Messing
the room is full of litters
the underwear is on top of the headboard
the shoes are far from each others' gaze
dirty clothes roam like wolves
and the bulb lights are filled with dusts
moths are dead
and mosquitoes reign the nooks
cobwebs look like fog
but i know how to paint
something so orderly in my mind
i take the brush of the brain
and the tints of bright colors
it is not denial
but it is just a matter of choosing
what reality i want
i become blind to all these mess
i only select what i must accept
so you see
my world is as beautiful as yours
i sleep soundly at night
as the ants and the scorpions
make their wars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
I'm Losing Sleep Again
Sleep soundly, dear
And do not dream
The nightmares I dream
Sleep soundly, dear
And do not cry
When you wake up to reality
Sleep soundly, dear
And do not believe
You have woken up already
Sleep soundly, dear
And do not stop sleepwalking
Take things slow and steady
Sleep soundly, dear
And do not pretend
I'm sleeping soundly, dear friend
Sleep soundly, dear
And do not lament over
Why I’m losing sleep myself
Sleep soundly, dear
And do not leave me
When you wake up to reality
poem by Dyhanara Rios
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Perfect Crime
the walls have as always been mute
the lizard who sees it left to another ceiling where
there are more mosquitoes
the curtains are dirty too
and dusts and stains make a good companion
and so the only witness left
to testify about the crime that has just been committed is this
cockroach
no one believes what it is telling
no matter how truthful can it be
and with one stroke of the insecticide spray
everything is erased away
the walls wish for a tongue
the lizard comes back and has nothing to tell
the mosquitoes are inside its belly
the curtains are tied with a rope
the dusts are blown by the wind
the stains fabricate another companion
a funeral for the cockroach is done
i am present there, and i too have nothing to say
about the murder
pure white magnolias are laid
on the ground
on that bright day
it rains....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Only Paint The Picture Once
(Teddy Gentry/Randy Owen/Ronnie Rogers/Greg Fowler)
Look at those evening shadows
Casting a peaceful light
The sun is disappearing
It's a beautiful sight
Moments caught forever
By the master's touch
A lasting reminder
To us
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
Love is the canvas
That's where it all starts
A lifetime together
Becomes a work of art
Just look what's been created
Between your heart and mine
Oh I believe that we're one of a kind
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
It's a portrait of life
You can't live it twice
You only paint the picture once
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do Not Lock Yourself In The Room Of Your Past
are you sad and confused,
my dear rat, afraid of the cat?
do not lock yourself
in the room of your past
go up and see the world
of men and women
join their party and run
and dance under their feet
feel the world and see the
world from the top of the roof
see the glittering lights
where the full moon sails
if you must, talk to yourself
and paint some bright colors
to the figments of your imagination
believe, have faith, and always be kind....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dead Man, Dead Man
Uttering idle words from a reprobate mind,
Clinging to strange promises, dying on the vine,
Never bein able to separate the good from the bad,
Ooh, I cant stand it, I cant stand it,
Its makin me feel so sad.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
Satan got you by the heel, theres a birds nest in your hair.
Do you have any faith at all? do you have any love to share?
The way that you hold your head, cursin God with every move,
Ooh, I cant stand it, I cant stand it,
What are you tryin to prove?
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
The glamour and the bright lights and the politics of sin,
The ghetto that you build for me is the one you end up in,
The race of the engine that overrules your heart,
Ooh, I cant stand it, I cant stand it,
Pretending that youre so smart.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
What are you tryin to overpower me with, the doctrine or the gun?
My back is already to the wall, where can I run?
The tuxedo that youre wearin, the flower in your lapel,
Ooh, I cant stand it, I cant stand it,
You wanna take me down to hell.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night workers..
