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
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Related quotes
Streets Of Sorrow/birmingham Six
Oh farewell you streets of sorrow
And farewell you streets of pain
Ill not return to feel more sorrow
Nor to see more young men slain
Through the last six years Ive lived through terror
And in the darkened streets the pain
Oh how I long to find some solace
In my mind I curse the strain
So farewell you streets of sorrow
And farewell you streets of pain
No Ill not return to feel more sorrow
Nor to see more young men slain
There were six men in birmingham
In guildford theres four
That were picked up and tortured
And framed by the law
And the filth got promotion
But theyre still doing time
For being irish in the wrong place
And at the wrong time
In ireland theyll put you away in the maze
In england theyll keep you for seven long days
God help you if ever youre caught on these shores
The coppers need someone
And they walk through that door
Youll be counting years
First five, then ten
Growing old in a lonely hell
Round the yard and the stinking cell
From wall to wall, and back again
A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws
Who tortured the innocent, wrongly accused
For the price of promotion
And justice to sell
May the judged by their judges when they rot down in hell
May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds
And sweat as they count out the sins on their heads
While over in ireland eight more men lie dead
Kicked down and shot in the back of the head
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mothers Always Want Theirs Sons To Be Happy
mothers always want their sons to be happy
and so even if they marry someone
whom their fathers dislike
it is always them who settle for a compromise
and tell fathers to be flexible sometimes
not to hurt the hearts of sons
but sometimes when sons want something else
that only mothers understand
something that fathers cannot really compromise
mothers still compromise
and walk a mile farther
just to make their sons happy
and their sons leave them
to places that only mothers
by their loving hearts
know.
only mothers, yes only mothers,
and no one else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Way to Homage (A Message for the Pakistani Nation)
The fairest land whereupon we move,
Our children pace with out iron-bands,
Free with priceless blessing of liberty,
Contains beneath crust of soft surface,
Pure blood of the reverend ancestors,
Cries of the innocents, sacrificing sisters,
The cold sighs of the bland mothers,
Who beheld spectacles heartrending,
Their sons were stifled, slaughtered,
And perforated the chests of husbands.
They saw welling out the bleeding hearts,
And shawls of daughters torn to rags;
But determined they to make us secure,
Entrusting us the beauteous motherland,
Enriched with plentiful bounteous blessings.
To pay homage for the deeds dignified,
Let us beautify the land more and more,
By planting roses, scattering coloured petals,
Making the paths fragrant and perfumed,
Where upon we find the sacred foot prints,
Of fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters,
Their souls might only rest in peace,
When we live with love and tolerance,
Making the place safe and worth living,
By joining hands with the countrymen,
Irrespective to caste, creed and colour.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Replacement
Amid the village is a deserted house,
That gives depressing impressions to the onlookers,
The windows and doors are shabby broken
There dangle bats on the walls at nights, and crows caw
At noons in the branches where nightingales sang,
And often at nights mysterious sounds we hear.
Ah! Four decades ago it was inhibited,
Noise of the children spilled out of its walls,
They all played hide and seek with the befriended kids.
I too played believing in the innocent notion
That time and tide could not part us asunder,
Whether rains rain and clouds thunder,
But my self-assumed belief proved fragile,
Then the shocking moments approached,
And occupants departed to a better dwelling abroad.
I often recall the moment when they departed,
The whole village gathered, men, women and children wept,
Their eyes were red as if blood would dropp soon;
They were kissing, embracing the departing fellows,
I wept too stealthily, and felt as if my soul was being torn apart.
Now after many years their descendents come and go,
Nobody receives or bids them farewell, nor do they bother anyone,
And each time they visit, they replace on the gate,
The rusty lock with the new one.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Dialogue Betwixt Cordanus And Amoret, On A Lost Heart
Cord. Distressed pilgrim, whose dark clouded eyes
Speak thee a martyr to love's cruelties,
Whither away?
Amor. What pitying voice I hear,
Calls back my flying steps?
Cord. Pr'ythee, draw near.
Amor. I shall but say, kind swain, what doth become
Of a lost heart, ere to Elysium
It wounded walks?
