En.Citatepedia^®.ro

At The Cemetery

last Friday
i went to the cemetery

i like the silence of the place
the trimmed grass
and the tiled mausoleums

the air is warm on this cemented
territory
this silent city
this paradise of mutes and
rested souls

i like the creeping vines with white flowers
and reddish center
i envy the stones and the pebbles
i appreciate the grills and the shiny
engravings
metallic dates of death and birth
and the last epitaphs of the
beloved

but like you
i do not wish to stay that longer
it is not my time yet
as i still have other places to go
the noisy ones
the intriguing places of the heart
those where we lose ourselves
and wish sometimes
that homes be not that far away
that lights in the living room and the kitchen
still function well
the odor of the fried bananas
the aroma of coffee
the smoke from their tobacco pipes
the smell of perfume on slender necks
the silk in their gowns
the colors of their eye shades
the movement of their hands
the activity of our worlds
on their orbits our bodies as planets
in our living universe.

we offer flowers for the dead
we wish them luck too
and we keep on moving somewhere
not losing hope
keeping the grip for life
whatever that be.

the marital bed of course
keeps the central point of this existence.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Doorway

When you gave your love to me, I never gave you chains.
If you need to prove youre free.
My love for you remains (you know my love stays)
Love is not a prison cell.
True love can never die
Theres nothing that you shouldnt tell
You never have to lie (to me you shouldnt)
But if you have to keep something inside you.
You know Ill never want to steal it away
I respect your territory.
Hope theres room in world for me.
Is there room in your mind to see.
A doorway ? if you say
Blood is pumping through my heart.
And flowing through my veins.
All it keeps me living for.
The love that is sustains (you now I never).
Time stopped when I saw your face.
And if it start Ill cry
The universe is in your smile.
Is heaven in your eye ?
But if you have to keep something inside you.
You know Ill never want to steal it away
I respect your territory.
Hope theres room in your world for me.
Is there room in your mind to see.
A doorway ? if you say
I respect your territory (you need your territory.)
Hope theres room in your world for me (find a place in your world for me).
Is there room in your mind to see (I want a doorway).
A doorway ? if you say.
I respect your territory (you need your territory.)
Hope theres room in your world for me (keep a place in your mind for me ? ).
Is there room in your mind to see (I want a doorway).
A doorway ? if you say.
I know you need your territory (you need your territory.)
Is there room in your world for me (cant you see what it means to me ? ).
Hope theres room in your mind to see (I need a doorway).
A doorway ? one fine day (I want a).
I respect your territory (you need your territory.)
Hope theres room in your world for me (cant you find a place for me ? ).
Is there room in your mind to see.
A doorway ? if you say (I want a doorway).
I respect your territory (I need a territory.)
Hope theres room in your world for me (cant you find a place for me ? ).
Is there room in your mind to see (I want a doorway).
A doorway ? (I want a, I want a, I want a doorway).
If you say.

song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Flowers

ı do not like fake flowers
having no soul and odor
dry and like ice
they gaze with their icy..cold eyes
they tray to smell
but only in imitation
but have no smell or odor
ı n the natural flowers
you find the all the mixture and voices
of the colors and the odors
they smell
like a beloved..like a comrade..like a mother
and they flow into you
like a colorful fountain
one is man made
the other GOD made
one wavers and boasts ''ME..ME..MEE..
the other gives real friendship and love
and GOD..the one who looks at us
and protects us from above
Ali TURK KESKIN....translatı on Metin Ş AHIN

poem by Metin Sahin
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Smelling The Flowers

(8/17/12)

Always looking at the clock, wondering about the hour
Never stopping to smell the flowers.
There was a time that life was at a slower pace
Now it seems we're always in a race.

The one thing that I know is that we don't
Spend enough time to watch our children grow.

I saw my marriage failing because I was
Too busy running around, as she looked at me
Without making a sound.
You can keep quite to a certain point in life
then she explodes, and it's not very nice.

The closeness that you knew seems to be
Fading away -and with you she doesn't want to stay
That is when you realize that your fires have to be rekindled
No ashes will you see - for this love will not be a faded love
In the books of history.

