Only my wordless eyes!
alas..!
no roadways,
not even a single footpath
of language
to reach
her pristine beauty..!
only my wordless eyes.!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Related quotes
Silence When Speaks
the silence still speaks of all secrets
even the untold story of love in the hide
when whispers being seemingly wordless
webbing the hearts by the soul immortal
rhythm when expands by the crooning
heart still talks even being wordless
never when listless by the deep silence
single word even curves the art of love
love still whispers by the art of silence
love still rhythms triggering the impulse
art when rills across the silence by the eyes
even being speechless when undisclosed
in its room of secret by the walls of mute veil
stance yet intoxicated by the quiet nod
story of love when courses upon by the blue
yet the thunder talks even being wordless
muse of flow relentless swing as wordless
poem by Dr subhendu kar
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Single Day
Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not in his thoughts
Not a single day goes by..........
Where his heart does not feel
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not want to reach out
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he dreams of his love for her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not dream of kissing her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not dream of holding her
Not a single day goes by..........
Where he does not ask. Why?
Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not his first thought on waking.
Not a single day goes by..........
Where she is not his last thought before sleeping.
Not a single day goes by..........
RG/NB
poem by Robert Green
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I can’t sleep!
My body’s tired, my minds’ racing
My eyes hurt, my hearts’ pacing
I can’t sleep
When I close my eyes, I see us talking
And reach out, to feel … the tangible warmth
Of an embrace, and grasp blindly, cold air
I can’t sleep
Wandering around in a wakeful slumber
Unfamiliar milestones, wordless conversations
In a language I don’t know, but seem to understand
I can’t sleep
Entered a new forest that I didn’t know existed
Perched atop a mountain
It’s a steep climb, but a joyful ascent
I can’t sleep
I cry no more, my soul weeps
I laugh aloud at my agony
The irony doesn’t escape me
My soul’s awake, and I can’t sleep!
poem by Anita Atina
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The Beauty Of A Poem
The beauty of a poem
The beauty of music
The beauty of light
The beauty of life
The beauty which makes us want to live life more
The beauty which pains us inside
The beauty in longing.
The beauty we come upon by surprise
The beauty of the day and the beauty of the night
The beauty we all have inside us
The beauty we can see and feel and never explain
The beauty that lifts us up
The beauty that makes us want to live more
The beauty that makes us reach out to God
The beauty we want to thank God for
The beauty of lilacs
The beauty of autumn leaves
The beauty of the people we love
The beauty that pervades life
The beauty that turns away from us
And will not let us be a part of it
The beauty we hold on to fragilely
As a driven leaf
The beauty the beauty the beauty
Oh life oh God of goodness oh death
The beauty we can never see
And the Beauty within us all
Oh God
The Beauty in us and Beyond us all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Let The Body Speak
do you know
that this ancient body
longs to speak
devoid of niceties
bereft of metaphors
the only language it knows-
the language of
agony and ecstasy
when desire strikes with
the intensity of a boomerang
hurled eons ago when
we roamed the earth?
…it’s the same
unsettling feeling
then and now too...
and when the body
begins to speak
scrawling its unique alphabet
without guilt
without frills
there arises one single
moan of ecstasy
in its pristine form
paralyzing yet vibrating
through the entwined
limbs and nerves
it strikes the frozen darkness
till then lying fossiled within
the inner walls with the
sublimity and alacrity of
a lightning…
for once
for one fleeting moment
though within the other’s grasp
your body and mine
go beyond us as
each nuance tickles us in
an ecstatic joy…
09oct2009
14.42hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Single Is Fair
Single
I am single
Question of double
Does not arise.
I am single
Only single.
Single sun
Single moon
Single earth
Single air
Single sky
Sngle water
Single fire
Single soul
Single body
All are there
All are fair.
Single is single
Single is beautiful
Single is fair.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A special kind of beauty exists which is born in language, of language, and for language.
quote by Gaston Bachelard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What a Beauty-Full Life
Beauty is in flowers, and the petals
Bathing in the early morning dew
Beauty is in the eyes of a father
When his son takes the first step
Beauty is on the face of a baby,
Sleeping in mother's lap
Beauty is in freedom,
When you fly high on the wings of hope
Beauty is in the expressions of a poor man
When he gets food after eternity
Beauty is in the pride of a teacher
When his student supersedes
Beauty is in the compassion of a devotee
When he finds solace
Beauty is in the innocence of a child
When he asks you questions
Beauty is in the sips of laughter,
You share with your friends
Beauty is in the springs of desire
that arrive after a prolonged autumn
Beauty is in the cry of a woman,
Whose womb succeeds
Beauty is in the silence,
When you don't speak, and you say a lot
Beauty is in the warmth of passion
That builds around the arms of a lover
Beauty is when those small fights,
End with tears of joy
Beauty is when the first raindrop,
Kisses your cheek
Beauty is in perseverance,
When the world's showing off
Beauty is in the enigma,
When everything's certain
Beauty is in a poem,
Where poetry meets prose
Beauty is in little chunks of life,
Filled with joys and sorrows
Beauty is in your eyes,
your heart, and in every single breath
Beauty is when you say,
"What a Beauty-Full Life..."
