Snapshot
Night hidden behind that hillock
Hasn't peeped out so far
The ocean of darkness
Hasn't become turbulent till now
As yet black snakes
Hanging from arms of the clock
Stare at us with red ambers of their eyes
As yet with bated breath
The wolf of time
Waits behind blood-strewn sand dunes
For ripped-open body of the sun.
Surrounded by shadows - green and fresh
The shimmering cold water in the blue lake
Has as yet not become
Acquainted with
Swelling waves of strangeness
In our eyes.
Welcome...... as it is......
The frozen caravan of silent moments
And the unacquainted water
Stay.
Pay heed to me, O stranger,
My co- traveller
Ere the silent ticking of the clock
Turns into an explosion
And declares the sun's demise,
Shall we
Preserve through the camera's eye
This meeting of ours
On the blind screen of feelings......
With the waning, blood-red
Picture of receding evening's myriad scenes?
And thus fill the empty cup
Of our desires with innocent happiness?
(1975, Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Related quotes
Time Ticks
Reach out and rewind your clock before
it melts away like the flow
of crimson from a dying animal
that slowly loses its color,
for your clock ticks like a metronome
keeping time until the very last
beat of the song. Mend
your clock until your last
note is sung and your breath
is taken away from you. Before
the shadow that advances like water
filling in every crack gets to you,
rewind your clock to stay alive
and rid yourself of the tang
of fresh blood and the menacingly silent
ticking of your clock. Simply wrap
your trembling hand around the cool,
slippery surface of your timekeeper,
and rid your world of the stench
of Death. Or will you simply awaken
to find your death a mere dream?
Will you find that the reality
of Life is only a frank lie?
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Where Did You See Her?
Have you ever ventured
Beyond the dreams
Where the sulking night
Angry with her lovers, the moon and the stars
Dabs her bare body with ashes
And dances around a bonfire?
Have you ever peeped behind eyelashes
Into tired blue eyes
Where a whole world of woe
Swims in spaces unfathomed?
Have you ever spent a day
Under the greenwood trees
Erect sentry-like on each side of the road
Where the sun struggles
To find its way?
Have you ever asked
A wayfarer, a stranger
The directions to the house
Of the one
Whose waning footprints
The winds kiss
Wandering about from town to town?
(Translated from the original Urdu by Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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By The Ocean (For Dislocated Heart)
I stand by the ocean,
Breathing in the crisp air of night fall,
Watching the moon slipping away,
As the sky melts into the sea;
An endless darkness.
I can feel my mind falling into its depths,
Thinking about every breath I take,
About the world above,
And the world below.
Questions fill my mind,
Questions of life, living, and existence,
Yet still I stand,
Silent and still.
The gentle breeze in the palm trees,
Brushing my hair across my face.
The wind pushes my dress against my legs,
The feeling almost mimicking that of the water.
I can feel the cool spray of the ocean with each wave,
A giant lung breathing the same air as I.
It is a calm entity existing to exist.
A world so unknown and full of wonder,
Yet so simple from above…
I breath a sigh and close my eyes,
The sight of the waves imprinted on my eyelids,
The scent filling my nose and mouth,
The water touching my skin,
The taste of the salt on my tongue,
The repetitive sound of the water endlessly fill my mind.
My feet buried in sand as if to be innocent sand crabs.
A moment so calm and simple,
Yet so meaningful,
If you take the time to experience it,
A moment in which nothing else matters,
Nothing but the water, the sand, and living.
Everything else, like the sky,
Melts away into the sea,
Into the endless dark abyss.
And so I stand,
By the water,
Living and breathing.
If only the world would stop for a moment,
A moment to live and breathe too;
So relaxing and yet so eye opening.
The silence of the night wrapping around me,
The ocean rocking me into sweet oblivion.
Until I have to open my eyes and walk inside,
Back to reality,
But until then,
I'll just stand here,
By the ocean.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Weep Holes
Don't take us for the wall itself
For when the earthen plank behind the wall
Gets soaked through
We'll let the sorrow of burdonsome wetness
Flow through us
The soil sucks the trees' roots till now
Till now the sorrow of waters
hasn't reached the earthen plank behind the walls
Earth has not seen the woebegone face of the sky
The wall hasn't learnt to shed tears
Wind even now expects to blow the leaves away
Empty polythene bags sputter on roads
That never had trees planted on sides
People drink blood of their own climes
And grow like germs
Bonfire conflagrations ignite every where
Smoke has turned the flowers black
Butterflies' wings look ashen
The dream's face will bend under pressure
And break into smithereens
Let the moisture come!
Let the clouds of pains burst!
Let the sky's sorrow descend to the earth!