We then reaffirmed it in our minds
That this love would last for a very long time
And when our bodies became entwined
It was like sharing a bottle of wine.

We savored the juices as they flowed
For we had become connoisseurs
this much we know.

I started to smell the flowers as I did
In my younger years, as for losing my wife
I no longer have that fear.

SLOW DOWN AND SMELL THE FLOWERS!

poem by Louis Rams
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How slowly the days creep by [1]

Maybe for a time I have been dead
and are living in someone else’s dream
or illness paranoia in this silent existence,
where I cannot any more make love or find it
as if I am already in the realm of death
and too slowly time continues to creep by
as if every thing has come to a deadly halt.

To nowhere I can turn
and daily I am wondering
about the reason of my existence
and the purpose of everything
and nowhere there is hope
that can let the darkness around me
pass a little quicker
while I am haunted.

Or maybe there are gods that are voluptuous,
that have got to beg nymphs
for their sexual favours
while I am lost in my madness
and do not write great words anymore
and they are now visiting other places
rather than my poems
as if something in me, maybe something intangible
wards them off from me and are refusing them
and they echo their mighty words
out at other places

and their roaring and jollification resounds around me
while they have pleasure and are enjoying themselves
to which I can only yearn
and in this hell I have to stay shackled.

Now lock your hands around me
as if nothing can every loosen them
and let your lips find mine
and bind us in sensual passion
that when death’s fingers grab for me
I for a last time
hear your heart beat
and you surround me for a last time lovingly.

[Reference: Wie langsam kriechet sie dahin by Heinrich Heine.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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How slowly the days creep by

Maybe for a time I have been dead
and are living in someone else’s dream
or illness paranoia in this silent existence,
where I cannot any more make love or find it
as if I am already in the realm of death
and too slowly time continues to creep by
as if every thing has come to a deadly halt.

To nowhere I can turn
and daily I am wondering
about the reason of my existence
and the purpose of everything
and nowhere there is hope
that can let the darkness around me
pass a little quicker
while I am haunted.

Or maybe there are gods that are voluptuous,
that have got to beg nymphs
for their sexual favours
while I am lost in my madness
and do not write great words anymore
and they are now visiting other places
rather than my poems
as if something in me, maybe something intangible
wards them off from me and are refusing them
and they echo their mighty words
out at other places

and their roaring and jollification resounds around me
while they have pleasure and are enjoying themselves
to which I can only yearn
and in this hell I have to stay shackled.

Now lock your hands around me
as if nothing can every loosen them
and let your lips find mine
and bind us in sensual passion
that when death’s fingers grab for me
I for a last time
hear your heart beat
and you surround me for a last time lovingly.

[Reference: Wie langsam kriechet sie dahin by Heinrich Heine.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Flowers - Giving It All Away B-side

Renegades and shifting shades
And the lights in your face
And you friends talk lying
But some of them got flowers in their room
When its on and youre falling on every floor
That youre hoping to score
And youre every night ? ? ?
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
Hear the word that the man on the stairs
Knows your every affair and is holding your hand
And he says some of them got flowers in their room
And he screams in a face
But the smile on the face is cool and its cold
And it reads vacated
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And I take someone home and I cant be alone
And theres faces to please and I walk on the knees
Oh you see, I got no flowers in my room
And I laugh with my mouth and I laugh with you
But the joke was a joke that I never really knew
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room

song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God's Anatomy

God's body has got the best throne
God's body can freely move around
Inside God's glow
God has got a chair of artificial glow
Skies are also artificial glows of God
But it is the biggest
The universe is inside it
And it is inside God's original glow
God's original glow is called God's mind
And it is the eternal space.

Glow is mass having least density
Glow is space
Everything that exists has glow
God's glow exists because of
Gravitational Force of God.

