The Gardener XIV: I Was Walking by the Road
I was walking by the road, I do not
know why, when the noonday was past
and bamboo branches rustled in the
wind.
The prone shadows with their out-
stretched arms clung to the feet of
the hurrying light.
The koels were weary of their
songs.
I was walking by the road, I do not
know why.
The hut by the side of the water is
shaded by an overhanging tree.
Some on was busy with her work,
and her bangles made music in the
corner.
I stood before this hut, I know not
why.
The narrow winding road crosses
many a mustard field, and many a
mango forest.
It passes by the temple of the
village and the market at the river
landing-place.
I stopped by this hut, I do not know
why.
Years ago it was a day of breezy
March when the murmur of the spring
was languorous, and mango blossoms
were dropping on the dust.
The rippling water leapt and licked
the brass vessel that stood on the
landing-step.
I think of that day of breezy March,
I do not know why.
Shadows are deepening and cattle
returning to their folds.
The light is grey upon the lonely
meadows, and the villagers are waiting
for the ferry at the bank.
I slowly return upon my steps, I
do not know why.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Gardener XIII: I Asked Nothing
I asked nothing, only stood at the
edge of the wood behind the tree.
Languor was still upon the eyes
of the dawn, and the dew in the air.
The lazy smell of the damp grass
hung in the thin mist above the earth.
Under the banyan tree you were
milking the cow with your hands,
tender and fresh as butter.
And I was standing still.
I did not say a word. It was the
bird that sang unseen from the thicket.
The mango tree was shedding its
flowers upon the village road, and the
bees came humming one by one.
On the side of the pond the gate of
Shiva's temple was opened and the
worshipper had begun his chants.
With the vessel on your lap you
were milking the cow.
I stood with my empty can.
I did not come near you.
The sky woke with the sound of
the gong at the temple.
The dust was raised in the road
from the hoofs of the driven cattle.
With the gurgling pitchers at their
hips, women came from the river.
Your bracelets were jingling, and
foam brimming over the jar.
The morning wore on and I did not
come near you.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Lover's Gifts XVI: She Dwelt Here by the Pool
She dwelt here by the pool with its landing-stairs in ruins. Many
an evening she had watched the moon made dizzy by the shaking of
bamboo leaves, and on many a rainy day the smell of the wet earth
had come to her over the young shoots of rice.
Her pet name is known here among those date-palm groves and
in the courtyards where girls sit and talk while stitching their
winter quilts. The water in this pool keeps in its depth the memory
of her swimming limbs, and her wet feet had left their marks, day
after day, on the footpath leading to the village.
The women who come to-day with their vessels to the water have
all seen her smile over simple jests, and the old peasant, taking
his bullocks to their bath, used to stop at her door every day to
greet her.
Many a sailing-boat passes by this village; many a traveller
takes rest beneath that banyan tree; the ferry-boat crosses to
yonder ford carrying crowds to the market; but they never notice
this spot by the village road, near the pool with its ruined
landing-stairs,-where dwelt she whom I love.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Rainy Day
Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the
forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads
against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are
silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river
is haunted by a deepening gloom.
Our cow is lowing loud, ties at the fence.
O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.
Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes
as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain-water is
running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who
has run away from his mother to tease her.
Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.
O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry
is closed.
The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the
water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home
early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.
The evening lamps must be made ready.
O child, do not go out!
The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is
slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo
branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Mans Road
Written by jimmy webb, 1982
Found on the last unicorn soundtrack and your move (french import only).
Horizon rising up to meet the purple dawn
Dust demon screaming, bring an eagle to lead me on
For in my heart I carry such a heavy load
Here I am on mans road, walking mans road, walking mans road
Im hungry, weary, but I cannot lay me down
The rain comes, dreary, but theres no shelter I have found
It will be a long time till I find my abode
Here I am on mans road, walking mans road
Moon rising, disguising lonely streets in gay displays
The stars fade, the night shade falls and makes the world afraid
It waits in silence for the sky to explode
Here I am on mans road, walking mans road, walking mans road
Walking mans road, walking mans road, walking mans road
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lonely Old Road
I went down a lonely old road,
They said was keeping me home,
One day I will know about,
Down that lonely old road I was to be told,
How come no one told me to go down this lonely old road?
