The Long Queues
In the sweltering days of June,
When wells around the village,
Went dry and life became hard,
Men and stock moved desperate,
Animals gasped with hanging tongues,
The sunbeams singed trees and lands,
Our sisters, mothers and reverend ladies
Went with earthen pots on their heads,
To the far off founts in the steepy deeps,
And returned toiling up, out of breath,
On the stony ways, hard and pricking,
Many among them with bare sore feet,
Resting akimbo on each landing.
Still my mind recollects the long queue,
With the shadows of erected poised pitchers,
In gloam chattering with jingling laughters,
Returned to quench the dry throats,
But men and we the wanton youngs,
Consumed the cold substance lavishly,
Pouring upon the sweaty bodies,
Ah! Aloof they stood with content looks,
And solaced smiles on their dry lips.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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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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I Came From...
i came from moonlight,
my grandfathers were great trees.
my grandmothers sudden gusts of wind,
that came from nowhere and returned.
my mother was a wolf,
my father the hard trodden path.
my sisters brought the rain,
my brothers the bow and the arrow.
my lovers made of shadows,
my enemies demons that haunt.
i am the fire tended
by hands unseen,
the saw and the axe.
i will return on a coming night,
the pine needles will hear my feet.
for i am the sound within thunder,
and the hand that catches lightning!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Homecoming Of A Wanderer (To Bhupen Hazarika)
He returned home through the same village roads,
Some morning declaring his fight against time and its tides,
through which he had gone.
Declaring miles and miles of road shorter than his dreams through which he had gone..
Declaring himself anonymous and wanderer and leaving promises of returning winner.
through which he had gone,,,
He returned.
On his return, the village road saw the same villager and he returned on the same wheels of his dreams
And those dreams were still full of life.
On his return but he was no longer an anonymous, he earned a name which could travel boundaries of land, river, ocean and time as well..
And when he returned he was no longer a wanderer for everywhere he went he left a mark of the river of his village where he belonged and now he owned a home in thousands heart
On his return he was no longer a wanderer
He returned through the same village roads
but not without gifts of eternity..
gifts from the zenith of human limits,,
gifts of pride and honour,,
gifts of travelling the roads of life,,
larger than travelled by any one ever,,,
he returned for he had left with promises of returning to his mother.
For sunset is nowhere more peaceful than the laps of her..
Dedicated to the wanderer,
To be left out in the blue
They came in numbers
In big figures
Drawing a long line
Like flocking to the shrine
I stood under the trees near the park
Looking and figured what went wrong with my luck
Why I wasn’t in the same line
Queue for so long but still feeling so fine
With their hands holding the cards
Cashing out new notes that’s so hard
Smells anew
Only a few
Like me who’re not in the queue
Would be left out in the blue
Cuz I don’t have the card
To make the cut
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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Looking At A Pair
as i turn my back
something happens behind
a hand lands on a lap
and i
imagine it happening inside my mind
and i follow it with
this quick turn
they're there a
lovey-dovey pair
their smiles
and tongues-in-cheek
confessing an innocence that is hard to spell
something that they swallowed
like an open secret
inside their throats
the other lonely student at the other side
of the room scribbles something
on a note and he passes it to me and it says
society tolerates its own sons of aberrations.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Peace On The Battled Plain
The soldiers have returned,
After a victorious expedition,
They are descending from the ship,
Harboured ashore, some are singed
Some amputated and some injured.
They will be soon awarded
With the medals of silvers and bronze,
For the lost legs, hands, arms and eyes,
And with a few currency notes.
Their mothers and sisters,
Wives and daughters are anxious,
To have their look,
They watch with the eyes alert,
Some have got restored their similes,
But many of them will return despised,
With tears in the eyes,
And subdued shrikes in the hearts;
But there is peace on the battled plain,
For all heads of the families have been killed,
Ah! Now peace, tears and subdued shrikes
Will go ever side by side.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Dog Days Of Summer
June arrived just yesterday, or so it
seemed to be. All that's left is one
more day, then June is history. July
can hardly wait to get here, it's almost
at our door. The days will get much
hotter, then it was the month before.
