Adaptations
A beggar’s pang, a lame’s woe or
A blind’s apathy isn’t so high
As you and I might imagine.
Adaptation will blunt their pang.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Related quotes
Imagine the World
Imagine the world ……………………….
Imagine the world without wars…
Imagine the world without your laws
Imagine your life without fear
Imagine your eyes without a tear
Imagine all men were real men
Imagine…imagine…imagine…
Imagine life without hate
Imagine you knew your own fate
Imagine all children were happy
Imagine all nations were free
What would life be like?
Imagine no-one were blind
Imagine all the woes behind
Imagine…….imagine……..imagine….
Imagi ne earth were flat
Imagine man without a heart
Imagine the day without light
Imagine the dark without the night
Imagine……….imagine……imagine……
Imagine faces without a smile
Imagine birds without a nightingale
Imagine …imagine…imagine
What would life be like?
poem by Bouche Cousue
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Farewell Dark Gaol
Farewell, dark gaol. You hold some better hearts
Than in this savage world I thought to find.
I do not love you nor the fraudulent arts
By which men tutor men to ways unkind.
Your law is not my law, and yet my mind
Remains your debtor. It has learned to see
How dark a thing the earth would be and blind
But for the light of human charity.
I am your debtor thus and for the pang
Which touched and chastened, and the nights of thought
Which were my years of learning. See I hang
Your image here, a glory all unsought,
About my neck. Thus saints in symbol hold
Their tools of death and darings manifold.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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By The Sea
Why does the sea moan evermore?
Shut out from heaven it makes its moan,
It frets against the boundary shore;
All earth's full rivers cannot fill
The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.
Sheer miracles of loveliness
Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed:
Anemones, salt, passionless,
Blow flower-like; just enough alive
To blow and multiply and thrive.
Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike,
Encrusted live things argus-eyed,
All fair alike, yet all unlike,
Are born without a pang, and die
Without a pang, and so pass by.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Sonnet XXIV: 'Farewell once more,--and yet again farewell!
Farewell once more,--and yet again farewell!
I cannot quit thee. On thy lips I press
A parting kiss. I cease from my caress;
Slowly I loose thy waist; the troubled swell
Of thy fair bosom, with the sighs that tell
Thy own emotion, falls from me. I bless
Thy downcast head; upon each lustrous tress
Rest my poor hands, as if some sacred spell
Were in my benediction. Then I try
A sudden parting. Ah! how whirls my brain!
How pang crowds pang; how pain leaps over pain!
My purpose falters; o'er my senses fly
Oblivious clouds; and then--I know not why--
Lo! I am hanging on thy lips again!
poem by George Henry Boker
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Sonnet- God Is Very Just
What mortal sin, a beggar lame would do,
Denied of food and shelter, dress to wear?
He lives at the mercy of Nature too;
Diseases, problems that he cannot bear.
What mortal sins, the blind would dare to do?
They live in darkness, neglected, alone;
In vain, they try to 'see' God's Nature too,
Like you and me, for they are not of stone.
But mortal sins- the ones well-formed much do,
with intact senses, duping God and world;
Yet, Mother Nature seems to help them too;
Into the Pit of Hell, they will be hurled!
The handicapped and beggar will see God,
But not the 'Wholesome, sinful one' from clod.
poem by John Celes
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In The Round Tower At Jhansi
A hundred, a thousand to one; even so;
Not a hope in the world remained:
The swarming howling wretches below
Gained and gained and gained.
Skene looked at his pale young wife:—
'Is the time come?'—'The time is come!'—
Young, strong, and so full of life:
The agony struck them dumb.
Close his arm about her now,
Close her cheek to his,
Close the pistol to her brow—
God forgive them this!
'Will it hurt much?'—'No, mine own:
I wish I could bear the pang for both.'
'I wish I could bear the pang alone:
Courage, dear, I am not loth.'
Kiss and kiss: 'It is not pain
Thus to kiss and die.
One kiss more.'—'And yet one again.'—
'Good-bye.'—'Good-bye.'
