Prophesy
The holy prophesies will sure come true.
No time the humans find to grieve and rue.
The darkest nights will glow with infant Sun
and days will cool with Moon in vibrant run.
His advent; skies are crooning, oh listen.
O' see the hopeful smiles of stars glisten.
Behold the rivers flow with glitzy glow;
hearken the oceans roar "Jayaho! Jayahoo! ."
Beware O' men; before that sacred dawn
the dancing demons of the darkness go
allegro! Blow their creepy clarions
and with askance and dread your hearts they stow!
I know; the hideous looks beautiful;
the beautiful frightens with face dreadful.
The right looks wrong and wrong looks right and lo
the searching saints are hit by panic blow!
But wait till ushers in the lovely dawn
when quelling all the qualms, flexes HE, His brawn! !
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Related quotes
Not too hollow
A promise not too hollow
Relation to grow and allow
No restriction of any kind
As can be seen even by blind
Love is divine gift
It finds no way or shift
It just takes place
There is glow on face
Love is for loving and not leaving
It is for the joy and pain relieving
No matter how much hurdle you face
Nothing should separate us in any case
It is holier than holy to keep the relation
It can find any suitable equation
It is same in hope and despair
One broken can not be repaired
It may find long wait
But can’t be sealed by fate
Let the spring come very late
When flowers zoom I will openly dance and state
I live for tomorrow
Today I may have to lye low
There is high hope for lovely future
I am confident and very much sure
I am very much optimistic
The same position can not remain static
It has to go away for holy reasons
The joy is to be shared by two persons
Hold in arms wherever you go
The wind may also help and blow
As rive has calm and natural flow
Face may might up and find beautiful glow
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sky Song
The flower of the Alps told the seashell: "You're shining"
The seashell told the sea: "You echo"
The sea told the boat: "You're shuddering"
The boat told the fire: "You're glowing brightly"
The fire told me: "I glow less brightly than her eyes"
The boat told me: "I shudder less than your heart does when she appears"
The sea told me: "I echo less than her name does in your love-making"
The seashell told me: "I shine less brightly than the phosphorus of desire in your hollow dream"
The flower of the Alps told me: "She's beautiful"
I said: "She's beautiful, so beautiful, she moves me."
poem by Robert Desnos
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Pocket Sun
Hold your head down in a ducking pond
See how I breathe the bubbles
Pick a few stars out for a cloudy night
I could tame damien
My love infectious bites you
I have a pocket sun boy
Im everything that burns in you
Yeah in my evergreen day, in my beautiful day
In my element day, I know I can feel the dawn
In my evergreen day, in my beautiful day
I know I can feel the dawn
Peel the skin of love and lay it on me
My window wide and open
Free fall from the moon
My earth, my friend will catch me
Im a carbonator
Im the fizz for all I want to be
Ill free the sword
Im the killer for all that hurts in me
In my evergreen day, in my beautiful day
In my element day, I know I can feel the dawn
In my evergreen day, in my beautiful day
I know I can feel the dawn
Faint reminders of the rerun flicks of old days
Caught in iron till it melts and bleeds them life
In my evergreen day, in my beautiful day
In my element day, I know I can feel the dawn
In my evergreen day, in my beautiful day
I know I can feel the dawn, feel the dawn
In my evergreen day x6
I know I can feel the dawn
song performed by by Imogen Heap
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I showed her Heights she never saw
446
I showed her Heights she never saw—
"Would'st Climb," I said?
She said—"Not so"—
"With me—" I said—With me?
I showed her Secrets—Morning's Nest—
The Rope the Nights were put across—
And now—"Would'st have me for a Guest?"
She could not find her Yes—
And then, I brake my life—And Lo,
A Light, for her, did solemn glow,
The larger, as her face withdrew—
And could she, further, "No"?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Swing high and swing low
Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
It's off for a sailor thy father would go;
And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea,
He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me:
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow!"
Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
It's oh for the waiting as weary days go!
And it's oh for the heartache that smiteth me when
I sing my song over and over again:
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow!"
"Swing high and swing low " -
The sea singeth so,
And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow;
And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea
Nor recketh he ever of mine or of me!
