A Leaf Song (imitating V. A.)
the song of the
fallen leaf
remains on the
bank of the river
despite its
sojourn
in the heart of the
sea
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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My river bank
The water hit the bank
Like a wave upon a shore
Happiness just out of reach
Finding that is something you can’t teach
No one to talk to
No one to see
As you can tell just me
I sit alone on my river bank
No happy people passing by as I let out a gentle sigh
I realized I sit alone on my river bank
Unreal happiness in this unreal tournament they call life
I sit alone, isolated on my river bank
I shall always sit alone on my river bank
I will always be alone on this river bank
poem by EmOzEd johnston
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While the river of life glides along smoothly, it remains the same river; only the landscape on either bank seems to change.
quote by Max Muller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River and The Bank
I'm the river
I'm the bank too
There're times the
Bank revolts
Times when the
River overflows
Can't help...!
I struggle
And try reconcile
But when the river side of me flow
Into the sea
I'm an abandoned bank
And a lonely tear
Among the many tears
Flowing in the sea!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Power Of Repetitions
repetitions, you say are
reinforcements, a promise that
there shall be no forgetting between the stalk and the leaf
once upon a tree.
there is this river that runs through us
and i am at the other side of the bank
you do not see me
alone, am i as usual without the song
i gaze upon the leaf and the stalk
i cut across barks
i rub the knife and sculpt the pain
reshaping it for something so practical and
useful
like a statue of the town god
that i everyday
worship purposely to erase the pain
to numb the nerves
of my being, alone, am i,
in the repetitions, i have learned how to live
and then scribble
on those surfaces
debarked and cleaned.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fern
This feathered leaf must have fallen from the hand
of the woman who turned around to see
if her child had strayed too close to the slope
of the fuming mountain or the hunting birds,
and left her footprint in ash that hardened
to rock. A spray of seeds released that noon
remains in the thick air, and this gift:
a leaf trapped between layers of mud
that volcanic fire baked into stone:
drained of light and green, long spasm,
breath dusted with pollen, a net
of veins splayed on an altar
where the river turns in its sleep
and an old woman lights a lamp.
poem by Ranjit Hoskote
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The White Lily
By the river bank
The frogs croak and caress
Hoping along the river bank
From here to there
At a distant
The swallows twitter with fondness
The lilies rupture with the morning sun
The water reeds sway
As the wind blows along
The river bank
But yet....i feel lost
In this scenery of dexteric desires
I feel caught in lifes pedestals
Tender steps i make....
Along the river bank...
Lilies..
The white lily...
That symbolise
The purity of those souls
Enmeshed in lovesframe
The white lily
That symbolise
The fire that burns within circles
The white lily that symbolises
Long lost desires
Re-invented and rejuvenated
In this river of dexteric desires
The white lily
So white...so pure...
By the river bank
I watch the white lily float and dance
Along the river waters
Their is tenderness in the river
The fishes swim with tenderness
The waters flowing
With a lovers moan
Rythmic drums can be heard from afar
Magic everywhere
I sit and stare at the white lily
With a longing yen....
By the river bank.
poem by Jack Shaka
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Painter’s Agony
I want to paint that river
And the scene behind it
The boat and the boatmen
I know everything about
That river
My association with the river
Many a hundred memories
Evenings and sunshines
Floods and slow water
I have lived my life
On the bank of that river
I want to paint
Paint it with the most beautiful colors
I want to borrow some colors
From the colors of paradise
And I love the town
That lives beside the river
Old and dusty
Where shall I take you
In that small town
Every nook and corner
Shall tell you that it knows me
I want to paint that town
In colors of heaven
I want to carry a few children
And take them on a tour
I want to see the town with their eyes
And then go to the riverbank
And meditate for a while
Drink the wine of nature
And get lost into the world of beauty
And flow with the river
Enter every house
My heart throbs in harmony
With every heart in the town
Give me colors divine
Colors from the other world
For I want to paint
That river and that town
(This poem is about a small town on the bank of river Indus)
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Hammock Upon The Winds
there lies sadness like patches of green moss
sticking upon a rock half covered by the clear water of the river
one may think that sadness will always be there as patches of
what we have always wanted to get rid off like peeling them off gently from
an old sharp and rugged edged rock
sometimes you become so tired planning and doing and then surrendering into the helplessness of a fallen leaf that floats and is carried slowly by the current of the river early morning on a Sunday
when people are not around spending holidays on places that they miss for the whole week
and so one lays its tired body on the side of the river's bank
wades his hands and feels the coolness of the water and then starts to flow and release what he thinks must be given away
one feels the restfulness of finally giving up
of not minding about what cares must be done in order to make
life smoother
flowing and easier like the way the brown leaf floats
like the way the blue clouds drift
like the way we let the moss grow
upon the side of the rock
having more wet times with the clear water of the river
having a clearer view of the orange fish within and the shiny pebbles
beneath them
words lull me like i were carried by the hammock upon the arms of the unseen winds....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Fading Laughter
laughing faces
of little boys on the bank
of the river
sounds of running feet
fainting
the song of the river
farther away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Envy....