Don't consider us the wall itself
Don't think we're but worthless
For when the earthen plank behind the wall
Gets soaked
We'll be there to let the sorrow
Of burdensome wetness
flow through us
Look! Our eyes do not have tears
But the mud of our dreams.
(Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Inside Domes
Desires are happy lyrics
Written on walls of sorrowful crying.
Paths are dreams
Of good days to come
But stay detached from destinations.
Lines are imprisoned
In circles.
So, keep walking on
Water is the end-all
Of journey in the desert.
Go, if you must
Following mirages
But carry oceans in your eyes.
Pass, if you must
In the forest of glass-encrusted silence
But keep stones of sound with you.
Live, if you must
Inside domes
But keep a door open!
(Translated by Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Asylum
My tears are blue,
My eyes, Purple, green and black-
Yours, I do not know the color of-
I may have met you before in some dark alley-
Your eyes are shut as you sleep- You, I do not know.
All eyes are upon me now- Orange, blue and yellow-
The sky is green and clouds are maudlin-
Blood falls from eyes of sorcerers,
Tears, blue as deep sea water- falling from my eyes,
My eyes are purple, green and black.
Trapped inside a place unknown-
Unknown to my spirit's heaven-
Locked inside this devil's paradise- I cannot fathom reality.
I weep blue tears, combining with the blood
Pouring from the ceiling so dank and dark-
Turning purple and magenta, in hue-
Your lips are red- red as rage,
My hair is dark and dark as is Satan's advocate's
Please somebody rescue me!
My tears are blue, my eyes,
Purple, green and black- the color of yours
Still remains a mystery- When shall you awaken?
Only in good time, my friend, only in good time-
The face of the clock on the wall is orange - Its hands lost in space-
I am lost and beside myself- while you sleep-
We are locked inside of an asylum- I heard-
You are sleeping, still as the locked door before us-
I wonder, are you dreaming or are your dreams turning to nightmares-?
My ears are ringing, I am blue- they just told me through the keyhole that
I am locked inside the world of my delusions?
Through your eyes I could read your thoughts but
Your eyes are closed as you sleep- and my eyes, are closed to the world.
Colors and more colors before me, my tears are blue,
I am blue-please release me from my pain.
I know I have been told in time I will be but the clock upon the wall
Has no feelings-just decorating this chamber of hell with
Its bright orange face as my blue tears fall
Onto the urine stained floors of this confinement-
My soul dissolves into nothingness, while blood drips from the ceiling-and
I wonder- do they make keys that unlock minds from the cells of their delusions?
Somebody just painted my world black and I am doomed to be trapped here
Forever…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Silent Death
Silent death holds my breath
Stalks me from above the trees
There is no breeze
When death walks in my shoes
Silent, cautious, confident
A brilliant business man
Silent death’s cold embrace
Makes me dizzy
He is always busy
But has time for me
Silent death drowns my body
He isn’t sorry
Silent death looks at me
Underneath the water
My eyes dilated
Catch a glimpse
poem by Double A P SS
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Sonnet XXXIV (You are the daughter of the sea)
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest--
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Sonnet XXXIV
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest-
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Sonnet XXXIV (You are the daughter of the sea)
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest--
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
Submitted by Hen
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Twelve O'Clock
Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my
book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later;
can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve
o'clock?
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of
that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for
her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing
darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny
black.
If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Clock-O'-Clay
In the cowslip pips I lie,
Hidden from the buzzing fly,
While green grass beneath me lies,
Pearled with dew like fishes' eyes,
Here I lie, a clock-o'-clay,
Waiting for the time o' day.
While the forest quakes surprise,
And the wild wind sobs and sighs,
My home rocks as like to fall,
On its pillar green and tall;
When the pattering rain drives by
Clock-o'-clay keeps warm and dry.
Day by day and night by night,
All the week I hide from sight;
In the cowslip pips I lie,
In the rain still warm and dry;
Day and night and night and day,
Red, black-spotted clock-o'-clay.
My home shakes in wind and showers,
Pale green pillar topped with flowers,
Bending at the wild wind's breath,
Till I touch the grass beneath;
Here I live, lone clock-o'-clay,
Watching for the time of day.
poem by John Clare
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Ocean Breakers
She went to water;
she always did.
The heaving ocean
matched her heavy breathing;
it was a Ocean of Tears
like hers.
The swells crash
against the shore
relentlessly;
life was relentless too.
The foam;
Anger in the Water that day.
She went to water
she always did,
moving among the sand dunes,
face against the wind.
The sea gulls overhead;
caw! caw! caw!
She lifts her arms,
the wind blows her sleeves
making a flapping sound;
she could hear whispers
between the breakers,
she could hear weeping
among the retreating waves.
