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
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Hindu Wedding On A Jasmine Day
The season of JASMINE is blooming.
Wedding is on a day of JASMINE.
The couple are ready for the holy-bond.
Guests are ready with their blessing-band.
Baskets of garlands and stringed JASMINE,
With decorative JASMINE tassles is pleasing.
The fragrance of JASMINE is ambrosial!
Breathtaking! JASMINES' aroma is celestial.
Her long plait padded with JASMINES strung,
Atop with strands of JASMINE being swung,
The bride is given a garland of JASMINE.
Also the 'groom is given a garland of JASMINE.
The family deity is adorned with JASMINE.
The guests are given strands of JASMINE.
The couple garland each other in heck.
The 'groom ties an yellow thread around bride's neck.
The priest makes the groom by seven steps,
Promise to guard his spouse in life's ups.
Splattering holy rice and scenty JASMINE,
All bless 'LONG SMELLY LIKE JASMINE'!
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
1. Sisterly Love
the indian woman is
a tormented soul
weeping secret tears
ink that writes lines
of anguish all over
her countenance
her large, sharp and slit eyes
pour longingly into the
the jasmine she strings
everyday for hours
in india street
pure, white, dainty
a softness and scent
that two days from now
will be nothing more than
a dehydrated mess
a mere sore to the eyes
a transience fills the gap
between the flowers
a string of luxury that helps
her to keep a sister close
to her hands, her heart
first jasmine, a sister's
smile, second jasmine,
a sister's promises,
third jasmine, another
sister's smile, fourth
jasmine.....every gap she feels
a loss, a love her fingers will no
more grasp and a sister
her eyes will no more hold
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The first jazz pianist I heard was Thelonious Monk. My father was listening to an album of his called 'Monk's Dream' almost every day from the time I was born.
quote by Benny Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
What I Saw At The Temple...
in the buddhist monastery somewhere
in ho chi minh city
an old tourist who travels alone
though a roman catholic by option
and tradition
lights his incense
buys a blank paper
writes his unfulfilled wishes of his
long gone youth
submits it to the famous Lady of the Sea
the monk in maroon
lights the paper and the the smoke goes up to the sky
as the gods
begin to deliberate whether this old man
deserves it
a young boy left by his mother
(as she busies herself on the altar)
leans on the
300 year-old wall
wondering what is this all about
twitching
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Flower To Auroville Mother-35
Yellow Jasmine, (Italian Jasmine,
Jasminum humile)
Atlast, I've found her
Long-lasting fragrant
Pentapetaled brighter
A Jasmine so anticipant
Yellowy, godly rewarding
Daughter of Himalayas
Willowy angularly branching
Shrubby with pinnate leaves
A Jasmine so anticipant
Of respect and worship
Inviting charm and scent
Medicative sure a godship
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
White Hair
i let the years pass on my busy days
this and that
those and there and here
contemplation is a monk and he has not come
my door is open
and the crowd came in. Leaves of years keep
falling like it is caused by the cyclone
of my moving forward onward
this and that and those and there and everywhere
until one moment when the last white hair fell
and then i shudder
to all these and that and those and there and here
and nowhere
and nothing, until the monk in saffron cloth came
asking me
if i am finally going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Jasmine Corridor
In all my lives, I never knew anyone like you before.
Woke up one day, swore I heard the sound of heaven knocking on my door.
And after all these years long passing,
Time to reflect, no time for wasting.
Walking down the jasmine corridor.
Reflecting echoes of quiet laughter.
In all my life, I was never better served than I was served by you.
And in my way, hope you agree I tried to serve you too.
Out on the headland I stepped once unsteady.
You there to catch me , I breathe more freely.
Hand in mine down the jasmine corridor.
Through all my life, I chased flitting illusions at a faster pace.
Never stopped to think: the moment was for seizing, had myself to face.
You made my bed to lie in, stately.
Mad cats, grandchildren, here more often lately.
The final view from the jasmine corridor.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Monk and the Tree
At dawn each day, as
the monk awoke upon the polished floor, and
rolled his bedding mat, the Way –
the way things are, the way they follow –
walked its way beside him.
Later, he would take his brush,
the ink-block, paper, and the water-pot
he filled each day with water from the river,
and find a place, among the woods,
or by the river bank; where the Way
would teach him old things, seen as if now new.
Most often, he would sit near an ancient tree
which had so much to teach him;
its trunk and branches gnarled and twisted
with the wisdom of the Way.
The tree was, as great trees are, the most
adventurous of artists: every Spring,
it would put forth new twigs,
as awkward as a newborn deer on
stick-like legs, trying to stand and walk;
the tree would let the Way make it
as awkward, unsymmetrical,
as inartistic as could be…
then slowly through the year, the tree, the Way
would make of this, a new and daring beauty;
and the monk would learn of it,
take up the brush, moisten the ink-block,
and – brush gently swishing black on white –
draw his daily lesson through the year…
and because he was so loved and famed,
connoisseurs of that most ancient art
would beg his paintings; find their breath
held, at his daring; their eyes would learn the Way.
When the monk, now old, joined the Immortals,
his many students gathered near that ancient tree.
They said, the tree did not seem sad at all;
threw out new leaves, seemed to rejoice;
as teachers do, whenever pupils shine.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There is no doubt that the exceptional structure of a jasmine flower is part of the complete victory of beauty on earth;
I collect jasmine flowers every morning and put them in my soul.
Camelia Oprița in Universul Iubirii (13 July 2007)
Submitted by Alexander
Vote! | Copy!