the woman
undresses herself
like a river
the man
falls like a leaf
and floats there
and then the river
foams
and the leaf
flows with the
river
and then
the moon fades
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Same Place, Same Song...
because the song is played
you have no choice but to remember it
at first you say it is just a song
and you are a man
the song goes on and on
and beneath the song is a big river wanting to end its life joyfully
into the sea
because you are alone
and you have no one to cling to
you follow the river
and the flow goes on and on and on
and then you drown yourself inside that big river
now you have chosen the song
and it has become another part in you
it settles in your heart
and then you pay the bill, do not finish your beer and you go away
to have a dose of fresh air
same boulevard, same walk, but now at a different time
because this place has become
a part of you
and then you drown yourself into said
memory
what a joy can this be
again and again and again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And... The River Runs Through It
Those sweet memories still linger in my mind
The chain of mountains, The birds singing their song,
The outspread meadows...
And the river that runs through it!
I still see us walking along the river bank holding each other's hand.
And as we lie down on the grass, Interlocked in arms, looking at the sky,
The rock sings for us, a melodious song,
As the river runs through it!
I still go there
Sometimes in dreams and sometimes in real.
The birds are still singing and the rock still sings.
Everything is unchanged except the fact that
You are nowhere to be seen.
You have crossed over to the other side of the river,
The outstretched field of heaven!
And as I sit on the grass, sorrow grips my mind
And... The river runs through it!
poem by Arti Honrao
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The River Sings
The river sings
A voice rises above
Fairer than the water, rings
I know you well
For the river has told
All there is to tell
It sung of a maiden
Fair as the water’s song
Her heart heavy laden
Though she sang
Her song was sorrowed
In voice the sadness rang
No words were needed
The river knew
Her voice it heeded
She walked alone
Her gaiety was lost
River, her only home
She listened to the water
Telling a story
Calling her River Daughter
The river sang, through day and night
Sang for her, the only listener
She joined the song, through dark and light
She called to her lover
Come free me!
Called with song and river
poem by Rachel Harris
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Willow Poem
It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,
swing and grow paler
over the swirling waters of the river
as if loth to let go,
they are so cool, so drunk with
the swirl of the wind and of the river --
oblivious to winter,
the last to let go and fall
into the water and on the ground.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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A Leaf Has Fallen
A leaf has fallen on the ground,
Beliefs have solutions that astound;
Every tree that believed in its wood
Shall learn pain from the heavenly adulthood.
A leaf has fallen on the ground,
Solutions do stem from what is around;
All the flowers give messages in the air,
Their overly beautiful appearance is anywhere.
A leaf has escaped from the branches of a tree
As the wind blows on the older apples carefully;
Their sweetness is called ripeness,
It is the quality of happiness.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The River
When my wife died I used to walk alone by the river,
but I don’t go near there any more.
Lost souls who had drowned used to speak to me
of the lives they had once before.
Every time I went they asked me to enter the water,
‘It will clear your mind, ’ they said.
I told them that I had never learned how to swim
and drowning is the only thing I dread.
One early morning I was walking along the river-bank
and the bank collapsed beneath my feet.
I found myself being swept along by the raging current
and saw my wife drowning in the deep.
Several of the dead I used to talk with held me under,
my breath expired and I just sank.
My wife pulled me up from the river’s depths
and a fisherman revived me on the bank.
poem by Orlando Belo
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I Looked and Behold
I looked and behold!
There stood two others;
One on this side of the bank of the river,
And the other on the other side of the bank of the river!
But Yahweh and Yahshua are your very best Friends.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Black Muddy River
When the last rose of summer pricks my finger,
And the hot sun chills me to the bone,
When I cant hear the song for the singer,
And I cant tell my pillow from a stone,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own.
When the last bolt of sunshine hits the mountain,
And the stars start to splatter in the sky,
When the moon hits the southwest horizon,
With the scream of an eagle on the fly,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And listen to the ripples as they moan,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own.
Black muddy river, roll on forever,
I dont care how deep or wide, if youve got another side,
Roll muddy river, roll muddy river, black muddy river, roll.
When it seems like the night will last forever,
And theres nothing left to do but count the years,
When the strings of my heart begin to sever,
And stones fall from my eyes instead of tears,
I will walk alone, by the black muddy river,
And dream me a dream of my own,
I will walk alone, by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own, sing me a song of my own.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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