Alas Alone Am I
As despair weaves a cocoon around my shadow
Alas, alone am I with my despair.
I had waited for these clouds to lift I had prayed
For these storms to cease
These deities I had tried to appease
By various diverse means; the day remained grey
The clouds did not move away.
Alas alone am I, and I tired, of constant
Conflictual battle; I do not have the necessary
Tools to open up wisdom's door;
Do not have the fierce strength to do that anymore.
There are cobwebs in my nightmares,
The night is peopled by strange shades;
Alas, alone am I, almost merging with the shadows
Dawn will come, I will walk in thy meadows.
Copyright: Rani Turton
poem by Rani Turton
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At Sunset, Today
At sunset, today when the sky turns red
When clouds, try to veil the sky; when birds nest
And are too tired to fly
When workers, tired, straggle back home
And school has closed for the day
And in houses the curtains are drawn
When lights spring into life
And the spirit, tranquil, reflects
On the events of the day
At sunset, today, when the sky turns red
Father, grant everyone his daily bread.
Copyright: Rani Turton
poem by Rani Turton
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Destiny, Dragging On
My destiny is tired.
The slope leads upwards, onwards,
Into clouds and far beyond.
My destiny, like me, walks slowly
Mumbles softly
Remembers ancient rhymes.
My destiny, not knowing why
Hardly realising that every game has it's rules
Has decided to try
Though, tired, and betrayed,
A little bit frayed
Has decided
To carry on, far beyond, with aching feet,
On the winding path, the trees
The boulders and rocks
To avoid the torrent gushing beneath.
Copyright Rani Turton 2008
poem by Rani Turton
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But Don't Despair
Despair, if you must –
But how's it going to pull you through?
Despair, when you trust
Naught since then there's naught to do.
Despair, should you thrust
Aside your pride, your self-esteem.
And so despair, if it's dust,
The only substance that you deem.
Despair, when a gust
Of slightly breeze can break your stance.
And do despair, when lust
Is your interpretation of romance.
But don't despair, if you can care
About the plight of any other being.
And you can focus on the help,
Support, and altruistic further actions
For the seeing. Be believing,
As despair will start receding
All around – simply since you found
A way to steer you clear
From this: the very cause of your despair!
So give to others; give them all a helping lift:
Despair, you'll find will disappear –
And that has got to be a well-deserved
And saintly gift!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Rain of despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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When, In Deep Despair
When in deep despair, melancholy takes my hand
Carresses my cheek gently and for the life of me
The words don't come and I cannot speak
The words like still pools reflect dark moonless nights
Emotions that have plundered and run away
To mountain hideouts
Sensitivity and argument
Music and metronomy
Strings and wood
Voices and fingers
Leave me thus shaken by their power
Of enchantment; all that I saw and read
Felt and dreamt here and there and everywhere
When in deep despair I think of my mother's love
And my old father who always asks for me
In spite of my age; the trust and devotion
I gave to some, often unreturned
But that doesn't matter. Cycles of life and love
Go away and come back again
When in deep despair I wonder and reflect
Melancholy is a friend, not a fiend but for whom
There is none, noone to touch my hand today.
Copyright: Rani Turton
poem by Rani Turton
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It is So Hard to be Alone
It is so very hard to be alone; from dawn to dusk
From dusk to dawn, alone, alone alone.
From a chant to a rant to a highpaying job
To an apartment in St Germain des Pres
That everybody wants to rob.
It is very hard to be a cog in the wheel
It is very hard to be a cog without a wheel
To turn, to burn in one's flaming solitude.
From birth to death, this profession of existence
Making an art of solitude, an act of independance.
It is so easy to die alone.
Copyright: Rani Turton
poem by Rani Turton
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My Mind, In Blinding Light
Waits, waits, in a silence that is heavy as pearls.
