Semiya', My Pride.
A tiny wooden boat was
My asset that would sink
If exceeded the weigh of
Myself, around kilos fifty,
When I was aged sixty.
One warm hearth fed on
Coconut and rice husks,
A sand-pot full of ‘Semiya'
Made of rice flakes, yellow sugar,
Cardamom, nuts, milk, cumin,
Cinnamon leaves, dry ginger,
Water and a pint of salt; that
Made my ‘Semiya' sweeter still.
Had four old glass cups
To feed those who would wait
With craving taste buds by
The shady backwater banks
As a routine, for my narrow
‘Sweet-bowl', to appear dancing
On the swollen dark green waves!
Their hope-lines were thinner
Than their fishing lines, but
Invariably enjoyed my treat,
Paying the small coins in return,
Sometimes, more, often less.
I fed generations, some turned
Stars, some waiting voyage,
Most still hold the glass up
Above their open mouth for
The last dropp to ooze and fall
On their giggling tongues!
My recipe was my course,
The research, theses, marks,
Awards and references that
In 45 years long sweet-serving
Never had any regret, nor my
Long array of village faces
Ever had scowls of any sort.
Now I wonder, with such a
Paltry income, how could I
Manage the marriages of all
My daughters, and a small
Shop for my heedless son!
Life has always been intact,
Though my tiny boat had often
Broken by startling tides!
Thanks to God, the merciful,
All ended well with me, but
Children today work long hours
And make a heap of winnings,
But without any natural sweetness,
Either in flesh or in soul!
Their delights are strained,
Temples full of swollen veins!
poem by Tajudeen Shah
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Related quotes
Rice
Rice.
This time,
Spare us the gravy.
Eliminate the salt and pepper.
No butter or sweetened brown sugar to add!
Serve it up to nourish.
That's all we ask.
No need for the silver placements...
Or impressive china.
Nor the water goblets or crystal glass.
It is just rice!
What else to us has been passed?
We are here to get it plain and simple.
Direct and upfront.
And without the seasoned meat,
Promised and teased.
The rice we all once thought we liked...
Had been too disguised!
And this time...
We demand to know why,
The preparation took as long as it did.
Afterall,
Hasn't it been just rice?
And if not...
What was it?
Taking too long to surprise.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Cinnamon Street 2
Growing up on cinnamon street.
Everywhere you look there are lots of people to meet,
Its seven oclock, the breakfast treat.
Now the schoolbus is here, hurry up and grab a seat.
All the dreams are tiny ones, another week has just begun
On cinnamon street.
There was a boy on cinnamon street,
The same age as me, we shared the curiosity.
He won my heart cos he could play guitar.
He promised me heaven at once and later all the stars.
But it all remained the same cos things can never change
On cinnamon street.
I can hear my heartbeat the very first time we made love,
Life was a lazy rest in the sun.
Later we went dancing, staying up all night long - playing all our favourite songs,
Cinnamon songs:
Oh oh na na na na na.
I say goodbye to cinnamon street.
Springtime is here and the air is so dry and sweet.
I walk in a cloud, the smell of cinnamon bread,
Its in my blood since the day I was born til I wake up... dead.
And the sun is smiling gently, a funny shade of red,
Cinnamon street.
I still feel my heartbeat the very first time we made love,
Life was a lazy day in the sun.
Later we went dancing, hanging out all night long - singing all our favourite songs,
Cinnamon songs:
Oh oh na na na na na na...
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Request To The Dead
I offer this water to you,
my father, grandfather and great grandfather,
and to you, soldiers and generals
who fought for us and who fought against us
and who were killed by this war.
I stand here, on this battlefield,
and give this water and this rice to you—
you must be hungry and thirsty.
Ask for nothing
other than water and rice,
don't add to the long list
of things I was not able to give;
be content with this water and this rice
and return
to wherever you came from.
Consider this: the years
I have spent with you were many;
and this: it will not be long
before I join you wherever you sojourn.
Had I possessed things
other than this water and this rice,
would I have denied them to you
and asked you to return ?
Whatever I have
other than this water and this rice
are surely not appropriate offerings
for departed souls.
True, I traverse everyday of my life
with this baggage of witheld things,
but whenever I look at them
I disintegrate and cry out
with a voice that rends
the heavens
and the underworld.
Tears fill my eyes
when I make this offering
of water and rice.
I know, when my turn comes,
I shall have neither.
Look, the sun has almost set.
Now, go back to wherever you came from
with the little water and the little rice I gave you.