Just as we're getting used to July, it
too, will be on it's way. Around the
corner lies August, which can make
you rue, the day. If you think July was
hot, August is the worst by far. It's hard
to escape it's sweltering heat, no matter
who you are. You can take a dip in the
ocean, if you enjoy having a steam bath.
The water will never be cold, as August,
unleashes it wrath. Here it is, the
wonderful days of summer. Even though
we look forward to it, it can also be quite
a bummer!
poem by Audrey Heller
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They Who Return
To Mrs. Weigall
Into the stricken house who steals on quiet feet
And sudden brings the sunshine it used to wear?
Whose is the tender whisper that turns the bitter sweet?
Whose kiss is on your forehead, whose breath in your hair?
Who sits down beside you in the firelight glow?
Who leans on your shoulder like the boy of old?
Whose is the arm about you that you used to know,
Drawing the sting from your wound, your heart from cold?
Like the rustle of dead leaves in the autumn gloam
Running like little feet on a wind-swept road,
They are coming home so sweetly all the roads of home,
Very flesh of your flesh who belong to God.
The horse in the stable whinnies by the door,
The dog of a sudden is wild with delight.
Who is this he welcomes, long waited for?
Who smiles in the shadow, so dear, so bright?
Mercy of God, they are given, not taken away!
There's a face in the doorway, a foot on the floor.
They sit down beside us in the shadows grey,
Lay their heads on our breasts as oft before.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Rainy Day Under Trees
She stood with you
under the trees
the rain falling hard
the Sunday church service
had been a wet affair
the walk home together
then the bus
to the end of the road
and she said
Is it ever going to stop?
her hair was limp
and hung over
her forehead
her eyes bright
her complexion white
Sure
you said
But I've built an ark
in the woods behind
just in case
and she laughed
and took your hand
and said
How any animals
have you got so far?
Couple of woodlice
and beetles
and the odd worm or so
and you smelt
the scent on her
the warmth
of her hand
in yours and you both
under the trees
out of the rain
but the drops fell through
You remember that time
we went to the hay barn
to keep out of the rain
and we were wet through
and took of our clothes
and lay in the hay?
she said
snuggling closer to you
No can't say I do
you said
and she smack your arm
and said
Oh yes you do
and there was a break out
from the sun
through the branches
as if you say
I' still here
I'm trying to get through
and she looked at you
and you smiled
and said
I can still smell the hay
and you lying there
beside me
and the damp clothes
hanging over the hay bale
and you and I close
and warmth
and then she put
her finger to her lips
and shushed you
and drops of rain
came onto her head
Let's keep it kind of holy
she said
and kissed your damp ear
her lips like a blessing
soft skin on soft skin
and she moved away
and the rain eased
and you both moved out
into the woods
pleased.
poem by Terry Collett
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Life is a bitch
So much to understand
In this world of man
I swear I do what I can
There is much I do not know
But I keep my feet on the floor
That one day I may open the door
You see I am not really hard core
My disposition is poor
That is an eye sore
My woman need me
My grandchildren need me
My Children need me
And I need me
God never said it was easy
God never said it was fair
God gave that which I could bare
You my woman are my all
I can't rob Peter to always pay Paul
Most days I must stand tall
My mother is my first step to understanding
About life's different landing's
Respect is one of those stairs
Yes my heart is loaded down with pain
But I never have to be insane
I may walk around on a cane
But the bad in life that does not explain
Woman is my best bet
God has seen to that
So what I must really do
Is take care of me and my Boo...
And that means you.
