My Fair Lady
MY FAIR LADY
She is so reserved but neat and pleasant
Would not lift her face on any commotion
When my colleagues try in vain, to distract her attention
She remains cool in an emotionless perfection
I proudly recollect those rarest moments
As she walks down to my seat in graceful movements
To whisper a few words on routine official things
Making others envy - that I have at her some extra length
I have never shown any signs of love
Though, the seeds are sown and watered from within
For fear of her decisions, if my interests are known
I am still a novice for love and dejections
On her birthdays, she serves me from her lunch box
Pouring her heart in her usual musical voice
I get melted and flowed into her cisterns
Given the chance, I always opted to keep silence
For the last one week she has been absent
Dull and dry, I am so restless and nervous
Finally, I get to her in a hospital corner
Pale and weak with early patches as a leprosy patient
Lifting her palms, I kissed them in fondness
To convey my firmness beyond her sickness
I am not scared at her illness at all
As she is mine…. In all ups and downs
Trembling lips and her tearful eyes
In total disbelief at this sincere guy
Silent declarations speak themselves aloud
That we are together to meet the challenges ahead
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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Related quotes
A cuckoo in morning
I failed to notice the cuckoo in morning
The cool breeze simply sent me warning
It never happened in the past
I failed to recollect when it was last
I was desperate to find lovely bird
She was all the time heard
It was making pleasant sound
There was good or nice to be found
Cuckoo had made great impact in my mind
I was all out for her to find
She entered quietly in life as very kind
I was almost sunk and gone blind
Well, that was her way to remain defiant
The weather was cool but she was absent
There was no melody or sweet voice to be heard
She had gone for ever as I had feared
Some people are missed and they strike often
The memory may emerge and make sad sudden
It is natural to miss certain golden moments
It has its relevance with some movements
Nothing remains standstill or creates vacuum
We only feel bad and simply assume
The saddest part may often emerge and unseat
You often feel guilty and express desire to meet
Love is desired but not deserved
It is to be distantly seen and observed
It can’t be kept in cage or reserved
It is to be felt from within for the purpose to be served
It may not resurface even if you go for
There may be constant struggle or war
It is pitiable condition that you miss
We always hope to realize the wish
Something can’t happen over night
You may not assume it very right
It has bearing on your mind and heart
It had definitely made a good start
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Silence 1.
Most times when I'm hurt,
My silence speaks for me.
She speaks very loud;
Even louder than a megaphone.
I choose to be silent, -
When most things happen,
Not because I cannot speak;
Nor that my words have evaded me,
But because in my silence-
There's a challenging power.
Sometimes in my fears,
When my heart is filled with love,
And my eyes with tears;
I learn to love, just like a dove.
My mouth moves to speak,
But is suddenly cut short by silence,
Silence in love, silence in fear.
Silence in tears, silence in joy;
And when I'm in this mood,
My silence stands so tall-
Even taller than a giant;
She makes her way; -
Even more than spoken words.
Spoken words of loud emotions,
They meet my silence-
And they tremble in awe.
I could hear those words;
They say to themselves,
'How art silence so mighty? '.
poem by Echezonachukwu Nduka
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Silence (Part I)
Sometimes I see you as my child,
Sometimes I see you as my sweetheart,
And when I look into your eyes,
I see that tender and sweet smile,
And I want to say what’s in my heart,
And I want to tell you how I feel,
But my voice remains there, still,
And I just stare at your loving face,
And let the love from my heart,
Flow like a wild river in furious race,
to enfold your sweet and pure soul
with a sea of love and tenderness.
Sometimes there’s so much to say,
but nothing flows from my lips,
And only silence is there to stay,
And only the silence I should keep,
Because what I had to say was already said,
How words could express
never-ending love and tenderness?
How could I just say at one time,
I love you more than my own life?
And there remains the deep silence,
Silence and more silence,
to signal that divine presence,
of my silent love; my heart’s essence.
But this silence is not empty silence,
when divine love fills all my senses,
when nature’s beauty colours your soul,
and fades away all pity and woe.
