
AS THEY SPIN AND SWIRL ABOUT,
WEARING LITTLE GOLDEN SLIPPERS
THEY CIRCLE US I HAVE NO DOUBT.

I HAVE FELT THEIR DELICATE TOUCH
AS THEY WHISPERED SOFTLY IN MY EAR,
DON'T EVER STOP BELIEVING IN FAIRIES
I KNOW THEY ARE OFTEN QUITE NEAR.

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A LIGHT MOVEMENT
HEARD A BREEZE STIR MAKING A SOFT SIGH,
I KNOW IT IS A LITTLE PRANCING FAIRY
AS SHE IS PASSING VERY CLOSE BY.

I BELIEVE IN THE MAGIC FAIRIES
FLOWERS PEDALS THEY SLEEP IN,
THEY TOUCH OUR LIVES DAILY
THEY VISIT ME AGAIN AND AGAIN.

THEY VISIT LITTLE CHILDREN WHILE THEY SLEEP
ALL THEY HAVE TO DO IS BELIEVE,
TO NOT HAVE A LITTLE FAIRY NEAR ME
I WOULD TRULY BE SAD AND GRIEVE.

ON A STROLL THROUGH THE GARDEN
WHILE THE DEW JEWELS ARE STILL THERE,
WATCH FOR THE LITTLE FAIRIES IN THEIR TINY CROWNS
TO NOT FRIGHTEN THEM - YOU MUST TAKE CARE.

poem by Aashka Thakkar
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The Currency Lass

THEY marshalled her lovers four and four,
A drum at their heads, in the days of old:
O, none could have guessed their hearts were sore;
They marched with such gayness in scarlet and gold.
They came to the dance place on the hill
Where Death was the piper (he pipes full well);
They grounded their arms and stood stock-still;
And just why he sorrowed no one would tell.
O, some had been wed in distant lands,
And sweethearts had others — but let that pass;
She held them at ease in snow-white hands,
For Queen over all was the Currency Lass.
They ushered her forth in all her charms —
Her eyes were alight and as gold her hair;
She looked on the men and oped her arms —
What wonder if then they had wished them there?
She hearkened the Preacher, thin and pale;
His voice was as frost, yet his words were wise;
But sin on the soul is like wrought mail,
And only a scorn of him fired her eyes.
'O sorrow and pray, the hour draws nigh,
The Lord in His justice shall question thee!'
The Preacher made prayer 'twixt sob and sigh,
And down dropped his soul on bended knee.
'He fashioned thee fair' — a sideways look —
'Red-lipped and right royal to look upon,
A joy of the Earth' — his thin hands shook,
And passionate lights in his deep eyes shone.
In scarlet and gold her lovers stood,
A host under famine with heads out-thrust;
Keen-flamed in the sun ran reddest blood,
And lips that were thirsty grew dry as dust.
They loved her for years — their tangled souls
Like silvery fish in her beauty-mesh
All breathless reposed . . .A dull drum rolls,
And Death is at hand for the Flower of Flesh.
She lifted her head for one love-word
(Afar was a clamour of new-come ships);
Her hair in a cloud the low wind stirred,
And silent they marvelled at her red lips.
'A lover was I from youth,' she said;
'And Love is my lord till I fill the grave' —
Then coyly she drooped her gold-haired head —
'Now, last of my lovers, a kiss I crave!'
The Preacher was whirled in passion's rout,
And dark was the stain on his soul's white snow;
Her lips were as life — his soul leapt out,
And sure there was laughter in Hell below.
'A singer was I these years,' she said,
'And so I must sing till my soul doth pass.'
Then forth from her sin-sweet lips there sped
The long-dead song of the Currency Lass.
The hands of the spoiler touch her throat;
The noon grows near and the last sands run:
(Still over the scene her wild words float)
The noose is ready, the song is done.
'A dancer I was from birth,' she said;
'A baby, I danced on my mother's knee;
Now whistle a jig, with swaying head,
And, lovers of mine, I will dance for ye!'
Stood each with a droop, a cheated man,
While Sorrow went weaving an ice-cold spell . . .
Good-bye to the world! The dance began
With Death for the piper — he piped full well!

poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Hand Of Love

The young woman intertwines her hands with her older man
Smiling laughing at his funny charming jokes

The cool rain is the only relief her boiling heart has
His hand softly squeezes hers
He smiles, she smiles
The sun in both of their eyes
Warming them from the inside out