poem by Piyush Kaushal
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A Slowly Disappearing Beauty
its beauty is somehow hidden
you might need different eyes to see it
yet, indeed its beauty is amazing
not a single human can withstand
its eyes shine brightly
its head facing God
Then it stands there in the grass
lifts its leafy arms to pray
But like all the beauty in the world,
the older it gets, the beauty then slowly disappears
but the beauty was suppose to remain there
just because we are attracted to it, we slowly take it
away...
This poem is for mother earth and a special request from M.D.
Glennish M. Gemperoa 13 yrs. old Cebu City Philippines
poem by Glennish Gemperoa
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The Story
They met each other in the glade –
She lifted up her eyes;
Alack the day! Alack the maid!
She blushed in swift surprise.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from lifting up the eyes.
The pail was full, the path was steep –
He reached to her his hand;
She felt her warm young pulses leap,
But did not understand.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from clasping hand with hand.
She sat beside him in the wood –
He wooed with words and sighs;
Ah! love in spring seems sweet and good,
And maidens are not wise.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from listing lovers’ sighs.
The summer sun shone fairly down,
The wind blew from the south;
As his blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown,
His kiss fell on her mouth.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from kisses on the mouth.
And now the autumn time is near,
The lover roves away,
With breaking heart and falling tear,
She sits the livelong day.
Alas! Alas! for breaking hearts when lovers rove away.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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There Are Poets Better Than Me
There are poets better than me:
Many known, and many more unknown-
They have language I don’t have
And an ability to surprise in ways I cannot
And the beauty of their sound is a beauty beyond mine-
They have worlds I do not know
And rhythms I cannot reach
They can entertain as I cannot-
And they see and feel what I cannot;
They are better than me:
Other poets are better than me
Greater than me
More than me.
And the only consolation is
Writing what I feel I must-
Going on.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Ay Me, Ay Me, I Sigh the Scythe A-field
Ay me, ay me, I sigh to see the scythe a-field;
Down goeth the grass, soon wrought to wither'd hay:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that beauty needs must yield,
And princes pass, as grass doth fade away.
Ay me, ay me, that life can not have lasting leave,
Nor gold take hold of everlasting joy:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that time hath talents to receive,
And yet no time can make a suer stay.
Ay me, ay me, that wit can not have wished choice,
Nor wish can win that will desires to see:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that mirth can promise no rejoice,
Nor study tell what afterward shall be.
Ay me, ay me, that no sure staff is given to age,
Nor age can give sure wit that youth will take:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that no counsel wise and sage
Will shun the show that all doth mar and make.
Ay me, ay me, come, Time, shear on and shake thy hay,
It is no boot to balk thy bitter blows:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, come, Time, take everything away,
For all is thine, be it good or bad, that grows.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Ramdas, Start Talking With New Language!
Ramdas, start Talking with New Language,
Talk with people and every life,
That language which can take world to new dimension,
Or world shine with beauty and freshness,
Be the one among builders of new world!
Language of love and acceptance,
language that comes from the
depth of the heart,
affectionate and humble,
language that is full of gratitude,
Free of doubts and fear, Language of smile and presence
of mind,
Mindfulness which uses silence
and words well balanced,
the world to new dimensions,
Make world Look like a new world in the light of wisdom!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Blind is the Deepest Love
Blind is the deepest love, where sight gives way to insight
And the wonder of her face is of no consequence
I summon my powers of composition, unswayed by her attraction
My skills of translation in the service of emotions
Language is my guide within her storybook of life
I hear her songs in lines made up more seductively than eyes
Dancing their descent and rise. And if I never see her face
I could find myself in her embrace
When I reach out with my heart to hold her close.
In the quiet of a small abode, large in its comforts
And in profile against a sky of endless dark
I dipped my small hands in the pristine pool
Of silence deep, finding a touch that made reply
As her hands met and conversed with mine
She spoke a tongue new to my life.
