The Gardener LXIV: I Spent My Day
I spent my day on the scorching
hot dust of the road.
Now, in the cool of the evening, I
knock at the door of the inn. It is
deserted and in ruins.
A grim ashath tree spreads its
hungry clutching roots through the
gaping fissures of the walls.
Days have been when wayfarers
came here to wash their weary feet.
They spread their mats in the
courtyard in the dim light of the
early moon, and sat and talked of
strange lands.
They woke refreshed in the morning
when birds made them glad, and
friendly flowers nodded their heads
at them from the wayside.
But no lighted lamp awaited me
when I came here.
The black smudges of smoke left by
many a forgotten evening lamp stare,
like blind eyes, from the wall.
Fireflies flit in the bush near the
dried-up pond, and bamboo branches
fling their shadows on the grass-
grown path.
I am the guest of no one at the end
of my day.
The long night is before me, and I
am tired.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Gardener X: Let Your Work Be, Bride
Let your work be, bride. Listen, the
guest has come.
Do you hear, he is gently shaking
the chain which fastens the door?
See that your anklets make no loud
noise, and that your step is not over-
hurried at meeting him.
Let your work be, bride, the guest
had come in the evening.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
It is the full moon on a night of
April; shadows are pale in the court-
yard; the sky overhead is bright.
Draw your veil over your face if
you must, carry the lamp to the door
if you fear.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
Have no word with him if you are
shy; stand aside by the door when you
meet him.
If he asks you questions, and if
you wish to, you can lower you eyes
in silence.
Do not let your bracelets jingle
when, lamp in hand, you lead him in.
Have no words with him if your are
shy.
Have you not finished you work yet,
bride? Listen, the guest has come.
Have you not lit the lamp in the
cowshed?
Have you not got ready the offering
basket for the evening service?
Have you not put the red lucky
mark at the parting of your hair, and
done your toilet for the night?
O bride, do you hear, the guest has
come?
Let your work be!
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thy Word
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
When I feel afraid,
And think Ive lost my way.
Still, youre there right beside me.
Nothing will I fear
As long as you are near;
Please be near me to the end.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
I will not forget
Your love for me and yet,
My heart forever is wandering.
Jesus by my guide,
And hold me to your side,
And I will love you to the end.
Nothing will I fear
As long as you are near;
Please be near me to the end.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
And a light unto my path.
Youre the light unto my path.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Sebokarang Villages
Every evening
I always go to the Sebokarang villages
bike to break through the twilight
In the Bamboo threes
and the field of sugar plantantion
its flower blossom, yellow and
to bend in the street
to be fenced in kembang sepatu
and than turn to her hause
the wall of her house made from teakwood
and around her house planted
The Ceplok Piring flowers
in front of the door of her houses
I knocked its with my thremble fingers,
With my thremble heart
Where my blood flow fastly
The evening wind
Blowing softly
And start to be darkness
Its covering the leaf
Eat the tree near the street
Where the people pass and through
So cat run to catch the mouse
the mouse jump
To the path of the villages
I fell loneness
in front of the door
waiting for you
open the door
when the door opened
the light of petromax lamp is lighting
to my eyes wonder
of your smile
from the red lips
open, just open the door
the door of your heart
again and again
till I could stay
in the wide room of your heart
forever
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fog
Old movie morning...
The sun barely breathes, silver & grey colours.
Black & white grass heads, crying dew tears.
The land wakes with mugs of stemming smoke.
Revealing absorbing true shapes
Of tree grey morning bones
Wet tongue on my ears.
Whisper shadow from the lamp light.
Blind eyes draw, unintelligible figures.
Not much to see, on the walls' house.
Trapped in mimic cage.
The fog tricks silver and grey hats.
Of smoking breaths.
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Fullmoon...
In full moon night,
the moon walked
with me with his light.
There was cool breeze,
his light touched
the heads of trees--
and the green darkness,
spread its sheet
over the leas' face.
The moon sat under
a leafy tree....
looking at me with wonder
He told how he does fade,
and the dust, smoke, fog,
cover him with shade!
He wept, and I heard,
until, he slept and woke
listening to the call of bird!
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dark Night
There is darkness everywhere,
the night is darker than black,
strange shadows loom on the wall,
as light flickers and flutters
on the oil lamp
The merciless wind is blowing hard,
harder than ever it was,
sharp like a sword,
piercing and reaming my raw wounds,
the flame on the lamp flutters violently
and then is blown off.
The wind smiles and then suddenly it is gone.
I light my lamp again.
poem by Dr Madhavi Grace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Summer Is Here
I hear the sounds of children at play,
as the sun has turned
the black clouds of rain away.
Summer is here
and laughter fills the air,
flowers fill the gardens
with colour everywhere.
After a hard days work
you feel free,
some will sit the evening out
eyes glued to the TV.
Not for me the little box,
rather an evening stroll.