He touches the side of her face
With the hands of steal
But the touch of silk

With stars in her eyes
And the rain soak their innocents
He gently presses his lips to her hand

Baby you are me unspoken princess
She sighs
Has he’s still holding her delicate hand
He be believes that is made out of gold
He knows she is the other half of his soul

He says I love you to her heart as no words are spoken
Looking into her green eyes
That night in the warm rain of mystery

poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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To Young To Die

Everybody
Don't want no war,
'Cos we're too young to die,
So many people,
All around the world,
Seen their brothers fry.
What's the motive?
In your madness.
You've made my people cry.
So politicians this time
Keep your distance.
'Cos we're too young to die.
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
What's the answer?
To our problems.
I think we've gone too high,
Little children,
Never said a word now,
But still they have to die.
It won't be long.
Dancing like we do now,
To put this sad world right.
So don't you worry,
Suffer no more,
'Cos we're too young to die.
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
All gone when they drop the bomb.
Can the politicians reassure?
'Cos here I am presuming that
Nobody wants a war
There's so many people praying
Just to find out if they're staying.
But lately stately governments
And disillusioned leaders,
So full of empty promises
But rarely do they feed us.
Put our backs against the wall,
Or don't we count at all?
Can you decide,
Are you mesmerised.
Do you know which side you're standing?
Cos when it falls gonna take us all.
Gotta know what we're demanding,
I never lie,
Can't your hear the cry,
Coming from on high,
WE'RE TOO YOUNG TO DIE

song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Society of Grazing Sheep

The herd meanders, searching for the green
Pastures that hide past distant mountaintops.
They're a society of grazing sheep.

The herd looks down, ignoring what they've seen.
They're too busy chewing grass to stop.
They're a society of grazing sheep.

The herd wanders only to convene
In the pursuit of inhaling more crops.
They're a society of grazing sheep.

They don't yet realize that hungry eyes
Guide them—that wolves are hiding in disguise.
They're a society of grazing sheep.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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When I Was A Young Girl

(A Song of Old Ballads)

WHEN I was a young girl, all in a green arbor,
When I was a young girl in Springtimes gone by
All the long days I went singing and smiling,
Down by the roses the sweet days beguiling,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!

Oh, the long days I must sit at my sampler,
Oh, the slow way that the still time would go!
I longed to be running across the bright heather,
'Off with the silk gown and on with the leather,
Following the raggle-taggle gypsies, oh!'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!

When I was a young girl in days that were golden,
When I was a young girl, and life had no smart,
All the world seemed a place for my playing,
Full of great lovers to come to me, saying,
'Madam, I give you the keys of my heart . . .'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, and dreaming apart!

When I was a young girl, I dreamed of my lover,
A tall cavalier who should whisper me low,
'Love, on your lips are red roses a-blowing,
I am your true love, and fast is time going
Am I your true love? Oh, say yes or no!'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl–
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!

When I was a young girl there came my true lover,
Swiftly I knew him in glad days gone by;
Never a sword or a lovelock or feather,
But oh, at his touch 'twas our hearts came together,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!

poem by Margaret Widdemer
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Silent Forest

Today amid the thick forest,
I am here again on the high mound,
The central seat to administer
The cattle left loose around.

It is the same peak where we all
In the days of my childhood sat,
The reverend shepherds rested
Gossiped about the olden times
Narrated they life long experience,
And some twisted the fibers of jute
On the rotators to make cots.

Different noises of life gurgled
From all sides around,
The goats bleated, the hounds barked,
The sheep moved lazily after being fed,
The camels ate tassels of the trees
The donkeys brayed at the noon,
The bulls fought entangling horns,
The birds chirped in the shadowy branches.

Here are the patches where the old women
Of the village came to scythe grass green,
I see my mother too, carrying the stuffed sack,
Going back to home in the long queue.

At noon the damsels or the elderly ladies
Of the village brought our lunch
With pickle, or onions or sugar
Home baked bread smeared with butter,
And milk in the earthen pots.

We all excitedly waited for the moment,
Then gentle winds made us all sleepy,
We slept sweet sleep on the bare ground,
While the cattle sat, rested and chewed.

When evening encroached, we measured
The stretched shadows with our feet
To know the time of return,
And we moved exhausted to homes
Behind the trails of surfeited lazy cattle.

Ah! It is the same old forest
That often makes me nostalgic,
Melancholic memories begin to assemble
Forcing the tears to dropp into dust.

