En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Old Man In The Canyon

I sought for Him on the whole roundity of the world,
On the stretched sand of the deserts, dusting the eyes,
Along the banks of the flowing hissing curvy rivers,
In the populated metropolitan cities, towns and villages,
On the green pastures, lush valleys and deep forests,
In the heaven kissing mountains of Himalayan ranges,
In the moonlit golden nights, in the silvery bright days,
Under the folds of darkness, in the feathers of light,
And enquired after Him from the tired weary mariners,
Who made lengthy voyages ransacking the seven seas;
But no footprint of Him was traced and depressed I sat.

Ah! One day wanderlust took me amid the Northern hills,
At the webbed opening of a subterranean dark cave,
And curiosity led me in and what I did see there, hark!
There in the murky, gloomy, dismal canyon I found,
A faintly breathing exhausted strengthless old man,
With overgrown, dishevelled and withering grey hair,
He had deep eyes covered with thick rough brows,
Profound wrinkles like furrows creased on his visage,
He wore tattered trousers, rend sleeveless dingy shirt,
On filthy dark skin of the body, his liquorice like bones,
Seemed to be wrapped with thickblack sheet of polythene,
His feet had slits, slots like dry parched surface of the land.

I jerked him and He sat with the tiresome movement,
As someone rises breaching ajar the stones of grave,
Looked staring at me as He recalled the memory back,
He brought a false, fake smile on the parched lips,
And to my question He responded, made me reply,
“The world is too cold to go out, I feel warm here,
I eat leaves, grass and lick dust when belly torments me,
Often take rain water or drink from the stagnant pools,
For half a century I have neither taken a bath,
Nor washed the face, my plight is worse than a beggar,
I am disappointed, depressed, pray to God for my death.”

He recounted his tale while the shining tears rolled down,
From both the corners of his eyes, and he began to sob.
I remained stunned, remembered that once He had been,
“Mr. Justice”; but now his breathing strengthless carcass.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Creation

And God stepped out on space,
And he looked around and said:
I'm lonely--
I'll make me a world.

And far as the eye of God could see
Darkness covered everything,
Blacker than a hundred midnights
Down in a cypress swamp.

Then God smiled,
And the light broke,
And the darkness rolled up on one side,
And the light stood shining on the other,
And God said: That's good!

Then God reached out and took the light in his hands,
And God rolled the light around in his hands
Until he made the sun;
And he set that sun a-blazing in the heavens.
And the light that was left from making the sun
God gathered it up in a shining ball
And flung it against the darkness,
Spangling the night with the moon and stars.
Then down between
The darkness and the light
He hurled the world;
And God said: That's good!

Then God himself stepped down--
And the sun was on his right hand,
And the moon was on his left;
The stars were clustered about his head,
And the earth was under his feet.
And God walked, and where he trod
His footsteps hollowed the valleys out
And bulged the mountains up.

Then he stopped and looked and saw
That the earth was hot and barren.
So God stepped over to the edge of the world
And he spat out the seven seas--
He batted his eyes, and the lightnings flashed--
He clapped his hands, and the thunders rolled--
And the waters above the earth came down,
The cooling waters came down.

Then the green grass sprouted,
And the little red flowers blossomed,
The pine tree pointed his finger to the sky,
And the oak spread out his arms,
The lakes cuddled down in the hollows of the ground,
And the rivers ran down to the sea;
And God smiled again,
And the rainbow appeared,
And curled itself around his shoulder.

Then God raised his arm and he waved his hand
Over the sea and over the land,
And he said: Bring forth! Bring forth!
And quicker than God could drop his hand,
Fishes and fowls
And beasts and birds
Swam the rivers and the seas,
Roamed the forests and the woods,
And split the air with their wings.
And God said: That's good!

Then God walked around,
And God looked around
On all that he had made.
He looked at his sun,
And he looked at his moon,
And he looked at his little stars;
He looked on his world
With all its living things,
And God said: I'm lonely still.

Then God sat down--
On the side of a hill where he could think;
By a deep, wide river he sat down;
With his head in his hands,
God thought and thought,
Till he thought: I'll make me a man!