Cord. First, it does freely flye
Into the pleasures of a lover's eye;
But, once condemn'd to scorn, it fetter'd lies,
An ever-bowing slave to tyrannies.
Amor. I pity its sad fate, since its offence
Was but for love. Can tears recall it thence?
Cord. O no, such tears, as do for pity call,
She proudly scorns, and glories at their fall.
Amor. Since neither sighs nor tears, kind shepherd, tell,
Will not a kiss prevail?
Cord. Thou may'st as well
Court Eccho with a kiss.
Amor. Can no art move
A sacred violence to make her love?
Cord. O no! 'tis only Destiny or Fate
Fashions our wills either to love or hate.
Amor. Then, captive heart, since that no humane spell
Hath power to graspe thee his, farewell.
Cord. Farewell.
Cho. Lost hearts, like lambs drove from their folds by fears,
May back return by chance, but not by tears.]
poem by Richard Lovelace
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To The Aggies Of Ateneo De Davao Around The World
nostalgia is the word for all these now
we have the urge to look out the window and find
who we were: the joys of the college years that will tickle us
old friends and their memories like innocent children
coming on our laps asking for our embraces
old pictures make our hearts shrink a little only to grow
bigger like a bread from the pan
fresh and fuming with the flavor of wheat
nostalgia is the word for it
and time is its mother that nourishes with its milk
the past comes to us always with something greener
and a breather of mint and rosemary
some peppers and honeyed lemonades
nostalgia is the word for it
when our wings have gone far beyond the lands of our births
dissolving in the horizons of other lands
when our chirps are gone
nostalgia is the word for it
when we come back stronger this time and lovelier
with our wounds that healed
with our pains that lost its trick
nostalgia is the word for it
such is she a beautiful woman still even though the hairs have turned gray
and the breasts sag and the bones rattling like brittle sticks
nostalgia is the word for it and no matter where the winds of this world
and its cyclones and waves have taken us
we are back looking for the glitter of each other's eyes
and then we laugh and then the world has heard us
yes, nostalgia is the word that people seldom use
as they move on with their respective lives
but we are here once again
nostalgia is the theme, it is here and soon it will leave
we are once again full even for once
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wishing And Willing..
When the baby kicks in the womb,
A few parents touch to have the kick,
Most mothers excited, while the fathers too,
A few miss this opportunity as not bothered to,
The crying of the babies never fails to wake up,
The loving hearts of the mother and father,
The crying of the mothers never fails to shaken up,
The young hearts of children, who see the rift,
Hearts of children love their mother,
As it listened to her beats day and night,
Hearts of children are attracted to the mother,
As she is the one, who listens to their blabber,
The crying of babies never fails to wake up the mother,
The crying of mothers never fails to shaken up the children.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Song Of An Emigrant
Far away! O far away,
Over the wide sea's bounding spray,
Many a league o'er the pelting foam.
We seek a country, we seek a home!
Farewell, England! our native land,
Lingering still on thy verdant strand,
We look our last on thy once-loved shore,
And vow in our hearts to return no more.
Far away! O far away!
Nothing invites us here to stay.
England, our mother, is hard as stone,
And shuts her ear to her children's moan,
And running on to destruction sure,
Pampers the rich, and grinds the poor!
Farewell, England! A last farewell!
We fly thy shores, but we wish thee well.
Far away! O far away!
We seek a world o'er the ocean spray.
Welcome, O land across the sea,
Where bread is plenty, and man is free;
Welcome, the woods and deserts drear,
And boundless fields of another sphere.
Our sails are set, and the breezes swell,
England, Our country--Farewell! Farewell!
poem by Charles Mackay
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The Two Brave Soldiers
Air -- "The Texas Rangers"
My friends, I pray you listen,
A story I will tell;
It's of two noble soldiers,
And they were known full well;
They were killed in the rebellion,
As you shall plainly hear,
Those brave and noble soldiers,
No danger did they fear.
They enlisted in Grand Rapids,
In eighteen and sixty-two,
'Twas in the month of August,
About the middle, too;
These two brave, noble soldiers,
They joined the cavalry;
They fought to save their country,
United it yet may be.
