Ch 07 On The Effects Of Education Story 12
One year discord had arisen in a caravan among the walking portion and I also travelled on foot. To obtain justice we attacked each other’s heads and faces, giving full vent to pugnacity and contention. I saw a man sitting in a camel litter and saying to his companion: ‘How wonderful! A pawn of ivory travels across the chess-board and becomes a farzin, and the footmen of the Haj travelled across the whole desert only to become worse.’
Tell on my part to the man-biting Haji
Who tears the skins of people with torments:
Thou art not a Haji but a camel is one
Because, poor brute, it feeds on thorns and bears loads.
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Oi To The World
Haji was a punk just like any other boy
And he never had no trouble till he started up his oi band
Safe in the garage or singing in the tub
Till haji went too far and he plugged in at the pub
twas a cold christmas eve when trevor and the skins
Popped in for a pint and to nick a back of crisps
Trevor liked the music but not the unity
He unwound hajis turban and he knocked him to his knees
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
Haji was a bloody mess, he ran out through the crowd
He said well meet again we are bloody but not unbowed
Trevor called his bluff and told him where to meet
Christmas day on the roof down at 20 oxford street
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
On the roof with the nun chucks trevor broke a lot of bones
But haji had a sword like that guy in indiana jones
Police sirens wailing, a bloody dying man
Haji was alone and abandoned by his band
Trevor was there fading and still so full of hate
When the skins left him there and went down the fire escape
Oi! oi!
But then haji saw the north star shining more then ever
So he made a tourniquet from his turban saving trevor
They repelled down the roof with the rest of the turban
And went back to the pub where they bought each other bourbon
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
Oi! oi!
song performed by by No Doubt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Camel
A camel
That walks alone
Across the desert unending
Has no pretentions.
Every camel is so.
A camel
That has a hump large and
A physique strong
Is a marvel to none.
No marvel at all.
A camel
Treads before me at times
Leaving a track to follow and
I carry my small luggage
No caravan is seen.
A camel,
A desert,
A track and
Me.
There is a breeze blowing from somewhere!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Ch 06 On Weakness And Old Age Story 04
One day, in the pride of youth, I had travelled hard and arrived perfectly exhausted in the evening at the foot of an acclivity. A weak old man, who had likewise been following the caravan, came and asked me why I was sleeping, this not being the place for it. I replied: ‘How am I to travel, having lost the use of my feet?’ He said: ‘Hast thou not heard that it is better to walk gently and to halt now and then than to run and to become exhausted?’
O thou who desirest to reach the station
Take my advice and learn patience.
An Arab horse gallops twice in a race.
A camel ambles gently night and day.
A Road Well Travelled
A road well travelled does not the journey ease
Nor do well placed signposts aid our itineraries
A road well travelled is rough and rutted where
Others have passed by this way overburdened with their cares
A road well-travelled may be full of risks and dangers
You keep yourself unto yourself and never talk to strangers.
This road well travelled has no final end in sight
It can be sunny in the daytime but quite frightening at night
This road well travelled can sometimes just disappear
And you stop not knowing where to go shivering with fear
This road well travelled sometimes returns you to its start
And leaves you walking round in circles with a sad and heavy heart.
My road well travelled has many toll gates on the way
Each time I ask directions there’s a need to always pay
My road well travelled is a lonely road at times
It is a real road that I know it’s not just a state of mind
My road well travelled is not just my road you see
It’s a road that many others take and it’s called anxiety.
poem by David Keig
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They've Put A Brassiere On A Camel
They've put a brassiere on a camel,
She wasn't dressed proper, you know.
They've put a brassiere on a camel,
So that her humps wouldn't show.
And they're making other respectable plans,
They're even even insisting the pigs should wear pants,
They'll dress up the ducks if we give them the chance
Since they've put a brassiere on a camel.
They've put a brassiere on a camel,
They claim she's more decent that way.
They've put a brassiere on a camel,
The camel had nothing to say.
They squeezed her into it, i'll never know how,
They say that she looks more respectable now,
Lord knows what they've got in mind for the cow,
Since they've put a brassiere on a camel.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Loreena mckennitt, THE OLD WAYS
IN the desert
A camel
A lady
Riding
Against an orange sky
The lady in silk
She is running away
From the hot sun
In the desert
The sun is confident
Following her
In the full view
After all, the desert where the camel
And the woman walk
Is the sun’s best friend.
The usual old ways do not know betrayal.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 27
It once happened that on a journey to the Hejaz a company of young and pious men, whose sentiments harmonized with mine, were my fellow-travellers. They occasionally sung and recited spiritual verses but we had with us also an a’bid, who entertained a bad opinion of the behaviour of the dervishes and was ignorant of their sufferings. When we reached the palm-grove of the Beni Hallal, a black boy of the encampment, falling into a state of excitement, broke out in a strain which brought down the birds from the sky. I saw, however, the camel of the a’bid, which began to prance, throwing him and running into the desert.
Knowest thou what that matutinal bulbul said to me?