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
'T was off for a sailor thy father would go!"
poem by Eugene Field
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I Am The Dawn
Sun splashed drops of sugar candy
White gold flicks of molten light
A horizon boysenberry stained
Quick to come and fast to leave
Oh fickle is the dawn
I am this ever-changing dawn
Sweet and pleasing; a lovers candy
Yet men forget how quick I leave
Fleeting as those pale beams of morning moon light
"Come and stare, " they say " at this rising sun."
They yearn a kiss of my passion red lips stained
I am the harlot you see at night, shadow stained
Most who see me don't believe I am a child of the dawn
But as my grandmother would always say all women are part sun
She knew what I couldn't see, that I was sunlit orange candy
That even those who lives are lived in midnight darkness, must have star light
She told me that some lights never leave
To watch, dream and wish and my sun would never leave
But fickle and young I became stained
I forgot what I could be with light
I never watched the rising dawn
Dreamed of clouds of soft spun candy
Or wished of flying in the warming sun
I spent my thoughts in corners hidden from beams of sun
"I bid you leave me" I would yell, "Leave! "
Then in my night a man came to me with a gift of sunlit orange candy
A man so young, I called him boy, his cheeks becoming sunrise red stained
It was like he hadn't noticed I was living night, he called me dawn
No man had ever reminded me of my light
"I am a shadow! " And he would protest, "Even shadows need light"
""But I am wicked", "Yes", he would say, "So is the sun"
"But I am fickle", "Ah and so is the dawn"
"Stop! " he shouts "enough I will not leave"
I know you think you are darkened and stained
But to me you are filled of sunlit orange candy
So glow my dawn, your love filled light
You are my toot-sweet candy, my bright and burning sun
I am your light that shall not leave; your sunrise whirl has me stained
poem by Natalie Linda Harrison
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Truth
I SAW Truth on the mountains, golden-shod
With day-dawn, girt about with skies
Of azure mist, half veiling from man's eyes
Her silent face and gaze upturned to God.
Beneath were clouded steeps of shale and sod,
5
Tracked deviously by feet that human-wise
Toiled upward, but toiled vainly towards the prize;
Some following, shunning some where others trod.
Yet in the darkness oft there came, "I see,"
From eager hearts I met. "Behold!" men cried,
10
Yet variously; "such are Truth's features high."
Self's shadow, form the soul's intensity
Cast on the mist, not such the face I spied,
Calm, sovereign, silent, upturned 'midst the sky.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Your Will To Be Done
LORD I am here waiting for your will to be done
Sitting at the kitchen table watching the rising sun.
The sky is a clear blue as a background for the sun
As I sit and thank you for my family and everyone.
Each day that I awake there is a lesson to be learned
It may not be stupendous
But in my heart it will burn.
You've given us so much that we should be thankful for
The sun, the moon, the rivers and the streams
The green grass and the tall beautiful trees.
You've given us food from all walks of life
From the seas and the skies
From the earth below our feet
And for all that we eat.
You show us both sides of life, the good and the bad
Just so that " we could understand".
That everything in life is truly free.
It starts in our hearts and travels to our minds
And we can find peace and contentment till the ends of time.
The sacrifices that we make, can be heartache and pain
But nothing in life ever remains the same.
There is a price for everything - but it's not for the foods we eat
But for the love he's given us -and the hatreds we must defeat.
The "bad " is in our hearts and minds
And not anything on the ground
All you have to do is turn and look around.
We must defeat the "thoughts" of all our jealousies
Wants, and hates - and wake up to the beauties
Before it's much too late.
Like the song says " accentuate the positive
And eliminate the negative".
That is the key if we want to be free.
So I sit here with these thoughts in my mind
And thanking you DEAR LORD
Till the end of my time.
© L RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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Love flue
Love flue
Rivers flow winds blow
Upon the soil, high and low
But she drenches
Her dress and swollen her eyes
Wind dries her face
She is restless
Suffering from a disease
She opens her eyes
Sees the big stars and cry
She looks her palms
And murmurs something and parts her lips
Believe me
Near there is no one
Yet she has gone insane
Sometimes
She looks at me and smiles
Hey! Baby, 'what has gone wrong? ‘
She says, "You can not understand? '
In my way wondering
I Keep my head scratching
I wish
If I were enough intelligent
And know the reason why she is so insane
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Old Barnard -- A Monkish Tale
OLD BARNARD was still a lusty hind,
Though his age was full fourscore;
And he us'd to go
Thro' hail and snow,
To a neighb'ring town,
With his old coat brown,
To beg, at his GRANDSON'S door!