Waits for the lines and lanes of destiny to redefine
And refine; when the refined mind
Silently doubles and doubletalks itself out of rational thought;
Waits for the light to go, to disperse itself after the gloom
When the eyes can refocus and see
The difference between can and would be.
And destiny weaves her loom,
By blinding light or darkest gloom.
Copyright: Rani Turton
poem by Rani Turton
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From Blue to Blue You Choose
There are clouds above your storms...
Afraid to let Sun through.
Also empty wishes,
Have you feeling shades of blue.
On the dew...
At dawn.
There are clouds above your storms,
Only no one but you.
And...
That's the way it seems.
That's the way your dreams are too!
From blue to blue,
You choose!
Open up your windows.
Feel the breeze.
Let your heart breathe free.
There are clouds above your storms...
Afraid to let Sun through.
Also empty wishes,
Have you feeling shades of blue.
On the dew...
At dawn.
Clouds above your storms.
And they are there watching you.
Wanting to drift,
Away.
But you wish them to stay..
From blue to blue,
You choose.
The way your dreams are too!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sixty Hours
Smoke, blasts, billowing clouds
Billowing curtains from carved windows
The railway station now also has it's widows.
The city, in a daze, unable to grasp
Daily life has stopped; now suddenly
Mumbai, in a stupor tries to awake from
This nightmare without an end.
One dawn, many down.
Second dawn, many down
Third dawn, day has come
What will this city become?
Sixty hours of tears, fears and passion
Sixty hours of waiting, hoping for compassion
The rat-tat-tat carries on, carries on
The loved ones have go on to become
Victims, heroes, or statistics
When the day is finally,
Finally and irrevoccably done.
Cry, city, cry
Shed your lonely tears on the beach
Sixty hours, and your loved ones
Are far beyond your reach.
In this dying we are all one
In tragedy we are all one.
Now our day is, with sad finality done.
Copyright: Rani Turton
26,27,28 November 2008
Dedicated in hommage to the victims and those who who gave their lives to protect the city.
poem by Rani Turton
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A Friend's Song for Simoisius
The breath of dew, and twilight's grace,
Be on the lonely battle-place;
And to so young, so kind a face,
The long, protecting grasses cling!
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
In rocky hollows cool and deep,
The bees our boyhood hunted sleep;
The early moon from Ida's steep
Comes to the empty wrestling-ring.
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
Upon the widowed wind recede
No echoes of the shepherd's reed,
And children without laughter lead
The war-horse to the watering.
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
Thou stranger Ajax Telamon!
What to the loveliest hast thou done,
That ne'er with him a maid may run
Across the marigolds in spring?
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
With footstep separate and slow
The father and the mother go,
Not now upon an urn they know
To mingle tears for comforting.
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
The world to me has nothing dear
Beyond the namesake river here:
O Simois is wild and clear!
And to his brink my heart I bring;
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
My heart no more, if that might be
Would stay his waters from the sea,
To cover Troy, to cover me,
To save us from the perishing.
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
poem by Louise Imogen Guiney
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Rain When You Drenched Me
Rain, when you drenched me with your cold wet drops
I felt so alone and forlorn
On slick pavements it fell
Alone, along, for long.
Rain, I tried with words to understand your song
The dripping, the dropping
The downpour, the fury and the flurry
Alone, along, for long.
Rain, I felt humble when you fell and wet the city
As you were absorbed by the soil
Rivers waited for you, bareheaded I walked
Alone, along, for long.
Copyright: Rani Turton
poem by Rani Turton
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Alas my Rose
Alas my rose
Stole my youth years
I love the hands were
Happened to me does not smell roses
Alas Alas rose my rose
I do not know my carpet what happens when
I've been nomadic cranes
I had ants on the road
I remember one dear
Alas Alas rose rose
Did not hurt me cruel...
Weird strange world
I got called in Konya
Shabby wrote my tag
Oh, my dear rose rose
Was not keep my hands, slice..
