The Life That İs More Real ... Here İt İs ....
before you arrive there
on that valley
you think that everything will be smooth
no creases, no cuts,
nothing about dirty paths
or gardens of silence
fruitless trees, brown grasses
waterless spots,
no dew
at dawn
one who is real somehow begins to
accept
all these: expectations tumbling down
a life drawn with crooked lines
people are nothing but shadows without faces
hopes smothered like crumpled babies
a life that you never once imagined
papers burning themselves
poems that scream instead
of sing
birds that crawl
though gifted with complete wings
a twisted world
a dusty room
books without pages
toothless stairs
Styrofoam rails
paths with pebbles
and thorns
roses that wilt as buds
the people that you trust
and love
they all lied.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Paths May Never Cross
Lady I know your out there somewhere
Like me your feeling lost
Maybe right now we both need each other
But our paths may never cross
People like us never find each other
Love is our greatest loss
Baby I know you are out there some where
But our paths may never cross
Were to people that should be together
Cause were lonely at the very same time
But theres a million to many good reasons
Why your love can never be mine
Maby this song was written for you
Listen, dont turn it off
I wish you could learn it
And come sing it with me
But our paths may never cross
I wish you could learn it
And come sing it with me
But our paths may never cross
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pathways Of Life
i walk the
straight path and no
one noticed me,
the straight path
is the most ordinary one
you can have here
at first it was boring
when no one
notices you
so i tried the twisted
path
the one that is crooked
from bottom to
top
the old women scolded
me and the old men said
i am a
big disappointment
the men and women of my
generation
still did not mind
they are busy
taking their own paths
and these are the
paths
which are neither crooked
nor straight
sometimes we look at each
other
and we nod
without saying a word
we feel
that we perfectly understand
each other
all along
there are paths you know
which are neither wrong
nor right
they simply have to
be trodden
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Crooked Ways Of The Tiny Birds
feelings are sometimes like the tiny birds
of summer feeding on a few grains
on the wide yards of the garden where the grasses
spread far
some feels being smothered by the indifference of other
tiny birds
separated by the distance of the long lines of
parallel electric poles
imagine the image of tiny birds sitting in there
looking for pecking
one notices the vastness of the sky
the unfinished climb of the hill
the vanishing paths of trails long untrue
feelings like tiny birds fly away
but there is no reason to be afraid on the
facts of nonreciprocating birds
ah, the world is wide and too interesting
to be ignored
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If I were to relive…
Given a lease to relive my life,
I would not tread the paths I trod,
Not trust men trusted, not love women loved,
And would not believe in what I believed.
Given a lease to relive my life,
I would pursue the paths I missed,
Would trust whom I misjudged,
And would believe what I disbelieved.
In a nut shell, I shall grow a new one
To detest the paths that I have to tread
12.05.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Crooked Ways Of The Tiny Birds 2
feelings are sometimes like the tiny birds
of summer feeding on a few grains
on the wide yards of the garden where the grasses
spread far
some do feel being smothered by the indifference of other
tiny birds
separated by the distance of the long lines of
parallel electric poles
imagine the image of tiny birds sitting in there
looking for pecking
one notices the vastness of the sky
the unfinished climb of the hill
the vanishing paths of trails long untrue
feelings like tiny birds fly away
but there is no reason to be afraid on the
facts of nonreciprocating birds
ah, the world is wide and too interesting
to be ignored
on a few grains one feeds upon
and having satisfied sits lonelier on the line of an electric pole
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About Us Who Remained Here....
when first thrown away
they call it
seed,
there are rocky fields
where most of the seeds
struggle for soil
& water
to grow
buds and mature as
branches
or be successful trees
into forests,
so many have found themselves
as utter failures
in the form of sand
so many are dead, wilting even
before
leafing
there are others who evolve well
despite the harsh conditions
lucky for those who imagine wings
and turn into birds
of freedom
but others do not have that fate
the stars are against them
you have seen now
so many pebbles scattered on those
twisted paths
others of course have turned themselves
into stones
the mostly preferred state of being
strong
or mistaken to be stoic
into rocky formations ready to be
fields of cradles again for
those that come recently and
baptized with the same name
seed.
we who remain here
have learned to write about all these
sad phenomena
we have fortified ourselves as slates of rocks
with rain as pens.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Observations Of The Man With A Broken Heart Spending Summer In A Getaway Beach
mother finally decided
to transfer his son to another
school in the busy city
there was something that she saw
and she did not like it
the son knows it
but like her says nothing about it
all the people saw it
but no one dares to mention it
taboos are silent pebbles
gritting to the coldness of the waves
not hurting to the eyes
but the ears are intolerant
it is during summer
that the pebbles begin to wear their angry eyes
the sands borrow the glitter of diamonds
the air is humid like a frigid woman
the trees shed off leaves
and grasses begin to wilt
the sea in its silence
has told more stories than the babbling kid
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sick And Twisted World
The world I live in is Sick and Twisted,
The guy who is like my brother I love,
The guy who I have grown to love I've known so long.
