Life Imprisoned
On both sides the desert lies,
Vast stretches of sand flys.
That shroud the moor and sky,
Through the desert road runs by,
Too many towered cities high,
Here and there people go,
Nazim cries in voice high and low.
Veiled in a ghetto below,
Lays lass with eyes glow.
II
Dates, eucalyptus, palm quiver,
Dusty and hot winds raising fever,
Man folk chatter without any manner,
Writhing with pain under the hot towers,
Cry for a space in cool bowers
And the cruel city empowers,
The rogues to chain and torture,
The beautiful veiled lass in tears,
Tears and tears but no sympathy ever.
III
In the towers women in veil,
Moving with heavy trail,
Sad and disheveled sail,
If recently freed from jail.
But no one has seen her face frail,
Or exchanging her happy mail,
Only fellow sisters and animals hail,
Among the hardened bearded males,
Heard an elegy sad and sail.
IV
Inside she works night and day,
A dark world in colors grey,
She was told as Allah say,
Forbidden to breathe free and gay,
Only to produce children and stay,
Unknown of the curse wormy,
Covered from top to bottom steadily,
Reading the book sadly and holy,
Chanted loudly, slowly and reputedly.
V
Sometimes group of traders glad,
A procession of ulemas glad,
Skull cap, knee salwar and shirt long clad,
Sometimes a herd of camels sad,
Outlawed to music and young cupids wed,
She has no young suitor glowed,
To make love with his iron shield,
Is it a life or curse she cried?
I am sick of this black shroud.
VI
A hajji came surrounded by faithfuls,
The sun was dazzling without lull,
That sparkled in the sand dull,
The apron white glittered full,
Young face and brow glow in sunlight still,
Head was clear of all the curls,
He was flashing in the sky purple,
Faith was ready to break and hurl.
VII
She threw the veil and left the room,
In quick paces jumped the gloom,
Unaware of her coming doom,
She saw his face bright and plume,
Faithfuls around were straining,
Leaves and plants became pale and waning,
Birds and animals in the rest complaining,
Low and heavy clouds raining,
And words in the throats were draining.
VIII
Down she came out on the road fast,
Over her face grim drops afloat,
Like a Hindu saint on her sad lot,
Dropping tears in his holy pot,
Running robbed in pale and white,
Madly rushed left and right,
Faithfuls heard her song last,
Lay beheaded, lifeless along blood hot
Under the sun left by mad might.
XI
Left dead and dry under the sun,
All came out to know her name,
Died the mirth of world fame,
All and sundry cried and ram,
She has a beautiful and dear frame,
God in His heaven bless this dame,
Poor girl was she died of faith human.
Away on a wall, calling a bearded Nazim,
Failed and ignorant about the girl’s doom.
BY
DR. YOGESH SHARMA
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Lady of Shalott (1842)
PART I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."PART II
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed:
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.PART III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.PART IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lady of Shalott (1832)
PART I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
The yellow-leaved waterlily
The green-sheathed daffodilly
Tremble in the water chilly
Round about Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens shiver.
The sunbeam showers break and quiver
In the stream that runneth ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
Underneath the bearded barley,
The reaper, reaping late and early,
Hears her ever chanting cheerly,
Like an angel, singing clearly,
O'er the stream of Camelot.
Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,
Beneath the moon, the reaper weary
Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,
Lady of Shalott.'
The little isle is all inrail'd
With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd
With roses: by the marge unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,
Skimming down to Camelot.
A pearl garland winds her head:
She leaneth on a velvet bed,
Full royally apparelled,
The Lady of Shalott.
PART II
No time hath she to sport and play:
A charmed web she weaves alway.
A curse is on her, if she stay
Her weaving, either night or day,
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be;
Therefore she weaveth steadily,
Therefore no other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
She lives with little joy or fear.
Over the water, running near,
The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.
Before her hangs a mirror clear,
Reflecting tower'd Camelot.
And as the mazy web she whirls,
She sees the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot:
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, came from Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead
Came two young lovers lately wed;
`I am half sick of shadows,' said
The Lady of Shalott.PART III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flam'd upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down from Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his arm our rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down from Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over green Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down from Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom
She made three paces thro' the room
She saw the water-flower bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
'The curse is come upon me,' cried
The Lady of Shalott.PART IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Outside the isle a shallow boat
Beneath a willow lay afloat,
Below the carven stern she wrote,
The Lady of Shalott.
