Mother
Her eyes are blank,
Clothes torn, ragged & patched
Beauty has taken renunciation long past;
She has no rank,
wizened and shrunken face-
Tells no story of glamor.
But she laughs
She smiles
She is a MOTHER! !
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Related quotes
Every Face Tells A Story
Look at the man in the corner, hes sitting all alone
His blankets are made out of cardboard,
His pillows are made out of stone
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
See the man walking on the water, see the light in his eyes
He came into the world with a message to tell,
He came into the world to die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Youre always telling stories, youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories, why?
So think of yourself in the water, seeing your days flashing by
Its too late to see what you wanted to be,
Youve spent all your time, you must die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Step down
And make it work out right
Im trying to get to you with my warning
Been there
For nearly half the night
Look its nearly four in the morning
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Everlasting Beauty
The everlasting beauty
fades upon her face,
Tears stream down
her beautiful frown
Even in death her beauty will be everlasting,
her eyes are like the clearest of lakes
I look upon her face and notice the beauty and youth that will never die
When she smiles her face is as bright as a rocket,
when she laughs we all
laugh
Everlasting beauty
That will never fade
Her eyes are a brown shade
When she is upset or sad and carries a frown
I turn it upside down
Her everlasting beauty will carry on
in my mind no matter what
The everlasting beauty that never fades
poem by Derrick Davis
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Every Face Tells A Story
(m. allison/p. sills/d. black)
Theres no need for you to tell me
I can see the way you feel
I just know without you saying
What is a lie and whats real
Every face tells a story
Its hard to hide a lie
Every face tells a story
And yours is saying goodbye
Somethings going on, and I know it
You cant keep it from me
Your smile cannot hide what you feel inside
And I dont like what I see
Every face tells a story
Its hard to hide a lie
Every face tells a story
And yours is saying goodbye
Youre always telling stories
Youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories
If you want to leave me, leave me
No good living a lie
You can pretend that were not gonna end
But your eyes are saying goodbye
Every face tells a story
Its hard to hide a lie
Every face tells a story
And yours is saying goodbye
Youre always telling stories
Youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories
Tell me, I got a right to know
Pour your little heart out to me, baby
You know, you know I dont want to let go
Every face tells a story
Its hard to hide a lie
Every face tells a story
And yours is saying goodbye
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eyes
There is no problem with my eyes
I can see whatever I like to see
My eyes can differentiate between the things
Ugly and beauty, appearance and reality
When I see in your eyes which tells a different story
The plot is ready and characters are you and me
As pure love in your heart I see
Look at my eyes too which never lies
Truthfully expresses what my heart feels
If my eyes are caught seeing at you without guilty
That means my heart tells here lies the real beauty.
Only your dialogues are waited to make it a super love story.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Defamation
Whey are those tears in your eyes, my child?
How horrid of them to be always scolding you for nothing!
You have stained your fingers and face with ink while writing-
is that why they call you dirty?
O, fie! Would they dare to call the full moon dirty because
it has smudged its face with ink?
For every little trifle they blame you, my child. They are
ready to find fault for nothing.
You tore your clothes while playing-is that why they call you
untidy?
O, fie! What would they call an autumn morning that smiles
through its ragged clouds?
Take no heed of what they say to you, my child.
They make a long list of your misdeeds.
Everybody knows how you love sweet things-is that why they
call you greedy?
O, fie! What then would they call us who love you?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Story Teller
The story tellers
of different language
of different clothes
of different color
tells the same story
about the missing prince
in the palace.
People gathered around
and listen
to the story teller
who has the most beautiful face
and dressed like a princess.
One young man
dressed like a beggar
tells the same story
about the missing prince
in the palace
but no one came to listen.
Night comes
and the young man rides his horse
back to the palace
the young man...
is the missing prince.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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The Tavern
Whenever I go by there nowadays
And look at the rank weeds and the strange grass,
The torn blue curtains and the broken glass,
I seem to be afraid of the old place;
And something stiffens up and down my face,
For all the world as if I saw the ghost
Of old Ham Amory, the murdered host,
With his dead eyes turned on me all aglaze.
