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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Related quotes
Electric Eel Song
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Take out you’ foot
From the black river water
Haul out you’ hand
Out the slow river water
Stay ‘pon the bank
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Shadow ‘pon the bottom
Is the eel in the river
Something like you’ hand
Is the eel in the river
Swimming like you’ foot
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Foot after foot
Though the black river water
She can’t touch the bottom
Out the slow river water
Shirt like umbrella
In the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Cutlass shape
Is the eel in the river
Black blade or brown
Is the eel in the river
Dozing so quiet
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Slap of a tail
Through the black river water
Shiver like ague
Out the slow river water
As if she take cramp
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
No blood, just a thrill
Is the eel in the river
Lightning bold
Is the eel in the river
And she Drown now, she chilly
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
poem by Slade Hopkinson
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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
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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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River Bank
Along the lonely river back
Where the trees would tower tall
And the earth beneath the sunken stems
Painted brown amongst the fall
Along the lonely river bank
There was shade within each step
A child waiting on the shore
While the clouds above him wept
Along the lonely river bank
The lonely child sat down
He found comfort in his whereabouts
And company made no sound
poem by Eloise Crowther
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River Death
River was
Running...
With water...
Water are
Nice too
Play with sands...
Trees...
Mountain rocks...
Swmming fishes...
Some time jump
With dive and swime...
Sun was see
Face at river water
Mirror...?
moon was
Click the eye
About
The river....
Animals are swimming
Birds also drinking...
People also
Swmming too
Wash the cloths...
River was
Every day run
Simply not sad...
At rainey time...
At winter time...
Summer time
River not run
Stop to stop
Death the river...
Sky cry...
With rain
Run the river...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Fogie forest
The fog is all around me as the tree branches pass my head...
I am running in one direction don't know what's ahead...
I can still hear the water rushing from the river I had passed,
I don't know where I am headed I hope this doesn't last...
I feel like I have passed this place before,
I have seen this tree, and this river bank too.
I stop to hear the trees whisper to me,
One says go left or is it right?
I don't really know, either way it's always night...
I don't know why I was running,
But I have stopped for now...
The fog is getting thiker and I can't see my fingers right now...
I hope I get home soon,
Away from this foggy forest night, and my new cacoon...
poem by Alexandra Greif
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A Child In These Hills
I am a child in these hills
I am away
I am alone
I am a child in these hills
And looking for water
And looking for life
Who will show me the river and ask my name?
Is there nobody here wholl do that?
Well I have come to these hills
I will come to the river
As I choose to be gone from the house of my father
I am a child in these hills
I am a child
Chased from the gates of the city where no one had touched me
I am away
I am alone
I am a child in these hills
And looking for water
And looking for life
Who will show me the river and ask me my name?
Is there nobody here wholl do that?
Well I have come to these hills
I will come to the river
As I choose to be gone from the house of my father
I am a child in these hills
I am a child
I am a child
I am a child
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wild Child
im a wild child
thats what they say
im a wild child
till my dying day
im a wild child
and you wont regret
cuz ill bring a party
that youll never forget
they say that im crazy
that ill never calm down
so you better watch out
when i come to your town
dont listen dont care
you cant controle me
if you know whats good for you
just let me be
cuz im a wild child
thats what they say
im a wild child
till my dying day
im a wild child
and im neva gonna change
im an uncontrolable beast
that you just cant cage
when i was younger they used to
lock me in my room
hoping and praying
that ill calm down soon
they dont understand
that im neva gona stop
i just broke free
somone call a cop
cuz im a wild child
thats what they say
im a wild child
till my dying day
im a wild child
im hell on wheels
dont diss it dont play
till you know how it feels!
poem by Helena Dombrowski
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What A Beautiful Sound
beautiful sounds
that stir the heart
free awakening soul
lift flight sky spirit
sound of river running wide unified flowing
sound of creek running downhill leaping splashing
sound of stillness crisp haunting in still mountain morning
sound of wind timeless moving over through forest trees growing
sound of whispers retracting as first soft snow flutters falling
sound of soft rain tender kissing warm earth embraces water waiting
sound of rain heavy droplets embracing dancing love symphony greeting
sound of storm clouds fast running painting sky black spiraling
sound of thunder freedom singing vibrating through poet laughing
sound of morning awaking to gentle joy of my young daughters laughing
a beautiful sound is bliss joy of young daughters happiness laughing
a beautiful sound is healthy children fed soul wonder bliss laughing
a beautiful sound is our well fed children in joy mind song laughing
a beautiful sound is God smiling with me in child mind song laughing
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Juliana....