One of them, a single man,
His name was Martin House;
The other one was married,
His name I'll tell you now.
Abram Bishop was his name;
He was a christian man;
Two soldiers, they were brave, and
They hailed from Michigan.
When they left their native place,
Their friends to them did say;
"Oh! do not go to war boys,
You'd better with us stay;
For if you join the army,
You never will return
To all your friends that love you,
You never will return."
Young House spoke unto his friends:
"I'd rather go," said he,
"I have no wife and children
To weep and mourn for me.
I hear my country calling
For her sons of liberty,
And I, for one must go, friends,
A coward I cannot be."
"We are not afraid of fighting
The rebels, no, not we;
They're bound to make our country
A place for slaves to be.
Our fathers fought before us,
To gain our liberty,
And we, the sons of freemen,
Must fight to keep it free."
"Farewell, farewell to all our friends
That we may leave behind,
If we do never return,
We pray you bear in mind,
If God sees fit to call us,
We are not afraid to die;
Our country, she is calling,
We must bid you all good bye."
It was in Old Virginia,
Those noble soldiers fell,
In the battle of Hanover town,
As many a man can tell.
They fought through many battles,
Obeyed their captain's call,
Alas! the missles struck them,
And caused them both to fall.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Farewell my friend
I could easily foretell
You had something to tell
As you dropped a stinking bombshell
Farewell, farewell my friend
With words I spell
It all out in a nutshell
Farewell, farewell my friend
What else can I say?
When you take off today for good
Farewell I say with a broken mood
Farewell there goes my wedding bell
Farewell there goes your innocent smell
Farewell there goes our fun in and out of hotels
Farewell I hope that life treats you well
Farewell in your ventures
Our spent time is my treasure
Your heart must wander to where it belongs
Friend, I only urge you to be strong
With love you can simply do no wrong
I say it with these words tipping off my tongue
Farewell, farewell my friend
I am a great believer
Farewell is not forever
I say not goodbye
I do not wish to sit and cry
Farewell, farewell my friend
What else can I say?
You weren’t meant to stay
I will do nothing to detain
You from flying on that plane
Farewell, farewell my friend
I say with pain
Farewell, farewell my friend
In sunshine or in rain
One day, one day
I know we’ll see again
Farewell, farewell my friend
I cannot stand and pretend
That a part me
With you, would still like to be!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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A Whisper
One rainy morning in the month of August,
To collect the scattered scraps of sustenance,
Went I out as birds leave the nests,
Disperse to find a chance and luck,
Left behind I alright everything,
Nothing ill I smelt at those moments,
And no doubt excessively happy I was,
For the reasons unapparent as sometimes,
Happiness springs up by own accord.
One reaching the destination someone,
Informed me a thing woeful,
“ Your Eden is crushed along with the lives ten”
With no loss of time, I hastened to return,
With flowing tears and suppressing sighs.
Prayed to God” May it be untrue.”
Ah! But bad news seldom turns good.
All the stages in the four decades,
The moments I was lulled asleep,
The soft lap where sustained I was,
And clad by the sacred hands,
Oscillating cradle made of sack,
Gentle caresses, embraces affectionate
The remote, distant time of past,
Dream like swam infront of the founts,
Where from trickles the sacred water,
That relieves pang of the aching hearts.
When alighted beside the peace-yard,
Saw briskly the diggers busy in making,
The strongest home where man rets,
After tiresome toil of sufferings.
Then faith in the confounded mind,
Was strengthened by a whisper revealing,
“ Vehemently chase the moments of plight
Short living hours of solace and delight”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Small To Big!
small hands, trust...
big hands, afraid,
clenched to fists...
small eyes, see...
big eyes, blinded,
confined to conceptions...
small hearts, love...
big hearts, possess,
clipping the wings
of their own dreams!
small to big, return to small
finding our way home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wanderer's Return
My home is so glad, my heart is so light,
My wandering boy has returned top;night.
He is blighted and bruised, I know, by sin,
But I am so glad to welcome him in.