God's mind is round and still
Because the core of God's body
Is absolutely frozen and dead
It always remain at the center of God
No matter where God's body goes
Around it some slightly loose souls exist
Heart of God's body
Consists of these two layers of mass
As a result of gravitational force
God's heart tends to become smaller
But space of anything cannot be nil
For this reason
An outward repulsive force exists
That creates never-ending heartbeat of God
God's heartbeat Allah Allah sound
Goes on forever at the center of God
Everyone's soul's pulse is also Allah Allah sound.

God's body remains at the center of God's mind
Most of the times as a Round Living Thing
When God expands His visible glow
He makes His body the Most Beautiful Thing
God's body has a pimple on His face
It's His beauty spot
It's the symbol of bad things
God's body has got
Minimum bad odor
And overwhelming good odor
That's why
God's body is fragrant
God's body puts on clothes
To look more beautiful
God's body puts on crown on His head
To look Most Perfect.

The center point of God is just above paradise
Where Prophet Mohammad met God's body
On the Night of Ascending To God
God's visible glow remains near His body
God's invisible glow is at distant places
From His body

God's body is the most solid thing
God's body is made of tiniest particles
Tiniest particles are souls
Owing to Gravity there are some loose particles
On the surface of God's body
That's why He can create things

Artificial glows of God are made of tiniest particles
There are seven skies
Skies are like bubbles
One above the other
From smaller to bigger
The uppermost sky is the biggest
At each connecting point of skies
There is a gate of sky.

Time exists
Because of change and movement of matters inside Space
From point of view of time God is infinite.

N.B.- The Night of Ascending To God is the Night of Meraj.

poem by Asif Andalib
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Spring

See how new green shoots
and branches and leaves
and flowers appear
and the green grass
rises everywhere,
the gods had set a part
of Eden here.

Hear the birds
sing and cheer
and see them fly past
and follow the white-hot sun
while the rays comes to stay
for a longer time.

Smell the first rain
and wild flowers
in the fields
and get thrilled
by the sweet scent
that every flower brings

Abide with me
as the trees dress fit
for a royal wedding
and new life
appears from where it hides
and realise that Spring
is a living thing.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Dreams of Un-forbidden

I used to dream
Dream of places with endless skies
Dream of places with high mountains
Dream of places with low clouds
Dream of the place I am living in

But nobody dares dream here
Here is the place
Where the men have no hope
Where woman walk without a soul
Where children’s laughter
No longer bounces off the walls

This is my home
And I have no shame
Even when I roam
To the places so hidden
I wish it to be the un-forbidden

poem by Jackie Emley
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Of Him I Love Day And Night

OF him I love day and night, I dream'd I heard he was dead;
And I dream'd I went where they had buried him I love--but he was not
in that place;
And I dream'd I wander'd, searching among burial-places, to find him;
And I found that every place was a burial-place;
The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is
now;)
The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago,
Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead
as of the living,
And fuller, O vastly fuller, of the dead than of the living;
--And what I dream'd I will henceforth tell to every person and age,
And I stand henceforth bound to what I dream'd;
And now I am willing to disregard burial-places, and dispense with
them; 10
And if the memorials of the dead were put up indifferently
everywhere, even in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be
satisfied;
And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse, be duly
render'd to powder, and pour'd in the sea, I shall be
satisfied;
Or if it be distributed to the winds, I shall be satisfied.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Conceit and Deceit

what i have in my hands
are only stones

if you search for more
pebbles

my mind can give you
but first

you must entice me
with a flower in your hand

for you to have stones
that soon will grow you

some leaves of sand
that soon shall show you

how pebbles can be flowers
too

what you have are only
flowers

a little bit lighter than
the twigs of their source

what i have in my hands
are pebble that give us weight

yes, weight is wisdom
and they are all stones

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Life Is ~ The Stones Under My Feet

Life is the stones under my feet
All the places I've walked
All the places I haven't
They say something about who I am
The pebbles that I pick up to toss in the ocean
The boulders I've sat on
The skipping stones I throw across the lake
Gravel and sand
And cobblestone streets
Places with history
Places where history is about to be written
And what it has to say for my history
All those stones that I've crunched
Under my boots
Or sandals
Or sneakers
Or just my bare feet
Walking carefully
And there occasionally is a piece of glass
When I cut myself I bleed
But I heal in the end
Then I get up to walk on more stones
Because life is where you choose to walk
And where you don't

poem by Indigo Rosedragon
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A Pavement Cafe