A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,
All raimented in snowy white
That loosely flew (her zone in sight
Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)
Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,
Though the squally east-wind keenly
Blew, with folded arms serenely
By the water stood the queenly
Lady of Shalott.
With a steady stony glance--
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Beholding all his own mischance,
Mute, with a glassy countenance--
She look'd down to Camelot.
It was the closing of the day:
She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
As when to sailors while they roam,
By creeks and outfalls far from home,
Rising and dropping with the foam,
From dying swans wild warblings come,
Blown shoreward; so to Camelot
Still as the boathead wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her chanting her deathsong,
The Lady of Shalott.
A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,
She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,
And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden wall and gallery,
A pale, pale corpse she floated by,
Deadcold, between the houses high,
Dead into tower'd Camelot.
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
To the planked wharfage came:
Below the stern they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,
Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
There lay a parchment on her breast,
That puzzled more than all the rest,
The wellfed wits at Camelot.
'The web was woven curiously,
The charm is broken utterly,
Draw near and fear not,--this is I,
The Lady of Shalott.'
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who's the Girl?
Who's the girl in the mirror?
Who's the girl in the frame?
Who's the girl with the smile that has faded off her face?
Who's the girl with the tears slowly rolling off her cheeks?
Who's the girl that cared about you?
Who's the girl that gave up everything?
Who's the girl that can't smile?
Who's the girl that's in denial?
Who's the girl that hit the ground, thinking that you'd catch her now?
Who's the girl that was betrayed?
Who's the girl that's in pain?
Who's the girl in the shadows?
Who's the girl in the shade?
Who's the girl whose light can't shine?
Who's the girl that's been left behind?
Who's the girl in that world that's been left? , There's no doubt.... she's not there.
Who's the girl that was once deep inside your heart?
Who's the girl that has cried and slowly died inside her mind?
Who's the girl you've forgotten?
Who's the girl you have hurt?
Who's the girl that has left?
Who's the girl?
Who is she?
You've forgotten her....
poem by Evelyn Castillo
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Lo, This is Earthly Life!
A medico girl, young she was;
A brilliant Madurai lass;
While coming to her afternoon class,
She DIED by the road-side, alas!
A van had hit her directly;
She met her death most instantly;
With clavicle and fractured skull,
She was injured occipital;
And in the shatt’ring glass’ sounds,
She bled like hell and died at once!
She’as rushed to our hospital, altho’
She passed away in minutes, oh!
In a pool of blood, her head just lay;
To save her life, there was no way.
Doctors and students, rushed to see
Her corpse but stood just silently;
Fate had been so cruel to snatch
A life in teens from her dear batch!
Oh, what a shock, her batch-mates had!
The tragedy was indeed sad;
It was an accident! Alright,
At noon-time and in bright sunlight:
But had she escaped, she’d have been
A doctor with an extra sheen.
Yet, God didn’t give her one more chance
Or save her from Death’s noon-time dance!
A victim of a fatal game,
V. Dhanalakshmi was her name.
The silence was soon broken by
The laments of students near-by;
‘Dhana, we love you! ’- They all cried;
But in a trice, the girl had died.
‘Dana, don’t leave us! ’ they all wept;
But in the Lord, she happily slept.
They cried and cried till mid-night came;
They screamed all stunned- who was to blame?
Her class-mates sat round her weeping,
Until her parents came, leaping;
Too shocked for words, they looked like ghosts!
And cried aloud: all stood like posts.
All night, all wept, again, again;
All hearts were anguished and in pain;
‘Dhana’- she lay under a shroud;
I heard their cries all clear and loud.
And in the night, I heard one noise;
The birds all spoke in one strange voice-
‘DHANA, we love you, we love you.’
‘DHANA, we miss you, we’ll miss you.
And this is what the earth can give;
With life for life’s cause, let’s all live.
poem by John Celes
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The Mourners
I look into the aching womb of night;
I look across the mist that masks the dead;
The moon is tired and gives but little light,
The stars have gone to bed.
The earth is sick and seems to breathe with pain;
A lost wind whimpers in a mangled tree;
I do not see the foul, corpse-cluttered plain,
The dead I do not see.
The slain I would not see . . . and so I lift
My eyes from out the shambles where they lie;
When lo! a million woman-faces drift
Like pale leaves through the sky.