Because when there is silence,
you can hear the silent language,
the heavenly music of my heart’s song,
God’s eternal music He’s been playing all along,
And in that silence you’ll hear my song,
The endless tune that my love sings,
with the sweetest notes in your luscious dreams,
which eternally flow like endless streams.
(2009)
poem by Roberto Echanes
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To The Right Honourable The Lady Sarah Cowper.
Let me the Honour soon obtain,
For which I long have hop'd in vain;
Since I, alas! am now confin'd,
Your Visit would be doubly kind.
What Sorrows have I not to fear,
Ty'd to the Bed of Sickness here?
When all that's human, quits the Place,
And Winter shews his horrid Face;
Whilst Desolation proudly stalks
Along the dull, deserted Walks.
Methinks the Skies already lour;
Loud, from the Hills, the Torrents pour;
The Shops are shut; the Days are dark;
And scarce a Dog is left to bark.
O, shield me from the dreadful Storms,
Which my distemper'd Fancy forms!
The thoughtless Fair the Toilet prize,
There practise Smiles, and point their Eyes:
But Cowper, negligent of Art,
Chose, early wise, the better Part.
Yet from your Mind some Moments spare;
The Stranger be a--while your Care,
Who now beneath Affliction bends,
Far from her Country, and her Friends.
Come, and my anxious Heart relieve:
For in your Presence who could grieve?
poem by Mary Barber
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Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-Four
I HEAR no footfall beating through the dark,
A lonely gust is loitering at the pane;
There is no sound within these forests stark
Beyond a splash or two of sullen rain;
But you are with us! and our patient land
Is filled with long-expected change at last,
Though we have scarce the heart to lift a hand
Of welcome, after all the yearning past!
Ah! marvel not; the days and nights were long
And cold and dull and dashed with many tears;
And lately there hath been a doleful song,
Of “Mene, Mene,” in our restless ears!
Indeed, we’ve said, “The royal son of Time,
Whose feet will shortly cross our threshold floor,
May lead us to those outer heights sublime
Our Sires have sold their lives to see before!
We’ll follow him! Beyond the waves and wrecks
Of years fulfilled, some fine results must lie;
We’ll pass the last of all wild things that vex
The pale, sad face of our Humanity!”
But now our fainting feet are loth to stray
From trodden paths; our eyes with pain are blind!
We’ve lost fair treasures by the weary way;
We cry, like children, to be left behind.
Our human speech is dim. Yet, latest born
Of God’s Eternity, there came to me,
In saddened streets last week, from lips forlorn
A sound more solemn than the sleepless sea!
O, Rachael! Rachael! We have heard the cries
In Rama, stranger, o’er our darling dead;
And seen our mothers with the heavy eyes,
Who would not hearken to be comforted!
Then lead us gently! It must come to pass
That some of us shall halt and faint and fall;
For we are looking through a darkened glass,
And Heaven seems far, and faith grows cold and pale.
I know, for one, I need a subtle strength
I have not yet to hold me from a fall;
What time I cry to God within the length
Of weary hours; my face against the wall!
My mourning brothers! in the long, still nights,
When sleep is wilful, and the lone moon shines,
Bethink you of the silent, silver lights,
And darks with Death amongst the moody pines!
Then, though you cannot shut a stricken face
Away from you, this hope will come about
That Christ hath sent again throughout the place
Some signs of Love to worst and weaken doubt.
So you may find in every afterthought
A peace beyond your best expression dear;
And haply hearken to the Voice which wrought
Such strength in Peter on the seas of fear!