Up from the bed of the river
God scooped the clay;
And by the bank of the river
He kneeled him down;
And there the great God Almighty
Who lit the sun and fixed it in the sky,
Who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night,
Who rounded the earth in the middle of his hand;
This great God,
Like a mammy bending over her baby,
Kneeled down in the dust
Toiling over a lump of clay
Till he shaped it in is his own image;

Then into it he blew the breath of life,
And man became a living soul.
Amen.Amen.

poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The Sepulchral Voices

Farther than the seven seas,
And seven forests thick and green,
Flew I over the mountainy crests;
Over the gorges, winding deep,
And unexplored canyons dark,
Rested I on the plain high;
Beside the house made of glass,
With tall trees in the lawn,
Where the big busy parrots,
Were spoiling the fruit unripe.

Leading to the subterranean cave,
At the entrance I did halt,
For close it was with sills long,
Of transparent glassy stones.
Waited I long for the summon,
From the Lord of the House,
But returned depressed, despised,
When sepulchral voices came to me,
“He is busy, He can not see.”

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Mary Magdalene

While the dark night folds around me
I wait on Thee,
who could speak
and sent the storm
back into the sea.

At times I wonder where my love
for Thee started,
or was I made with it,
that Though dark brown eyes
could know the dark depths of my heart
and could touch like no other
and could heal me
and make me completely free from all sin
and I was happy.

With every stroke that the hammer makes
against the cross of wood
and every nail that tears
right through Thy body,
I knew pain
like never before
and in my soul
the dark depths died
with Thy death

At a time even my pomegranate red lips
and round full breasts
made no impression on Thee
and Thy holiness
and unconditional love
touched deep into my heart,
so that I washed Thy feet
with ointment of nard
and in humility used my hair
to dry the feet
of the Son of God.

While the morning sun
rises red on the horizon
I wait on Thee,
to come back to this earth
as king and supreme Lord.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Drowning Ophelia

The water seeps up, up
(lapping, licking, soothing)
twisting around the parts of
your body that you have
come to know and hate
because this is the body
that the world abandoned

The water is soothing
the water is deep
lay down your heavy head
close yours eyes and sleep
(thick, dreaming, dark)
sweet, bright little lamb
so alone, so lost in Hell

The water circles your neck
clothing you in elegant dress
your mouth was once dust
your body made of bugs
now water floods your lungs
(silk against burlap)
you feel clean and pure and done

This is how you drown
legs twisted and still
hands thrust out into the chill
letting the water, clean and cold
(sweet, inky, dark, deep)
take your tired, finished mind
and dance it down to sleep

poem by Elizabeth Rebel
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The Dead To The Living

Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.

IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,

She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!

And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!

Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'

'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Heartland

See the sunrise over her skin
Dont change it
See the sunrise over her skin
Dawn changes everything
And the delta sun burns bright and violet
Mississippi and the cotton wool heat
Sixty-six the highway that speaks
Of deserts dry
Of cold grey valleys
Of golden sunny heights
Of bright shining cities
In this heartland
In this heartland
In this heartland
Heaven knows this is a heartland
See the sunrise over her skin
She feels like water on my hand
Freeway like a river cuts through this land
Into the side of love
Like a burning spear
And the poison rain
Brings a flood of fear
Through the ghost-ranch hills
Death valley waters
In the towers of steel
Belief goes on and on
In this heartland
In this heartland
In this heartland
Heaven knows this is a heartland

song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loss

In the might Orange River
just past Augrabies
you lost your magic ring
and there princess
you cried
while the water around you
circled out wider.

That knotted Russian wedding band
which should have brought you luck
that was for generations in your family
was grabbed
by the fingers of the red water
and was washed away
to maybe decorate the finger
of a dark goddess

and in your soul
you felt the darkness coming near
as if something crept
from the water right into your soul

and the shadows of willow trees
growing on the banks
reached out ominous
as if they were trying to protect you
against something.

Still the sun was bright in the sky,
the blue stretched over the heaven
and your reflection which was thrown
on the surface of the water
was matchless
and I saw tears in your dark green eyes.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A Shower

Water flowing down his black-haired head like the Greeks'
Streaming past his dark eyebrows and his deep eyes
Down his sharp nose and past his smooth cheeks
Dripping down his lush lips, past the mouth's rise

Water flowing down his strong jaws and steady chin
Streaming past his thick neck into the collar bones it trips
Down his biceps and sculptured arms that cause a din
Dripping down his hands and delicate fingertips

Water flowing down his broad shoulders
Streaming past his chest and slender warm back
Down his muscled stomach and thighs, hard as boulders
Dripping down his knees to his calves, which can bare a whack

Water flowing down his ankles to his firm feet
Creating a pool of pure liquid on the ground
Down his hard body, the water so sweet
The liquid dripping around him, so profound!

poem by Monalno Kim
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I Cheated Death.