Insisting that I didn't mind, that the absence
Of her face before my eyes
Was beautiful beyond the beauty I was sure to find.
Renunciations made, you journeyed to construct
Your gates set on the freedom of deserted hills
Far from the cities which stand remote
Where stars and souls are never visible.
So at this evening hour, late in life as I am
My gaze declining as I gather your insight
I still conceive in dreams how we let our veils fall
At the wedding of our hearts, where finally
Your eyes meet mine as if the brightest stars.
poem by Frank Bana
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Roses
roses speaks of love in a languege known only too the heart.Colour speak of beauty in a language known only too the rainbow.Beauty speak of sunshine in a language only known too nature.My heart speak of you in a language only known too my love.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
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The Confessor
I have heard the fame of her beauty
And I, of notes taken of her many virtues
Which has plaqued the walls of my heart
Whereon I became subject to her fair countenance
And at the wand of her beauty my obedience I tender
Alas, I am the confessed and the confessor of her beauty
She is the beat and men in dance revolves round about her
Like the stars revolves round about the moon light
Some said, she came from the province of the goddesses
Perchance a god in disguise mated her mother thus formed she
With an irresistible beauty to plaque the hearts of men with desire
Truly, she is a secret and lovely thing to look upon
And having the likeness of a goddess even the gods gave her gifts
Oh, she is a wonder to behold; a bright garland of blooming flowers
And a crown of gold upon the head of him whom she chose for a husband
Alas, I am the confessed and the confessor of her beauty
Her beauty radiates with disease, pestilence and sin
Fixing your eyes of desire on her irresistible beauty
Unleashes the contents of the Pandora box of her beauty and you're plaqued
She is truly a blessing and a curse of wakefulness to anyone at night
She plaques the hearts of men with an unending desire of her beauty
Just like Helen of Sparta plaqued the shores of Troy with thousands of war ships
Alas, I am the confessed and the confessor of her beauty
O' goddess Pandora from the province of the goddesses—first beauty of the universe
I am the seeker, the confessed and the confessor of your beauty
Thus upon me the plaques of your irresistible beauty hath descended
And in me you have blown the coal of desire of your beauty
Which only your consent to my desire can quench this coal.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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The Language Of Poetry Is Metaphor
The language of poetry is metaphor
And irony and ambiguity
And beauty-
Beauty is the language of poetry
And metaphor and irony and ambiguity
And irony -
Beauty is the language of metaphor
And poetry without beauty
Is like poetry without metaphor
Like poetry without simile-
Poetry is poetry
Like beauty is beauty
And metaphor, metaphor
And language language -
Ironically
Without themselves they are something else
Or perhaps another variant of themselves
Ironically.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Beauty Is Loved By All
Who doesn't care beauty?
Not a single one if we count.
Who cares the mind's beauty?
A few, hardly they can be found.
We worship the beauty of face,
the uniqueness in all.
Rare, is their number,
Eyes, still always roll,
in search of gracious lady,
guys try their best.
Finally, they choose and marry,
the beautiful one better than rest,
but, never stop watching ladies,
they never call strike,
in matter of swallowing, the
beauty I think they like.
They are not satisfied with,
the beauty of their home.
They prefer, queens of other kings,
For that they ever roam.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Yes, yes, yes
What language has to do?
When eyes speak,
What beauty has to do?
When eyes don’t see it,
What words have to do?
When lack commitment,
What appearance has to do?
When lack inner beauty?
What are we meant for?
When don’t long for each other,
What we care for?
When nothing to take care of,
What is use of promise?
When said is undone,
What we search and look for?
When nothing special in it,
Why all mystery in it?
When no secret in it,
Yes, but everything in it,
When you ask for it,
You don’t stand for look,
You don’t find me as cook,
You shake head in yes,
I too say yes, yes yes
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Beautiful, Fair and Kind
For all the world would say to me
She is beautiful, she is fair and she is kind
I reply to the world in no uncertain tone
That all of that is true I shall not deny
But alas her heart it is not mine
So what value I place upon such beauty
Cannot be accounted or held at ransom
For it is a passing thought in fact
It may well become forgotten
Or misused for whatever effect I desire
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
So the tired old saying goes
Do the blind only look upon me
What eyes see no beauty in my soul
Or is my lack of wealth my mental acclaim
A poor madman’s mind the reason
I remain without another’s heart
Still the world presents to me and says
She is beautiful, she is fair and she is kind
I acknowledge and agree whole hearted
But alas she is not ready for my mind
poem by Matthew Holloway
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