The cheeks of some are channelled deep with tears;
But some are tearless, with wild eyes that stare
Into the shadow of the coming years
Of fathomless despair.
And some are young, and some are very old;
And some are rich, some poor beyond belief;
Yet all are strangely like, set in the mould
Of everlasting grief.
They fill the vast of Heaven, face on face;
And then I see one weeping with the rest,
Whose eyes beseech me for a moment's space. . . .
Oh eyes I love the best!
Nay, I but dream. The sky is all forlorn,
And there's the plain of battle writhing red:
God pity them, the women-folk who mourn!
How happy are the dead!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark Air Dark Light
Where lifeless rivers weep
With shame, into the deep,
She sleeps a pained sleep:
Flows with rot.
killed by ugly progressing war,
She has lived so far
To live where darkness are
Alas! Sad lot.
She left the bright morn,
She passes meadows of corn,
For world sad and porn,
And dark springs.
Through dark like black veil,
She sees the sky, pale,
And hears the birds' mail,
That sadly sings.
Dark air and dark light,
Moves over bed and breast;
Her face is without rest,
Mothers only wasteland.
She lives with ugly pain,
Crossing over hill and plain,
You cannot feel the sail
Upon your hand.
Dark air and dark lore,
Upon stinking and thorny shore;
Rot, rot at every core
Till hunger shall cease:
Sleep that no sound shall cut;
Night that no morn shall shut,
Till all greed is met,
With perfect peace.
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dry
Trying hard to face another day
No more left to give, nothing left to break
Melting in the sun, breathing in the day
Falling into love and climbing out again
Theres nowhere left to run
No more tears to cry
The rivers running dry
Theres no more left to give
Love has left me dry
Reaching out beneath a sea of pain
Riding high on waves of hope again
Chipping as the stone face cracks away
Crying out again as my bones break
Theres nowhere left to run
No more tears to cry
The rivers running dry
Theres no more left to give
Love has left me dry
Why is every minute like a year
What if we could save ourselves from this
Life is such a bitch and it gets worse
Fate is like a rope around your neck
Theres nowhere left to run
No more tears to cry
The rivers running dry
Theres no more left to give
Love has left me dry - love has left me dry
The rivers running dry again
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cheng Beng
yesterday was cheng beng
the chinese all souls' day
i was struck by
late grandma's friends
for the first time
they are all so young
at the right
was a cheerful young boy -
the picture was ingratiating
and great
at the left
some young women
churchly type.
well lucky grandma,
has always had
young friends
for companion,
selfishly i told myself.
a brood of us
eleven in all
to call grandchildren
and she was always close to
church - grew up with catholic nuns.
so it should be heavenly
at the cemetery
in the other world
so many young friends
to cheer up day and night.
the woman at
the boy's resting place
coincidentally came
at the same time as us
with weepy eyes
she busied herself
at the bright mosaic;
to and fro, to and fro
wiping out last year's tears
last year's pain and longing
till the little mansion glittered in the sun.
her withheld tears too.
her husband in
a tense reflective mood
lighted and relighted
windblown white candles
as he tried to contain a storm.
the realisation that
they would eventually
black out
to leave him again
in a storm
face to face with
his smiling child
whose voice still echoes
in an empty chamber
in his heart
day and night.
the raging storm
spilt over to this side.
as birds twitter
under the clear blue sky
i pray to the holy spirit
to bless us all -
those standing
as well as those
in their peaceful chambers -
without making any difference.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Race
Lie down, [fair 1//pheromone], and come away
Till the rain is over and gone
G-g-gimme the beat now (face the music)
Lead line (face the music)
If the air is a little thick in this room 2nite
I reckon its the result of an onslaught of separatist rookies
Overcome by this colorful sight
Talkin so fast that even they
Talkin so fast that even they
Dont know what they mean
Of all the things that base a rhyme
How is it that u everytime
Regurgitate the racist lines that keep us apart?