Look, I myself do not have
either any water or any rice.
Look, I have nothing except the few things
I didn't give
and kept with myself.
[Translated by the poet]
poem by Ramakanta Rath
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A Class Of Spices! :)
Well, I am Mr.Pepper your class teacher
I want you all to be prim and proper
Study and score well in your test papers
Spices are meant to serve best as toppers
Sweet little Cumin
Please walk in, come in
Firm, very resourceful Ginger
Take your seat, you are very clever
Radiant yellow healer Turmeric
Well done! You are Good in mathematic
Silent relieving Clove
You are as important and soothing as Love
Slender and charming Cinnamon
Today it's your chance, you have to read, go on
Hot and happening Chilly
Just listen, don't be silly
Bitter but better Fenugreek
Windows are not for you to peek
Mild and nice Sesame
If Fenugreek speaks or peeks, you tell me
Stylish and cool Fennel
Don't talk to Staranise, This warning is final
Sharp and Bright Staranise
Move next to Clove, write down wih ease
Mustard, Poppy, Carom, Coriander and Cardamom
Well, they are all busy preparing for the prom
Salt and Sugar didn't make it to class
They are well put in bottles of solid glass.
poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
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Tongue Savory Carnal Crave
Tongue pleasing body I crave,
made of confectioner's clay and
rippling streams of caramel fondu.
Soft baked skin, dipped in a melting
pot of coconut oil and maple syrup.
Toothsome truffles of nugat flesh,
filled with pillows of marsh-mellow fluff.
Mouth watering strands of scented
citrus or passion fruit hair, brushed
with cinnamon and brown sugar.
Bubblegum lips, in a rainbow
variety of color, that always
manage to keep their flavor.
Supple, palatable stomach
melting like a tiny bowl of
fresh peach sorbet.
Honey frosted fingertips,
creamy touch of silken mousse
and lightly whipped meringue.
Praline eyes, maple sugar swirled
with vanilla, almond, and hazel.
Devouring sweet, delectable you
with all my senses and taste buds.
Nutrient rich dessert or a guilt free
bed time snack, you are the whole
of my dietary pyramid, I abstain
from all other food groups in favor of you.
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Cinnamon Street
Growing up on cinnamon street. everywhere you look there are lots of people to meet, its seven oclock, the breakfast treat. now the schoolbus is here, hurry up and grab a seat. all the dreams
Iny ones, another week has just begun on cinnamon street.
There was a girl on cinnamon street, the same age as me, we shared the curiosity. I won her heart cos I could play guitar. I promised her heaven at once and later all the stars. but it all remai
He same cos things can never change on cinnamon street.
I can hear my heartbeat the very first time we made love, life was a lazy rest in the sun. later we went dancing, staying up all night long - playing all our favourite songs, cinnamon songs: oh
Na na na na.
I say goodbye to cinnamon street. springtime is here and the air is so dry and sweet. I walk in a cloud, the smell of cinnamon bread, its in my blood since the day I was born til I wake up...
And the sun is smiling gently, a funny shade of red, cinnamon street.
I still feel my heartbeat the very first time we made love, life was a lazy day in the sun. later we went dancing, hanging out all night long - singing all our favourite songs, cinnamon songs: o
Na na na na na na.
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High
Guess Im stuck in a dream
Surrounded by coloured leaves on the ground
As I stare at the trees
I see one fall down on my hand
As I start to explore
I cant ignore a man
He turns his head around
His face was all worn by the sun
Chorus:
Im going out for a while
So I can get high with my friends
I will
Im going out for a while
Dont wait up cos I wont be home
Today
Drifting down a road
Losing myself in a dream
Feel my hands getting cold
Sat in a boat on a lake
Chorus
Climbing up trying my best
As I sink
Climbing up trying my best
As I sink again
Lying back on the floor
Reaching up high into space
See myself in a glass
Im counting the lines on my face
Again
Counting the lines on my face
Again
Chorus 2x
Today, today, today, today, etc. (to end)
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Boat.....
this boat,
too long in waiting,
now leaves the shelter
of the shore.
this heart,
too long silent,
now speaks without regret.
these fingers,
too long numb,
cry for the feel of flesh.
this life,
too long dormant,
now begs to be lived!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Storm...!