She stood there
on the Edge of Forever.
There is no end to the ocean.
Every day it calls to the Sun
and makes it rise.
.
Every night it extinguishes it.
She could walk to China;
she could
and no one would know;
no one would know.
The voice said
'I thought I would find you here'
Waves crashing
more soothing now
two tracks in the sand.
Sad swells
rise again
and retreat;
time and ocean breaks
bring them back together again.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Lonely Train on the Lonely Track with 24 Coaches Painted Black
Among the brambles of a shattered heart lies my soul in crags,
Among the shambles of life torn apart lies my spirit in rags;
Tears streaming down my face as snakes crawl on my body lifeless
Leaving amigos and flamingos away at the home, oh life pointless.
Ticktock! All I can hear is the ticking of the clock, yackety-yak!
The lonely train on the lonely track with 24 coaches painted black.
I climbed onto the gravel bed in the rain, lo lonely brain tames!
By the dawn from the ocean to every lane, it climbs, dookie salad!
In the noon from flat places to heaven and hell, A pensive ballad;
At dusk, in open air of beach I loitered singing rhyme ugly James.
Ticktock! All I can hear is ticking of the clock - yackety-yak!
The lonely train on the lonely track with 24 coaches painted black.
Hardy-har-har! Hold a pebble, a feather or a leaf in your hand
It will say I am lonely; I can't ride, I want to hide in the sand;
I'm single; oh my gosh! I'm sitting between my brother the mountain
My sister the sea - together threesome we live among soulless men.
Ticktock! All I can hear is the ticking of the clock, yackety-yak!
The lonely train on the lonely track with 24 coaches painted black.
I'm an air castle with dreams empty and screams plenty with terror
I don't want to be alone in the dark in a spine-chilling horror.
Then, the moon is a friend for the lonely man as flamingo cheers,
Bingo! Stars in the Galaxy are his companions as nature shares.
Ticktock! All I can hear is ticking of the clock, yackety-yak!
The lone train on the lonely track with 24 coaches painted black.
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Blue Queen
One last time I am to suffer in agony for my love of ecstasy
One last time I am to offer myself to the gods of midnights hour.
Fresh death within a cage of flesh is calling
Upon my knees I find my body falling
What elder god's shall bear witness to my sacrifice?
Who shall be the suckling babe upon the blood of the night?
Who shall be the chosen light to shine upon the end of time?
A halo of light surrounding
The memory of life forever grounding
Until we drink and take joy from the river of life’s forgetting.
The prophet and the underground
Upon the shoreline there is a child by the day
Asking questions to all that pass him by,
He seeks the city beneath the waves
He seeks a womb anew within the tomb of the Blue Queen sleeping.
Yet as the moon arises to take reign of the night
His skin sheds from his form and he is the serpent sand,
The movement of the torching dunes, he carries the answers secured within the day realm
And delivers them to the minds of those who dare not ask yet are forever searching.
His lover is the Lady of the Water, and from her sleep within the golden realm she awakes to bless with bliss her lover,
Silver lips, ice blue eyes,
She who is the muse of this shoreline lover, this serpent of midnight sand
Each day the sea is absorbed into the sand
Each day the sand, a thousand shells lost to the movement of the waves slips back unto the sea.
When he is weary of the sun he gathers his possessions - a conch shell a gift from his lover,
a batter hat that keeps the sun from his head and his walking staff decorated with various gifts from the ocean.
The bird his friend is the wind and the wind that carries the waters to the mountains to water the land upon which the man lives,
The man can fly upon the birds back but can not see through its eyes
Where as when the blue queen dreams she sees all that the bird sees
poem by David Lacey
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Grandpa's Clock
in that ticking of the clock
three generations of time
had ticked past...
with some tickings fixed firm
each ticking concealed
tireless roar of the sea
and a conundrum of emotions
time has its way of
teasing and tiring us
one fine evening during
a casual chitchat as sister
got off from the chair
she hit back at time and
the grandfather's clock-
though i had never known him
but through the clock fixed to the wall-
that seemed to chime
eternally into the wee hours
each time waking me up cruelly
from an innocent sleep
lay there in pieces...
the pendulum, still oscillates
the conundrum, still unsolved
the flux of the sea, still echoes
though we could never manage
to get another clock
and external surfaces
still gleam and glitter...
20dec2009
08.21hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Windows
Windows open vistas for us
Windows - of hearts, of minds or of eyes
Windows - which might open outward
Or inward
They bring the light on the other end to this end.