Suddenly all went cold
And of my mother's hand I took hold
I held on like a drowning man would a lifeline
For I knew this might be the end of my timeline
And there in the corner he stood
Bright silvery robes, a golden cord around his waist, there he stood
Shoulder length hair as golden as the sun's rays
Eyes bluer than the Caspian, bronze skin that hath no flaws
His feet shod in sandals
His presence brightened the candles
I felt a hope build inside
A fire rekindled inside
But as quickly as it came
The hope left and with it the fear came
As I looked in horror to the other corner
There she stood, crowned by darkness in the left corner
Her eyes the colour of blood
In a black robe of death she was clad
As I focused on her, I felt the life leave me
Just as the anaconda squeezes the life out of its prey, the life left me
The odour of burning Sulphur filled the room
And with it an impeding gloom
I squeezed my mother's hand ‘til it hurt
Every breath I took hurt
I tried to tell my mother I loved her
But all that came out was a croak
Slowly the woman in the left corner removed her cloak
Revealing a crown of long fiery hair
Her eyes fixed on me in an evil stare
Her blood red lips parted in a smile
A smile so evil it shouldn't be called a smile
I turned to the other corner seeking comfort from my angel and this evil evade
But woe unto me he had slowly began to fade
And with him, the light
Impeding my sight
I felt my body consumed by a cloud of darkness
And at that moment, I felt the presence of death in the darkness
Funny how in the movies they tell you to stay away from the light
How I longed to see a light
For I knew the darkness would only lead to more pain
I shut my eyes hoping that when I opened them again
My angel would be there telling me it's alright
Bringing back hope and light
But lo and behold as I re-opened mine eyes
There I lay, in my hospital bed my mother looking on with wet eyes
She told of how I almost died
Of how my breathing stopped but her hope never died
I sat up in wonder looked to the right and there my angel stood
In fear, I turned to the left, and she too in her shroud of evil, stood
Her eyes blazing with anger
For death had been cheated and left with a deep hunger
And I knew, she would be back
And then it struck me,
Death never leaves empty handed
That's when I saw the nurses covering the old woman's body across
With a white sheet and a priest making the sign of a cross
Once again, death did reap
And it is inevitable that she will return to reap
Her taste of fruit, the unripe fruit...

poem by Esperanza Chilupula
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Water

water for water is water, thirst made me dried
eyes tears flow water, leaves skin broken
need water, cure my pain smooth my rough
surface makes it clean

pure and perfect water made so bright, all the
day expose heat dried my sweat, in my face
and lips tears seen in the eyes

all day long I seat in my brow, waiting the sun
down to lead me low, hunger and thirst open
my throat, water spelled drops like a dew

wash my warm body as you can see, the limps
legs and the hands would be easy, where ever
in my body, the water comes refreshing to me

slowly, slowly, fell the cool water beneath
my delicate skin, in my buttock where you have
to stay, hold on, I sit you in my dream, my living
water makes me the same

oh! water, please always watered me in each
new day and fell the real me

poem by Antonio Liao
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The House Of Dust: Part 04: 05: The Bitter Love-Song

No, I shall not say why it is that I love you—
Why do you ask me, save for vanity?
Surely you would not have me, like a mirror,
Say 'yes,—your hair curls darkly back from the temples,
Your mouth has a humorous, tremulous, half-shy sweetness,
Your eyes are April grey. . . .with jonquils in them?'
No, if I tell at all, I shall tell in silence . . .
I'll say—my childhood broke through chords of music
—Or were they chords of sun?—wherein fell shadows,
Or silences; I rose through seas of sunlight;
Or sometimes found a darkness stooped above me
With wings of death, and a face of cold clear beauty. .
I lay in the warm sweet grass on a blue May morning,
My chin in a dandelion, my hands in clover,
And drowsed there like a bee. . . .blue days behind me
Stretched like a chain of deep blue pools of magic,
Enchanted, silent, timeless. . . .days before me
Murmured of blue-sea mornings, noons of gold,
Green evenings streaked with lilac, bee-starred nights.
Confused soft clouds of music fled above me.