The world I live in is Sick and Twisted,
To no path can I have him,
To no path do I want him.
The world I live in is Sick and Twisted,
As I walk though in a room there he is,
As I walk though that room I walk out.
The world I like in is Sick and Twisted,
On a dirty road I walk alone,
On a dirty road I walk with just a Shadow.
In a world so Sick and Twisted,
Its hard to know what I trust,
Its hard to know what is not fake.
This is a very Sick and Twisted World,
The world that is our's,
And the world we never help.
These is a very Sick and Twisted World,
And no one can give a danm,
And no one can help me out.
What a Sick and Twisted World,
This is.
poem by Andrea Szyhowski
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The Reality Of Touch
not everything can be imagined
lest your words become the 3D leeches
that do not really exist
pure breeze from a mountainside of nowhere
it is safe to open the door
go down the stairs
walk along the street
feel the sun on top of your head
swim in the air of this city
dive into the crowd
hear their open conversations
listen to the horns of the cars
create more distance
tire your feet
sweat things out
making thoughts more sensitive to the twitches of the faces of all the people
that you meet
carefully evaluate
the lines of the tongue in cheek
scrutinize
slips of their tongues
follow the lines of the curve body of the woman that you love
using the soft tip of your tongue
the power of taste-buds
one cannot really just survive on the theoretical wings of angels
the feet of the dragon phoenix
the prancing hands of the
wooden saint
shallow and deflatable
as toy balloons are
do not draw the street and alleys in your mind
with a
wind pencil
walk upon them and feel
the water and the mud
and pebbles and sands
to every pore of your skin
feel the tickle of the bacteria of the
mind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Losing Grip
Losing grip she holds to life,
She tells herself she won't let go,
Yet here she sits holding the knife,
Moving it ever so slow.
She sits beside her bed,
Knife pressed to skin,
Knees drawn to her head,
For she knows this is a sin.
Tears fall from her eyes,
They fall against the cuts,
Until the blood begin to dry,
She doesn't like this habbit, yet she's stuck in it's rut.
Her head falls back,
As sobs break the silence of the air,
Crys pour from her thoat, yet in volume they lack.
At the back of her eyelids she stairs.
Her hair falls around her,
A warm brown shall,
Not even the touch of a hand would make her stir,
As she listens to her creators call.
Along the slits she traces,
Time after time, line after line,
Forming a pattern like lace,
The paths, the cuts, so even, so fine.
pain shows through her face,
yet she drinks this pain, it is her feast,
Along her wrist, her body, the blood does trace,
She feels the least.
in the depth of the room,
She sits with nothing, no light,
Only the shine of the moon.
She knows sha can't stop, yet it feels so right.
The anger, the sorrow, flows through her, it all leaves,
The blood wipes it away, let's her feel numb,
A blanket of blood is weaved.
Her heart beats; a steady drum.
She looks down at her art,
When all the feelings are gone,
She stands, and slows her heart,
And waits for dawn.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Oh The Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS
Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –
What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?
I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-
Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-
Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-
Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What's In It For Me?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE HAVE TIME FOR TWITTER AND FACEBOOK, BUT NONE FOR THEMSELVES OR OTHERS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE HAVE A HUNDRED 'FRIENDS' ON FACEBOOK,
BUT NOT EVEN TEN IN REAL LIFE
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE EMOTE WITH EMOTICONS BUT NOT WITH THEIR FACES,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE PREFER TO WRITE 'LOL' RATHER THAN ACTUALLY LAUGHING OUT LOUD,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LOVE THEIR COMPUTER MORE THAN THEIR FRIENDS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LIVE THEIR LIVES MORE ONLINE THAN OFF IT,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE CAN SPOT THE ERROR IN SOMEONE'S TYPING BUT CANNOT SPOT A TEAR IN A FRIEND'S EYE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE CAN GROW ANY CROP ONLINE BUT CANNOT EVEN PICK UP A SPADE IN REAL LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE RELISH THE FOOD AT MCDONALDS AND DOMINOS, BUT CRIB OVER HOME COOKED FOOD,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE ARE READY TO KILL FOR A FEW SHREDS OF PAPER,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE KILL IN THE NAME OF RELIGION,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE A MAN IS READY TO KILL HIS BROTHER OVER PROPERTY AND MONEY,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE VALUE OF MONEY IS MORE THAN THE VALUE OF LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE LIVING A LIFE IS TOUGHER THAN KILLING A LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE IT'S EASIER TO EARN MONEY BY CHEATING THAN BY WORKING HONESTLY,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE VALUE OF A GIFT IS THROUGH ITS PRICE AND NOT ITS EMOTIONS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE MEASURE OF A MAN IS THROUGH HIS CAR AND HOUSE RATHER THAN HIS CHARACTER,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LOVE THEIR POSSESSIONS MORE THAN THEIR FRIENDS AND PARENTS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THINGS ARE LOVED AND PEOPLE ARE USED,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE DO ANYTHING FOR A BETTER PAY BUT NOTHING FOR A BETTER CONSCIENCE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD IS BAD AND I KNOW THAT BUT SILL IF I WIN THIS WORLD,
WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
poem by Deepak Hariharan
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Roses in the Valley
roses roses in the valley below
peaking up from the dead ground we know
one lil angle stands there crying
but not a single rose is dying
she tries to take flight with thorns in her wings
white is turning to deep deep red
red just like the roses she looks down upon
with thorns made red, and tears rolling down
the angel is dying with every tear that falls
the roses with petals of silk
shall catch the angel who's wings are no longer white as milk
now she lays down to stay
in a valley of roses that will live everyday
i am the angel
the angel that can no longer fly away
my dreams live on
like the roses, each and every day
poem by Sally Minns
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Juanita
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Your thin paper wings
In the winddangling
Your sun
Fly high
Your window shattering
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Sugar boy
Sugar boy
Riding in
Riding in
Sugar box
Sugar boy
Handheld candle sugar boy
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Your thin paper wings
In the wind dangling
Your sun fly high
Your window shattered in the wind
Your coca cola sign
Rattling
Rattling
Resonator [x8]
Homeless trees gathering
Outside your window bootleg babies call to you and lie among the mosquitoes
That summers fever coming
Cats are gathering outside your window
Homeless trees
Bootleg babies calling to you
Lie among lie among the mosquitoes
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Get up in your sun fly high
Dangling dangling
Your window shattered in the wind
The sun on your coca cola sign
Your rails
Your thin
Paper wings
Paper wings
Resonator, [x16]
Homeless trees gathering
Outside your window bootleg babies call to you and lie among the mosquitoes
That summers fever coming
Cats are gathering outside your window
Homeless trees
Bootleg babies calling to you
Lie among lie among the mosquitoes
Your rails
Your thin
Your thin paper wings
Get up in your sun fly high
Dangling dangling
Your window shattered in the wind
The sun on your coca cola sign
Your rails
Your thin
Paper wings
Paper wings
There is a sound on the other side of this wall
A bird is singing on the other side of this glass
Footsteps
Concealed
Silence is preserving a voice
Walking in the wind at the waters edge
Comes close to covering my rubber feet
Listening to the barbed wire hanging
There is a sound on the other side of this wall
A bird is singing on the other side of this glass
Footsteps
Concealed
Silence is preserving a voice
Silver chain
Thrown away
Broken wing
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pebbles & Stones
Pebbles and stones,
Of different tones.
Oval or Round.
Black or Brown.
Smooth or rough
Oddly enough,
People collect
pebbles and stones.
They like to select
the smooth and round.
They like to select,
if it's shiny and brown.
Do you like pebbles too?
Or stones in black and blue?
Of U.O.N.
Story of optimism and gloom,
Of green grass and dusty paths,
Of merriment and tears,
Of academia and fame,
Of sex and virginity,
Of debauchery and sanctity,
Of boys and men,
Of girls and women,
Of music and stillness,
Of company and solitude,
Of love and hatred,
Of loyalty and conspiracy,
Of roses and thorns,
Of envy and esteem,
Of friends and foes,
Of babies and abortions.
Of births and deaths,
Of dialogues and strikes,
Of water and wine,
Of unga and cocaine,
Of sobriety and inebriation,
Of sure feet and fast cars,
Of disappointment and triumph,
Of pageantry, colour, validation, graduation, regrets, class honours, valedictorians.
Story of a life, in the bitter sweet waters, of the University Of Nairobi.
poem by Nancy Ilamwenya
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Keep It Real
You just
Dont know
The way you make us feel
Through your work
And through your visions
So young, black, and gifted, ohh
Mary js love was real
Notorious b-i-g, b-i-g
Craig macks the brand new flava
And jodeci
Forever my lady
They just
They just
Dont know
The pains of being real
When the world is being sifted
From being young black and gifted
This is
So hard
To sing as we feel
People changing like the seasons
Without reason people try to keep it real
Keep it real
song performed by by 112
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blonde Hair
America has become like your kitchen,
gone for a week
without notice, and back again on another
day, without so much fuss,
you walk back
trace the steps of your past on grounds
filled with dust and dry leaves
pebbles without dew, buds that wilt,
roots that stop to spread,
this is still
My Philippines, dusts or fresh air,
storms or drought, i keep walking its paths
without you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What A Wonderful World (feat. Stevie Wonder)
(George Weiss / Bob Thiele)
(feat. Stevie Wonder)
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day and the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"
I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"
I hear my babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever ever know
And I think to myself, it's a wonderful world
I think to myself, what a wonderful world
What a wonderful world
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What A Wonderful World
(feat. Stevie Wonder)
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day and the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"
I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"
I hear my babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever ever know
And I think to myself, it's a wonderful world
I think to myself, what a wonderful world
What a wonderful world
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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