Thank God this aint monopoly
Ud make us all go back 2 start
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Race
Face the music
We all bones when we dead
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Cut me, cut u
Both the blood is red
I gotcha
Race
Race
Check it
Three seats over theres a lady black
Entrusted 2 her care is a little white girl
And the fact of the matter is
Before her momma or another kid at school
Tells her about the fallacy that 1 race rules over the other
Shed be a much-better-off-left fool (face the music)
If we never heard about the evils that those before us committed
Then how my dear, tell me now how my dear, tell me now how now would we know
And then the band say
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Race
Face the music
We all bones when we dead
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Cut me, cut u
Both the blood is red
I gotcha
Race
Race
(face the music)
D-d-down with h-i-s-t-o-r-y and all this bs propagandi
Keepin u from me and me from u as we grow
I dont wanna know (I dont wanna know)
Why those before us hated each other
Id rather believe they never did
Id rather believe (Id rather, Id rather believe)
That theres hope 4 a kid
And if he imitates the best
I guess thats what Ill try 2 be
And I will let the rest dissolve with my guitar underneath the sea
Race
(face face face face face)
Face the music (face the music)
Face the music
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Race
Face the music
We all bones when we dead
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Cut me, cut u
Both the blood is red
Get it?
Race
Got it
Race
Face the music
Race race
(face face face the music)
Race race
(face face face the music)
Race race
Race race
(face-f-face the music)
Race
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sweet kittens
My sweet kittens
So young in heart
They cried for milk
So poor and feeble
Eyes filled with jerking tears
Mama cat left tnem alone in sphere
There eyes so red
Whole day they cried
A month ago
So young they are
In cruel world they were born
Mama cat them left with scorn
Papa cat has run away
Under the apple tree
Lying helplessly yelling
In heavy storm and rain
Looking frail lying miserably
Mama cat deserted them improperly
Looking for warm lap
Mama cat fed them
The days passed by
Sun and heat they cried so loud
All Pain i feel and grim i see
Mama cat obscured them in unfathomable sea
They moaned and moaned
The days gone by
Since their mama cat left
And now they sleep there
Wait to see their mama cat badly
Mama cat disposed them of severly
By
Shamim Ali
poem by Dr Shamim ali
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The African Prince
IT was a king in Africa,
He had an only son;
And none of Europe's crowned kings
Could have a dearer one.
With good cane arrows five feet long,
And with a shining bow,
When but a boy, to the palm woods
Would that young hunter go.
And home he brought white ivory,
And many a spotted hide:
When leopards fierce and beautiful
Beneath his arrows died.
Around his arms, around his brow,
A shining bar was rolled;
It was to mark his royal blood,
He wore that bar of gold.
And often at his father's feet,
The evening he would pass;
When, weary of the hunt, he lay
Upon the scented grass.
Alas! it was an evil day,
When such a thing could be:
When strangers, pale and terrible,
Came o'er the distant sea.
They found the young prince mid the woods,
The palm woods deep and dark:
That day his lion-hunt was done,
They bore him to their bark.
They bound him in a narrow hold,
With others of his kind;
For weeks did that accursed ship
Sail on before the wind.
Now shame upon the cruel wind,
And on the cruel sea,
That did not with some mighty storm,
Set those poor captives free:
Or, shame to those weak thoughts, so fain
To have their wilful way:
God knoweth what is best for all—
The winds and seas obey.
At length a lovely island rose
From out the ocean wave;
They took him to the market-place,
And sold him for a slave.
Some built them homes, and in the shade
Of flowered and fragrant trees,
They half forgot the palm-hid huts
They left far o'er the seas.
But he was born of nobler blood,
And was of nobler kind;
And even unto death, his heart
For its own kindred pined.
There came to him a seraph child
With eyes of gentlest blue:
If there are angels in high heaven,
Earth has its angels too.
She cheered him with her holy words,
She soothed him with her tears;
And pityingly she spoke with him
Of home and early years.
And when his heart was all subdued
By kindness into love,
She taught him from this weary earth
To look in faith above.
She told him how the Saviour died
For man upon the tree;
'He suffered,' said the holy child,
'For you as well as me.'
Sorrow and death have need of faith—
The African believed;
As rain falls fertile on the earth
Those words his soul received.
He died in hope as only those
Who die in Christ depart—
One blessed name within his lips,
One hope within his heart.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Asylum
My tears are blue,
My eyes, Purple, green and black-
Yours, I do not know the color of-
I may have met you before in some dark alley-
Your eyes are shut as you sleep- You, I do not know.
All eyes are upon me now- Orange, blue and yellow-
The sky is green and clouds are maudlin-
Blood falls from eyes of sorcerers,
Tears, blue as deep sea water- falling from my eyes,
My eyes are purple, green and black.