In the café where I sit I can see the village’s church, nice building
typical Portuguese architecture and painted white. I walked inside
it once, didn’t like that so much, as it had dark corners and whiffed
of sins not yet forgiven. It is quiet here now as the people prepare
for winter sleep in damp houses. There are a few tourists about
mostly elderly bad on their feet. The church bell tolls one o’clock,
it is good to know time even in Paradise. Today I will go for a walk
in the village’s cemetery a lovely place full of flowers and often
with pictures of the departed when they looked ruddily healthy
and the claw of death had yet to touch them; and I mustn’t forget
the good silence. Whatever the argument was it means nothing
anymore. The waiter brings me a coffee and a sly cigarette which
I smoke with guilty pleasure, yet looking out for my doctor he often
comes here for his coffee. Yes, this is another perfect day.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Little Mistake

Little mistake did cost us heavily
Enemy had planted it deadly
Within a second it shattered human bodies
Flash was flown all over and bodies rushed in ambulance Lorries

It took no time to play havoc
No one could believe it as joke
There were loud sounds in different places
There were worries and anxieties on the face

The terror had deeply struck
People had run out of luck
There was no time left for finding shelter
The death was as if running after

Within seconds it turned into death zone
All were lifted one by one
Rushed to the near by hospital for immediate relief
It was indeed shattering our belief

How can human being kill a living person?
That to without knowing any reason
You have not met a person in whole life
Suddenly he is done to death with bomb and knife

I think we have dared almighty
He may have no room for pity
The indulgence in wrong way may certainly bring misery
Where you will find person ready to suck blood and act as thirsty

Time is not far away when we may not venture out of home
You will find R.I.P places and only domes
Who will want to stay in this slaughter house?
When there is nothing except passions to rouse?

Let us not forget one thing
Whole world can’t be annihilated for anything
One day may come when you will be hated
With butcher you will be praised and equated

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Relaxation Of A Native Woman

the night is very cold here
on top of Mt. Malindang

the old woman sits on the ground
(there are no chairs here)

puts her arm on her knee
and begins to roll a
leaf which she dried under
the sun the whole day

she tears a small portion of the tobacco leaf
rolls it on the other leaf and then she
lights the roll on the gas lamp

she puffs her smoke
to the moon.

everyone understands
what silence is all about

there are no more stories
from exhausted bodies

the souls are rested
on top of wilted grass

and then everybody is
fast asleep
for tomorrow's same work.

i am new here and i
am beginning to understand

what is this big mountain
all about?

why is it here
and why the people are not
at all complaining?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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393

Do not be surprised now in these dark times
I have no fears
Nothing is late for you to play with me
In this dark room
Or outside where there is no moon
Where the only presence we know
Are our words without our bodies
Our sounds of endearment
There are no eyes not even the nose
Sometimes the hands
When occasionally
You learn to touch me

When mothers celebrate life
Or fathers take pride in their posterity
The names of their children and grandchildren
Their grand place in this world
We cannot take part
We cannot even watch
We turn into moles
They belong to the center stage of life
And the sun shines on all of them
Except us

Did we choose this place
Where the trees do not have fruits
Where the shrubs do not have flowers
Where the root crops do not have any flesh?
Where the vines do not have the perfect tendrils?