My tiny car
Is gliding on
The grey band
Dissapearing into
A white wall
Gelled water
Falling from the sky
Floating across
The windshield
Has transformed
The wiper blades
Into two giant icicles
Swooshing across the glass
Making creepy sounds
The whiteness
Has conceled
The world around
Making me a fish
Swimming in a
Bowl of milk
A fish swimming alone
In a giant bowl of curdling milk
Trying to reach to the glass wall
And press its eye on to the glass
To peek at the solitary face
Gazing at the glass bowl
With her chin resting on her hand
Waiting...
Waiting for me to
Emerge through the milky darkness
To show my face...!
[Ah... glass walls... cruel invisible separators...]
poem by Rowving Smith
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Something Negligible
like small amounts of caffeine
small doses of morphine
a little sugar
a pinch of salt
a dropp of honey
some other matters
negligible
an out of town date with
infidelity
a tint of light
a shadow of a chunk of
a body of
a quart of solubility
diffusing into a very small space
a little part of water
and sand
a little of everything
until you become little too
tiny like a grain
of iron filling
still attached magnetically
to something
undefined.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sweet Silent Sea-Waves Lapping By The Rocks
Sweet silent sea-waves lapping by the rocks
That beneath the frowning bastions lie
Nature, the tricky one
Left the door ajar half-open half-closed
And none of them - yet leaving things in the middle:
And he
And he
Pondering
Pondering as not be foolish
Said to himself
There’s danger if I open the door too much
I do not know what I will let in:
Yet
Yet
The option beckoned: either close or open to full:
So he pondered again
This time being quicker, rasher
Decided for the line of least resistance
For the prudent path
Fear, tall impudent fear
Stood by him like a dubious angel
His counsel was not lost – it moved him
And so
He closed the door thinking he said
And making sure against ‘the unforseen’.
Courage had stood by him
But Fear won him smiling green
Into the face of Courage
Another soul was won to Fear
Another to Courage lost:
Then Courage went away bashfully.
Fear sate him invisible by and by to watch.
So the drama quick unfolded:
And he sank
He could not walk on water
Because Fear had won him
Because Courage had lost him:
And so
And so
He sate on a safe rock
And put his feet into the water like a child
To feel the cool sweet water rush
And press with sweetness round his ankles
But Fear, yellow fear won!
For even here:
The sands started to
‘Twas a slippery bank, a bank of treachery
And treacherous the sand sank
And fast the sand
Sank like down the time-glass.
And Fear seizing him
He was un resourceful to the full
His mind Fear had made blank
It was blank – worse
Than if Morpheus on touching it
Had exceeded his dose of opiate sleep;
He saw nothing
Except him sink
And sink:
And all around him crush
And all around him go:
And yet
He felt a pleasure in the ruin
A sweetness new not felt before
He felt:
In sinking.
And so sinking
He still heard
The music of pleasantness
Ring in his ears
The sea was calm and wave-less
So no current churned
And linear and tall
He went down to the floor
The walls of water around him raged
The walls of water around him pressed
Like flames of wrath
Like flames of ruin Nero-like
When Nero burned his Rome
And staring stood
Stringing here and there a note
On his large funereal harp
And so
He touched the floor of the salt sea
Deep in and smiling in his ruin
At least pain had flown away
Fear had granted in recompense
A painless sinking:
And as he fell
His eyes were open yet closed
And he
Could not recriminate himself
As to why
He simply could not open the door - it was so easy
So imperative:
Yet so he did not and he sank.
And thus engrossed
He thought himself alone
If he could think:
And could not see
A case like his a-sinking to the floor
Another coward Fear his victim made
De te fabula!
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Old Dreams Are Simple
rubber slippers on my feet
for christmas
fried chicken wing on the table
a cup of white rice
a glass of water
gazing at the stars and the moon
cool winds and shadows of tree
silvery river
a wooden boat and a paddle
with you
beside me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sweet As You Can Be
I know you’re not made out of bitter chocolate,
Or any sugar harvested from just any sugar cane,
For you’re sweeter than any confection I’ve tasted,
You’re sweetness must be flowing on through your veins.
You’re soft and juicy with a tinge of fruity tartness tasted,
When God made you my dear… no sweetness was spared,
Nothing at all was wasted.
I hope that you’ll come on down,
My Valentine’s candy conveyors’ line,
So that I can taste your sweetness,
And make YOU this years sweetest of Valentine.
By: Linda Winchell
poem by Linda Winchell
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A Pigeon
I've picked up your name from the floor
and held it for long on the palm of my hand
watching it gently peck its lines
until there remained nothing not a single crumb
and your name well fed slept for a while
in lines of death in lines of life
in lines of the head and lines of the heart
in intricate patterns that sealed me for too long
there was a lullaby I wanted to sing
but I was not able to open my mouth
for fear you'll wake up and disappear
and I promised myself I would never dropp you again
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Boatman Recalls and Repents
Riverside market to markets,
The boat man had propelled with a long pole.