Sharp shafts of music dazzled my eyes and pierced me.
I ran and turned and spun and danced in the sunlight,
Shrank, sometimes, from the freezing silence of beauty,
Or crept once more to the warm white cave of sleep.

No, I shall not say 'this is why I praise you—
Because you say such wise things, or such foolish. . .'
You would not have me say what you know better?
Let me instead be silent, only saying—:
My childhood lives in me—or half-lives, rather—
And, if I close my eyes cool chords of music
Flow up to me . . . long chords of wind and sunlight. . . .
Shadows of intricate vines on sunlit walls,
Deep bells beating, with aeons of blue between them,
Grass blades leagues apart with worlds between them,
Walls rushing up to heaven with stars upon them. . .
I lay in my bed and through the tall night window
Saw the green lightning plunging among the clouds,
And heard the harsh rain storm at the panes and roof. . . .
How should I know—how should I now remember—
What half-dreamed great wings curved and sang above me?
What wings like swords? What eyes with the dread night in them?

This I shall say.—I lay by the hot white sand-dunes. .
Small yellow flowers, sapless and squat and spiny,
Stared at the sky. And silently there above us
Day after day, beyond our dreams and knowledge,
Presences swept, and over us streamed their shadows,
Swift and blue, or dark. . . .What did they mean?
What sinister threat of power? What hint of beauty?
Prelude to what gigantic music, or subtle?
Only I know these things leaned over me,
Brooded upon me, paused, went flowing softly,
Glided and passed. I loved, I desired, I hated,
I struggled, I yielded and loved, was warmed to blossom . . .
You, when your eyes have evening sunlight in them,
Set these dunes before me, these salt bright flowers,
These presences. . . .I drowse, they stream above me,
I struggle, I yield and love, I am warmed to dream.

You are the window (if I could tell I'd tell you)
Through which I see a clear far world of sunlight.
You are the silence (if you could hear you'd hear me)
In which I remember a thin still whisper of singing.
It is not you I laugh for, you I touch!
My hands, that touch you, suddenly touch white cobwebs,
Coldly silvered, heavily silvered with dewdrops;
And clover, heavy with rain; and cold green grass. . .

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Wamblee

High up on a rocky crag,
Wamblee, near to the cliff edge
sat cross legged in a circle on the ground
calling softly to the four winds.

His long plaits, threaded with silver
lay beneath feathers running down his back.
Far below him the canyon stretched out
dusty and red hot.

As the hypnotic chant of his words
caught the warm air riding the canyon top
his heart took flight
soaring above the high dusty plain.

Born on the wind,
his eagle wings outstretched
he sailed aloft snow covered mountains
glinting in the light of Grandfather Sun.

South through deep valleys,
lush with green and wonder,
feeling the rhythm of the world
beneath his feathers.

Across the turbulent southern ocean
full of the whale's song,
eastward across the great African Plain,
northward towards the Northern lights.

Onward and upward
feeling the firmament and the dawn of stars
he flew between darkness and light.

There, in that sacred space between
the creator and the created
Wamblee saw with clear vision
the beauty of the Great Spirit
laid out before him in the earth below
and the heavens above.

poem by Diana Rosser
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The Real Game

Uninvited frequent gluttonous guest,
Visited and picked up one by one,
The elder and younger of the family,
Making each time the house desolate.

When I was hardly three years old,
And nothing about painful death was told,
Played carefree with half dressed friends,
And ran around the big tree of acacia,

Staining with dust, mud and water dirty,
Made filthy my legs and arms, feet and face,
My grandmother would then give me a bath,
And I did weep, cryingly protested against,
The act of washing, making me neat.

She then mopped my body, wiped my eyes,
Doting upon me, she caressed my cheeks,
Embracing me she would often warm,
Titillate with the fingers frail and old,
Made me laugh to forget the cold,
She hid behind the door, under the cots,
Played hide and seek to make me please.

Ah! One morning she lay stiff, could not rise,
Then was dressed with the suit of cotton white,
As she would go on the journey long,
Gathered men, women, young and old,
Some wailed, some sniffed, some silent sat.
But played I with the friends of my age,
And ate yellow rice with the belly fill.