Night is frozen and full of dust,
Nocturnal creatures are out on lust,
Trainee painters colored the earth,
Using the shades of grey at the brush,
A few take the paint in the bucket,
Splatter the darker grey on the forest,
They think to color the rivers of blue,
Adding the grey to the blue, make it dark,
How hard they paint the civilization black,
The lights of men make it bright,
Bored of painting on the roads,
back alleys are pained with what they have,
Forgotten the painting of the sea,
They throw their balance paint and brush into it,
Before they finish the job and get paid,
The cleaner of the earth arrives from the Vacuum,
Sucked in all the dust from the horizon,
The perfectly visible earth emerges,
After the thawing of its all nightly desires.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Stars in the night
Stars in the night,
Shining so bright,
Accompanying a moon,
Which always seems so alone,
Why can't we be like that,
And cut the cobwebs that,
Weakens the human bond,
Makes us feel alone is strong,
Arrogance and ego,
Negligence or so,
Are the cobwebs around,
Pathetic as they sound,
But this true,
For all of us,
We follow them all,
No matter dawn or dusk,
We join the stars,
With imaginary lines,
But can’t join our hearts,
With emotional signs,
A shooting star naturally leaves the sky,
Saying goodbye to all,
And fulfilling our wishes nice,
But we forcefully kick out our stars,
Our Mom and Dad,
Out of the house,
‘Coz spending few bucks on them,
Seems too bad,
We even make our friends,
Using our brain and not heart,
Don’t even mind breaking relationships,
For our good sake and part,
We see the sun,
Giving moon it’s light,
So that we see in the dark,
And moon looks beautiful and bright,
But this way,
We’ll never be,
‘Coz we kick a man downstairs,
So that “he’ll never be as high as me”,
We also grab somebody’s light,
So that we can shine more bright,
And give others darkness of failure,
‘Coz, for us,
Hard work was never an option better,
We see the moon in the dark night,
But never see the reasons behind its beauty and light,
The stars make it look flawlessly white,
‘Coz even it has holes,
If you have a close sight,
So promise yourself to be like these stars,
The sun,
Always helping others to stand,
And even making your own position,
Behave like human,
And not machines,
Make connections with heart and not brain,
And understand each other’s feelings….
poem by Apurva Jain
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Not Fitting In Despite All Those Years
sometimes you envy
the monk in maroon peacefully
crossing the street
somewhere in Ho Chi Minh
or even an earthen bowl half-filled with water
with a jasmine flower floating
upon a very still world
you like to take the brush and some water colors
to paint all these
but it is a little crowded world you have there
there is simply no time for wasting
it's a fast paced lifestyle
the lifelessness of the to and fro
the unstoppable flow
trying to accomplish almost everything
without meaning.
somewhere in a dream
you wish you were the monk
or even
the jasmine
and then you hit your chest with your fist
convincing yourself that at a certain hour
you can be so foolish
still not fitting in despite all those years
'how can you be a beautiful jasmine in a concrete wall?
how can you be the monk in maroon in a public market full of
swindlers and screaming spice vendors? '
amidst the mess, in the middle of the crowd
how can you be a dream?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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R2
i let the darkness of dawn
fade away
as i sculpt metaphors
from the night that
gives me nothing
a restless night
an empty room
on dead lights and
dusty drapes
one from another world
could be another room and
another house
figures out that this must be
one happy world
of ponderous loners and
there are too many of them
worshiping the Word
bowing before no concrete
images
letting themselves be carried
by the fluidity of their own
thoughts: the three faces of time
its 24 nooks,
the fast ferries of its trips
hoping that one sees the
light houses in this dark moments
that in the following morning
when the sun is bright
one can see an island
one arrives at the port of destination
and then disembark
for good.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes
Sometimes sunshine
Does not want to shine on me
And sometimes I find myself blind
At first I cannot see and then I see its me
I chose a road when I was young
In search of fun temptations won
And all my soul I did surrender
If I had a chance to back now
Would I redeem my moral vows
Or would I repeat for my own laughter
Sometimes I hide somewhat
Like a bulb behind a shade
And sometimes I ask myself why
Is it cause the lights are too bright
Or because my eyes are closed too tight
Sometimes I find myself blind
Dont use my brain dont use my mind
Distorted feelings always leading my way
But I must forgive myself
And let the past lay down to rest
And be prepared to face myself in another day
From now on I will behave
But in the back of my mind I will be enslaved
song performed by by Gwen Stefani
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mad Wolves
Wolves running wild
Beast and beauty,
Howling full moon instigates
The dead to rise above
And watch us as to
Try and cause some
Paranoid state so we
Don’t disturb their eternal
Bliss.
These wolves,
Mad wolves, brute in
Nature.
Howling at full moon they
Are transformed in beauty and
Beastly eloquent hunting manner,
The calling of the dead to rise.
These wolves, dead wolves
And humans too kill to
Survive.
Then sleep
When the sun rises over Atlantic
Coast.
poem by Randy Briggs
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A Golden Memory
When I was a young child
about five to seven years of age.
I noticed the neighbour's trees
were dirty and sooty and black.
Black with smoke chimney coal dust.
The bark was ugly dirty and black
the leaves were ugly dirty and black.
And barely green if at all in most places,
except a little on the side facing the sun.
The sun I saw as a beautiful yellow light.
Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were really tall shrubs, but I was but still
a young child, with much to learn in this world,
ruled by mean men. Magic and the elfin language,
still danced like sparkling stardust in my eyes.
Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were so sad dull black lifeless and ugly.
