Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 09
A sick man having been asked what his heart desired replied: ‘That it may not desire anything.’
When the bowels are full and the belly pains
There is no use in all other things being right.
Related quotes
My Desire Remained A Desire
My desire
Remained a desire
Never got fulfilled
So I decided
To make another desire,
I prayed to god
To give me strength
Not to desire
After few days
I asked god
What happened to?
My desire
Of not desiring
God said to me
Since you desired
Not to ever desire
If I fulfill it
You shall not get
What you desired
If I do not fulfill
Your desire
You shall keep on
Complaining
About unfulfilment
Of desire
So my advice is
Desire less
Remain contented
Do not expect much
As expectation breeds
Frustration
And frustration breeds
Anger
In anger one looses cool
Becomes
Rash and purposeless
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Our Heart Desire Song
Our heart desire
Some peace
Our heart desire some love
Our heart desire some nourishment
Our heart desire
Some sleep
Our heart desire some sun
Our heart desire the healing touch of God
Our heart desired some prayers
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Assist With Your Giving
Whatever that is that is asked,
And is within one's grasp
Assist in the getting.
Assist with your giving.
If you've got the time and patience,
And look for ways not to waste it
With an enjoyment received,
From that which is given
And from no one kept hidden
Enjoy that which is,
Your life to live.
A heart that is full of desire,
Gives.
A heart that is full of desire.
Inspires as it is.
And that is the life we all should live.
Whatever that is that is asked,
And is within one's grasp
Assist in the getting
Assist with your giving.
A heart that is full of desire,
Gives.
A heart that is full of desire
Inspires as it is.
And that is the life we all should live.
Assist in the getting.
Assist with your giving.
And that's what a life 'lived' is.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ch 07 On The Effects Of Education Story 09
It is narrated in the compositions of philosophers that scorpions are not born in the same manner like other living beings but that they devour the bowels of their mother and, after gnawing through the belly, betake themselves to the desert. The skins which may be seen in the nests of scorpions are the evidence of this. I narrated this story to an illustrious man who then told me that his own heart bore witness to the truth of it for the case could not be otherwise inasmuch as they, having in their infancy dealt thus with their fathers and mothers, they were beloved and respected in the same manner when they grow old.
A father thus admonished his son:
O noble fellow, remember this advice.
‘Whoever is not faithful to his origin
Will not become the companion of happiness.’
A scorpion, having been asked why he did not go out in winter, replied: ‘What honour do I enjoy in summer that I should come out also in winter?’
He Talk I Am Sick
Yes i am sick because i can not standing on the street call out customer.
Yes i am sick because i can not go to Hotel with any customer after work.
Yes i am sick because i do not from far away come to beg an other men be father for the kid without marriage.
Yes i am sick because i do not going with the man i do never know before go to any where his country to make memories.
Yes i am sick because i do not sell my body.
Yes i am sick because i do not send my nude pictures to any man exchange some things.
Yes i am sick because i am not cheap women
Yes i am sick because i can not sleep with any men.
Yes i am sick because i am have only one Heart.
Yes i am sick because i can not betray without this love.
Yes i am sick because i must to hold on any things insult from the man without reason.
Yes i am sick because i am alway talking the truth.
Yes i am sick because i can not do any things or talk any things when i want to do i want to talk.
Yes i am sick because i am stupid, i am real in Love.
Yes that it is reason i am Sick.
Angel Aki
poem by Ester Worter
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The Little Chimney Sweep - Victorian Times
What is above all these chimneys, I asked the young lad,
The chimney sweep boy replied,
Why Sir, it's the sky which is sometimes so blue,
That when I look up and glance at the view,
Such glory cannot be denied.
What lies in that sky then, I asked the young lad,
The boy gazing up now replied,
Oh Sir, clouds and sunshine, at night moon and stars,
Planets like Jupiter, Saturn and Mars,
What wonders out there can be spied?
Is your work very unbearable, I asked the young lad,
Most times Sir, it is, he replied,
From dawn until dusk, I'm climbing to sweep,
The soot from the chimneys, for my food and my keep,
My Master cannot be defied.
Do you 'welcome' the sky, I asked the young lad,
When I'm climbing, I do, he replied,
It's my friend when it's dark and the way up is hard,
Because sometimes I get burn't and then badly scarred,
There's many a time I have cried.