OLD BARNARD briskly jogg'd along,
When the hail and snow did fall;
And, whatever the day,
He was always gay,
Did the broad Sun glow,
Or the keen wind blow,
While he begg'd in his GRANDSON'S Hall.
His GRANDSON was a Squire, and he
Had houses, and lands, and gold;
And a coach beside,
And horses to ride,
And a downy bed
To repose his head,
And he felt not the winter's cold.
Old BARNARD had neither house nor lands,
Nor gold to buy warm array;
Nor a coach to carry,
His old bones weary
Nor beds of feather
In freezing weather,
To sleep the long nights away.
But BARNARD a quiet conscience had,
No guile did his bosom know;
And when Ev'ning clos'd,
His old bones repos'd,
Tho' the wintry blast
O'er his hovel past,
And he slept, while the winds did blow!
But his GRANDSON, he could never sleep
'Till the Sun began to rise;
For a fev'rish pain
Oppress'd his brain,
And he fear'd some evil
And dream'd of the Devil,
Whenever he clos'd his eyes!
And whenever he feasted the rich and gay,
The Devil still had his joke;
For however rare
The sumptuous fare,
When the sparkling glass
Was seen to pass,--
He was fearful the draught would choke!
And whenever, in fine and costly geer,
The Squire went forth to ride:
The owl would cry,
And the raven fly
Across his road,
While the sluggish toad
Would crawl by his Palfry's side.
And he could not command the Sunny day,
For the rain would wet him through;
And the wind would blow
Where his nag did go,
And the thunder roar,
And the torrents pour,
And he felt the chill Evening dew.
And the cramp would wring his youthful bones,
And would make him groan aloud;
And the doctor's art
Could not cure the heart,
While the conscience still
Was o'ercharg'd with ill;
And he dream'd of the pick-axe and shroud.
And why could Old BARNARD sweetly sleep,
Since so poor, and so old was he?
Because he could say
At the close of day,
"I have done no wrong
"To the weak or strong,
"And so, Heaven look kind on me!"
One night, the GRANDSON hied him forth,
To a MONK, that liv'd hard by;
"O ! Father !" said he,
"I am come to thee,
"For I'm sick of sin,
"And would fain begin
"To repent me, before I die!"
"I must pray for your Soul; the MONK replied,
"But will see you to-morrow, ere noon:
Then the MONK flew straight
To Old BARNARD'S gate,
And he bade him haste
O'er the dewy waste,
By the light of the waning Moon.
In the Monkish cell did old BARNARD wait,
And his GRANDSON went thither soon;
In a habit of grey
Ere the dawn of day,
With a cowl and cross,
On the sill of moss,
He knelt by the light of the Moon.
"O! shrive me, Father!" the GRANDSON cried,
"For the Devil is waiting for me!
"I have robb'd the poor,
"I have shut my door,
"And kept out the good
"When they wanted food,--
"And I come for my pardon, to Thee."
"Get home young Sinner," Old BARNARD said,
And your GRANDSIRE quickly see;
"Give him half your store ,
"For he's old, and poor,
"And avert each evil
"And cheat the Devil,--
By making him rich as thee ."
The SQUIRE obey'd; and Old BARNARD now
Is rescued from every evil:
For he fears no wrong,
From the weak or strong,
And the Squire can snore,
When the loud winds roar,
For he dreams no more of THE DEVIL!
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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To soar in sky
When you reminded me of "broken wings"
I lost beautiful ground and failed to sing
It was severe blow to my own kingdom
I have witnessed such beautiful creature seldom
You wished to soar in the sky
I heard it and felt very shy
As you were found still in same zeal
The world seemed to you not artificial but real
You were perfect soul mate
Never thought of self to narrate
What all had bothered you?
How much plight you had undergone through?
You had wished only world
Lovely and beautiful to remain in fold
Some magician came and shattered
Whole of your life was altered
You were sky bound and crashed
Wings were crippled and dashed
To strike on ground and never to regain
Your whole story is full of pain
You have still elegance of queen
As beautiful as never have been
Who can kill your inner spirit?
