Morning after morning he opens my ear that I may hear; And I have not rebelled, have not turned back.
that red ant is too small
for the mountain of
a grain of steamed rice
cold grain
alone on the floor
but he carries it
for something useful in
mind
for the queen
never has it resisted
a challenge
to serve
it does not have a back
to turn
in silence
it carries the burden
ears as antenna
detecting what must be kept
for good
for use
for other's consumption
it does not eat
whatever it finds
it simply does its duty
and gives
that is his treasure
must we too
open our ears
receive those messages
not keeping
any wisdom like a treasure
in the islands of
our convoluted brains
and simply giving
what we find
to all those thirsty
minds?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
See and Understand
I want you to see and understand
The burden on my heart and brain
The burden which weigh more than my body
The burden which weigh more than the mountains
The burden that no one else can feel, except me
The burden which vague everything, even me
But
Everything is invisible and hidden behind so many curtains
Whenever I try, something stops me to be open in front of this world
May be this world don't care and don't want to see, what's inside
Thoughts and tears are my biggest treasure
The treasure no one can steal
Because no one wants to be under that burden
I want you to see and understand my silence as well
Because this silence wants to reveal a lot of things
This silence wants to be heard and fell
It is killing me, it's want to be free and this silence wants to fly in the sky
This silence which is getting rebellious now
This silence don't want to be controlled
It's making me helpless and weak
It wants to be broken now, like a mirror
And every shattered piece of that mirror will be unique
Understand my silence
poem by Talat Jehan
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Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 18
A royal prince, having inherited abundant treasures from his father, opened the hand of liberality and satisfied his impulse of generosity by lavishing without stint benefits upon the army and the population.
A tray of lignum aloes will emit no odour.
Place it on fire, it will smell like ambergris.
If thou wishest to be accounted great, be liberal
Because grain will not grow unless it be sown.
One of his courtiers began heedlessly to admonish him, saying: "Former kings have by their exertions accumulated this wealth and deposited it for a useful purpose. Cease this movement because calamities may arise in front and enemies in the rear. It is not meet for thee to be helpless at a time of necessity."
If thou distributest a treasure to the multitude
Each householder will receive a grain of rice.
Why takest thou not from each a barley-corn of silver
That thou mayest accumulate every day a treasure?
The royal prince turned away his face at these words and said: "God the most high has made me the possessor of this country, to enjoy and to bestow, not to guard and to retain."
Qarun, who possessed forty treasure houses, perished. Nushirvan has not died because he obtained a good reputation.
Treasure
Treasure each moment together.
You never know when
the moments will ever end.
Treasure each other’s love
to prevent it from
ever slipping away.
Treasure everything in your life.
Guard it carefully
in case one day it simply fades away.
19 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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A Little Sunshine
a grain of rice
on a table cloth
beside
a cup of hot
coffee
imperceptible
but when a connection is found
soon
the spoon and fork
shall understand
some pieces
no matter what
do not fit
on a reasonable landscape
what is the grain of rice
doing on a breakfast table?
your mind is furious
i think it is cool
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Weight of the Wind
The wind carries much more than we see
It carries a lot of what makes you and me
The wind blows and carries lies
Around the world it carries cries
We don't hear nor see any of these things
We don't know or feel what the wind brings
The wind carries the wishes and dreams
The wind carries promises down streams
On it lays our secrets we hold inside
Also the love for others we try to hide
It carries so much oh how I wish to know
With all that weight how can the wind blow?
poem by Mathew Welch
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Do not expect too much
This is it, this is poetry
Written by this man
He is looking by his window
To the world like a little boy
Still wondering, scribbling
Some figures of man and
Superman, putting them wings
Imagining that soon they will fly,
Do not expect too much
I myself do not have wings
I do not promise you any
I am simply writing the view
The green ricefields I do not
Have rice for you to cook I do
Not have water for you to drink
I have these words, only you
Can convert them to steamed
Rice to cakes to bacons to ham
To fish to sea to clouds to sun
Or simply coffee for you to sip
When you still hunger for breakfast.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: Parables of Jesus: Grain of Wheat
Unless a grain of wheat is sown in soil,
And dies, decays, transforms, gets life anew,
And sprouts into a sapling through one's toil,
It cannot grow to bear fruits that are due!
The grain of wheat remains as such, if not:
Like selfish men who will not do God's will;
Serve God usefully, they simply cannot,
Nor granary at harvest-time, they fill.
Like grain of wheat, men have God's will to do;
Like Jesus, they must carry cross till death;
Like Saviour Christ, they will resurrect too,
And fulfill purpose for which God gave birth!
But Christ died on the cross for mankind's sins,
And love of man, and Father's obeisance!
