Wail! , Wail! ! , Wail! ! ! for HAITI.
Wail, ! Wail, ! ! Wail for HAITI! ! ! ! ! !
Wail for the sight is Gory,
Wail for the deaths of these Infants
Wail for the deaths of these women, ; young, and Old
Wail for the loss of the productive workforce of this Nation
Wail for the Calamity that came within few seconds to claim thousands of lives.
Wail for the loss of generations of this Land called Haiti
Wail for the Unconsolable mothers, and fathers for the loss of their loved ones
Wail, if you have tears in your tear glands,
Wail, if you have heart that is meek
May the Almighty console us all, for the sights of the dead in the rubbles too frightening to look.
poem by Segun Rasaki
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Related quotes
Hagar
SHE went along the road,
Her baby in her arms,
The night and its alarms
Made deadlier her load.
Her shrunken breasts were dry;
She felt the hunger bite.
She lay down in the night,
She and the child, to die.
But it would wail, and wail,
And wail. She crept away.
She had no word to say,
Yet still she heard it wail.
She took a jagged stone;
She wished it to be dead.
She beat it on the head;
It only gave one moan.
She has no word to say;
She sits there in the night.
The east sky glints with light,
And it is Christmas Day!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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A Lament For Adonis
Cytherea, thy dainty Adonis is dying!
Ah, what shall we do?
O Nymphs, let it echo, the voice of your crying,
The greenwood through!
O Forest-maidens, smite on the breast,
Rend ye the delicate-woven vest!
Let the wail ring wild and high:
'Ah for Adonis!' cry.
O Sappho, how canst thou chant the bliss
Of Kypris — after such day as this?
'Oh Adonis, thou leavest me — woe for my lot!
And Eros, my servant, availeth me not!'
So wails Cytherea, grief-distraught.
'Who shall console me for thee? There is none —
Not Ares my god-lover, passionate one
Who sware in his jealousy forth to hale
Hephaestus my spouse from his palace, if he
Dared but to lift his eyes unto me.
Not he can console me, Adonis, for thee!'
Wail for Adonis, wail!
Long Black Veil
Ten years ago on a cold dark night
Someone was killed beneath the townhall light
There were few at the scene, but they all agreed
That the slayer who ran looked a lot like me
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me
The judge said son, what is your aliby?
If you were somewhere else, then you wont have to die.
I said not a word, though it meant my life,
For Id been in the arms of my best friends wife.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil.
She visits my grave when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, now the scaffold is high, eternity is near
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
And sometimes at night when the cold winds blow
In a long black veil she cries over my bones.
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Nobody knows. nobody knows, but me.
Nobody knows but me.
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Solitude Of Loss
Behold thy sister - on a journey so long
behold she leaves to return no more
behold thy sister - thy only companion
remember your times for there'll never be more
wipe your tears 'cos leave she must
no matter the wail she ne'er return
begin to mourn - for your sister is dead
oh this lad shall wail but the deed is done
silence and seethe have crept in to stay
oh the emptiness of loss and sorrow to bear
to carry the load all - all alone
and pigments of grief his face to smear
his life alone - a thing to learn
his morn of mourn shall be of darkness
the pain of loss shall be his own
and his nights shall be of torment and coldness
oh! the grieving psyche of him
death has failed to complete his work
the spiritual bond is not severed
his life to mourn forever locked
poem by Mbanaso Samuel
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Sing me Gypsy [Cântă-mi lăutare]
- Sing the doina, Gypsy dear,
Of all those who went away
To new countries, far from here,
By vain wishes led astray!...
The old man, with lowered brow,
Holds his fiddle, looking pale:
- Well, this song, I tell you now,
Is not sung, for it's a wail!
- Wail it, then, to hear the tune
Of those gone for good, no doubt,
Who have left their homes too soon
And in foreign lands die out...
The old man, with dreary eyes,
Looks at me as if he's blind:
- Well, this song in life – and sighs,
Is not sung, is heard in mind.
poem by Ion Minulescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Street-Side Elergy
In the night,
If you walk through
This soggy street
Where virtuous spirits
Have gone to bed
And evil spirits roaming,
You will wrench yourself loose of joy
And wail for this street.
If you hear
The hear-renting shrieks
Of victims in this evil night,
You must wail, you must wail
Publicly, for this street.
If you know
How brotherhood is spent
And how humanity is broken
In this broken street,
You must scream hard
To dance away the evil spirits.