on early morning
she walks down the river
leaving all her
coverings on the grass
she wades in the water
naked
as the bamboo trees
bend with the wind
paying homage to her
raw beauty
she plunges into the
cool waters of the river
and the river
takes joy of her body
then she rises
as water drips on her breasts
giving way to her
nipples
as the water cascades down
her abdomen
to her legs
Juliana, the mountain beauty
once i have seen her
under the moon amidst
the trees in the forest
and the virgin hills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There There Child
There there child, there there child
Dont it make you feel alright
There there child, dont it all look good tonight
And you feel like going but you gotta stay
Aint no time for to hop on a freight train
And you feel like laying in the morning hay
cause its time for a nap now, before rain
There there child, dont it make you satisfied
There there child, you can rest your weary eyes
And you feel like walking on a mountain top
Or a ride on a boat up the river
And the last lonely sheep has returned to the flock
As you wing over the white cliffs of dover
There there child, theres a glint in your eye for surprise
There there child, are you ready to don your disguise, yes you are
Sun goes down across the pond and the wind, wind is blowing wild
And the swallow soars and the lion roars
Outside your front door, by the oak tree in the meadow
There there child, there there child
Are you ready to don your disguise
There there child, theres a glint in your eye for surprise
Do you feel like walking on a mountain top
Or ride on a boat up the river
And the last lonely sheep has returned to the flock
As you wing over the white cliffs of dover
As you wing over the white cliffs of dover, straight ahead
As you wing over the white cliffs of dover, straight ahead
You wing over the white cliffs of dover
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind Child Love Embracing
wind child still
I see your joy laughing eyes
wind child still
I see your warm eyes laughing
wind child still
I see your eyes green healing
wind child still
I see an emerald sea your eyes
wind child still
I see your soft dove brown eyes
wind child still
I see your fawn eyes new life running
wind child still
I see your dark black eyes blessing
wind child still
I see your soul dark passion eyes
wind child still
I see your love welcoming eyes
wind child still
I see your smile universe embracing
wind child still
I see your love of God’s creativity spreading
wind child still
I see stars in heaven smile in your soul eyes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Road That Runs Beside The River
follows the river as it bends
along the valley floor,
going the way it must.
Where water goes, so goes the road,
if there's room (not in a ravine,
gorge), the river
on your right or left. Left is better: when you're driving,
it's over your elbow across
the road.
You see the current, which is
what the river is: the river
in the river, a thing sliding fast forward
inside a thing sliding not so fast forward.
Driving with, beside, the river's flow is good.
Another pleasure, driving against it: it's the same river
someone else will see
somewhere else downstream -- same play,
new theater, different set.
Wide, shallow, fairly fast,
roundy-stone streambed, rocky-land river,
it turns there or here -- the ground
telling it so -- draining dull
mountains to the north,
migrating, feeding a few hard-fleshed fish
who live in it. One small sandbar splits
the river, then it loops left,
the road right, and the river's silver
slips under the trees,
into the forest,
and over the sharp perpendicular
edge of the earth.
poem by Thomas Lux
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No One Steps Twice On The River Of Life...
it is not the rage of this river.
when i was a child, as mother says,
i keep my finger inside my mouth
sucked by my throat, to keep hunger away
beside the bank of this river
i am the spectator
and the river believes in the magic
of my innocence
it flows always in a distant
affection,
it is not the rage of the river,
it is i, the grown up man who goes swimming
in the river and feel
the joys of its cool waters
always moving on towards
a destination
it is the swimming with a friend
and then
with a lover and then with a wife
and then my silence,
what we do not have we force to forget
it is the bathing in the river
the rinsing and the cleansing of the waters
it is not the rage of this river
and then we become too weak to be in this river
the river moves on and on
towards the deepest sea looking for the
opening
i wait by the bank of this river
many things have been missed
the more important ones
the one that gives the posterity of
my humanity
it is denied of me because of this river
that gives me nothing
all the while i was the leaf that fell off from
the tree
on the side of this river
and i floated because i have nothing to do
because i can do nothing about
the flow of the river
i become the dead leaf that the air
rides upon
tossed and bumped on boulders
till i sink
deep down the river
that i shall pass only once.
time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rain (Ya-du)
Every where croak
came the frogs out
earth soaked water
saw in morning
first rain was heavily raining.
Filled ponds and tanks
river banks lost
fields sank in water
excess of rain
flooded whole terrain.
Glided farmers
saw better rain
there hoped for good
vegetation
they can grow in the season.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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A Tramp On The Street
The snowflakes fell
like white feathers from heaven
leaving a white blanket on the ground.