poem by Henry Kendall
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A Simple Matter
My pencil is on the floor
Just what am I to do
I'll not get it with my feet
As the other children do
The test has already started
I'm in danger of falling behind
If only a fellow student
Would return it in ample time
My palms are now sweating
My frustrations beginning to show
No talking is permitted
Thus my pencil lies below
If my eyes were to wander
For a helping hand to find
Would my teacher be believing
Or would questions of cheating be defined
As I squirm anxiously in my seat
There's sweat forming on my brow
I wantingly glance beneath me
Believing I'll retrieve it somehow
A commotion I could make
But others I would distract
Or an illness I could fake
With a slim chance the test retake
I glance up at the clock
With feelings of dismal shock
Wishing in my predicament
My teacher soon takes stock
I hesitatingly raise my hand
As a tear trickles down my cheek
Hoping and praying all along
That my teacher's eyes and mine do meet
But much to my dismay
She's still looking another way
With hopes of finishing diminishing
I'll need find yet another way
I swallow a gulp of air
In hopes of clearing my throat
In need of my teacher's attention
To questions with answers yet unwrote
In fear of promoting a commotion
I begrudgingly bury my head
Any hope of a successful solution
Are lost in my feelings of dread
With a tap on my shoulder from behind me
And a tug on my chair's brake release
My teacher's whispering voice reminds me
My wheelchair's brake to release
With a smile and a nod to assure me
To put my worst expectations to rest
My teacher returns me my pencil
And on I continue my test
(copyrighted 1993-2007)
poem by Robert John Meehan
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Be Aware My Love
Do these words of mine that live in ink
Reach the echoes of your silent heart?
It, at last, our quiet lips should meet
The mingling of our breath would then speak
The truth, and the truth be made aware
That I love you more than you can hear...
This is for you, stranger, who would be
My wife, my companion, my love
For all of time, both mine and yours
Are one and the same forevermore
Believe me! I need you by my side,
You are my strength, my hope and my guide...
I love you with all my heart!
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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The Echo
Rust on his wail and melted like the snow,
And like fair women and brave men;
But death's prophetic ears gather the tears.
Trembling in distress and the look of things,
With checks all pale at night!
And like the flying feet without a rest at last.
Merry as a marriage-bell,
That was the echo of the wind to my ears at last;
But with soft eyes ans the look of the muse of love,
And the pleasant things of love are always around me.
Cold and low ans full of lusty life,
And in beauty's circles i will share my muse with you;
For the breasts of love do water my peaceful garden.
Double joy went through my mind with your muse,
And with rich blossom trees to swing along;
But your deep-blue eyes are here to stay.
The lilies gave me love and peace like,
The fresh water from your ocean of love;
But the echo around me is like the ruler of your waters,
And of the early flowers of the muse of your paradise.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Dignity Of Words
i agree as you say
that words must still keep that dignity
they used to have
before we meet
after all we started with a few words
took some more
and savored its flavors
the scents of its letters
the tastes of its
sweet vowels
when we kissed if you remember
we swallowed words
when we made love we let go
some consonants
to our satisfaction
the thrill seemingly without end
now while dining we are four seats apart
you seat at the front
i at the rear of this distance
between us
the words are not reborn
only this silence
constricting like a boa
swallowing
the crowd of thoughts in concrete
on walls of words
our heads finally collide
i could have opted for
the mute and deaf
the dumb who loves me for whatever i am
regret is not my choice
it is here and not leaving
it is eating me
like i am a delicious delicacy
i am sorry, i keep my mouth shut.
what will i say? i am back to the silent world
of my solitude
long time ago, this was paradise of clauses
now, you say it, this is a complete sentence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Feeling You In Palms.....
In the deep REALM of loneliness
and desert of silence
unseen and unsaid things
merge with each other
where silence is thirsty of happenings
thirsty of noise of creation
thirsty of itself
creating EXUBERANT canvas of moments
your powerful thoughts
appears in cloves of my soul
I try to hold your feelings in my palm
as if the palm is the complete LOVE to beloved one..
and every line of palms
every moment of palms…
even every silenced voice of palm
making me thrill for a moment
where i find
nails engraving YOUR name
Finally a forced- reminder
TO FULFIL THE LONGING
OF DRY LIPS..
poem by Seema Gupta
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To Lothario
Think not, Lothario, while I view
The bright expression of thy face,
And on thy cheek of crimson hue
Emotion's varying beauties trace,
That in my heart one feeling dwells,
But what the coldest must approve,
Nor think my conscious bosom swells
With aught resembling secret love.