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Old Unrest.
That which made us seems to fret
Like a pang within us yet,
As if we unfinished were,
Such blind gropings in us stir,
As light in an eye grown dim
That can no more finely limn
All the senses would impart
To the sad, mysterious heart,
Or an ear grown taut that can
No more tune the tones of man.
We are still such troubled elves,
As we were beside ourselves —
One with Him, it may be, who
Is as vexed as we are too
With a mystic malady
Running through Eternity!
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLIII
THE SAME CONTINUED
I do not love you. To have said this once
Had seemed to both of us a monstrous lie,
An idle boast, love's last extravagance
Or the mere paradox of vanity.
Now it is true and yet more hideously
More strangely monstrous. I, no less than you,
Here own at length the worm which cannot die,
The burden of a pain for ever new.
This is the ``pang of loss,'' the bitterest
Which Hell can give. We are shut out from Heaven
And never more shall look upon Love's face,
Being with those who perish unforgiven.
Never to see Love's face! Ah, pain in pain,
Which we do well to weep and weep again!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 9)
Jesus saw a man, blind since birth;
His disciples asked Him, ‘Rabbi,
By whose sins was the man born blind-
His own sins or that of parents’? ’
So, Jesus answered them, ‘Neither.
It is so that the works of God
Be manifested through the man.
The day is meant for all to work;
The night is for slumber and rest.’
‘While in this world, I am the light.’
Then Jesus spat on ground near-by
And mixed the clay with saliva;
He smeared the clay over man’s eyes
And said, ’ Go wash in Siloam Pool! ’
The man did so and got vision.
The beggar was able to see!
The neighbors saw and then remarked,
‘Isn’t this the beggar who was blind? ’
The beggar replied, ‘Yes, I am! ’
They asked, ‘How were your eyes opened? ’
The man described the whole story.
They asked him, ‘Where is Jesus now?
The beggar said, ‘I do not know.’
They brought the man to Pharisees;
Now Jesus did the miracle,
On Sabbath day and all knew that.
The Pharisees queried the man;
They said, ‘This man is not from God!
He does not keep the Sabbath-day.
How can a sinful man do signs?
They asked the beggar’s opinion;
He told them, ‘He is a prophet! ’
The Jews summoned his parents then
And enquired about their son;
His parents said, ‘He was born blind.’
But they didn’t know how he saw then.
They neither knew the healer’s name;
They told them to ask the beggar.
His parents were afraid of Jews;
If anyone believed Jesus,
And acknowledged Him, Messiah,
They were expelled from synagogue.
They called the beggar once again,
And asked him to give praise to God,
For, Jesus was a sinner great!
The man replied, ‘I do not know
If Jesus is a sinner great;
One thing was true that I was blind
And Jesus helped to make me see, ’
They asked him for more details then;
The beggar lost his cool and said,
‘Do you wish to be disciples? ’
They ridiculed the beggar-man
And said, ‘We are Moses’ disciples!
We don’t know where Jesus is from? ’
The man answered them quite bravely,
‘Isn’t it amazing that although,
You do not know who Jesus is,
Yet, He had made me to see then? ’
‘God does not listen to sinners;
If one’s devout, God listens then.
So far no one had given sight
To man who was blind, since his birth.’
‘If Jesus did not come from God,
He wouldn’t do miracles like this.’
They told the man, ‘You’re born in sin;
So, do not try to preach to us.
They drove the beggar-man away!
Then Jesus heard of incident;
He found the beggar-man and asked,
‘Do you believe in Son of Man? ’
He queried, ‘Who is he, tell me
So that, I may believe in Him.’
Then Jesus said, ‘You have seen Him;
The one speaking to you is He! ’
The man believed and worshipped Him.
Then Jesus said, ‘I came in here,
Into this world for judgment just,
And make ones who couldn’t see, to see,
And those who see become so blind.’