Trapped inside a place unknown-
Unknown to my spirit's heaven-
Locked inside this devil's paradise- I cannot fathom reality.
I weep blue tears, combining with the blood
Pouring from the ceiling so dank and dark-
Turning purple and magenta, in hue-
Your lips are red- red as rage,
My hair is dark and dark as is Satan's advocate's
Please somebody rescue me!
My tears are blue, my eyes,
Purple, green and black- the color of yours
Still remains a mystery- When shall you awaken?
Only in good time, my friend, only in good time-
The face of the clock on the wall is orange - Its hands lost in space-
I am lost and beside myself- while you sleep-
We are locked inside of an asylum- I heard-
You are sleeping, still as the locked door before us-
I wonder, are you dreaming or are your dreams turning to nightmares-?
My ears are ringing, I am blue- they just told me through the keyhole that
I am locked inside the world of my delusions?
Through your eyes I could read your thoughts but
Your eyes are closed as you sleep- and my eyes, are closed to the world.
Colors and more colors before me, my tears are blue,
I am blue-please release me from my pain.
I know I have been told in time I will be but the clock upon the wall
Has no feelings-just decorating this chamber of hell with
Its bright orange face as my blue tears fall
Onto the urine stained floors of this confinement-
My soul dissolves into nothingness, while blood drips from the ceiling-and
I wonder- do they make keys that unlock minds from the cells of their delusions?
Somebody just painted my world black and I am doomed to be trapped here
Forever…
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lady Of Shallot: Mirror Mind Exposed
interesting no one ever sees
our Lady of Shallot mystery
is spoken of like a fairy lady
even her name unknown remains
woman sitting in looming isolation cloistered
view casement window is even near untouched
veil prototype Mona Lisa not pictured framed
not seen at her window looking out landscaped
the Lady of Shallot never sees direct world near at hand
from cloistered distance what is felt smelt touched real
her mirror hangs upon a wall events it tells yearly small
shadows of life reversed seen mirrored move are framed...
within her mirror within in mind
upon her loom in still frozen time
she weaves life distant glimpsed
when passions rise fate will chime
she threads scenes
life she never knows
through casement window closed
allowed seen only shadow world
she threads her season passing scenes
ordinary exquisite life she never knows
reflections through casement window closed
to see puppet shows shift shadow cast world...
looking out through mirror the mirror image is the world
still life tapestry fascinating she is weaving mirror imaged
do we also see only mirror images as life rivers flow past?
upon what fleeting moments will our own life die be cast?
the Lady of Shallot suffers from a mysterious curse
she must continually weave her loom images shadows
without ever looking directly out at world dangers
what strange change daily scenes her mirror reflects
by her island the busy road the people of Camelot pass
what is her looming curse she avoids but never knows?
dangers lurk looking out near window Yes? No? Yes?
Is it...? Love? Love or risk of love? Love slays souls? ...
Is love a danger that foul may slay a young maiden's heart?
What light ignites eyes at first sight a love for Sir Lancelot?
Love is a swooning fascinating risk can it kill young heart?
Love kills young innocence that first love the first love lost?
a tower secluded by water and height may well fall at night
a shield sparkled on the long yellow field a red-cross knight
an illicit love affair like a silver bugle calls blue purple night
a constellation of stars is offset by path bearded meteor bright
red yellow silver, blue purple coal-black curls, peacock colours
maiden cheeks flaming as in arrayed display Sir Lancelot poses
mist siren song ‘Tirra lirra' come embrace be my lover entices
out flew her web floated wide caught she be in traps love tides...
her mirror crack'd from side to side run meet lover at river side
to run meet in woods Sir Lancelot maidenhood cannot survive...
floating downstream with wedding dreams snowy white robed
heard her singing her last maid song life broken barely alive...
heard was carol mournful holy chanted loudly chanted lowly
her blood love impaled frozen slowly eyes darken'd wholly...
ere she reach'd Camelot upon the tide first house at water-side
sweet tender enchanting; singing maiden; in her song she died...
dressed in cloud-white crown death pearl shroud she will delight
her wide eyes fixed on Camelot this night survive she will not...
bewitched sight steady stony glance love she be a seer in a trance
behold mischance cast love lance a wax mute glassy countenance...
'She left the web, she left the loom;
She made three paces thro' the room, ...