I took a bright yellow lively house paint.
And painted the trees yellow bright golden yellow,
in all sad places I could short armed easily reach.
But I also got paint on my hands face clothes.
In my wonderful joy I got paint on my clothes.
My apparently best going to town best clothes.
My mother punished me for painting the trees.
And the leaves a bright joyous yellow colour.
For making a small part
of this dull adult world.
A golden magical shinning
bright fairy glade place.
For painting making a small part
of this dull adult fading world.
A golden orb magical shinning
bright mystical fairy glade place.
For trying to make the tired
world a better magical place.
Thus were childhood dreamers
often beaten into submission.
By those who failed to see
the divine presence in dreams.
By those who failed to see
the magical sparkle in dreams.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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RareGifts
What rare gifts for my Aussie-friend I had?
Ants, mosquitoes and scorpions will be bad
even if they don't have,
for the bacterias to save.
But Indian healthy thoughts their minds invade.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Rare Gifts
What rare gifts for my Aussie-friend I had?
Ants, mosquitoes and scorpions will be bad
even if they don't have,
for the bacterias to save.
But Indian healthy thoughts their minds invade.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The Available Are The Notable
In a hall, lit with a bulb and a lamp,
Moths smother the brightest.
The bulb off, moths go to the lamp.
Love catches the available
31.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Good Night Old Self
unlike before,
when i unlock a door
in a house where i have lived all alone
for years
i feel like crying
hearing the sound of the living room
in the anguish of the
silence that it has never chosen
there is always the imagined sound of rain and
it is eerie
there is a spiteful
space that is always trying to strangle you
a hollow hole inside
my guts
i must have gone beyond the demarcation line
or i must have jumped that fence
having grown longer
these pair of legs that have outgrown the
looseness of corduroy pants
now it is different
i feel the content of having to accept that when i was born
i never had a twin
now the silence of this room is comforting
telling me that the crowd in fact does not serve
but chokes you as well
with whatever whims it has
what to do with my life
or where to do things the way they should be properly done
i am fed up with all these dictates of the mob
i have proclaimed that i am a different reality
in fact more beautiful than the face of the average
the many, the crowding people
as i open this door, i hear the song of my own silence
sweeter than ever
i leave my dirty shoes
take off my stinking socks
i lie my body on the soft sofa
and take my sleep
i don't even need a television to make my eyes
weary and
thus have the much needed sleep.
good night old self. I shall dream anew.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sometimes
Sometimes sunshine
Does not want to shine on me
And sometimes I find myself blind
At first I cannot see and then I see it's me
I chose a road when I was young
In search of fun temptation won
And all my soul I did surrender
If I had a chance to go back now
Would I redeem my moral vows
Or would I repeat for my own laughter
Sometimes I hide somewhat
Like a bulb behind a shade
And sometimes I ask myself why
Is it 'cause the lights are too bright
Or because my eyes are closed too tight
Sometimes I find myself blind
Don't use my brain don't use my mind
Distorted feelings always leading my way
But I must forgive myself and let the past lay
down to rest
And I'll be prepared to face myself in another
day - hey
From now on I will behave
But in the back of my mind I will be enslaved
From now on I will behave
But in the back of my mind I will be enslaved
Sometimes sunshine
Does not want to shine on me
And sometimes
song performed by by No Doubt from No Doubt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The obsession
A room is lit at night with
A bulb of a thousand watts,
A bulb of a hundred watts,
A zero watts and a candle.
Let them go off one by one
In that order and still
The room will be obsessed
With the moonlight leaking in.
It cannot be with peace
Because all lights went off.
03.11.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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What Could Hurt We Refuse To Say
we sleep because we are too
exhausted
not really because we are enslaved
by the king of
working ants
but we are
we have become the masters
of too much worries
preoccupying ourselves with
this state of
unfeeling
this loneliness that has dawned in our
days
widely awake to an unacceptable reality
dressed in such a fashion of
denial
afraid that we shall be the first breakers of
the law of tradition
people shall mock us at the sacred
places
scared and scarred for soon
we shall be ostracized like
over-sized ostriches
our heads cannot be contained in closed cages
we want to fly
but we are too big for flight
we sleep because we are too exhausted with the sameness of our faces
years have made us twins
and we do not really like it
we need more moments of silence to make a wall
to ship us away from an ocean of familiarity that is killing
what we want to want in love
there is no fire where we sleep
we are cold sculptures heavy in our bed
dusts have accumulated on stuffed arms
teddy bears that need to be thrown away back to the forests
our words are enough to promulgate its judgment
we still like it when we hesitate to say and choose not to say
what hurts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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