Sounds of life come from neither side,
The trees stood dressless like ghosts,
Or like bony skeletons that haunt in dreams,
As if flesh of nature has been eaten away
By the callous scavenger modernity.

Now I being engrossed in the pensive mood
Hear nothing but the dirge of doleful silence
While air passes through stiff dry grass.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Girl Who Sells Peanuts

She floats on the saffron shore,
Holding a bamboo basket.
Her heart beats
Within the shelter
Of peanut shells.

Toys and text books;
Picnics and pamperings;
All collided on a wall,
But death dropped her to be tossed.

The girl in a dirty frock –
She sells parched peanuts
For coins and eye pricks.

“Peanuts”, “Peanuts” – her withered call
Haunts her parents in the dungeon of grave.
Her pale figure walks away with Time Teacher.

poem by Fabiyas M V
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The Fire

The old men of the world have made a fire
To warm their trembling hands.
They poke the young men in.
The young men burn like withes.

If one run a little way,
The old men are wrath.
They catch him and bind him and throw him again to the flames.
Green withes burn slow…
And the smoke of the young men's torment
Rises round and sheer as the trunk of a pillared oak,
And the darkness thereof spreads over the sky….

Green withes burn slow…
And the old men of the world sit round the fire
And rub their hands….
But the smoke of the young men's torment
Ascends up for ever and ever.

poem by Lola Ridge
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Burial Of A Fairy Queen

On a verdant summer islet
I beheld a wondrous scene,
In a trance of dreamy waking-
Burial of a Fairy Queen!
First I heard some small pipes playing,
Like faint night-winds on the breeze,
Or the sound of distant rain-drops,
As they fall among the trees.
Floating softly o'er the waters,
And from every bell of foam,
The fairy anthem echoed sweetly,
Sad as thoughts of distant home.
Next the sound, as if of footsteps,
O'er the grass plot mov'd along;
And distinctly came the accents
Of the solemn funeral song.
Like the melting of the dew-drops,
Without words of grief or death,
Was the soul-enthralling music,
Scarcely louder than a breath.
Then my dreaming eyes were opened,
And in wonder I espied
Thousands of the fairy creatures
In a circle, side by side.
Scarcely taller than the leaflets
Of the herbage on the plain,
While their heads were bowed with anguish,
And their tear-drops fell like rain.
In the middle of the circle,
On a plat of grass most green,
Stood a bier of unknown flowers,
Whereon lay the Fairy Queen.
Ah, she was pale as any lily,
Cold and motionless as snow!
Fainter grew their solemn dirges,
And still deeper grew their wo!
Two sisters of the queenly fairy,
Stood at her feet and head,
And sang heart-broken measures,
Their requiems o'er the dead.
Scarcely louder than the twittering
Of the wood-lark's dewy breath-
But too full of desolation,
And the dark despair of death!
Then the flower-bier sank gently,
At the spot whereon it lay;
And the magic turf clos'd o'er it-
Thus the dead queen pass'd away!
Bright dew-drops glittered on the sward-
One fleet moment more, and then
The mystic troop sailed duskily,
And far from mortal ken.
The silence of the still midnight
The murmuring waters broke;
The moon, emerging from a cloud,
Shone on me, and I woke.

poem by Mary Eliza Perine Tucker Lambert
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Somewhere In Fantasy Land

Yesterday, as we strolled
together in a fantasyland,
I was taken back to another
time of our youth.

A handsome young man, a
young naive girl, holding
hands. Looking at each
other with stars in their
eyes.

Anticipating tomorrow.

The grassy meadows were
lush and green. Valleys
were ablaze of color.

Baby buds yawned, waking up
from their long winters nap.
Began to open their eyes
as the warmth of the season
penetrated them.

Petals opened displaying a
pamorama.

You gently touch my
lips, asking me, I agreed.
That day so long ago, I
found my hearts delight.
Knowing this love would
last forever, and it has.

poem by Heather Burns
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Jazz and The Hobo

It was a Saturday morning
And you were 19

and you were racing along
Victoria Street having just left

Victoria Railway Station
on your way to Dobell's

Jazz Record Shop
moving quickly

through the sea
of humanity

thinking of jazz
and what record

you were going to buy
at the shop that day

imaging yourself
fingering through LP sleeves

taking a mental note
of which one

you might buy
a John Coltrane or Miles Davis

an Art Blakey or maybe
a Dizzy Gillespie

a jazz record being played
over the loudspeakers

in the shop
you mingling with others

in the crowded place
when this hobo stopped you

taking hold of your jacket gently
and said

have you got some small change
for a sandwich?