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side; ...
'The curse is come upon me, ' cried
The Lady of Shalott' caught in passion tide...
virgin magic strung weaved glitters entices all
comes illicit consummation then comes the fall...
'And round the prow they read her name'
'The Lady of Shalott' won undying fame...
'Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear, ...
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, 'She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott' twas embowered chase...
'Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly, ...
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers ''Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott' singing ghostly merry...
once she lived alone loom tapestry embowered
now a constellation of stars haunting flowered...
Quotations from 'The Lady Of Shallot' by Alfred Lord Tennyson.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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If You Go Away
If you go away on this summer day
Then you might as well take the sun away
All the birds that flew in a summer sky
When our love was new and our hearts were high
When the day was young and the night was lo-ong
And the moon stood still for the night birds song
If you go away, If you go away, If you go away
But if you stay I'll make you a day
Like no day has been or will be again
We'll sail on the sun, we'll ride on the rain
We'll talk to the trees and worship the wind
Then if you go-o I'll understand
Leave me just enough love to fill up my hand
If you go away, If you go away, If you go away
If you go away as I know you must
There'll be nothin' left in the world to trust
Just an empty room full of empty space
Like the empty look I see on your face
Can I tell you now as you turn to go
I'll be dying slowly till your next hello
If you go away, If you go away, If you go away
But if you stay, I'll make you a night
Like no night has been or will be again
I'll sail on your smile, I'll ride on your touch
I'll talk to your eyes that I-I love so much
But if you go, I won't cry
For the good's gone from goodbye
If you go away, If you go away, If you go away-ay-ay-ay
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dream of a New Land
my soul chained with fears
caged in a dark place
cries with sorrowful tears
down my pale, hollow face
the notes of my song die
before even being born
my broken wings cannot fly
deep in my heart, I can feel
this sharp, constant thorn
I dream of a new land
the land of the blue skies
-the land of the free-
across this desert,
across this dry sand
across this stormy sea
will I dare to act on my dreams?
will I dare to rise and break my chains?
will I dare to free all the inside screams?
will I dare to reveal all my pains?
my soul without any fears
flies free in a colorful place
cries with new happy tears
down my bright, beautiful face
a new song is born in an instant
I carry it on my new silver wings
there’s no time and no distance
I’m born in the eternal existence
my heart forever sings
I dream of a new land
the land of the blue skies
-the land of the free-
across this desert,
across this dry sand
across this stormy sea
poem by Alexandru Marius (3 February 2021)
Submitted by anonym
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Tasso And His Sister
She sat, where on each wind that sigh'd,
The citron's breath went by,
While the red gold of eventide
Burn'd in th' Italian sky.
Her bower was one where daylight's close
Full oft sweet laughter found,
As thence the voice of childhood rose
To the high vineyards round.
But still and thoughtful, at her knee,
Her children stood that hour,
Their bursts of song and dancing glee,
Hush'd as by words of power.
With bright, fix'd, wondering eyes, that gaz'd
Up to their mother's face,
With brows thro' parted ringlets rais'd,
They stood in silent grace.
While she–yet something o'er her look
Of mournfulness was spread–
Forth from a poet's magic book,
The glorious numbers read;
The proud undying lay, which pour'd
Its light on evil years;
His of the gifted pen and sword,
The triumph–and the tears.
She read of fair Erminia's flight,
Which Venice once might hear
Sung on her glittering seas at night,
By many a gondolier;
Of him she read, who broke the charm
That wrapt the myrtle grove;
Of Godfrey's deeds, of Tancred's arm,
That slew his Paynim love.
Young cheeks around that bright page glow'd,
Young holy hearts were stirr'd;
And the meek tears of woman flow'd
Fast o'er each burning word.
And sounds of breeze, and fount, and leaf,
Came sweet, each pause between;
When a strange voice of sudden grief
Burst on the gentle scene.
The mother turn'd–a way-worn man,
In pilgrim-garb, stood nigh,
Of stately mien, yet wild and wan,
Of proud yet mournful eye.
But drops which would not stay for pride,
From that dark eye gush'd free,
As pressing his pale brow, he cried,
'Forgotten! ev'n by thee!
'Am I so changed?–and yet we two
Oft hand in hand have play'd;–
This brow hath been all bath'd in dew,
From wreaths which thou hast made;
We have knelt down and said one prayer,
And sung one vesper strain;
My soul is dim with clouds of care–
Tell me those words again!