I felt that I didn't know anything beyond this lonely old road,
Come to think of it,
I don't because this lonely old road,
Is all I know,
No one told me about this darn lonely old road,
I tried to keep my head held high,
Gravity pressed my head down,
I was walking around,
Saying I'm walking down this lonely old road,
If you should ever see me,
All you have to do is wave that hand of yours,
Telling me to go down this lonely old road,
I might smirk at first,
Because you told me to go down this lonely old road,
But you also heard me out,
Before I went on this journey,
On this lonely old road,
Just know that one day,
I'll get off this lonely old road,
I'll have something to show,
About this lonely old road.
poem by Qeeony Luv
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Will He Be Waiting
I can still see that lonesome road stretched out before me
The road that left me out of his love
I can still feel the tears he cried on my shoulder the day that I told him goodbye
I never should have left him never should have gone oh what a crazy fool I've been
Will he be waiting for me he will be won't he and will he take me back again
Shadows from the streets shade the path that I am walking
As I make my way back up that winding road again
And the smell of my tomorrow fills the air with sweet perfume
My heart beats faster as I'm near my journey're end
I wonder if he's missed me I wonder if he wants me I wonder does he love me still
Will he be waiting for me he will be won't he oh how I hope he will
He will be waiting for me he will be won't he
How could it be his love for me has faded and has died
He will be waiting for me he will be won't he
Oh will I find that this time I'll be the one to cry
Will he be waiting for me
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Road To Hell
Stood still on a highway I saw a woman by the side of the road
With a face that I knew like my own
reflected in my window.
Well
she walked up to my quarterlight and she bent down real slow
A fearful pressure paralysed me in my shadows.
She said: Son
what are you doing here?
My fear for you has turned me in my grave.
I said: Mama
I come to the valley of the rich
myself to sell.
She said: Son
this is the road to hell.
On your journey 'cross the wilderness from the desert to the well
You have strayed upon the motorway to hell.
We'll
I'm standing by a river but the water doesn't flow
It boils with every poison you can think of.
Then I'm underneath the streetlights
but the light of joy I know
Scared beyond belief way down in the shadows.
And the perverted fear of violence chokes a smile on every face
And common sense is ringing out the bells.
This ain't no technological breakdown
oh no
this is the road to hell.
And all the roads jam up with credit
and there's nothing you can do
It's all just bits of paper flying away from you.
Look out world
take a good look what comes down here
You must learn these lesson fast and learn it well.
This ain't no upwardly mobile freeway
Oh no
this is the road
this is the road
this is the road to hell
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man's road
It's a long road,
Oh so sad road,
You think you know,
But you really don't.
How lonely this road can be,
Walking man's road.
You walk down this road,
Is so lonely and cold now,
I knew so may but they left me here,
So now I walk alone
I am a soldier,
Walking down this road alone,
Walking the man's road.
I am a soldier wounded soldier,
I no longer fight,
I walked beside so many,
Now far ahead I can no longer see.
Walking man's road.
I am not counted as a free soul,
My soul is trapped here now and forever more,
A soldier wounded so I must give up the fight,
Now I hear the wind call my name,
I Won't give up now, My family counts on me,
I stand straight and walk tall,
I am free, as the wind that freely blows,
I know now that I must let the wind carry me home.
Walking man's road..
poem by Misty Evans
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Mustard field
One day while walking in a mustard field,
I found a swing hanging on a mango tree,
mustard flowers were swirling with breeze,
birds were singing on tree,
there I found a swing on mango tree,
its ropes were long and thick,
I rode on it,
it moved up in the air like a bird,
and return back to move up there,
I saw a well from up there,
and bird nest on tree on back in the air,
the swing was moving here and there,
it was not aware of who I am,
just it was giving me feeling divine,
without any question or discrimination,
I found joy to fill my heart and I lived that moment like a bird!
poem by Hemu Gupta
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Vocation
When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our
lane.
Every day I meet the hawker crying, "Bangles, crystal
bangles!"
There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no road he must
take, no place he must go to, no time when he must come home.
I wish I were a hawker, spending my day in the road, crying,
"Bangles, crystal bangles!"