The Tavern has a story, but no man
Can tell us what it is. We only know
That once long after midnight, years ago,
A stranger galloped up from Tilbury Town,
Who brushed, and scared, and all but overran
That skirt-crazed reprobate, John Evereldown.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Shell in the Beach
a mother tells a story to her son
'there are three men
one of them went to the beach
and found a beautiful shell in the beach
then he showed it to another man
a beautiful shell he discovered
the last one heard from others
that there's beautiful shell in the beach.'
the mother looks to her son then smiles
'now my child,
from three of them
which one who really knows
the beauty of the shell in the beach? '
from C.M.B.
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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There Is Nothing To Write
WELL, FACE THE BLANK WALL
STARE TO THIS BLANK WALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO THIS BLANK WALL
IT IS BLANK
IT IS EMPTY
IT IS A HINDRANCE TO WHAT I WANT TO SEE
IT IS AN OBSTRUCTION
TO WHAT I WANT TO BECOME
THIS WALL
THIS WALL IS MY JAIL
MY PRISON
MY BLINDNESS
THIS WALL MUST BE TORN
THIS WALL MUST BE BOMBED
THIS BLOCK
THIS WEARINESS OF THE HEART
THIS TIREDNESS OF THE SOUL
THIS MALADY OF BEING NOTHING
THIS HAVING NOTHING AT ALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO WRITE
THERE IS NOTHING
THERE IS
now i will write about something
from above
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poor Relation
No longer torn by what she knows
And sees within the eyes of others,
Her doubts are when the daylight goes,
Her fears are for the few she bothers.
She tells them it is wholly wrong
Of her to stay alive so long;
And when she smiles her forehead shows
A crinkle that had been her mother’s.
Beneath her beauty, blanched with pain,
And wistful yet for being cheated,
A child would seem to ask again
A question many times repeated;
But no rebellion has betrayed
Her wonder at what she has paid
For memories that have no stain,
For triumph born to be defeated.
To those who come for what she was—
The few left who know where to find her—
She clings, for they are all she has;
And she may smile when they remind her,
As heretofore, of what they know
Of roses that are still to blow
By ways where not so much as grass
Remains of what she sees behind her.
They stay a while, and having done
What penance or the past requires,
They go, and leave her there alone
To count her chimneys and her spires.
Her lip shakes when they go away,
And yet she would not have them stay;
She knows as well as anyone
That Pity, having played, soon tires.
But one friend always reappears,
A good ghost, not to be forsaken;
Whereat she laughs and has no fears
Of what a ghost may reawaken,
But welcomes, while she wears and mends
The poor relation’s odds and ends,
Her truant from a tomb of years—
Her power of youth so early taken.
Poor laugh, more slender than her song
It seems; and there are none to hear it
With even the stopped ears of the strong
For breaking heart or broken spirit.
The friends who clamored for her place,
And would have scratched her for her face,
Have lost her laughter for so long
That none would care enough to fear it.
None live who need fear anything
From her, whose losses are their pleasure;
The plover with a wounded wing
Stays not the flight that others measure;
So there she waits, and while she lives,
And death forgets, and faith forgives,
Her memories go foraging
For bits of childhood song they treasure.
And like a giant harp that hums
On always, and is always blending
The coming of what never comes
With what has past and had an ending,
The City trembles, throbs, and pounds
Outside, and through a thousand sounds
The small intolerable drums
Of Time are like slow drops descending.
Bereft enough to shame a sage
And given little to long sighing,
With no illusion to assuage
The lonely changelessness of dying,—
Unsought, unthought-of, and unheard,
She sings and watches like a bird,
Safe in a comfortable cage
From which there will be no more flying.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Hinduism
Mukthi as the end; you are at the front.
O mother O mother all are on the run.
Renunciation as the means; all else are only dreams.
O mother O mother you are at the reign.
Fearlessness in your scriptures; put all others in ruptures.
O mother O mother you are sending shivers.
Oneness as the truth; what more is there to search.
O mother O mother this is what you vouch.
Religion is realisation; everything else only make sensation.
O mother O mother grandeur is your definition.
Spirituality in the air; whatelse can we aspire.
O mother O mother you are present everywhere.
Noble thoughts from you; the world owes all to you.
O mother O mother all has taken only from you.
We are the divine force; what more can be the driving force.
O mother O mother all are from the same source.