What man art thou to be ignorant of love?
The Arabic verses threw a camel into ecstasy and joy.
If thou hast no taste thou art an ill-natured brute.
When a camel’s head is turned by the frenzy of joy
And a man does not feel it, he must be an ass.
When the winds blow over the plain
The branches of the ban-tree bend, not hard rocks.
Whatever thou beholdest chants his praises.
He knows this who has the true perception.
Not only the bulbul on the rosebush sings praises
But every bramble is a tongue, extolling him.
The Tears in Desert
Once upon a time in a desert,
There was a camel and an oasis,
Large terrain, scorpions, rattlesnakes, cruel sun and cactus,
Camel galloped its way through the painful elements,
May be this was less,
Qabilas and Pathans used it,
Bruised it,
Work done; Bye bye,
Beautiful motives to use it,
Tears filled its eyes but sun evaporated them all,
No one cared so on its knees,
Still working its way towards oasis,
But not getting it right,
Do you know who camel was? , or is?
Think twice, take your time,
Hope this time would enough for its journey to oasis...
poem by Vikrant Jog
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O My dear unseen Lord!
You gave me a Camel
And stretched a long desert
A poor ration with a decander of water.
But I am not blaming you,
Is it possible to live with an old female Camel
In his entire life with fundamental needs?
*The soul would have no rainbow if the eye had no tear.
-Unknown
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 17
A bareheaded and barefooted pedestrian who had arrived from Kufah with the Hejaz-caravan of pilgrims joined us, strutted about and recited:
‘I am neither riding a camel nor under a load like a camel.
I am neither a lord of subjects nor the slave of a potentate.
Grief for the present, or distress for the past, does not trouble me.
I draw my breath in comfort and thus spend my life.’
A camel-rider shouted to him: ‘O dervish, where art thou going? Return, for thou wilt expire from hardships.’ He paid no attention but entered the desert and marched. When we reached the station at the palm-grove of Mahmud, the rich man was on the point of death and the dervish, approaching his pillow, said: ‘We have not expired from hardship but thou hast died on a dromedary.’
A man wept all night near the head of a patient.
When the day dawned he died and the patient revived.
Many a fleet charger had fallen dead
While a lame ass reached the station alive.
Often healthy persons were in the soil
Buried and the wounded did not die.
Caravan
Moses went into the desert
Moses came back with the law
Jesus went into the desert
God only knows what he saw
Hitch up your ass and your camel
Fill up your skin at the well
Roll up your tent, whisper your prayers
Are you ready to ride through hell
Caravan moving through the night
Sleeping in the light of day
Caravan spinning through the void
On our way to anywhere
Caravan time is just a joke change is all we
Understand
Caravan life is a mirage,
Only a mirage dancing on the desert sand
How I recall all the mountains
How I remember the farm
Oh how I miss the big city
With a pretty girl on my arm
Sell my best friend for some water
Cut off my leg for some shade
Sunburn these thoughts from my memory
If I live I will be remade
The sand is like a razor
Slashing at my face
Everyones in panic but you cant see any place
Its a sand storm, taken by surprise
Hide beneath your wrappings and cover up your eyes
Well I lost my kit and camel
Maybe I will die
Feel so lost and helpless and I think Im gonna cry
Its a sand storm, nothing you can do
No one knows if it will last
No one knows if you will make it through
Its been so long without water
Vultures are filling the air
Where is that bloody oasis
Must be around here somewhere
Time for some strong meditation
Time for the ultimate change
Time to make peace with your maker
Everything has been prearranged
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Spirit of Rumi-39-The Desert
As the cool dawn brings the light
to the desert where the blue-white sky
meets the sand that time and man have brought,
and you wake the camel boy
to lead the camels from the waterside –
before you mount the lurching beast
and sway off into the desert on your path,
the camel-bells tinkling on the harness,
look into the camel’s eyes.
There you will see mingled,
pride in its being; patience in its duty.
The wise men say that God is found
where opposites meet and are resolved.
Proud in its being, patient in its duty –
no great wonder, then, that the camel
has been chosen of God to take you
across the desert of your destiny in faith and trust;
for in the world of metaphor, where man meets God
in the mind’s own language,
the camel is your body; dutiful proud servant
for the journey you must take; your company
for the length of time that journey takes.
So, traveller, when you reach the green and cool oasis
at the ending of the day’s sufficient journey -
first tie your camel by the waters of refreshment
before you kneel; for food; for prayer; then
resting in the bright-eyed company;
the eyes of those who scan the round horizon as they ride
and wonder always, what oasis lies beyond.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Long Necked Ruminant
Long Necked Ruminant
So you think a camel is just an ugly animal,
a camel has kissable lips and eyes like
Marilyn Monroe; and it gives milk, low fat and
nourishing. But I bet you didn’t know that.
When a four wheel, stops by lack of petrol in
the sand of Sahara, the camel with its padded
cloves trudges along, smells like hell, but
who cares when it can bring you to an oasis.