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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To Be (Love Poem)
Sometimes it’s hard to be apart
Sometimes it’s hard to be brave
Sometimes it’s hard to be cold
Sometimes it’s hard to be daring
Sometimes it’s hard to be early
Sometimes it’s hard to be friends
Sometimes it’s hard to be good
Sometimes it’s hard to be happy
Sometimes it’s hard to be in-love
Sometimes it’s hard to be just
Sometimes it’s hard to be kind
Sometimes it’s hard to be lovely
Sometimes it’s hard to be mellow
Sometimes it’s hard to be nasty
Sometimes it’s hard to be out
Sometimes it’s hard to be poor
Sometimes it’s hard to be quiet
Sometimes it’s hard to be ready
Sometimes it’s hard to be simple
Sometimes it’s hard to be together
poem by Ian Beckett
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Standing Against The Streetlights
walking in skidrow frisco faces without forms,
smiles and scorns, winds and horns, breath without substance.
Some of these women young enough to be my sister all akimbo-like
It was a gauntlet getting out of there man, on the end of the line there stood one old enough to be my mother I nodded ' ma'am, and her made up face looked like slime, and flecked off her leathery skin like rust she must have been the oldest running trolly in town that night.
poem by Jerome Moore
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Bangles
In festival seasons,
Miles walked bangle sellers
Tread the vennel unforgettable,
On feet, worn and torn,
With white clothe bundles,
Full of bangles and their lives,
On their heads wobble,
Whose calls village girls listen,
Break their clay pots,
In which they had collected coins,
And buy bangles
In hues and designs diverse.
Some unknown artists
Shaped the designs on bangles,
Who never came to the limelight,
Instead, wages collected
And withdrew in to silence.
Village girls put on bangles;
Always mesmerised beauty little pains out kept.
Jingling arms love CDs inserted
In to the heart-players of rustic guys,
Who always combed their hairs.
Girls keep and care the bangles,
Like virginity, till the nuptials.
Bracelet turns bracelets,
Often, after the wed locks.
Uncared…
Broken…
And discarded bangles:
“All Fate”, they say…yes!
In kitchens, a few scattered;
Into wells, a few thrown;
And, also, a few burnt in flames.
Unalloyed simple joys,
Experienced worn bangles,
Like virginity, left village girls.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Solo
Writers: leo sayer & david courtney
Used to see him hanging around everywhere
In a world of his own
See him hanging round street corners
Where we would meet
He was a lonely kid
Now they tell us that hes moved on
Aint been seen for so long dont know where hes gone...
Its been so long, but Im on the road and
Though it aint been easy
At least I made it on my own
My tongues been tied for far too long
And now youre gonna hear me
At least I know where I belong...
S.o.l.o. Im on the road
S.o.l.o. Im on my own
Ysee everybodys got someone
To lay their troubled lives upon
Im really glad Ive only got my own...
Once upon a time, well I had lots of friends
I moved freely through their lives
But twos a couple and, well threes a crowd
I was just left out
Hanging around
Ive had as much now as I can take
There aint no need to stay...
S.o.l.o. Im on the road
S.o.l.o. Im all alone
And everybody smiles
As I go walking by
But I m really glad Ive only got my own...
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet Reversed
Hand trembling towards hand; the amazing lights
Of heart and eye. They stood on supreme heights.
Ah, the delirious weeks of honeymoon !
Soon they returned, and, after strange adventures,
Settled at Balham by the end of June.
Their money was in Can. Pacs. B. Debentures,
And in Antofagastas. Still he went
Cityward daily; still she did abide
At home. And both were really quite content
With work and social pleasures. Then they died.
They left three children (besides George, who drank) :
The eldest Jane, who married Mr Bell,
William, the head-clerk in the County Bank,
And Henry, a stock-broker, doing well.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1911)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Gardener XVIII: When Two Sisters
When the two sisters go to fetch
water, they come to this spot and
they smile.
They must be aware of somebody
who stands behind the trees when-
ever they go to fetch water.
The two sisters whisper to each
other when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret
of that somebody who stands behind
the trees whenever they go to
fetch water.
Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and
water spills when they reach this
spot.