No....still these eyes can fix on thine,
Nor fear their keenest glance to meet;
And when thou boldly searchest mine,
My quiet heart disdains to beat.
But, if by vain self-love misled,
Thou in my looks canst passion see;
And think, by weak illusions fed,
My towering hopes aspire to thee....
Let us my absent Henry seek;
And when he meets my conscious eyes,
In every glance my heart will speak,
And plainly tell for whom it sighs.
poem by Amelia Opie
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I Envy Nothing But One
I don’t envy the angels with wings who can fly
I’ve been soaring in the beautiful sky of your love
I don’t envy the beauty of the rainbow
You’ve made me the most beautiful woman in your love
I don’t envy the freedom of the dolphins swimming in the ocean
I’ve been swimming in the ocean of your loving eyes
I don’t envy Shakespeare for his love poems
I’ve become the greatest poet since I met you
I don’t envy Romeo’s faith to Juliet
You’ve never turned your heart from me, not even once
I don’t envy the softness of the dew the morning has
You’ve been kissing me gently with your tender lips
I don’t envy Monalisa’s wonderful smile Leonardo has
I’ve got one of mine on your face
I don’t envy the sweet sound a harp has
I’ve got a sweeter one when you whisper in my ears
I envy nothing but one
The way you love and make me feel this way
poem by Santi Dewi Sihombing
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Sweetheart
Sweetheart, that thou art fair I know,
More fair to me
Than flowers that make the loveliest show
To tempt the bee.
When other girls, whose faces are,
Beside thy face,
As rushlights to the evening star,
Deny thy grace,
I silent sit and let them speak,
As men of strength
Allow the impotent and weak
To rail at length.
If they should tell me Love is blind,
And so doth miss
The faults which they are quick to find,
I'd answer this:
Envy is blind; not Love, whose eyes
Are purged and clear
Through gazing on the perfect skies
Of thine, my dear.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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My Dog 'marcus
During the old SSLC days
I remember having read
a prose in English
' My Dog Marcus'
Marcus grew up in a rich environs
Timely food, daily bath & cushioned bed
Dog used to go for a walk by the lake-side
very willingly with his master, early morning
after some days, it became lazy
wanted to avoid the early walking rally
he hit upon an idea to deceive the master
started pretending as if deaf - dumb, on rare viral fever
till then, Marcus was having exceptional gift of hearing
even, pieces falling on carpet, were for his instant grabbing
Marcus meticulously unfolded the drama
remained as a statue, at the repeated calls of the master
master was perplexed at the sudden strike of the sickness
and devised a counter to combat the foolish Marcus
from the next day onwards, the master & his wife
conversed in-between, by silent whispers, with broad lip movements
and pretended to be shouting, and quarreled in mute format
Marcus was confused and feared, he lost his hearing for ever
Two weeks passed - Marcus ears rusted in silence
at the end of the shock drills, the master as usual,
called the Dog by name, in slow voice, for morning rounds -
Marcus, at once, jumped out in front, wagging its tail in shame.
……..perhaps, with a firm resolve that he will
never again attempt such stupid game
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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Clair de Lune
In the moonlit room your face,
Moonlight-coloured, fainting white,
And the silence of the place
Round about us in the night,
And my arms are round about you
In the silence of the night.
Lips that are not mine to kiss,
Lips how often kissed in vain,
Broken seal of memories,
Where the kisses come again
That the lips of all your lovers
Laid upon your lips in vain;
Eyes that are not mine to keep
In the mirror of mine eyes,
Where I tremble lest from sleep
Other ghosts should re-arise;
Why enthrall me with your magic,
Haunting lips, triumphant eyes?