You are, even today, healthy and fit
I shall grow when you blow
With gentle wind and with river's flow
There is much more to enjoy than to loose
You are super as always but one has to choose
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Ghost Machine
Wittgenstein took a sip from his tea.
"You're wrong Descartes, I can tell you,
because body and mind are one".
"Wittgenstein is right", seconded Ryle.
He looked very angry
and shook his head as he continued:
"In claiming that your thoughts are separated
from your body you created a dogma
of the ghost in the machine."
"Gentlemen", Descartes said, "relax.
Where were you when I talked about these things?
You were not even born then".
"Wait a minute", said Bohm. "You're all wrong."
"What? " snapped out Ryle.
"You heard it correctly. You're all wrong", insisted Bohm.
"You have to explain", Wittgenstein said.
Descartes looked to be perplexed.
"Well", explained Bohm,
"since everything in the universe is information,
the existence of matter is nothing but a myth.
The universe is an enormous thought, a giant computer.
It is the machine, which is the ghost."
poem by Paul Hartal
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A hall of mirrors...
She said—she'd love me forever.
And that she always would.
That our two hearts—thoughts
"Could bond; the stars for good".
It wasn't harmony: From
The outset—that is true!
For her my sweetheart, I'
"Watch's as infants, do".
Out of the sash-window
Or that—skylight in the soul,
In reflections, light...
"Entwined—we're made whole".
Halves of the locket...
Combined, clasped.
Is what we now—became!
"In each other's grasp".
But soon these mirrors
Broke like shards of glass...
A hall of mirrors...?
"With no-truths—Alas"...
The lights ebbing darkness...
Shone on, all their paths.
But; know all hearts—break!
"Drown in hollow—baths".
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Lord Krishna said
Lord Krishna said once
"Come to me and take no chance"
Listen to the flute
It may dilute
Your hatred
And be never led
By wrong notion
That may break the nations
My flute may sing
Universal brotherhood songs
That may appeal
And make souls to regale
Listen to the music
It may form the basic
There is no hidden magic
It is the only one and unique
I am symbol of love and peace
That can be felt in early breeze
When birds make beautiful and lovely melody
The ears may love to hear to the tune of somebody
Love to hear for few minutes
It may enhance the power and dilute
All irrelevant thoughts in mind
Try for lovely and beautiful world to find
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Beautiful
The time is right
Im gonna pack my bags
And take that journey down the road
Cause over the mountain I see the bright sun shinning
And I want to live inside the glow
Yeah
I wanna go to place where I am nothing and everything
That exists between here and nowhere
I wanna got to a place time has consequence oh yeah
The sky opens to my prayers
I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
Please understand that it not that I dont care
But right know these wall are closing in on me
I love you more than I love life itself
But I need to find a place were I can breathe
I can breathe
I wanna go to place were I can hold the intangible
And let of the pain with all my might
I wanna go to a place where I am suspended in ecstasy
Some where between dark and light
Where wrong becomes right
I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
I wanna go to beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
song performed by by India Arie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Astronomer
I only said, "When in the evening the round full moon gets
entangled among the beaches of that Dadam tree, couldn't somebody
catch it?"
But dada laughed at me and said, "Baby, you are the silliest
child I have ever known. The moon is ever so far from us, how could
anybody catch it?"
I said, "Dada, how foolish you are! When mother looks out of
her window and smiles down at us playing, would you call her far
away?"
Still dada said, "You are a stupid child! But, baby where
could you find a net big enough to catch the moon with?"
I said, "Surely you could catch it with your hands."
But dada laughed and said, "You are the silliest child I have
known. If it came nearer, you would see how big the moon is."
I said, "Dada, what nonsense they teach at your school! When
mother bends her face down to kiss us, does her face look very
big?"
But still dada says, "You are a stupid child."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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An incomplete soul of a woman
Often you have called me
"Complete"
Often you have called me
"A full woman"
And today you ask me
What in life I lack?
Love…
If you had ever guessed
You would have known
How very "incomplete" I am.
Half my life I have spent
Waiting for you....
Searching for you...
In every passing strangers eyes.
Now when you finally are here
You stand a stranger
Closest to the heart,
Like the shadow of the dusk
Very much my own,
Yet distant, like a dream.
I know you are mine
Just as am i
solely yours,
Yet will always stand apart as
"we" are nobodies nobody.