In the evening they shouldered the cot,
The procession advanced leaving me depressed,
Turned the corner, with the sacred chorus.
I stood stunned in the middle of the yard,
Staring to the street, questioning the walls,
“Why had they not taken me along? ”

At night I cried aloud when I found,
An empty bed laid in the deserted corner,
I sought under the cots, behind the doors,
Where she did hide, but could not find.
A pair of shoes, the clothes on cord,
Consoled me well, told me the truth,
Ah! The real game at last she had played.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Single Candle/Death Herself

A single flame lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death

Her hands clasped anrond their souls
The souls of the dead
She feeds of their screams
The screams of the dead

Her legs lay bellow her
Bellow death
Her black gown over her body
The body of death

Her chest rises and falls with her breath
The breath of death
Her cloak drawn over her long flowing jet hair
The face of death

Her eyes unmoved unfeeling
Do you see it?
Do you see the soul of death?
Do you feel it?

Her skin as white as snow as it fades into darkness
The snow of tears
Her cloths as dark as night that swallows the light
The dark we all shall see

Her eyes close as she feels their souls flow
Flow from the dead
She leaves them there to lay in darkness
She steals from the dead

A single candle lights their faces filled with her
Filled with death
They fall into the darkness of her eyes, of her heart
The darkness of death

A single candle shall stay to light their way
Their way through the dark
A single candle holds their past
The pain and trials

A single candle lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death herself

A single candle

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Descending Sun

Unheeded forsaken beauty,
With a faint pale deep-golden countenance,
Looks behind as if annoyed
On going through the dismal experience
Of the day, looking down beneath
Upon the hilarious, uproarious world,
Where upon the several spots
Smoky mushrooms rise,
Wrapping the Earth from all sides around
With sable murky blankets
Impeding lights;
Or of glancing at the spectrums
Of human blood, mixing into mud,
Descends consumed depressed glowering
Deciding not to come back again
Into the aching painful zones;
But the next morn re-ascends
Refreshed with washed features
Radiant, all silvery glaring,
To accomplish the assigned job
Of sweeping the scrap of blackness.
This is how the office of God goes on,
Playing hide and seek
The Dark chases the Light
And the Light defeats the Dark,
As seamen prey upon the shark.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On that cold October Night

On That Cold October Night

We sat on the swing and listened to the dark

The Lake looked holy

undisterbed like a virgin

Pure

Almost innocent

The moon reflected off the water with athority

Like it knew it was sopost to be there on that very lake

The stars were scatted across the sky as if they were waching us

I drew in the night

I took a deep breath

His voice made the unsure streets of my mind sertain

His laugh made me melt

But his touch

Opened up every city to my soul

His Touch

Scremed out my past

His touch made everything I am and ever was

He made my heart know

He was the black to my white

The love to my fight

His every movment made me smile

But I'd never let him know

Where we stood on the beach

I playfully drew a heart in the sand with my feet

He glanced over at me

I half smiled at him

He stepped closer and put his arms around me

'You look cold' He whispered in my ear

The angels sang

I could hear the smile in his voice

He always did this

Played with my emotions like a puppet

He had no idea

That I always thought of him

He was stamped to my thoughts

Stained on my mind

would he ever want me?

Would he ever care?

Would he still hold me when I had greesy hair?

And when I had a bad day

Would he still be around?

Would he still hold me while I was crying curl up on the ground?

He turned my body towred his

Our belly's touched

He stroked my face like I was an expenise peice of velvet

My heart was racing

I could feel my eyes fill up with questions

confusion

He must of noticed cause he let out a chuckle

Then leaned in closer

Was this it?

My once apon a time?

My commence to a new begining?

His perfect eyes shut

His smooth lips seperated

I breathed in the night and all the life around me

Lust pumped through my vains

Like a firework

Like pulling a trigger

Like dropping a bomb

A wave of electricity shot through me

Every inch of my body and soul sparked

I could feel him smiling

The stars danced

The breeze wrapped around us

Bright coloerd leaves scammped across the frosted grass

To go spread the great news

I rested my head on his shoulder

He was finally mine

And like I always knew

When I kissed him

And he kissed me

The world would stop

and we'd both be free

On That Cold October Night

He caught me by surprise

I've always loved surprises

poem by Anastasia Denise Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Bones Are Of Iron Made

(Written when my country had a threat)

My heart does beat,
Pulse does pulsate,
For Pak-lands,
Oh! Enemies,
Beware!
Our bones are of iron made,
And bombs are the bodies.