no
you replied

I haven't
and rushed on

through the crowd
fingering in your pocket

loose change
silvery coins

and his voice
in your head

as you raced along
and your conscience

nagging you
maybe the voice

of the believed in Christ
so you stopped

and turned around
and made your journey back

through the people
passing by

your fingers taking hold
of the coins

the silvery loose change
and there he was

the hobo asking others
the same question

and they too went by
shaking their heads

or saying
no sorry no change

and you took his hand
and put in the loose silver

into his open palm
and said

here go buy yourself
a sandwich or whatever

and you turned
and left looking over

your shoulder
and he stood there

staring at his palm
and the coins shining

in the morning sun
and then you looked ahead

thinking of the record shop
and the LPs and the jazz music

being played
but deep down

in some other part of you
you knew you'd given

to one who maybe
was hungry

and had unconsciously
prayed.

poem by Terry Collett
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Dancing In The Streets

Wow!
Ah yeah!
Calling out around the world,are you ready for a brand new beat.
Summers here and the time is right,for dancing in the streets,
Theyre dancing in chicago ( theyll be dancing )
Down in new oreleans ( dancing in the streets )
Up in new york city ( dancing in the streets )
All we need is music ( sweet sweet ) sweet music (sweet sweet music )
Therell be music everywhere.
Therell be swinging,swaying,records playing,dancing in the streets,oh!
It doesnt matter what hat you wear,just as long as you are there,
So come on
Grab a guy,grab a girl,everywhere around the world.
Therell be dancing,dancing in the streets.
( oh )its just an invitation,across the nation,a chance for folks to meet.
Therell be laughing and singing,music swinging,dancing in the streets
All we need is music ( sweet sweet ) sweet music (sweet sweet music )
Therell be music everywhere.
Therell be swinging,swaying,records playing,dancing in the streets,oh!
It doesnt matter what hat you wear,just as long as you are there,
So come on
Grab a guy,grab a girl,everywhere around the world.
Dancing,dancing in the streets,
Way down in la,everyday,dancing in the streets ( dancing in the streets )
San francisco way, ( dancing in the streets ), they do it everyday now,
( dancing in the streets )

song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Bidding Farewell

When there is no one around me,
I peep out through the window,
That opens to the back yard of past.

When I was a child very small,
Could hardly run about in the streets,
Came out holding finger of my mother,
To bid farewell to the young-men,
Of the village who enlisted themselves,
To render the daring sacred job,
Of defending the feeding motherland.

Still I recall the time remote,
And see men, women and children,
Bidding farewell, waving their hands,
The old mothers kissing the faces,
The fathers embracing them with love,
Patting the backs of well-built sons,
Well-bred with milk and pure butter.

The damsels weeping smiled,
To conceal sighs of their hearts,
Hoping their soon return,
To make them their own brides,
And award them wedding pleasures,
But the innocent hearts knew not.
Seldom return whom the country calls.

The great people whom I remember,
Passing away to the world of eternity,
Made the streets despairingly desolate.
The life forced me to leave the place,
Often I visit, find it the village of the dead,
Inhabitants are confined in the walls,
They neither laugh nor share the tears.

Ah! Lust for wealth has hardened,
The soft fertile lands of hearts,
Making us all devoid of sentiments.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All these years

"Mom, how did you mange all these years"
"I am fed up to hear all these to my ears"
"Can't you tell how to overcome? "
My sweet girl cried and asked anything to welcome

I had seen some changes on her beautiful face
She was coming up like anything in this life race
She had seen nothing or heard about hard life
What will she do when enter in somebody's life as wife?

I looked at her tense worry lines
She feared about being sidelined
I was little taken back at her simple question
I thought it is worth here to mention

Girls at young ease are easy target
They will slip into golden dream set
Think of some handsome prince to come and wed
Take her away from parent's home and lead

I knew about the prevalent of such thoughts
They may fall into trap and simply caught
They may sometimes take such hasty decision
And fell short of expectations with no precision

I got nerves of her fears and consoled
Life is not that hard as she has imagined
I made her to understand the two sides of the coin
Life is simple and as easy as journey to join

I gave her of my fine examples
How life was so nice without any troubles
She may do even better when faced with reality
She was class of her own with fine quality

This worked like magic and she was again cheerful
Hr doubts were removed and she looked even beautiful
Now she had everything including built up confidence
Ready to face any eventuality including the challenge

* Picture courtesy from unknown friend's album

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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