poem by John Celes
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Ode To A Strict Lifestyle Of The Past
'twas the cruel time
with grandpa when dropping a grain
of rice on the table cloth is such a big crime
when you like to eat but you cannot swallow
the food
when you like to drink but the water tasted
as bitter as bile
when the conversations on the dining table
are shallow as affection is strange
as nothing becomes more important
than a future
not be be bound in the house anymore
when papa did not do anything
when mama simply sobbed
and stayed silence
and surrendered everything to God
all we waited is the blackness of the night
black because death is indifferent
because time is not a rescuer
of those who sank into
the bottom
of despair
i recall all these cruel times now
upon a grain of white rice
upon a coffee deprived of milk and sugar
upon a bread without the butter
upon a naked table
scratched with a knife
stained with tears
i look over the window
and stare at the black butterfly merely passing by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Problem With The Wind
the problem with the wind
is its senselessness
it comes it goes and it seems
it does not even know where it is going
you think it feels you
it doesn't
it simply moves around and
comes back around like an accidental whirlpool
it is numb it does not even know
what a rock and a cloud means
the earthworms fear it
the birds too
whose wings it breaks without even feeling sorry
for the caused calamity
the problem with the wind is that it is like silence
not because it woos it and carries it away sometimes
but because it is cold
so cold that it numbs and shatters
what was once whole and heartfelt.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words
He lets me listen, when he moves me,
Words are not like other words
He takes me, from under my arms
He plants me, in a distant cloud
And the black rain in my eyes
Falls in torrents, torrents
He carries me with him, he carries me
To an evening of perfumed balconies
And I am like a child in his hands
Like a feather carried by the wind
He carries for me seven moons in his hands
and a bundle of songs
He gives me sun, he gives me summer
and flocks of swallows
He tells me that I am his treasure
And that I am equal to thousands of stars
And that I am treasure, and that I am
more beautiful than he has seen of paintings
He tells me things that make me dizzy
that make me forget the dance and the steps
Words…which overturn my history
which make me a woman…in seconds
He builds castles of fantasies
which I live in…for seconds…
And I return…I return to my table
Nothing with me…
Nothing with me…except words
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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The Infinitesimal
small is
Infinitesimal
a small grain of
rice
contains all the food
of this world
need i repeat when he
once said
that one must see the
universe
in the grain of
sand
the whole of love and
affection
in the hands
the magnificence of
creation in the mere spark
of stone
to stone
the magical grace of
the earth
in the sway of the
bamboo tip
of change in the mere blink
of an eye
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lost In The Grain
like an old picture,
hanging on some dusty wall.
in a room where no one goes,
down at the end of the hall.
lives drawn in crayon,
by hands that have since grown old.
lost somewhere in memories,
by a fire that has grown cold.
we were the wind and rain,
the ones who wouldnt love in vain.
the river steady, the sudden change,
the mountain's silence, the midnite train...
we were the wood lost in the grain.
you gave up your heart,
i gave up my home.
we burned a trail
in the dark just before dawn.
we touched the raw wound,
learned to name the scars.
never thinking of going back,
of giving up or betraying hearts.
we were the wind and rain,
the ones who wouldnt love in vain.
the river steady, the sudden change,
the mountain's silence, the midnite train...
we were the wood lost in the grain.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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That Part Of A Whole
it is a tiny part
as tiny as a grain of sand
you hardly give it
attention
you keep on saying
what is in this grain of sand
that philosophers
say contain this universe
something so tiny
yet to contain everything
and so you hold the grain of sand
against the light
and revolve it around your fingers
little finger planets
to the sun grain of sand
you cannot believe what you
felt and saw
and so you throw away that grain
of sand to the air
eating it like a big mouthed monsters
you are lost
your world dissolves
like ice
you turn to air
and there you are
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Grieve
It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
Theres nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
Its just the way that you would tied in
Now theres no-one home
I grieve for you
You leave me
so hard to move on
Still loving whats gone
They say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on
The news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
While the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
And I cant handle this
I grieve for you
You leave me
Let it out and move on
Missing whats gone
They say life carries on
They say life carries on and on and on
Life carries on
In the people I meet
In everyone thats out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
In the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Its just the car that we ride in
A home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
And life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Did I dream this belief?
Or did I believe this dream?
Now I can find relief
I grieve
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Problem
the problem with us is that when we open the computer and begin
to read poetry we cannot stop, we do not know when and where to stop
we get carried away like a paper boat on the river and we do not know
where we shall be taken
and not only that
in some mysterious ways we too assume the hands of the poet his mind
his emotions contaminating us
and we (oh let me just talk about myself)
and i begin to write myself some lines
honestly not knowing where these line come from
and like ants they invade me and begin to eat me like a chunk of chocolate
or a broken biscuit or a grain of rice that they all carry like a good catch
and then i pride myself with the belief that i must still be sweet
as chocolate, crisp and tasty like a biscuit, and white and unblemished
like a grain of rice
not because i am writing poems
but because the ants too, like the river have carried me away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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During the course of the seven years I played scenes with an oil slick, I played a scene with a grain of rice. Sometimes with indescribable creatures. I remember having a conversation with something which was simply a smell, that's all. It was part of our job.
quote by Patrick Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boy In The Pew
A boy in church sits in the pew.
His mind is not on sin.
In the background the preacher is preaching
and his voice is getting thin,
to the boy that is.
He's tuned him out.
He's not aware of the lecture or shout.
His mind is on more delectable things
like fishing and girls he knows.
The words of the preacher have not reached his ears.
His mind just simply goes
to a place where sin is not a fear,
to where a boy can always be
happy, lazy, boyish and free.
He closes his eyes and music plays
and the choir sings of God.
He listens and finally comes awake
and finds it really odd
that the words of a hymn
as he sits in the pew
can always reach his ears,
something the preacher can't do.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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From Among The Sands
from among the sands of the shore
and you must accept there are trillions and trillions of them there
you have the guts to tell all of them
that you are not like them
that you are this diamond
admired by emerald and sapphire
and that gold is inferior
the mighty sun shines everyday above the trillions of your kind &
it is not bothered at all
it does not know you &
finds nothing significant about your claim for self-claim for glamor & glitter
need i tell you Mr. grain of sand
that a grain of sand is and will always be a good-for-nothing grain of sand?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Crop Circles
Created in fields of grain
Geometrics for all to ponder
Messages to receptive brains
Not meant for man to squander
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Music in itself carries a whole set of messages which are very, very rich and complex, and the words either serve to exclude certain ones or point up certain others.