Whether you challenge
On the snow clad lofty peaks,
Or in the frosty valleys,
Or on planes of the Punjab,
Or onto the adjoining waters
Of the boundaries,
Or in the thick forests,
Or upon the hot sand,
We are a nation that cares least
Of life, of wealth or property,
Or of fatal consequences
When our honour is at the stake;
We pluck out the eyes
When they look with dingy intentions,
Break the jaws that ajar
To devour us.
We promote not turmoil in the world,
We believe in respect of others
And be respected,
We are a nation that writes
History not in ink or on the sheet of paper,
But in blood on the sacred soil and sand.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pig

Isnt it strange
How we move our lives for another day
Like skipping a beat
What if a great wave should
Wash us all away
Just thinking out loud
Dont mean to dwell on this dying thing
But looking at blood
Its alive right now
Deep and sweet within
Pouring through our veins
Intoxicate moving wine to tears
Drinking it deep
Then an evening spent dancing
Its you and me
This love will open our world
From the dark side you can see a glow
Of something bright
Theres much more than we see here
Dont burn the day away
Is this not enough
The blessed sip of life
Is it not enough
Staring down at the ground
Oh then complain and pray
More from above
Greedy little pig
Stop just watch your world trickle away
Oh its your problem now
Itll all be dead and gone in
A few short years
Just love will open our eyes
Just love will put the hope back in our minds
Much more than we could ever know
Dont burn the day away
Come sister
My brother
Shake up your bones shake up your feet
Im saying open up
And let the rain come pouring in
Wash out this tired notion
That the best is yet to come
But while youre dancing on the ground
Dont think of when youre gone
Love! love! - what more is there?
We need the light of love in here
Dont beat your head
Dry your eyes
Let the love in there
There are bad times
But thats ok
Just look for love in it
Dont burn the day away
Look
Here are we
On this starry night staring into space
And I must say
I feel as small as dust
Lying down here
What point could there be troubling
Head down wondering what will
Become of me
Why concern we cannot see
But no reason to abandon it
Time is short but thats all right
Maybe Ill go out in the middle of the night
Take your hands from your eyes, my love
Everything must come to an end sometime
Dont burn the day away
Come sister
My brother
Shake up your bones shake up your feet
Im saying open up
And let the rain come flooding in
Wash out this tired notion
That the best is yet to come
But while youre dancing on the ground
Dont think of when youre gone
Love! love! - what more is there?
We need the light of love in here
Dont beat your head
Dry your eyes
Let the love in there
There are bad times
But thats ok
Just look for love in it

song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Damn Dark Brown Eyes

Let me start with one corner
The other corner is wide
In between there’s whole world
The truth, the lies and the skies

The mountains high and blue sky
I can see it all through the reflection of light
The beauties of it describes
What’s the world with a smile that’s so bright

Oh! Your damn dark brown eyes
Tells the story of your innocence with no surprise
The whole world is beautiful if I look through those eyes
You have lovely damn dark brown eyes

The darkest small round thing in between your eyes
Rotates around as you don’t keep watching tight
Then those dark brown things which covers your eyes
Feels like a ocean with a deep divine

Whenever I stare at your damn dark brown eyes
I feel to get more and more inside
The ocean looks so deep and waves so strong
And all those pixels describes that you have something inside

Oh! Your damn dark brown eyes
Makes me feel to swim inside
Yes, I am floating in my imagination
How would be the ocean inside your eyes

When you smile, I can feel it from your eyes
It tells everything that I desire to find
It makes you lovely as lovely as you are always with a smile
Cause you’ve got that damn dark brown eyes.

poem by Rajib Paudyal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pastel poem [Pastel]

At sunset, from beyond the peaks,
Red blinks at dusk in silence glow
They break in small and shining streaks,
Which into shaded Danube flow.

The murky waves bury them all
And under osiers downstream,
On water hardly shake and crawl
Like orange peel, or so they seem.

Down there, above the forest, soon,
Where shrubberies are dark and wet,
Rises the handsome crescent moon
And sparkles from a minaret.

And, as if painted with this goal,
The island casts its shadow long,
Cut from the world, playing the role
Of a medieval castle, strong.

Looks like a ship charmed near the shore
Which anchored at the mountains' feet,
A wonder dreamed and waited for
By the old Danube's water sheet!

In the clear nights, calm, half asleep,
It waited for the morning bright,
To get out of the water deep
And come to surface in the light

A floating garden, purest one,
With trees and birds that sing in tune,
With flowers laughing at the sun,
But trembling scared under the moon.

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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