They must have found out that
somebody's heart is beating who
stands behind the trees whenever
they go to fetch water.
The two sisters glance at each other
when they come to this spot, and they
smile.
There is a laughter in their swift-
stepping feet, which makes confusion
in somebody's mind who stands behind
the trees whenever they go to
fetch water.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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When The Two Sisters Go To Fetch Water
WHEN the two sisters go to fetch water, they come to this spot and they smile.
They must be aware of somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
The two sisters whisper to each other when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret of that somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and water spills when they reach this spot.
They must have found out that somebody's heart is beating who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
The two sisters glance at each other when they come to this spot, and they smile.
There is a laughter in their swift-stepping feet, which makes confusion in somebody's mind who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Station Master
In the dawns early light from a long and sleepless night
She returned again this morning from her long and restless flight
And her red hollow eyes did not show her much surprise
As she lay right down beside me like she never said goodbye
Please help me stationmaster, is the evening train on time
The wells run dry up yonder theres another down the line
It was all I could bear just to watch her lying there
Disowned and ragged princess with the sun locked in her hair
So cold, so frail with her mind locked in a jail
A victim of confusion, never knowing she could fail
Please help me stationmaster, is the evening train on time
The wells run dry up yonder theres another down the line
So I rocked her to sleep and I got up on my feet
And the day was filled with sunshine as I gazed across the street
And the door seemed to say over here step this way
The station is for travelers even you must ride someday
Please help me stationmaster, is the evening train on time
The wells run dry up yonder theres another down the line
Please help be stationmaster, can I stay for just awhile
Forgive me if Im weary I aint have much - much time to smile
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Lives
TWO youths from a village set out together
To seek their fortune the wide world through;
One cried, 'Hurra for the autumn weather!'
The other sighed, 'Winter is almost due!'
One failed, they said, for he never was thrifty,
Returned to the village, and laughed and loved.
The other succeeded, and when he was fifty
Had millions and fame, and the world approved.
But the failure was happy, his smile a blessing,
The dogs and the children romped at his feet,
While from him who succeeded, tho' much possessing,
The little ones shrank when they chanced to meet.
One purchased respect by his lordly giving:
The other won love by his loving ways;
And if either had doubts of his way of living,
It wasn't the one with the humble days.
They never knew it, but both were teachers
Of deep life-secrets, these village youths—
The one of a school where Facts are preachers—
The other of a world that worships Truths.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Broadcast
She puts on the light
She looks in the mirror
And cries to herself
Its becoming much clearer that
Hes not where he says
Hes not hanging with her
She flicks off the light
And she turns with a shiver
And when he comes home
He blood races cold
Its like being caught
In a rough strangle hold
Theyve done it so long
But for now shell just keep hanging on
Cause the little things remind her
Of the good times they have had
Whenever she recalls those things
Its hard to think that hes so bad
It seems no matter where she goes
She hears this song on the radio, radio
And when she does she smiles to it
And no matter how hard she tries
She can turn it up
Or let it die, let it die
Even though she knows
Hes driving her to ruin
Shes falling in love
With a new boy and his smile
But she cant admit
To herself her hearts run wild
Her story time dreams
Of a fairy tale life
Are holding her back
To keep fighting this lost life
So she still holds on
To the hope he might change
But one hundred percent
Of the time hes the same
And now her heart has been smashed
The wheel has been broke
But she clings to the end of that rope
Cause the little things remind her
Of the good times they have had
Whenever she recalls those things
Its hard to think that hes so bad
It seems no matter where she goes
She hears this song on the radio, radio
And when she does she smiles to it
But no matter how hard she tries
She can turn it off
Or let it die, let it die
Even though she knows
Hes driving her to ruin
It seems no matter where she goes
She hears this song on the radio, radio
And when she does she smiles to it
But no matter how hard she tries
She can turn it off
Or let it die, let it die
Even though she knows
Hes driving her to ruin
song performed by by Unsung Zeros
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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