The feeling is so pure,
Pristine like the dawn
And its dew.
Yet wrapped in ugly sheets of guilt
it will always lie buried
in deep caverns of shame.
And like thieves two,
We will always hide,
What is so beautiful,
So serene, so true.
I am not complete…
How can i?
When I am destined to live
This life with you
Yet without you.
I am not a full woman…
How can i?
When I am to wither away and die..
Somewhere very close to you
Yet far away from your sight.
Yes, I will always remain
"in-complete".
An incomplete soul of a woman.
poem by Anjali Kakati
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The Rainbow
Watch the white dawn gleam,
To the thunder of hidden guns.
I hear the hot shells scream
Through skies as sweet as a dream
Where the silver dawn-break runs.
And stabbing of light
Scorches the virginal white.
But I feel in my being the old, high, sanctified thrill,
And I thank the gods that the dawn is beautiful still.
From death that hurtles by
I crouch in the trench day-long,
But up to a cloudless sky
From the ground where our dead men lie
A brown lark soars in song.
Through the tortured air,
Rent by the shrapnel's flare,
Over the troubleless dead he carols his fill,
And I thank the gods that the birds are beautiful still.
Where the parapet is low
And level with the eye
Poppies and cornflowers glow
And the corn sways to and fro
In a pattern against the sky.
The gold stalks hide
Bodies of men who died
Charging at dawn through the dew to be killed or to kill.
I thank the gods that the flowers are beautiful still.
When night falls dark we creep
In silence to our dead.
We dig a few feet deep
And leave them there to sleep -
But blood at night is red,
Yea, even at night,
And a dead man's face is white.
And I dry my hands, that are also trained to kill,
And I look at the stars - for the stars are beautiful still.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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A Prophecy: To George Keats In America
'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen --
For what listen they?
For a song and for a charm,
See they glisten in alarm,
And the moon is waxing warm
To hear what I shall say.
Moon! keep wide thy golden ears --
Hearken, stars! and hearken, spheres! --
Hearken, thou eternal sky!
I sing an infant's lullaby,
A pretty lullaby.
Listen, listen, listen, listen,
Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten,
And hear my lullaby!
Though the rushes that will make
Its cradle still are in the lake --
Though the linen that will be
Its swathe, is on the cotton tree --
Though the woollen that will keep
It warm, is on the silly sheep --
Listen, starlight, listen, listen,
Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten,
And hear my lullaby!
Child, I see thee! Child, I've found thee
Midst of the quiet all around thee!
And thy mother sweet is nigh thee!
But a Poet evermore!
See, see, the lyre, the lyre,
In a flame of fire,
Upon the little cradle's top
Flaring, flaring, flaring,
Past the eyesight's bearing,
Awake it from its sleep,
And see if it can keep
Its eyes upon the blaze --
Amaze, amaze!
It stares, it stares, it stares,
It dares what no one dares!
It lifts its little hand into the flame
Unharm'd, and on the strings
Paddles a little tune, and sings,
With dumb endeavour sweetly --
Bard art thou completely!
Little child
O' th' western wild,
Bard art thou completely!
Sweetly with dumb endeavour,
A Poet now or never,
Little child
O' th' western wild,
A Poet now or never!
poem by John Keats
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The Waiting......
the vast land wait till dawn; from the raising of the
sun, down until the grass call to fall asleep, as it
patiently waits the moment to come in the ground
it lay
wild the forest with chaotic lives and harvest the
bounty fruit of abundant spring of living; makes no
different of all existence of life, full of rendezvous
offer on days of happiness
satisfaction mirror the joy of nothing more than,
a day of waiting the sun to rise from the darkest
skies of the night, show of what is not been
waiting and light of what was been hoping in the
opulent of the great heart, rejoice i woke
may the featherless wings fly, my dream of reality;
of where my deep awakening flock worth every
glow i've take until the endless waiting comes no
more fun in the laughter of show
wait my fluid sweet, strength switch it on, push
the pointless marathon of my run, for the wind
blew guide me to fly in the heaven above the sky,
never make you stop for the highway is near to
gone bye in any respect
now every blow, stop every grow, as the waiting
is over wait, until dawn for in every beginning end
with a new day to review for the starting point is
You.........
poem by Antonio Liao
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