When at four in the afternoon I come back from the school,
I can see through the gate of that house the gardener digging
the ground.
He does what he likes with his spade, he soils his clothes
with dust, nobody takes him to task if he gets baked in the sun or
gets wet.
I wish I were a gardener digging away at the garden with
nobody to stop me from digging.
Just as it gets dark in the evening and my mother sends me to
bed,
I can see through my open window the watchman walking up and
down.
The lane is dark and lonely, and the street-lamp stands like
a giant with one red eye in its head.
The watchman swings his lantern and walks with his shadow at
his side, and never once goes to bed in his life.
I wish I were a watchman walking the streets all night,
chasing the shadows with my lantern.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Change Of Color Of The Wind And The Sun
earlier there is this color of comfort
soft light spreading on the grass
pastel green to light green and then
deeper, like a pond covered with
floating moss
stone coated with greenish
river and driftwood floating
in silence
i sit patiently waiting for the coming of the changes
faint light getting stronger the sun rises from the twin peaks
peeping tom between two breasts of green hills
light spreads getting stronger
the lady walking on the path begins to wear her turban
noonday, the shadow becomes short and compressed
flashed against a rock
scorched the grasses stiffen short of the water
the moisture is gone
and then the hot air reigns
there is this silence that keeps running
to the places of the heart
fanning leaves comforting a grieving
man under a mango tree
someone left him
someone is shattered like a very dry leaf
crumpled and cracked and calling for help
the plain is dry and wide
there is no shadow of a horse coming
on the other side of the road
far to the edge of the mirage
there are only watery illusions.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And then there were none
There were ten
Waiting by the road
Ready for a journey
Of an entire lifetime
The ten crossed the lake,
But the tenth was too scared
He left the others to their fates
And departed with some joy.
And then there were nine
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime
The nine walked over a bridge
But the ninth saw a beauty
Pursued her, leaving the rest
And sealed his own fate
And then there were eight
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the gorge,
The eighth saw a tree
Laden with fruits. Hunger
Consumed his life away
And then there were seven
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the mountain
Cold consumed their hearts.
The seventh saw a route
To escape from the way.
And then there were six
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
The trail went on and on
Never showed a sign of ending
The sixth lost all hope
And left the party, disgruntled.
And then there were five
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the desert
Their throats parched
The fifth simply
Lost the will to carry on.
And then there were four
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked by the river..
And the fourth saw
His family dead. Grief
Caused him to kill himself.
And then there were three
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked into the cave
And the third saw gold.
Left the journey and
Retired to a new world.
And then there were two
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked by the plain
Feet overcome with pain
They began to hate the other
And the second lay dead.
And then there was one
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
He struggled to reach the box
His left hand stretched
But at the moment of glory
His wounds killed him.
And then there were none.
Walking by the road,
Consumed by the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
poem by Devdan Vaidyanathan
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A walk
I'm walking down this road, looking for a new way,
Looking to what's ahead, I move without delay,
I'm walking down this road, blind to where it'll take me,
All I know is the past, ain't where I want to be,
I'm walking down this road, hoping to start anew,
I have come so far now, I've got to continue,
I'm walking down this road, toward what I pursue,
Certain that my failure, has been long overdue.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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Wanting The Moon
Not the moon. A flower
on the other side of the water.
The water sweeps past in flood,
dragging a whole tree by the hair,
a barn, a bridge. The flower
sings on the far bank.
Not a flower, a bird calling
hidden among the darkest trees, music
over the water, making a silence
out of the brown folds of the river's cloak.
The moon. No, a young man walking
under the trees. There are lanterns
among the leaves.
Tender, wise, merry,
his face is awake with its own light,
I see it across the water as if close up.
A jester. The music rings from his bells,
gravely, a tune of sorrow,
I dance to it on my riverbank.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Who Will It Be
Who will take care of you when you get older
When you are walking down life’s road
Who will be there, with love and also care
When you, yourself are old.
Who will hold your hand and walk with you
When you are walking down life’s road
Who will be at your side, to be your guide
Who, but only you will know.
Who will carry you if you become to tired to walk
When you are walking down life’s road
Who will carry your weight, and wont hesitate
Who could be that proud and bold.