'Life hath been heavy on my head,
I come a stricken deer,
Bearing the heart, midst crowds that bled,
To bleed in stillness here.'–
She gaz'd–till thoughts that long had slept
Shook all her thrilling frame–
She fell upon his neck and wept,
Murmuring her brother's name.
Her brother's name!–and who was he,
The weary one, th' unknown,
That came, the bitter world to flee,
A stranger to his own?–
He was the bard of gifts divine
To sway the souls of men;
He of the song for Salem's shrine,
He of the sword and pen!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Red-Tressed Maiden
RED she is in a robe of sable,
Rosy with pictures and tales to tell:
She is a fairy, and yet no fable,
Weaving the dreams that we love so well.
Out in the dark where the night-winds hurry
And dead leaves carpet the silent bush,
She has a charm for minds that worry,
For the worn white face a fresh young blush.
Tell her a story of some love laid in
The grave long since with a maiden white —
She will not taunt you, the Red-Tressed Maiden
Dressed in her mantle of starless night.
With fingers potent as rich wine chosen
From dusty cellars where years lie dead,
She melts the ice in the veins long frozen,
The blood runs chainless, and young and red.
Her ears have hearkened the joyous laughter,
Man-made, maid-lifted through years and years
To frescoed dome and to smoky rafter,
And tears and tears and ceaseless tears.
Old as the world, and some say older,
Is she, and yet she is young and sweet:
She heard the story the Cave-man told her,
When hearts were bolder and ruder their beat.
No tale so trifling but she will listen,
The long day ended, the day's toil done;
Then wheresoever her great eyes glisten
An ancient battle is fought and won.
She is ready to hearken to some chance roamer,
A lyre on his shoulder, a lilt on his tongue,
As she was of old to the blind-eyed Homer
Who sang high strains when the world was young.
On winter nights, when the roads are cheerless
And west winds under a frosty moon,
She paints us Summer in colours peerless
And the broad gold charm of a tropic noon.
On summer evenings, in sylvan places
(The picnic over and stars in the skies),
She heightens the blush on sun-kissed faces
And deepens the dream in dear young eyes.
And who is the Maiden? When Night is about you,
Pile high dry leaves and dead wood, and so
Make a light for the darkness within and without you . . .
And now do you see her — and now do you know?
poem by Roderic Quinn
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I am suffering from insomnia
I am suffering from insomnia
I spend sleepless nights.
The cry of a newborn baby,
abandoned in Ramna Park,
renders Sukantu’s declaration a lie.
Sitting on the sidewalk, under the shade of a banyan tree,
near the Ministry of Foreign Affairs
who is she, begging with pale sad eyes?
A tired hungry child cries,
his hands clutching her shoulders.
As I look at her why does the face
of an Afghan boy, his face torn
by cluster bomb, rise before my eyes?
Why do I see the faces of young people,
children and old women,
wildly running in every direction?
why do I see so many coffins
full of martyrs’ corpses?
why is these such a long procession of tears?
When I see such things,
tell me, please, how can I go to sleep?
The cries of my brother, the cries of my mother
break my heart.
I know, the frightened shriek
of a young maiden
will not stop their air raids.
We know, the tears of the gecko
did not stop the fire’s holocaust.
Yet it is true that these days
I do not sleep well.
A mighty migraine performs a sacred ritual
inside my head
and prays for sorrow and pain.
------
poem by Shafiqul Islam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace, Little Girl, Peace.
The poor young girl
with beach blonde hair
and pale white skin
stands in the middle of the street,
in the middle of a war.
Her face shows pain,
her face shows she wants help.
She goes to the hardware store
and steals a can of purple paint.
She doesn't know better,
so it doesn't matter.
The pale girl opens the can of purple paint
and uses her hands to write a message on the
big brick building wall.
She uses what knowledge she has of spelling,
and traces her purple paint covered fingers
over the wall.
First she draws a P
than an E
than she dips her hand back in the paint.
When she is done with the word,
the purple paint has run down the wall,
but you could still see the word very clearly.
It spelled PEACE.
The young girl takes her hand and presses it to the wall
leaving a very small purple handprint.
Then she runs.
A soldier calls after her,
'Peace little girl, Peace! '