Sweet dates, cold water and languor under
palm trees, a dream comes true, but do not
forget it was a camel that brought you there.
And have you ever tasted camel cheese?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 12
One night I had in the desert of Mekkah become so weak from want of sleep that I was unable to walk and, laying myself down, told the camel driver to let me alone.
How far can the foot of a wretched pedestrian go
When a dromedary gets distressed by its load?
Whilst the body of a fat man becomes lean
A weak man will be dead of exhaustion.
He replied: ‘O brother, the sanctuary is in front of us and brigands in the rear. If thou goest thou wilt prosper. If thou sleepest thou wilt die.’
It is pleasant to sleep under an acacia on the desert road
But alas! thou must bid farewell to life on the night of departure.
Giving Up
Giving up will never be an option
in my life anymore.
I did it once before,
but will never do it again.
For years, I walked in limbo
after giving up on something I loved.
It got to a point where I lost myself
and travelled down many lonely roads.
Never will I do it again
and cheat myself that it was right.
Giving up will never be an option
as long as my body has life.
I have travelled down that road,
and know where the heartaches lie.
I have felt the isolation
and the lonely tears you cry.
Giving up will never be an option
and it should never be to you.
Where I have returned to life
so it can happen to you too.
A fire is never out
as long as one spark remains.
We should always remember that
in whatever we want to do.
20 June 2010
poem by David Harris
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From an Iceberg to a Desert
In your Igloo
My frozen thoughts
Never melts
And we go to a desert
I give you my old Camel
To find your precious dreamy Oasis,
Would your Mom & Dad give permission
For this vagabond Nomad?
* When I was a kid I grumbled with my poor Mom that I want ice cubes,
Then she said; 'We are poor darling and your Papa left for Aladdin's wonderful lamp.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Camel
i am not ashamed to say
that i have never seen a living camel
(except the pictures
and movies
Lawrence of Arabia)
how i wish to ride on the hump of the camel
touch its hair and lick its tongue
(do you find it dirty? am i weird?)
but despite this ignorance
i must with all honesty admit
i smoke Camel
cigarettes.
I am not horny
I am just being corny
Oh forget me
I am damn crazy!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Last Stage
a crooked line straightens itself
finally with a beeping sound, not once,
penetrating, traveling to an insistence,
it is turned off. A sob from a little girl
beside the bed. A punch on the wall
of a man's fist. A white blanket covering
a pair of eyes. Blankness.
a caravan of nomads, a camel a desert
a dark night, full moon, a distant call and then
sleep and silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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He "Digesteth Harde Yron"
Although the aepyornis
or roc that lived in Madagascar, and
the moa are extinct,
the camel-sparrow, linked
with them in size--the large sparrow
Xenophon saw walking by a stream--was and is
a symbol of justice.
This bird watches his chicks with
a maternal concentration-and he's
been mothering the eggs
at night six weeks--his legs
their only weapon of defense.
He is swifter than a horse; he has a foot hard
as a hoof; the leopard
is not more suspicious.How
could he, prized for plumes and eggs and young
used even as a riding-beast, respect men
hiding actor-like in ostrich skins, with the right hand
making the neck move as if alive
and from a bag the left hand strewing grain, that ostriches
might be decoyed and killed!Yes, this is he
whose plume was anciently
the plume of justice; he
whose comic duckling head on its
great neck revolves with compass-needle nervousness
when he stands guard,
in S-like foragings as he is
preening the down on his leaden-skinned back.
The egg piously shown
as Leda's very own
from which Castor and Pollux hatched,
was an ostrich-egg.And what could have been more fit
for the Chinese lawn it
grazed on as a gift to an
emperor who admired strange birds, than this
one, who builds his mud-made
nest in dust yet will wade
in lake or sea till only the head shows.
. . . . . . .
Six hundred ostrich-brains served
at one banquet, the ostrich-plume-tipped tent
and desert spear, jewel-
gorgeous ugly egg-shell
goblets, eight pairs of ostriches
in harness, dramatize a meaning
always missed by the externalist.
The power of the visible
is the invisible; as even where
no tree of freedom grows,
so-called brute courage knows.
Heroism is exhausting, yet
it contradicts a greed that did not wisely spare
the harmless solitaire
or great auk in its grandeur;
unsolicitude having swallowed up
all giant birds but an alert gargantuan
little-winged, magnificently speedy running-bird.
This one remaining rebel
is the sparrow-camel.
poem by Marianne Moore
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The Years Gone By
To symbolize a year is to notify the world
Of its influence on the years and centuries housed.
Daylight has occurred and been received on this day,
Inside them the days of the sunlight regress
For the time has travelled ever so slowly.
This year, and next year it will be variously portrayed
As years of strategy, ones for the idle chatter to disappear.
The years are symbols of centuries we define
In the deepest corners of the mind.
In the bigger depths a wonderful speech has arisen
Where ogrish talents are never depicted.
The years of purity outshine them all,
Whether the rides of a park are numerous
Or they still collapse from no fun at all.
poem by Naveed Akram
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