The child of my tenderest love and care
Has broken away from the tempter's snare;
tonight my heart is o'erflowing with joy,
I have found again my wandering boy.
My heart has been wrung with a thousand fears,
Mine eyes have been drenched with the bitterest tears;
Like shadows that fade are my past alarms,
My boy is enclasped in his mother's arms.
The streets were not safe for my darling child;
Where sin with its evil attractions smiled.
But his wandering feet have ceased to roam,
And tonight my wayward boy is at home.
At home with the mother that loves him best,
With the hearts that have ached with sad unrest,
With the hearts that are thrilling with untold joy
Because we have found our wandering boy.
In that wretched man so haggard and wild
I only behold my returning child,
And the blissful tears from my eyes that start
Are the overflow of a happy heart.
I have trodden the streets in lonely grief,
I have sought in prayer for my sole relief;
But the depths of my heart tonight are stirred,
I know that the mother's prayer has been heard.
If the mother-love be so strong and great
For her child, sin-weary and desolate,
Oh what must the love of the Father be
For souls who have wandered like you and me!
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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It's Love
Song
Hold on
If only for one more night
Take hold of me
And take flight
It's now or never!
Take my hand
Come fly with me
Up into the heavens!
What we leave behind,
The darkness and fears,
The love and the lust
We leave not only us
We take flight
We hold on
Embracing the sky
Exchanging our love!
Our souls are forever mixed
Into one
It's love
It's love
Across the universe
Tonight our darkness becomes
The fate of the world
The shimmer in your eyes
The passion in your heart
Take flight
With me
Hold tight
If only for one night
Our bodies hit the floor
No more will we feel pain
Tonight we will love
Talking:
(Everybody join hands
Everybody love your brother
Kiss your mother
And come together in peace with others
Don't hold back your tears
Cry together as one
Let no race or indifference get inbetween
Hold on tight
Let the love flow between us all)
All across the universe
All through our hearts
All together as one
All together!
It's love
It's love
Across the world
Taking its flight
Embracing our hearts
Everyone join together as one
Connect our hearts as one
Embrace the love together!
poem by Evan Skora
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Children's Playground In The City
THIS is a place where men laid their dead,
Each with his life-tale of good or ill;
Here prayers were murmured and hot tears shed,
And passionate anguish moaned its fill.
Silent now is each voice that cried,
And the tears that were wept have all been dried
In the dust; and dust are the hearts that bled
With hopeless longing for hearts grown still.
Dead and forgotten! for Death, requiter
Of love, taught Memory how to forget!
The love that remembered them died. Grow brighter,
Oh, dim grave-garden, with dead hearts set!
Room for the small flying feet to pass,
The feet of the children over the grass!
The dead, if they knew it, would feel them lighter
Than the weight of a stone that no tears make wet.
We must die too, and the grief that will live
Must die as surely--death comes to all;
But you who come after--let Nature give
To our graves her tears, to our dust her pall:
Let her hide us away in her cold broad breast,
Let us be forgotten, and be at rest,
And over our heads let the great world strive,
And the children's voices carol and call.
If your heart on the flower of remembrance is set,
There is one way to pluck it--and only one:
Dare you ask your country not to forget
A name that needs to be graved on stone?
By grief, strife, sacrifice, scorn of fame,
You may grave on the people's hearts your name,
Or your name may die, and your soul live yet
In the cause you died for--the work you have done.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Elderly Women Behind The Counter In A Small Town
i seem to recognize your face
haunting, familiar, yet i can't seem to place it
cannot find the candle of thought to light your name
lifetimes are catching up with me
all these changes taking place, i wish i'd seen the place
but no one's ever taken me
hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away...
hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away...
i swear i recognize your breath
memories like fingerprints are slowly raising
me, you wouldn't recall, for i'm not my former
it's hard when, you're stuck upon the shelf
i changed by not changing at all, small town predicts my fate
perhaps that's what no one wants to see
i just want to scream...hello...
my god its been so long, never dreamed you'd return
but now here you are, and here i am
hearts and thoughts they fade...away...
hearts and thoughts they fade...away...
hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away...
hearts and thoughts they fade...