What then do you wish for, I asked the young lad,
With yearning, he slowly replied,
I would love to be free and fly like the birds,
Way up in the sky, and if I had the words,
Write about how I'd feel like inside.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Conversation with God
One day while I was dreaming I heard a soft like voice
It called me to a pond
and asked to recite
the stories of my childhood
I thought it very strange
Then with deafening noise it came
It took me to the pond and asked me 'what I could see'
'I see me' I replied
'Very good' it said
'Now do you see' it asked
'I see a little child with hair as bright as fire'
'Who is that child' it asked
'It is me' I replied again
'Do you remember what that child was like'
'No' I replied
'Until you become a child again you'll see no more'
'I do not understand' I said
'You will' came the voice
'When' I asked
'When you believe that I am real'
'But you are real' I answered
'Only one who truly believes can understand'
poem by Rachel Branscombe
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Desired Fate
you cant learn to love
till you learn to hate
is this really my desired fate
why would i be stranded without a white dove?
would i forget the one i love?
i desire to hate and look at the sky above
its damp with sadness and dreaded tears
why would i choose the path full of my fears
i chose to lead myself to dark
this is makeing me fall apart
once cold tears drops by another
will my heart ever regain its start
it cracked open for everyone to see
this is not truely me
i desire to love instead of hate
this is my desired fate
poem by Chris Urbaez
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Sunflowers After Sex.
After the sex she stood
In front of the Van Gogh
Painting and gazed. Never
Saw that last night, she said.
It was dark, Max replied.
She touched the painting
With her fingers. Why have
A painting of flowers when
You can go out and buy some?
She asked. They last longer this
Way, he replied. So did you
Paint this? She asked in a state
Of semi undress, her eyes sleepy,
Her hair in a mess. No, Van Gogh
Did, he replied. Is he a friend of
Yours? She asked rubbing her breasts.
He sighed and shook his head. No,
Van Gogh painted that many years
Ago, now he’s dead. It’s a bit yellow,
She said, looking at the painting
Closer, what are those yellow flowers
Supposed to be? Sunflowers, he said,
They’re big flowers; people grow them
For real. She raised her eyebrows and
Pulled a face. What about that drink?
She asked. Sure, Max replied pouring
Her gin in a tall glass. She took, sipped
And winked an eye. What about more
Sex? She sighed. Sure, Max, looking at
Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, boringly replied.
poem by Terry Collett
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Flick-Knife Incident
After the argument
'Helen said'. 'Granny said'.
'Paul said'. 'Granny said'.
'Larry asked'.
Granny,
Who is Mrs Devereux,
Pulled out a flick-knife.
'! ', 'Helen said'.
'Helen asked'. Granny (lengthily replied) .
'Helen asked'. Granny (abruptly replied) .
'Helen asked'. 'Her grandmother said'.
'Larry said'. 'Paul said'.
'Larry asked', 'Does Declan know? '
'Granny said'.
'Larry said', 'I must go and tell.'
Lily 'addressed Paul'.
'Larry said'. 'Mrs Devereux said'. 'Paul said'.
'Lily said', 'Declan's getting sick...'
'Paul asked'. 'Helen said'. 'Paul said'.
Enough said.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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And Pussy cat
Pussy pussy cat pussy cat
Where have you been
And pussy cat replied
He had been to London
To look at the queen
Again I asked Pussy cat
Where have you been
And pussy cat replied
He had been to Odisha
To look at English
Rule of Nabin.
Pussy cat pussy cat
Further I asked where
Have you been and
Pussy cat replied
He had been to see
Odia people who are fool
And how odia people
Still remain cool
Pussy pussy cat
I asked where have
You been and pussy cat
Replied he had been
To India to see
The democratic rule.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Excitement
With such figure as you have got,
I can’t but desire you utmost.
Maybe I’m a loafer to your eyes
And hence you might scorn me for that.
You may detest me but not the desire.
Being desired is woman’s thirst.
Women enjoy being desired
By men irrespective of ranks.
Know that it is you who tempt me.
You can choose men of your desire
But can’t stop men from their desire.
You are helpless to stop yourself
From kindling the desire of men.
The sun that excites leaves and grass
Must know that he should not reproach
Leaves and grass for their excitement.
10.05.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Rose-bud advises man…
I asked a rose-bud, ‘who gave you your beauty? ’
And it replied, ‘my mother’s sap gave me! ’
I asked again, ‘who gave your mother plant, its sap? ’
It said, ‘the soil and rain by roots, the sun through leaves! ’
I asked the rose-bud, ‘who gave the soil, sun and rain such abilities? ’
It replied, ‘the One who made all things, and you and me! ’
And now the rose-bud asked me, ‘But why do you ask such questions?
Are you not made beautiful too by the same One,
Who made me, the moon, sky, soil and sun?
And yet, like you, we cannot walk or run! ’
It continued, ‘we plants feel sad we cannot move like how you do! ’
‘We buds grow bigger by each dawn;
The Maker feels so happy when we’re born,
And smiles on seeing us each morn,
Turning ecstatic, when we blossom on,
The landscape to perfume and to adorn –
By morrow, most of us are almost gone! ’
I asked the rose-bud, ‘are the dew-drops then because you cry? ’
And it replied, ‘they are the tears of joy and sadness of God on high,
Who knows we are born to sooner die.’