Windows converse
They open the alphabetical locks of our lips
When night weaves nets of darkness on windows
Life-spans speak out in whispers from abysses of pain
Windows then perforce remain silent
Suffer days of tongue-tied laws
Nights of oppression
And epochs of tyranny
Windows are self same stories of dreams
Of centuries
Mute testimony of chasms
Court yards and ruined houses
Evidence of rusted eons rattling with exhaustion
in tyrant time's primordium continuity
Windows have the heart of a woman
They open their body's wings of each clime
With a little waft of wind
With fragrance, sunlight, rain or moon beams.
They blow away paper-light images
And waste away life in uncharted desires.
When butterflies fly in front of windows
Eyes glued to window panes become tearful
With noontide memories.
Evenings look forward to a wayfarer passing by
When they're covered with climbers
holding forth red and white flowers
They fill closed fists with the touch of fire-flies.
Windows often insist on being kept open
They're surprised to watch cloud, birds
And the blue sky's expanse
If they're kept shut
They're afraid of the life breath of
Walls and rooms getting strangulated.
They're afraid of dwellers forsaking their houses
They also feel life's desertion
They also feel despondent
Windows are human beings!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Translated from the original Urdu into English by Satyapal Anand.
Copyrights (C) All rights reserved.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Shock Wave
Theres no reason for you to run
You cant escape the fate of the chosen one
Black moon rising, in a blood red sky
This time you realise that youre gonna die
Drinking your blood brew is your answer
Thats what you plan to do
No dreaming, time you cheat this master
Youre on your own going through
Wind of mist has taken over your mind
And you think youre on your own
Dont believe you are the only one here
Look around, youre not alone
Feel the forces from another world
Ghostly shadows fill your mind
Evil power hanging over you
As you freeze, youre like a child
Look behind you!
Somebodys calling
Someone is near
Feel yourself falling
Falling with fear
You tell yourself youre dreaming
You realise youre screaming
You know that this shouldnt happen to you
You tell yourself that its scary too
But there is nothing you can do, oh!
Ghostly shadows from the other world
Evil forces in your mind
Trapped between the worlds of life and death
Frozen in the realms of time
Look behind you!
You feel yourself falling, youre at the end of the line
Your body is crawling, but your senses are blind
Cold, cold feelings are running through your brains
Ice cold fingers, running through your veins
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost At Sea.
You remember now the sound of the sea,
The crashing of waves, the white and grey
Gulls in the sky. Mother said, don’t go too
Far out; keep an eye on the young ones.
The cold water made you hop about when
It first went over your bare feet. You knew
Where the young ones were, you could see
Them there at the water’s edge running in
And out as the cold water chased them.
The beach was crowded; the crowds seemed
To occupy each area with their deckchairs,
Windbreakers and towels spread on the sand.
The bright sun shone down heavily; the air
Was still. And Mother’s voice loudly shouting,
Where’s Baba? Where’s she gone? And the
Place she was with the others was without
Her presence now; the panic gripped you.
Your eyes scanned the beach and sea; you ran
Along the beach near the water’s edge gazing
Out at the wide expanse of ocean, ignoring the
Passing ships on the horizon, the sailing boats,
The far out swimmers, just looking for Baba,
Your eyes searching each face, each child, every
Little one running on the beach or out at sea out
Of reach. Mother came running down the beach
Towards you, her face red with effort, her mouth
Screaming out words carried off by the other
Sounds and the sea’s call, pointing out at ocean’s
Hold as a man came up and out of the waves,
Water dripping, eyes wide, and in his arms, Baba
Limp and her swaying head, hair hanging wet,
Seeming lost to you, small arms swinging, dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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Annihilation
While the blue noon above us arches,
And the poplar sheds disconsolate leaves,
Tell me again why love bewitches,
And what love gives.
It is the trembling finger that traces
The eyebrow’s curve, the curve of the cheek?
The mouth that quivers, when the hand caresses,
But cannot speak?
No, not these, not in these is hidden
The secret, more than in other things:
Not only the touch of a hand can gladden
Till the blood sings.
It is the leaf that falls between us,
The bells that murmur, the shadows that move,
The autumnal sunlight that fades upon us:
These things are love.
It is the ‘No, let us sit here longer,’
The ‘Wait till tomorrow,’ the ‘Once I knew —’
These trifles, said as I touch your finger,
And the clock strikes two.
The world is intricate, and we are nothing.
It is the complex world of grass,
A twig on the path, a look of loathing,
Feelings that pass —
These are the secret! And I could hate you,
When, as I lean for another kiss,
I see in your eyes that I do not meet you,
And that love is this.
Rock meeting rock can know love better
Than eyes that stare or lips that touch.
All that we know in love is bitter,
And it is not much.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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