İnce waist, did not hold
friend not formed into the hands of
I do not get Muradiye
Rose Alas, alas rose
My arm was broken wings..
sabit ince Kayseri 05/10/2012
poem by Sabit Ince
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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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Purple Passion
Rain, being purple is quite a shame
But being rain, can come back again
Now then Haze, being a kind of mist
Can often be Jimi-kissed
Dye, Tyrian, and its natural tinge
Has origins which make us twinge
Purple, glorious, royal is pure passion
Its a pity it went suddenly out of fashion
Copyright: Rani Turton
poem by Rani Turton
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I Heard My Destiny Speak In An Unknown Tongue
I heard my destiny walking beside me, I heard
It speaking in an unknown tongue; I asked for ways
And where; I spoke as well as I could in
What I thought could be language it could understand.
I saw my destiny befuddled, sometimes sure
Of it’s stride, and sometimes stumbling as
I walked beside.
I heard my destiny sigh, almost as weary as I.
Then I kept the questions to myself
All my queries were as pointless and why
Should destiny explain to each and every one?
We exist, and then we go
Maybe far, far into the sky.
Tell me where to go and when
Tell me why, how and the means to get there.
I am just a bit of blood and bone
Without you my flesh is bare.
I heard my destiny walking beside me, I heard
It speaking in an unknown tongue;
It showed me strange paths In foreign lands
So much worry and sleepless nights;
Yes, destiny I think even I, in my wildest dreams
Sometimes have my rights.
Copyright: Rani Turton
poem by Rani Turton
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The Shadow
THERE is a shadow on the sunny wall,
Dark and forbidding, like a bode of ill;
Go, drive it thence. Alas, such shadows fall
From real things, nor may be moved at will.
There is a shadow on my heart to-day,
A cloudy grief condensing to a tear:
Alas, I cannot drive its gloom away—
Some sin or sorrow casts the shapeless fear.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Think For Things
greed you think of things
alas things degenerate
greed you think less of others
alas you tinker with things
greed you think less with sense
alas you kill your neighbour
gree you abhor with your thoughts
alas you make cultures perish
greed you are embodiment of evil
alas unsatiable are are your wants
poem by Venkatesh Ram
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Corn Grinders
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will ease my bitter pain?
He went to seek a millet-grain
In the rich farmer's granary shed;
They caught him in a baited snare,
And slew my lover unaware:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little deer, why dost thou moan,
Hid in thy forest-bower alone?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah! who will quiet my lament?
At fall of eventide he went
To drink beside the river-head;
A waiting hunter threw his dart,
And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little bride, why dost thou weep
With all the happy world asleep?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Alas, Love, Alas
And now i'm dismissed
I don't know what the love is
If there always will be tears
And the souls never will find the peace
Why the lovers had became so cruel and insensible
Who can bear all these
Are these the new rules of the love?
Even the love changed it's face
Alas, love, Alas
If the humanity's cruelty
Even changed your face
Nothing in this world will stay the same
Alas, world, Alas
Step back my soul
let's live in peace alone
While the meaning of real love is missed
How the world can be so unreal
Even the love changed it's face
Alas, Love, Alas
If the Humanity's cruelty
Even changed your face
Alas, world, Alas
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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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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Poverty Grass
Wild horses we
Pricked at the wind,
Never to know, alas;
That all the lord of our fortunes bought
For us
Was poverty grass.
Poverty grass
The paupered seed
So sickly poor, alas;
The souls of the great untamed grow weak
Despair
On poverty grass.
And you, my friend,
Grew sick awhile,
And cried and cried, alas;
While I grew fat on a flowering weed
Called pride
And poverty grass.
And when you left
The field to me
I almost died, alas;
For I was left in a fallow field
Piled high
In poverty grass.
Wild horses we
Pricked at the wind,
Never to know, alas;
That all the lord of our fortunes bought
For us
Was poverty grass.
24 January 1980
poem by David Lewis Paget
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