Then sit to rest
my weary bones somewhere,
letting the cool evening breeze
dance with my hair.
As I sit quietly
absorbing all around.
Watching the sun
sink slowly in the west.
Breathing in the cool evening air,
as night begins to call.
11 June 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Above The Wide Brown Country
Above the wide brown country in the gray evening sky
A black shouldered kite out hunting he hover as he fly
With quivering wings it hover suspended there in space
Scanning the ground for small prey it hangs in the one place.
And then it flies a little and the same pattern repeat
And scans around with it's microscopic like eyes for mouse or frog to eat
All in the depths of Winter it hunts for smaller prey
But most little creatures under cover on a chilly Winter day.
With black bands on it's wings and shoulders and mostly gray to white
The reason for it's common name of the black shouldered kite
In the weakening light of evening it is hunting out late
And may have to go to it's roost hungry as the clock on none does wait.
Above the wide brown country at a quarter after four
In the fading lamp of evening just an hour of light or a little more
Left for it for to make a kill and to ease it's appetite
And it may have to go to roost quite hungry for to spend a hungry night.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Further Bank
I long to go over there to the further bank of the river.
Where those boats are tied to the bamboo poles in a line;
Where men cross over in their boats in the morning with
ploughs on their shoulders to till their far-away fields;
Where the cowherds make their lowing cattle swim across to the
riverside pasture;
Whence they all come back home in the evening, leaving the
jackals to howl in the island overgrown with weeds.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferry when I am grown up.
They say there are strange pools hidden behind that high bank.
Where flocks of wild ducks come when the rains are over, and
thick reeds grow round the margins where water-birds lay their
eggs;
Where snipes with their dancing tails stamp their tiny
footprints upon the clean soft mud;
Where in the evening the tall grasses crested with while
flowers invite the moonbeam to float upon their waves.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
I shall cross and cross back from bank to bank, and all the
boys and girls of the village will wonder at me while they are
bathing.
When the sun climbs the mid sky and morning wears on to noon,
I shall come running to you, saying, "Mother, I am hungry."
When the day is done and the shadows cower under the trees,
I shall come back in the dust.
I shall never go away from you into the town to work like
father.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lands II
I was riding the track to your mother’s lands
And the donkey was growing tired
I came to a camp by the falling day
And sat by the fireside
The black pot was cooking between the smoke
And the men were collecting wood
The split of the branches called into the night
As the women bent over the food
I asked what it was they stirred in the pot
That drew the little dogs so near
The meat was left over from a wedding feast
The corn was brought in by the bride that year
They said, our daughters have left the land
Our children are scarcer than rain
The youngest is married to an Englishman
(And that life seemed so near again)
The lands were empty when I came next day
Your boy and your brother were gone
I drank from the gourds and lit the lamp
And waited for you and the dawn
I woke to the sound of a 4-wheel drive
Pulling a harvester along the track
So I took to the donkey and left you a note
Wondering if we would ever come back.
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Son Of Hickory Hollers Tramp
The corn was dry, the weeds were high when Daddy took to drinkin'
Then him and Lucy Walker, they took up and run away
Mama cried a tear and then she promised fourteen children
I swear you'll never see a hungry day.
When mama sacrificed her pride the neighbours started talkin'
But I was much too young to understand a thing they said
The things that mattered most of all was Mama's chicken dumplin's
And a goodnight kiss before we went to bed.
Oh, the path was deep and wide from footsteps leading to our cabin
Above the door there burned a scarlet lamp
And late at night a hand would knock and there would stand a stranger
Yes, I'm the son of Hickory Holler's tramp.
When daddy left and destitution came upon our family
Not one neighbour volunteered to give a helpin' hand
So let 'em gossip all they want, she loved us and she raised us
The proof is standin' here, a full grown man.
Last summer Mama passed away and left the ones who loved her
Each and every one was more than grateful for their birth
Each Sunday she receives a fresh bouquet of fourteen roses
And a card that says The greatest Mom on earth.
Oh, the path was deep and wide from footsteps leading to our cabin
Above the door there burned a scarlet lamp
And late at night a hand would knock and there would stand a stranger
Yes, I'm the son of Hickory Holler's tramp.
Oh, the path was deep and wide from footsteps leading to our cabin
Above the door there burned a scarlet lamp
And late at night a hand would knock and there would stand a stranger
Yes, I'm the son of Hickory Holler's tramp.
Oh, the path was deep and wide from footsteps leading to our cabin
Above the door there burned a scarlet...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Patterns
The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawL
Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow Little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.
>From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death,
There are Patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath.
Like a rat in a maze
The path before me lies,
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies.
And the pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness fell,
And it's fitting that it should,
For in darknesss I must dwell.
Like the color of my skin,
Or the day that I grow old,
My life is made of Patterns
That can scarcely be controlled.