Some Pharisees who heard him said,
‘Surely we’re blind, are we not then? ’
Jesus told them, ‘If you were blind,
You wouldn’t have sins, but as you see,
Your sin remains and you are blind! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-23-2007
poem by John Celes
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Grief's Harmonics
At evening, when the lank and rigid trees,
To the mere forms of their sweet day-selves drying,
On heaven's blank leaf seem pressed and flatten-ed;
Or rather, to my sombre thoughts replying,
Of plumes funereal the thin effigies;
That hour when all old dead things seem most dead,
And their death instant most and most undying,
That the flesh aches at them; there stirred in me
The babe of an unborn calamity,
Ere its due time to be deliver-ed.
Dead sorrow and sorrow unborn so blent their pain,
That which more present was were hardly said,
But both more NOW than any Now can be.
My soul like sackcloth did her body rend,
And thus with Heaven contend:-
'Let pass the chalice of this coming dread,
Or that fore-drained O bid me not re-drain!'
So have I asked, who know my asking vain,
Woe against woe in antiphon set over,
That grief's soul transmigrates, and lives again,
And in new pang old pang's incarnated.
poem by Francis Thompson
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Always it gave me a pang that my children had no lawful claim to a name.
quote by Harriet Ann Jacobs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet IX
Thus Adrian learned it. And behold, his heart,
Which he had hardened against all dismay,
And wrapped up secretly and laid apart
As something which should not be used to--day,
Woke with a pang, and tremulously wan
Started and listened. There in the new morn
Of this grey wakening, like a long drowned man
Brought back to life, he knew the world forlorn
By the dull ache which was in every limb.
The ghastly pleasures which had gorged his care
Paled as he looked at them. His dead lusts dim
Stank like lost corpses in the morning air.
And yet 'twas passing sweet, despite the pain,
To feel and move and live and love again.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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There is something in the pang of change More than the heart can bear, Unhappiness remembering happiness.
Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XXXI
Rather I hold with those that tell it thus,
That they, who had made proof of their great faith,
Were joined no less with honour in love's house
By Holy Church, which binding looseneth,
Since it is written that 'twixt maid and man
The wedded contract joining hand and heart
For this life is and passeth not the span
Of victor death which all our bonds doth part.
And it were grievous one should suffer all,
Even death's last pang and an untimely grave,
If overcoming he again should fall
Prisoner to penance and to sorrow slave.
Ah, no! They lived the life their love had given,
And we too all, so grant it kindly Heaven!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Pain of the pang
The depth of love
You had for your beloved
Is known by the pain
Of pang it produces
On you when she parted.
21.07.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Pre-Adamite World
Who shall declare the glory of the World,
The natural World before Man's form was seen?
Fair stainless planet through the heavens hurled,
And clothed in garments of immortal green!
What depths of forest girt her! What serene
Pastures were hers for cattle numberless
Owning no lord save her, their guileless queen,
Dear Nature's self who ruled them but to bless!
If there was war in Heaven, peace reigned on Earth.
Not by disease did the world's life grow tame,
But by the hand of God, in drought or dearth
Or sudden palsy when the lion came.
Death! who should fear him or his mercy sue,
Whose last pang was the first each creature knew?
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Scratching sensation
A pang of love is hard to bear
And yet how sweet it is to wear!
Like scratching sensation from scabby.!
21.07.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Lame Game
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
It's all the same...
A lame game!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
And the game
Being played...
Is so lame!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
It's all the same.
A lame game!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame,
And the game being played
By the players who play...
Is so tired and lame anyway!
And lame it will stay everyday!
'Cause they 'got no' shame
To play such tired games
Knowing it's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
And the game stays the same
'Cause no one wants to change
From a game that is lame..
And each day that lame game,
Stays the same!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Imagine me
Imagine the Rivers
without the Sea
Imagine the Stars
without Galaxy
imagine the Cars
without it's Wheels
Imagine God Mars
without his Steels
Imagine Achilles
without his Heel
Imagine Aviles
and what he Feel
Imagine the Curses
without the Seal
Imagine my Dream
If it's Impossible
Imagine Yourself
If you're Impossible
Imagine me now
So much Unstable..
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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