The dream boy
The dream boy shall be nice,
the dream boy shall be sweet,
the dream boy shall be cute,
the dream boy must be funny.
Of course he must be tough,
of course he must be cute,
of course he must be smart,
and most definitly handsome.
The dream boy should pass me notes,
the dream boy should be clean,
the dream boy should be cool.
The dream boy can't be mean.
The dream boy can't be conceited.
The dream boy cannot lie.
The dream boy shall not gossip.
The dream boy shall not brag.
The dream boy shall not stalk.
The dream boy will be made.
But does such a dream boy exist?
poem by Jasmine Aira
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dear Jasmine
I know I said that I have wrote a poem for you
Well here it is, take it.
This is my token of affection.
Where do these feelings come from?
Why do they dropp from the skies of blue?
I guess here it comes it again.
Love and it's call
But no way no how.
I shall not fall.
But she is so beautiful
One would be foolish not to choose
Look at her smile, her grace
Just simply looking at her face
Would just make my day
I would always imagine
Your lips touching mine
Holding you close
And paying no mind to time
But alas, this is only a dream
You and me, a fantasy
Hopefully one day, you will feel the way I do
But until that day comes
Dear Jasmine
I'll be watching you...
poem by Nicholas Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The raindrop whispered to the jasmine, "Keep me in your heart for ever." The jasmine sighed, "Alas," and dropped to the ground.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Summer Breeze
See the curtains hanging in the window
In the evening on a Friday night
A little light shining through the window
Lets me know that everything's alright
Summer breeze, well it makes me feel fine
Blowing through the jasmine in my mind
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine
Blowing through my, makes me feel it right
Making me feel, making me feel fine
Makes me feel fine
Blowing through the jasmine in my mind
Oh sweet days of summer, the jasmine's in bloom
July is dressed up and playing her tune
And when I come home from a hard day's work
And you're waiting there, yes you're waiting there
Without A care in the world
I see the smile awaiting in the kitchen
Food's cooking and a place there for two
I see the arms that reach out to hold me
In the evening when the day is through
Summer breeze, well it makes me feel fine
Blowing through the jasmine in my mind
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine
Blowing through my, making me feel right
Making me feel, making me feel fine
Makes me feel right
Blowing through the jasmine in my, blowing blowing(x5)
Blowing through the jasmine in my mind
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The World Of The Silent Blooming Lotus
floating like a lotus
red concentric petals stretching
wanting to kiss the cheek of the sky
i am the monk in my own
spreading kingdom of a still pond
beside me are the frogs listening
surrounded by a soldier of tadpoles
beneath me is the stock of dirt
i keep my purity on top
the sun looks at me with pride
at night the moon smiles
such is the world of this silent lotus
calm amidst the night, clean atop the mess.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spank It
1-hey sped!
2-hey what?
1- what you wanna do?
2- I wanna spank!
1-spank what?
2- spank my little monk!!
1-to the left
2- to the right!
1&2- spank it up and down all night!
1- spank the monk!
2- spank, spank the monk!
1- spank the monk!
1&2- spank spank, the monk!
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Secret Garden
I dream of a secret garden
Filled with roses
And a bench that seats two
I dream of a majestic fountain
With sparkling water
That brings life to those near
I dream of a blue sky
That watches over
The beautiful creatures of my world
I dream a dream of romance
That warms you
In a cold, unsafe outside world
I dream this would be real
But I know
That this dream will stay dreamt
poem by John McClay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Great Gambler
The Gambler stopped a monk
dwelling on spiritual plane,
And exclaimed, "Oh! monk
we both are exactly same
So I think we both of us
deserve equal name and fame.
Monk replied, "Gambler! I put
self not a pelf at stake,
And drink bitter poison
for God's sake
Only fool would say our
lives are same
For you a game is life
for me a life is game.''
Dr Hitesh C Sheth
27/12/2009
poem by Hitesh Sheth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
He Is Caught In Time
(after Mandi Engelbrecht)
The faces around him is a confusing sea
of unknown people for whom he does not care
and he keeps away from pleasure and enjoyment;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
No beautiful girl catches his eyes
and he is afraid for all of life,
people on the street are strange and silly;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
One dark night his wife left him,
talked cheerfully about her new lover,
took everything along even the last flower vase,
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God;
she told the whole world that he whores around,
that he peeps at other women,
that he keeps no Godly command,
he does not anymore know his Bible or God;
at the holy church he lost his job
when more and more people heard the gossip story,
he scolds himself that he is very stupid,
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
His whole life is broken into pieces,
around him there is only confusing impressions,
it’s as if all his friends now are mocking him,
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
He locks himself in his inner room
opens for nobody that knocks on the outside,
he finds no other work opportunity,
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
During the night he is single, almost a monk
and he lives from dark moment to moment
is caught in time, feels dirty and rotten;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
There is another world in his poems,
in memories wandering, searching faces
and dreams of some deliverance are somewhat silly;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
He plants African marigolds, roses and jasmine;
feels the earth in his hands and too much pain,
he is broken and almost bankrupt;
he does not anymore understand his Bible or God.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Practice makes perfect
A bronze gong sounds and resonates.
The echoes slowly die away.
The ancient monk still meditates.
As he does every single day.
He falls into a trance like state.
Which he achieves with practised skill
The sound waves cannot penetrate.
His consciousness against his will.
The ancient monk sits tranquilly
.Detached from our reality.
He is content to simply be.
Enjoying the tranquillity.
Of being free from illusion
Earned by meditation.
Wednesday,25 April 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!