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad IV
Farewell, my lady dear and dread,
Farewell, of all sovereign and queen,
Farewell, perfect and sacred head,
Farewell, who dost all honour mean,
Farewell, true heart, loyal and clean,
Farewell, best flower the world doth bear,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair !
Farewell, O wise, that no ill said,
Farewell, river that made life green,
Farewell, in whom fame harboured,
Farewell, voice that all ears could win,
Farewell, solace of all my teen,
Farewell, whose grace is wide as air,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair !
Farewell, soft look that through me sped,
Farewell, more fair than Helen queen,
Farewell, body and sweet soul wed,
Farewell, thou most gracious demesne,
Farewell, pole-star, joyous and keen,
Farewell, fountain of valour rare,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair !
Farewell, Princess of noblest mien,
Farewell, thou aweing smile serene,
Farewell, without fault, sin's despair,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair !
poem by Christine de Pizan
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A Fathers Torment
We hide in the shadows in obscurity
We are the fathers of the children that you see
Women are the life line, that we all know.
Since the beginning of conception and
Throughout our lives, we have to thank them
For becoming our mothers and our wives.
Men plant the seed, but on the woman’s
tube the children do feed.
Without the female there is no life
So as men we have to think twice.
At times though, we feel empty and forgotten
For all that we do in a child’s life.
When we play games with them, teach them
And give them moral support
It is something that is given, not something that is bought.
We will go back into the shadows when our hearts
Are about to burst, and this is what makes the pain so much worse.
They say that a man is not supposed to cry
But you and I know that’s an old fashioned lie.
We bleed, we cry, we feel heartache too
We are human, this is what we do.
Any man can be a father, but every man can not be a dad.
And I look upon that, and it makes me very sad.
This child has our blood and we helped to give it life
But there is no credit given to the husband, ” just the wife“.
We may be just the father, but we share in their lives too.
All we ask is recognition of the things that we do.
I recall at your birth, when I walked into the delivery room
Your eyes called me, like a mystical, magical tune.
Your eyes searched me out like a rooster for the rising sun
And looking in your eyes, I knew you was the one.
This is a fathers torment that I guess we all go through.
But without your love and dependence, what am I going to do.
I love you more than you’ll ever know
Look in my eyes, and there it will show.
And to your mother she must know:
The key number in this world is TWO, without me there is no you.
poem by Louis Rams
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Blood Brothers
Maurice white, jon lind, nicky brown & brock walsh
So my friend
Voices from the past reunite at last
Back when we grew up on the streets
The world was at our feet
Do you recall the two of us
How we used th sing when everything
Was new to us
From the time that we were old
Enough to stand
It was you and I together to the end
Oh, what our souls believe we will
Always be
Blood brothers time cant divide
What our hearts have said with a
Drop of red
Blood brothers till the end
Through these years
Time has not been kind to others left behind
These streets where you and I once played
Nothings left today
What happened to the dreams we shared
Do we just go on like it was
Never there
Do I tell you that theres hope beyond
These walls
That to help you Id do anything at all
What our souls believe we will
Always be
Blood brothers time cant divide
What our hearts have said with a
Drop of red
Blood brothers, the bond we made never
Will break
Blood brothers to the end
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rough Carpenter...
i am only the rough carpenter
building a hapless shelter...
for strays, dogs and cats,
old people and young anarchists.
addicts, whores, ex-cons, and thieves.
street bums, farmers left homeless,
angry young students...
spiders, snails, ants, and moths.
out of work elephants,
turtles who have lost their shell.
small birds fallen from the nest,
both prodigals and dreamers.
third world refugees,
the blind, and the deaf.
sons and daughters,
mothers and fathers...
people bound by tears,
fears, and their own failures.
small people living small lives,
and renegade priests...
all those who doubt, question, and seek...
hearts that need hearts, hands that need hands.
those that need ears,
and human closeness.
pine trees fallen, and moonlight forgotten.
and that stranger the wind,
when she happens by!
a rough carpenter working and waiting,
for love to finish the job!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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