Mat roofed boat,
Full of goods and intrigues,
Gets visible with
High tide of recollections…
Boiling rice on kerosene stove
And a blinking night lamp
Boil and blink again.
Had plucked tender coconuts
From the grove nearby,
When its owner fast asleep.
Had shattered the widow’s solitude
On the bank of Kanoli canal.
Had peeped into the secrecy
Of bathing village damsels…
Moist events after events
The boat man recalls and repents.
Roads became kings,
Boat decay tied,
And the boat man a wrinkled storyteller,
Often, looking up the sky
For the rain washing out all.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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The Golden Boat
Clouds rumbling in the sky; teeming rain.
I sit on the river bank, sad and alone.
The sheaves lie gathered, harvest has ended,
The river is swollen and fierce in its flow.
As we cut the paddy it started to rain.
One small paddy-field, no one but me -
Flood-waters twisting and swirling everywhere.
Trees on the far bank; smear shadows like ink
On a village painted on deep morning grey.
On this side a paddy-field, no one but me.
Who is this, steering close to the shore
Singing? I feel that she is someone I know.
The sails are filled wide, she gazes ahead,
Waves break helplessly against the boat each side.
I watch and feel I have seen her face before.
Oh to what foreign land do you sail?
Come to the bank and moor your boat for a while.
Go where you want to, give where you care to,
But come to the bank a moment, show your smile -
Take away my golden paddy when you sail.
Take it, take as much as you can load.
Is there more? No, none, I have put it aboard.
My intense labour here by the river -
I have parted with it all, layer upon layer;
Now take me as well, be kind, take me aboard.
No room, no room, the boat is too small.
Loaded with my gold paddy, the boat is full.
Across the rain-sky clouds heave to and fro,
On the bare river-bank, I remain alone -
What had has gone: the golden boat took all.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Through the Way
I remember,
two years before
I started my voyage
on a river by a boat
It was my happiest
ever moment in life
I enjoyed it a lot
It was full of excitement
It was now a past memory
because the river now ended
into a large sea
I now confused where to row my boat
But there are many payment ships
to reach the final destiny
But i am royal
I will not take it
I have decided now,
I will jump into the sea
and reach my destiny through
pain and hard work.
poem by Sabari Vas
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Let's have a party!
A party a party!
I'll have a big party
Lunch is too thinner
Let's do a dinner
A new menu for all
dinner made of soul,
I'll do it next week
many souls to seek:
made of sugar, sweet soul
with sour perfectly shall go.
Bitter and sweet
Such a funny fit.
Forget not
the chilli pepper
Keeps us hot
For ever and ever.
One pinch of precious sault
to bring up best taste:
Don't make it a waste
Done! All ingredents lined up
Mixed with all the love I got
The greatest party I shall start
No need for invitations
But I'll collect donations
Regardless if is large or small
Natural or forced, only one smile
I'll collect from those who pass the door.
Please come, you're most welcome.
poem by Elena Sandu
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Fishing On The Susquehanna In July
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure -- if it is a pleasure --
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one --
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table --
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia,
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandana
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
poem by Billy Collins
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The Golden Valley
To perchase his boat and to ppurchase your love,
And like Enoch's white horse to his lover;
But your golden valley of love lay bare,
For i have to overflow it with love.
To purchase her boat and to purchase his love,
And like Eve's baby to her sweet lover;
But your golden valley lay bare,
And i have to water it with my love.
A patient wife,
And to watch them overflow the banks of love;
For the changes seen came out of it.
This love is like a seaman's glass,
And the passion it generates is from her;
But like a caged bird escaping suddenly,
The long and narrow sheet of the valley was noticed.
Let them sing around the old tree,
And let them enjoy the fruits of love;
For it is pleasant to see kind heart in true love.
Icy and chilly,
And birds of rare plume;
Fill the red bowls in the golden valley with love and,
Let me bath you all day long in this sweet muse of love.
A rich and savoury stew to serve in the golden valley,
And of natural beauties to swing with the muse;
But i can still hear the voices from the old trees.
My memory can still retrace your love,
And of your beauty in the golden valley of love;
But with a thankful heart i envy nobody,
Because sweet came out of your world in this valley.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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