Who will stay at your side and will not leave you
When you are walking down life’s road
Who will wipe away your tear, and soothe your fear
Who will comfort your mind and soul.
Who will be there with you till the very end
When you are walking down life’s road
When you see the mistakes, that you did make
When your life unto you will unfold.
Who will be there to tell you goodbye
When your journey ends on life’s road
When you take those steps, with sadness and regret
Who will be the one with love to show.
poem by Randy McClave
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song - The Lost Road
We stood together on the seven five
Backs to the fields and eyes wide to the light
My thumb hitched high to the random unknown
I didn’t know where and wouldn’t be shown
We’d learn soon enough we couldn’t go home
We sailed straight into yon white water thrill
Down where the furious waves rose and fell
With no going back, and no turning around
We didn’t know if we’d make it or drown
Or if something worse might soon bring us down
(chorus)
When you were the fire, you were the light
And I was a shadow stealing the night
You were the av’rage and I was the pass
I had momentum and you had the class
Out of the seeds of a circular street
I stood on illusion, you stood on your feet
Across the table we sat with our kind
Breaking the bread with our hands full of time
And gulping down the holy water of self
Too eager like chicks we leapt and we fell
From high window dreams down to the cold earth
I stand alone here o’er this city night
But somehow see only your village light
Off in the far distance beside the lost road
Down by the old Beech tree under the crows
Beneath the moon’s light where we used to stroll.
(chorus)
When you were the fire, you were the light
And I was a shadow stealing the night
You were the av’rage and I was the pass
I had momentum and you had the class
Out of the seeds of a circular street
I stood on illusion, you stood on your feet
A lonely road is that i walked
I walk a lonely road, the one and only one I' ve ever known.
I don't know where it goes, but I keep walking on and on.
I walked the lonely and un trodden road for I was walking on the bridge
of the broken dreams.
I don't know what the world is fighting for or why iam being insticated.
It's for this that I walk this lonely road for I wish to be
ALONE!
So Iam breaking up, breakin' up.
It is the lack of self control that I feared as there is something
Inside me that pulls the need to surface, consuming, confusing.
being called Weird I walk this lonely road for on the verge of broken dreams.
And so i walk this lonely road and so just keep walking still
poem by Pablo Picasso
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Rocking Horse Road
The chains from the bridle and the reins fell from my hands
The engines are idle and the ship sails on dry land
I stood there stupefied, I thought I recognized
Walking down rocking horse road, getting lost
Shot through vaseline, he picks up the paper from the lawn
And tucks the suburban assassin underneath his arm
He smiles weakly and turns away
I know youll never come to harm
Walking down rocking horse road, its so peaceful
Its like a photograph
From the other side of the world
I said I want you only
And then I left you alone
Crying on rocking horse road, or somewhere quite like it
The cemetery gardens, there are names not numbers on the gateposts
And the eyes in the curtain follow you like a smirking ghost
I know I must not look back
cause part of me is waiting still
There on rocking horse road for you
In a little dream house made for two
Well you were the one that made your escape
In your stocking feet and your sticky tape
All the way down [repeat to fade]
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Traveling Through The Dark
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
poem by William Stafford
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Perfidy
Hollow rang the house when I knocked on the door,
And I lingered on the threshold with my hand
Upraised to knock and knock once more:
Listening for the sound of her feet across the floor,
Hollow re-echoed my heart.
The low-hung lamps stretched down the road
With shadows drifting underneath,
With a music of soft, melodious feet
Quickening my hope as I hastened to meet
The low-hung light of her eyes.
The golden lamps down the street went out,
The last car trailed the night behind;
And I in the darkness wandered about
With a flutter of hope and of dark-shut doubt
In the dying lamp of my love.
Two brown ponies trotting slowly
Stopped at a dim-lit trough to drink:
The dark van drummed down the distance slowly;
While the city stars so dim and holy
Drew nearer to search through the streets.
A hastening car swept shameful past,
I saw her hid in the shadow,
I saw her step to the curb, and fast
Run to the silent door, where last
I had stood with my hand uplifted.
She clung to the door in her haste to enter,
Entered, and quickly cast
It shut behind her, leaving the street aghast.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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