He trudged through the lonely streets
with nowhere to go.
A tramp on the street
with only rags to cover his feet,
trying to find a place to sleep
and rest his weary bones.
He passed a frozen river,
it made his cold body shiver
for he could see a pair of hand raise up held
and hear a small voice as it yelled.
Without a moment hesitation,
though barely nothing on his feet
he started to walk
across the sharp iced water
even though the wind fiercely blew.
He had to reach the child
that had fallen through.
He moved as fast as he could
although he was almost crippled.
Reaching down he plucked the child
from the dark waters cold
as the wind blew fierce and wild.
He moved slowly to the shore
as a silent rain began to pour.
Finding shelter beneath some trees
covered the child in what
dry clothes he had.
He forgot about his feet that hurt
as he covers the child
with his ragged coat and shirt.
He made sure the child was warm
before he laid himself to rest.
The child later awoke to find
the tramp stiff and blue
within his snowy bed.
There is no moral to this story
of why one ill treated by society
would willingly forfit his life
so that an unknown child would live.
We can only ponder on the thoughts
that went through his head
as he laid himself down to sleep
on that snowy bed.
12 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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That Quick Little Brown Dog
that quick little brown dog
jumps over the fence
near the bank of the river,
it is not your dog,
but you happen to be there when it
jumped,
over the fence near the bank of the river
into the river
that deep river with a overrunning
of the water
the dog was struggling to swim back
to the safety of the bank
but it failed and the dog was taken away
by the river and
it was gone,
you wonder why until now you think about that
dead dog
it is not yours but it sticks to your mind
as though it is yours
somehow you think as though you own it
and that you feel so painful about such loss
and you cannot sleep
and then you dream about that quick little brown dog
that drowned
it is barking so hard trying to be alive again
you wake up
with lots of cold sweat
somehow you think again
inside that dream
the face of the quick little brown dog
that jumped over the fence
into the deep river
is yours.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mystic Child
It was only the time of the newly born dead
With wispy cobwebs in your head
The polar moon looked out instead
Goin wild
Liquor shifting through the brain
The manic depressive goes insane
Goin wild
Goin wild
Desperate anger hits the streets
By the foul smelling river by the meat market
Goin wild
Mystic child
Goin wild
Mystic child
In the winter with frozen toes
Looking out the big windows
To fly
Goin wild
Situation x out of control
My eyes half opened like a mole
Who smiles
Goin wild
Who smiles
Goin wild
In the mystic morning where the river meets
The hurdy-gurdy of the hip-hop beat
5 a.m. the viscous street
Oh, wild
Goin wild
Out the window like a flash
Fallin through a rooftop crash
Blind
Goin wild
Sick and misty like a pup by the curb
Hes throwin up
Wild
Like a child
Goin wild
Like a child
If he cant have all that relates
To testify that he is great
Hell cut someone with a broken plate
Stand upon the subway grate
And smile
Goin wild
Goin wild
With a smile
Holy morning
Sun is up and someone
Here has lost his cups
The dawn is tattered all cut up
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Like a mystic child
Sunday morning looking down from the rooftop
Goin wild with a smile
Mystic child
Top of the world hes got it made
Rings are gold, braids are jade
Jumped to the street, hes got it made
Goodbye, child
Goodbye, child
Mystic child
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goin wild, ah
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Holy morning
Sun is up and someone
Going wild
Like a mystic, like a mystic, like a mystic -
- child
Goin-goin, goin-goin wild
Like a mystic child
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh, oh
Jumped to the street
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Is The River?
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere else
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or hidden under the ground
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or safe inside the cave
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or still far away
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or up above the cloud
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or out of our reach
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or trickling on the rock
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or gathering in the pool
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or down over the cliff
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or just sight of illusion
Where is the river?
Is it here
Running in your eyes
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or sudden flood in the road
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Evening bells toll in the temple
Evening bells toll in the temple
Birds flatter their wings
the merchant sails off by a distant river
A child weeps
graveyards become cool in the breeze
crown of light falls down in darkness
On the palm sorrowful days clot
the sky breaks down through
the roof of dream
Domestic past settles down on
eyelids at regular intervals of night
fishes move up
in silent watery green
There is the hum of raga gandhara
in darkness
time takes root through the river current
the silent tree of breast revives
Flowing river, yellow waves
water builds up the banks
the lost boat of
hunger, conflict and hesitation
floats in.
Translated from the Assamese by Pradip Khataniar
poem by Prem Narayan Nath
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