For the silence of the night
Swims around me like a stream,
And your eyes have caught the light
Of a moon-enchanted dream,
And your arms glide round about me,
And I fade into a dream.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Harmonizing The Chaos
how many heads do you have now?
five. yes five more faces.
the mouths have become your problem.
they do not seal their lips and you
crave for the silence of the crabs.
the teeth gnash, they are afraid of the
ash. the gums, yes the gums are weak
and they are not spitting out what the tongue
has been keeping.
silence. you issue the order.
they wait for the words from your heart.
they keep on waiting.
they are looking for love like you.
but there isn't any, and so they keep their
own chaos now. the tongue is licking
every part of your body and the eyes
are busy with the pictures of two shadows
making love against the light.
the hands are gentle and they start to caress
the roots of your loneliness.
love, love, love, the lips begin to whisper.
the heart wakes up from a deep slumber
and now it assumes the role
of the storyteller.
once upon a time...
and now they begin to listen again.
once upon a time, there lived a very lonely princess
and there was this prince riding on a white horse
from the castle in the sky............
the princess turned to stone
because the prince never kissed her.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Love Becomes A Game
When love becomes a game
You are bound to see
Winners and losers
But how painful would be
If the one who gave it all
Turn out to be the loser
It is not fair
It is not right...
Life, like love itself
Is also like a game:
With its own set of rules
With its ups and downs
Happy moments and sorrows
And whatever comes along...
Sometimes you are weak
Sometimes you are strong....
In love like in life
There is time to smile
There is time to cry
Now I realize
That love is part of life
And things always change
After all, nothing
Remains the same...
A game is a game
Either you play it or you don't
One must follow its rules
With time and patience
To be able to beat it
And definitely WIN!
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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At Even-Tide
C. N.--Died April, 1857.
What spirit is it that doth pervade
The silence of this empty room?
And as I lift my eyes, what shade
Glides off and vanishes in gloom?
I could believe this moment gone,
A known form filled that vacant chair,
That those kind eyes upon me shone
I never shall see anywhere!
The living are so far away:
But thou--thou seemest strangely near;
Knowest all my silent heart would say,
Its peace, its pain, its hope, its fear.
And from thy calm supernal height,
And wondrous wisdom newly won,
Smilest on all our poor delight,
And petty woe beneath the sun.
From all this coil thou hast slipped away,
As softly as a cloud departs
Along the hillside purple gray--
Into the heaven of patient hearts.
Nothing here suffered, nothing missed,
Will ever stir from its repose
The death-smile on her lips unkissed,
Who all things loves and all things knows.
And I, who, ignorant and weak,
Of love so helpless--quick to pain,
With restless longing ever seek
The unattainable in vain,
Find it strange comfort thus to sit
While the loud world unheeded rolls,
And clasp, ere yet the fancy flit,
A friend's hand from the land of souls.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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When I Came Home This Morning
Writers: leo sayer & david courtney
When I came home this morning
I got your letter and what it said
I didnt understand
You told me it was over -- au revoir -- see you again sometime
I didnt understand
And overleaf you tell me that you love me...
Meet me on the corner
The usual time -- the usual place
I will be there
Meet me on the corner
Ill see you coming -- then Ill be sure
Sure youll be there
Oh and I wanna tell you that I love you...
I see your face -- I see the night
I love you -- I love you
And deep in my sleep I see your eyes
I love you -- I love you
I stood on the corner
All the cars went sweeping by
Did somebody call me -- no there was no one there
Well Ill go on waiting -- perhaps tomorrow
Another day -- I will be there
Oh and I wanna tell you that I love you...
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Warranty Clause
THE WARRANTY CLAUSE
So many of us are quite averse to use a dictionary
As it endangers in exposing our own level of illiteracy
With the limited stock of fixed vocabulary
We try to show off a fair and workable intimacy
We are in full praise for the toil of Mr. Sammuel Johnson
Let the literary worry of all those jargons
As a layman, I am not to run after the apt, best words
Neither I make it a profession as a teacher of English
Since my word power skills are too narrow and shallow
I fear poetry as hard tablets to swallow
At one reading it ought to go down the throat like milk- halwa
Without my having to overdo for just to grasp and follow
For an average reader with extra winged interests
I have an infant mix in a feeding- bottle ready
Lazy or busy, you are sure to be at ease and stirring
Only to rediscover the goodness of hither to hateful poetry
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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