But tell me man, such questions, you ask, ‘why? ’
The rose-bud went on:
‘God gave you man, woman, a long life-span;
And do many things, you surely can! ’
God made you far more beautiful!
Be satisfied and be dutiful;
God is our Master One, most wonderful!
Praise Him, thank Him for all His gifts to you, bountiful! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-2-2010
poem by John Celes
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A Perpetual Stream Of Sacred Consciousness
I asked the mountain
You are very strong
you will exist till the end of creation
The mountain replied numbly
No, Nay, not so
the water can flow me and
convert me to a plain land
then my existence will vanish
I asked the rock
no one can melt you
the rock also replied numbly
No, Nay not so
the water can melt me
and I will be no more
I asked the trees
the water will destroy you
the tree replied
No, Nay not so
it shall irrigate me and
give me life
I asked each and every creatures
all replied
water is more soft, more rich
and more strong
it can destroy and give life too
it can quench thirst of all
and give life to all
I asked the Water
You are soft and mild
You are rich and strong too
The water replied
No, Nay not so
I may be dried at any time
It is poetry,
a perpetual stream of sacred consciousness
flowing ever and ever
beyond the stars and planets and
even beyond plenty of universe
The Poetry can save me and
pray to God for my survival.
poem by Ramesh Rai
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Sick of Being Sick
I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !
poem by Shelby Brockway
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I love you, too
At the distance precisely I perceived
some ripples in the still wind breaking
the clogs of the waves, crawling towards
me the little chain of the words ‘ I love you ‘
which risen up from the below part of her belly
and clearly asked me ‘why did you not accept
the softest words the most heart felt feeling
of the world? ' I replied with a smile ‘ please
stop shaking and return to tell that I had
accepted her before you reached here ‘
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Sick I Am...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick...please don`t tell anyone...
i am sick...please forgive me if i hurt you...
i am sick...going so faraway from here...
i am sick...saying this only for you...
i am sick...maybe will never come back...
i am sick...remember me and never forget me...
i am sick...pray for me and wish me all best what you can...
i am sick...all wounds i have inside my heart...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick... and you will never see me..
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Chi
Pain!
Buried so far away. into my life of nothing
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
I am so high always. burying my life so slowly.
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
It opens my mind to feelings. cant face bottom without something.
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
Re-entering my head, feeling like Im god
With the world around me, cant you feel this pain?
Ripping through my heart!
Screaming through my mind!
Nothing I can kill!
Screaming a...
Lie! i! am!
Cant you tear my eyes out?
Cant you take my heart?
Away to heart
Good-bye...
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole this big
So I dig a hole this...
Pain, pain, pain...
song performed by by Korn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aquasports
So now I understand...
Your eyes became too big for your belly
You wanted extra helpings
Of everything
You desired desire
And then submersed yourself
In its wash
You went swimming
Where the water looked fresh and appealing
But now,
Hopelessly out of your depth
And carried along by undercurrents
You call for help
Is anyone listening?
poem by Bob Oldfield
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The boy and the apple tree
Once there was a boy who used to play under an apple tree
He played so happily that it was a joy to see
As he grew old, he got bore of playing alone
Toys and gadgets he desired to be his own
So, under the apple tree the boy muttered
‘Tree can you give me toys I now desire? ’
‘Toys I don’t have, my boy, ’ the tree replied
‘But my fruits you can sell to get your toys.’
So the boy took the fruits and went away
The tree waited for his return day after day
Many years had passed and the boy got older
He married a girl to be his wife and lover
The adult boy now needing a new house for his family
Went to the tree and asked for its advice earnestly
The tree glad to see him once again said
‘My branches will be sufficient to make your nest.’
To these words the adult boy listened
And took all the branches away with him
With these he constructed a house for his family
Where he lived for several years happily
One day, the boy now a fully mature adult thought
‘It will be wise to travel around and sail the sea across’
So, he went to the now old apple tree and asked
‘Tree, can you tell me, a boat, where I can get? ’
The tree which was happy to see him again sighed and said
‘Though I am old, my stem you may take if you want’
On hearing this, the guy cut the tree down
And made a large boat, which was fine and strong
Many years had passed and the guy now became an old man
Tired from his adventures across the sea and land
He went and saw the apple tree once again
Which was now but a stump nobody would want
The old stump on seeing the old man cried
‘My old boy what can I do for you this time’
The old man on hearing this softly replied
‘I just want to lean against you till the end of my life.’
poem by Henry Chen
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