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Burning Of The Midnight Lamp
Burning of the midnight lamp
The morning is dead
And the day is too
There's nothing left here to greet me
But the velevet moon
All my loneliness
I have felt today
It's a little more than enough
To make a man throw himself away
And i continue
To burn the midnight lamp
Alone
Now the smiling portrait of you
Is stll hangin' on my frowning wall
It really doesn't really doesn't bother me too much at all
It's just the, uh, ever falling dust
That makes it so hard for me to see
That forgotten ear-ring laying on the floor
Facing coldly toward the door
And i continue
To burn the midnight lamp
All alone
Burn
Lonely lonely, yeah
Lonely lonely lonely
Loneliness is such a, drag
So here i sit to face
That same old fire place
Gettin' ready for the sam old explosion
Goin' through my mind
And soon enough time will tell
About the circus and the wishingwell
And someone who will buy and sell for me
Someone who will toll my bell
And i continue to burn the midnight lamp
Alone
Darlin' do you here me callin' you
So lonely
Lonely!
song performed by by Jimi Hendrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Patterns
The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawl
Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little room
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me
From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death
There are patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath
Like a rat in a maze
The path before my lies
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies
And the pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness fell
And it's fitting that it should
For in darkness I must dwell
Like the color of my skin
Or the day that I grow old
My life is made of patterns
That can scarcely be controlled
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
So what are you doing with your life now?
She says
She stares blankly on the wall
She is busy
Counting the lamp posts on the streets
She is so busy
She thinks God is preparing something
Grand for her and she is so busy
Too preparing something for God
Who prepares for her.
I am amazed
I ask her
“So, did you stare long enough on that blank wall
Was it really blank? Did you really stare?
What made the wall so blank? Is the stare really
Worth making on a blank wall?
And how many lamp posts have you counted?
Is the street filled with lamp posts?
How is God? When will the preparation last?
How are you doing with God? Is God busy too? ”
She is a little bit understanding to my way of thinking.
“There you are making a poem again. You have never changed.”
She said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Cherry Tree
Come from your bed my drowsy gentleman!
And you, fair lady, rise and braid your hair,
And let the children wash, if wash they can;
If not, assist you them, and make them fair
As is the morning and the morning sky,
And every tree and bush and bird in air.
The sun climbed on the heights three hours ago,
He laughed above the hills and they were glad;
With bubbled pearl he made the rivers flow
And laced their mists in silver, and he clad
The meads in fragrant pomp of green and gold,
And bade the world forget it had been sad.
So lift yourself, good sir! and you, sweet dame,
Unlash your evening eyes of pious grey;
Call on the children by each loved name,
And set them on the grass and let them play;
And play with them a while, and sing with them
Beneath the cherry bush a roundelay.
poem by James Stephens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Banyan Tree
O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond,
have you forgotten the little chile, like the birds that have
nested in your branches and left you?
Do you not remember how he sat at the window and wondered at
the tangle of your roots and plunged underground?
The women would come to fill their jars in the pond, and your
huge black shadow would wriggle on the water like sleep struggling
to wake up.
Sunlight danced on the ripples like restless tiny shuttles
weaving golden tapestry.
Two ducks swam by the weedy margin above their shadows, and
the child would sit still and think.
He longed to be the wind and blow through your resting
branches, to be your shadow and lengthen with the day on the water,
to be a bird and perch on your topmost twig, and to float like
those ducks among the weeds and shadows.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Dusky Path Of A Dream
IN the dusky path of a dream I went to seek the love who was mine in a former life.
Her house stood at the end of a desolate street.
In the evening breeze her pet peacock sat drowsing on its perch, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.
She set her lamp down by the portal and stood before me.
She raised her large eyes to my face and mutely asked, 'Are you well, my friend?'
I tried to answer, but our language had been lost and forgotten.
I thought and thought; our names would not come to my mind.
Tears shone in her eyes. She held up her right hand to me. I took it and stood silent.
Our lamp had flickered in the evening breeze and died.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lamp
You feed me oil and I continue to burn bright
You blow me out, and choose to taste the night
You stumble your way across my path
And if the winds lug me to the ground, you will feel my wrath.
When the darkness encloses all around you.
When your feet are tired of treading through rain, sleet and snow,
Out from the shadows, I emerge, a bright amber glow.
I've led many explorers, to many a distant shore
Been the center of your christmas decor
I've even brought you from the depths
Of unforgiving friends and shame
One thing that never wavers is my flame
I light up your evening
And warm you while you're dreaming
Many a romantic brunches and fine dines have I been invited to
And sat next to the finest of red wine.
I am a lamp of fine design
But the world has so much darkness now
If I burn, I won't be able to resign
It would
I am a lamp, that refuses to shine.
poem by Nicholas Rahming
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The evening sky to me is like a window, and a lighted lamp, and a waiting behind it.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!