I need boons two; one to be born to you.
O mother O mother should be my cry next time too.
poem by S. Ashok Kumar
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The Best of the Best
Smiles and laughs
Grief and tears
Sticking together through the years
Sad movies
Late night snacks
The laughs we can’t stop
Shopping till we drop
Long talks
The guys we stalk
Tough breakups
Happy make ups
Fights that never last
Our attitude and sass
Sleepovers
And four leaf clovers
Sports
And short shorts
Smiles and laughs
Grief and tears
Sticking together through the years
poem by Maria Mullin
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The Mother Child
She's 46
but like a baby she clings
so obsessed with feeling wanted
she was never ment to be a mother
She's 15
takes herself so seriously
Has to be the mature one
has to pretend things are okay
She rarely laughs
rarely smiles
Oh, The mother child
At night she curls in a ball
clawing, clinging to her dreams
She dreams of laughter, fun, and smiles
She dreams of screaming and running for miles
But thats all they are
Because when she wakes
her mother lyes waiting, pleading
for the little mother child.
poem by Kelsi Brockway
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Renunciation
Renunciation -- is a piercing Virtue --
The letting go
A Presence -- for an Expectation --
Not now --
The putting out of Eyes --
Just Sunrise --
Lest Day --
Day's Great Progenitor --
Outvie
Renunciation -- is the Choosing
Against itself --
Itself to justify
Unto itself --
When larger function --
Make that appear --
Smaller -- that Covered Vision -- Here --
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Alankar(Decor) -97
Mother And Babe-(Tritina)
Tritina is-
Three tercets and one last line. Choose three words and
these words will be the last word at the end of the
nine lines in the pattern ABC, CAB, BCA. The last
line uses the words ABC.
Mother And Babe
Babe smiles and mom sees a star in her eyes
Winkling to prove a bright celestial splice
Babe smiles and smiles and mom too smiles
Babe too sees a sparkling star when mom smiles
An attested bond of heaven in her eyes
Who in whose bound can break that divine splice
Smile is His paradise and He that divine splice
Can any deny then those loving longing smiles
Babe smiles, mom smiles staring at other's eyes
Conjunct eyes indeed become godly splice of smiles
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Blank
Blank pages, blank lines
Blank heart, blank mind
Blank feeling, blank soul
Blank high, blank low.
I dont know why
You just cant see
That all you've ever known
Is the blank side of me.
What's In Your Heart
True beauty is in the way she laughs
True beauty is in her eyes
True beauty is how she acts
True beauty is inside
True beauty is unseen
True beauty is only felt
True beauty is not mean
True beauty is herself
True beauty can't be cruel
True beauty is bare
True beauty lies within you
True beauty is always there
True Beauty can't be covered with makeup
True beauty means true love
True beauty can't be baked up
True beauty is the flight of a dove
True beauty has no flaws
For True beauty is all that matters after all
poem by Ricky Baker
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Buddha
Would that by Hindu magic we became
Dark monks of jeweled India long ago,
Sitting at Prince Siddartha's feet to know
The foolishness of gold and love and station,
The gospel of the Great Renunciation,
The ragged cloak, the staff, the rain and sun,
The beggar's life, with far Nirvana gleaming:
Lord, make us Buddhas, dreaming.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Love Given Is Enough To Last Lifetimes
love gone is smoke lost in the wind
she is gone now the one who wiped
your tears away from childhood faces
she saw the smiles on your face the tears
she saw the laughter on your face the pain
she heard the ripple of your voice the sobs
she saw the beauty in your eyes the fears
she kissed every tear from young checks
wiped every tear that dared form in your eyes
she was your mother her love is ever with us
poem by Terence George Craddock
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True beauty
True beauty is in the way she laughs
True beauty is in her eyes
True beauty is how she acts
True beauty is inside
True beauty is unseen
True beauty is only felt
True beauty is not mean
True beauty is herself
True beauty can't be cruel
True beauty is bare
True beauty within you
True beauty is always there
True Beauty can't be covered with makeup
True beauty means true love
True beauty can't be baked up
True beauty is the flight of a dove
True beauty has no flaws
For True beauty is all that matters after all
all rights reserved to Jean Melanie Pullman
poem by Jean Pullman
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