We did not
We wanted to live just like them
Or anybody else
We have asked the questions
They do not have the answers
I see your face blankly staring at the window
On this dark night
I pity you
I have the answers but I will not tell you
It is getting late and we need
The sound sleep we too deserve
We have more nice places inside our dreams

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Points of contact

We travel and keep moving
Each time you move ahead
You should have stepped at a point
Ensuring the grip of the point
You might have pushed ahead
And you make your next step
After reaching the next point of contact
You push ahead
Exerting the force of the push
On the point of contact

The more frequently you
Meet the points of contact
The faster is your movement and going ahead

The point of contact acts as fulcrum
That ensures your push becomes a movement
Thus, you will agree,
Points of contact
Help you move
Regardless of the direction
And regardless of the destination

Quality of your movement
Depends a lot on the
Quality of the points of contact
A slippery, less firm point of contact
Makes you slip
And end up with failure
Your journey terminating not
Helping you reach the destination
Despite all your skills
And efforts towards pushing ahead

You understand that
Points of contact need your attention
They need nourishment
Maintenance and care

The Point of contact need not be
Just a material or stone
Or a step in a ladder or staircase
It can also be a person
Who helped you in your movement
Some time, some where and some how

It is also a requirement
That you be in touch with them
Demonstrating your care and love for them

Your life journey
Either through vocational career,
Or through domestic living
Or through places
Require the blessings of points of contact

Take care of them
Nurture them
Ensure that they are fit and strong enough
To carry your weight
And help you go further ahead in life

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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for Miguel

when you left
there was this delusion of white mustache
this baldness that is too consuming
for those who want
to be always young

i was then a little boy
crying on a velvet blue sofa

i was aware of what was said
from grandpa's mouth in fact

there were scribbles in my heart
like some claws of birds

you do not have to come back
to point me the way you passed

i am still aware about those pains
having loved solitude

there was this party in the house
when i was sixteen and there were hands

slapping your face and i too bleed a lot
having known you much better

on your deathbed
i am still aware of the things to come

i know the secret passage
and along the way i pick you some white flowers

it is bouquet of flowers that i must offer to you
because you understand my pains too

this is our world of pains
we exit soon only to be parted again

and we say we understand the flight of the fireflies
how their lights are drowned by the rain

how the leaves finally find solace
in the silence of utter darkness when we finally find

the truth of this existence
the life after

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My world is beautiful!

My world is beautiful,
My worlds are beautiful,
Always it will,
Life is full of Nature's bounties
My sweet mother caress and
cares me,
Me and my friends, We look beautiful with what she
gave us,
We make our world happy and
beautiful,
Not worrying,
what she didn't give! I and my friends play hide and
seek,
Colourful butterfly,
Hide behind Flowers,
How thrilling to find these flying
flowers, butterflies dancing to my Heart's silent song! Flowers filling perfume to air,
Adding colours to life,
Shining Sun make them bright,
Lonesome dove sings at dawn,
Goodmorning dear,
Wake up and look at the world, sailing clouds say,
' have a nice day'
Gentle breeze keeping us cool,
Plants swing to my silent song! Flowers smiling in my lap,
Filling my heart with joy,
Dove fly around me and sings in
ears,
Look at smiling innocent flowers,
They smile at you, Though you kill them,
Separating their mother,
Listen to silent cry of plants,
Silent mourning of butterflies,
Can't you mourn,
yes now I am mourning and my heart weeps at death of smiling
flowers! Taking oath in presence of my
friends,
'Never will I kill flowers '!
my days will be more happy and
nice,
With playful smile of flowers!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Treat Myself

Theres a place I can go
When the tensions high and Im feeling low
In a falsh I can be in an another space
As a different me, have a new id.
I think Ill treat myself to all the pretty places in my head
Yes, Im going to treat myself to all the pretty places in my head
Theres no rich, theres no poor
Everything is love, no such word as war
Theres no black and no white
Rainbow colors they, dress the days and nights, lifes a paradise
I think Ill treat myself to all the pretty places in my head
Yes, Im going to treat myself to all the pretty places in my head
Its amazing how the mind
Can do what you want it to
It can take you to a time
Where youll want to stay forever
Feeling everlasting pleasure
If your lifes in a place
That you can hardly bare
Come along with me to mental ecstasy
I think Ill treat myself to all the pretty places in my head
Yes, Im going to treat myself to all the pretty places in my head
(repeat)
(backgrounds) whatsoever things are lovely
Whatsoever things are pure
Whatsoever things are honest
Whatsoever things are true (repeat)

song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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