If you see brothers
Treating brothers with
The ferocity of jungle beast,
These tears must drop.
These tears on the eye lids
Must drop.
If you walk through this street
In the foggy day light,
You will see broken spirits
All existing and ghostly.
Scream hard and hard
For the living dead,
For the living can still be dead
I found that in this street.
Scream to invite good spirits
To dance away the evil spirits,
If you want to mask,
You can mask
For the night is horrendous.
poem by Stephen Kekeghe
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Cosmopolitan Stink
it is a closed road
so i am included
as one without a
pass
i understand
perfectly
a new set of
dead bodies
whose flesh
are partly
eaten by fish
arrives today
from a boat
that meet
the storm
headlong
it sank
and the pointing fingers
grow like lichens
on the tree
the odors here
are dumped
and the nose
bleeds
body after body
wail after wail
too huge
for the cosmopolitan
street to handle
i shifted
my gaze
and take
another road
a hungry child,
families sleeping on the streets
of the city
imprisoned garbage
angry rats
caught at dead end
corners
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet IX: If This Be Love
If this be love, to draw a weary breath,
Paint on floods, till the shore, cry to th'air,
With downward looks still reading on the earth,
The sad memorials of my love's despair.
If this be love, to war against my soul,
Lie down to wail, rise up to sigh and grieve me,
The never-resting stone of care to roll,
Still to complain my griefs, and none relieve me.
If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts,
Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart,
My pleasures horror, music tragic notes,
Tears in my eyes, and sorrow at my heart.
If this be love, to live a living death,
O then love I and draw this weary breath.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Sail On Sailor
I sailed an ocean, unsettled ocean
Through restful waters and deep commotion
Often frightened, unenlightened
Sail on, sail on sailor
I wrest the waters, fight neptunes waters
Sail through the sorrows of lifes marauders
Unrepenting, often empty
Sail on, sail on sailor
Caught like a sewer rat alone but I sail
Bought like a crust of bread, but oh do I wail
Seldom stumble, never crumble
Try to tumble, lifes a rumble
Feel the stinging Ive been given
Never ending, unrelenting
Heartbreak searing, always fearing
Never caring, persevering
Sail on, sail on, sailor
I work the seaways, the gale-swept seaways
Past shipwrecked daughters of wicked waters
Uninspired, drenched and tired
Wail on, wail on, sailor
Always needing, even bleeding
Never feeding all my feelings
Damn the thunder, must I blunder
Theres no wonder all Im under
Stop the crying and the lying
And the sighing and my dying
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sail On Sailor
I sail an ocean, unsettled ocean
Through restless water, and deep commotion
Often frightened, unenlightened
Sail on, sail on sailor
I wrest the waters, fight Neptune's waters
Sail through the sorrows, of life's maurauders
Unrepenting, often empty
Sail on, sail on sailor
Caught like a sewer rat, alone but I see
Bought like a crust of bread, but oh do I wail
Seldom stumble, never crumble, try to tumble, life's a rumble
Feel the stinging, I've been given, never ending, unrelenting
Heartbreaks nearing, always fearing, never caring, persevering
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
I work the seaway (I work the seaway)
The gale swept seaway, (oh seaway)
Past shipwrecked daughters, (oh daughters)
Of wicked waters
Uninspired, drenched and tired
Wail on, wail on sailor
Always needing, ever bleeding, never feeding, all my feelings
Damn the thunder, must I blunder, there's no wonder,all I'm under
Stop your cryin', and the lyin', and the sighin', and my dyin'
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
(You've got to )
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
Sail on, sail on sailor
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 94: Grief Find The Words
Grief find the words, for thou hast made my brain
So dark with misty vapors, which arise
From out thy heavy mold, that inbent eyes
Can scarce discern the shape of mine own pain.
Do thou then (for thou canst) do thou complain
For my poor soul, which now that sickness tries,
Which ev'n to sense, sense of itself denies,
Though harbingers of death lodge there his train.
Or if thy love of plaint yet mine forbears,
As of a caitiff worthy so to die,
Yet wail thyself, and wail with causeful tears,
That though in wretchedness thy life doth lie,
Yet growest more wretched than thy nature bears
By being plac'd in such a wretch as I.
poem by Philip Sidney
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The Death Of Aliatar
FROM THE SPANISH.
'Tis not with gilded sabres
That gleam in baldricks blue,
Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez,
Of gay and gaudy hue--
But, habited in mourning weeds,
Come marching from afar,
By four and four, the valiant men
Who fought with Aliatar.
All mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
The banner of the Phenix,
The flag that loved the sky,
That scarce the wind dared wanton with,
It flew so proud and high--
Now leaves its place in battle-field,
And sweeps the ground in grief,
The bearer drags its glorious folds
Behind the fallen chief,
As mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Brave Aliatar led forward
A hundred Moors to go
To where his brother held Motril
Against the leaguering foe.
On horseback went the gallant Moor,
That gallant band to lead;
And now his bier is at the gate,
From whence he pricked his steed.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
The knights of the Grand Master
In crowded ambush lay;
They rushed upon him where the reeds
Were thick beside the way;
They smote the valiant Aliatar,
They smote the warrior dead,
And broken, but not beaten, were
The gallant ranks he led.
Now mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Oh! what was Zayda's sorrow,
How passionate her cries!
Her lover's wounds streamed not more free
Than that poor maiden's eyes.
Say, Love--for didst thou see her tears:
Oh, no! he drew more tight
The blinding fillet o'er his lids
To spare his eyes the sight.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Nor Zayda weeps him only,
But all that dwell between
The great Alhambra's palace walls
And springs of Albaicin.
The ladies weep the flower of knights,
The brave the bravest here;
The people weep a champion,
The Alcaydes a noble peer.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Beneath The Ossa Of Dust
(On the event when five women buried alive)
What kind of hearts
We contain in the chests!
What kind of thoughts
We bear in the minds!
What kind of blood
Flows through our veins!
For the loins and the wolves,
The rats and cats, the dogs and hogs:
The ferocious animals
That bear the brutal hearts,
Dare not bury their fellows alive.
I weep, weep and weep!
I wail, wail and wail!
On the deed you did,
On the crime you committed;
And those who remained silent spectators,
Are the accomplices too,
The collaborators,
In execution of the most heinous,
And monstrous deed.
The daughters of Eve and Adam,
Who are akin to us
As mothers, daughters, sisters
And companions of life
Have been maltreated,
Buried alive by the so-called elites:
Cream of the crop,
Who are men in forms
But wolves in spirits,
The sky might not have witnessed
The spectacle more horrible,
More hideous since centuries.
They might have suffocated
Feeling themselves beneath
The Ossa of dust,
Blocking the respiratory tracks,
All helpless, unaided
With palpitating, breathing hearts,
And fearful minds
Wrapped in the brutal murkiness,
Yearning for a single
Fresh breath or a gust of wind.
Where are the laws?
Where are the morals?
Yes; they exist,
But for the back-broken
And not for the feudal lords:
The snakes sitting coiled
Upon the heaps of gold,
They are privileged
To do with liberty
What their wanton hearts wish,
No punishment:
Terrestrial or celestial them scars.
Ah! They buried
Five women in the dust alive,
Should we weep and wail,
Or wail and weep,
We still live in the Stone Age
Or in an era much worse than that,
We are no more in the modern age;
Imaging a while,
Place yourself in the place of those women
Buried alive with the beating hearts,
Pulsating pulses
What a horrible experience
They might have undergone.
The more I think
The more my head begins to pound
And my despised heart wishes to live,
In the hovels beneath the ground,
In the company of the beasts:
Less brute and less appalling,
They may tear me to pieces
But will not bury me alive,
With beating heart and pulsating pulse
Beneath the Ossa of dust,
Blocking the respiratory tracks.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Sweet Lullaby
Come, little babe; come, silly soul,
Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief,
Born, as I doubt, to all our dole
And to thyself unhappy chief:
Sing lullaby, and lap it warm,
Poor soul that thinks no creature harm.
Thou little think'st and less dost know
The cause of this thy mother's moan,
Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe,
And I myself am all alone.
Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail?
And knowest not yet what thou dost ail.
Come, little wretch - ah, silly heart,
Mine only joy, what can I more?
If there be any wrong thy smart,
That may the destines implore,
'Twas I, I say, against my will;
I wail the time, but be thou still.
And dost thou smile? Oh, thy sweet face,
Would God himself he might thee see;
No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace,
I know right well, for thee and me,
But come to mother, babe, and play,
For father false is fled away.
Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance
Thy father home again to send,
If death do strike me with his lance,
Yet mayst thou me to him commend;
If any ask thy mother's name,
Tell how by love she purchased blame.
Then will his gentle heart soon yield;
I know him of a noble mind.
Although a lion in the field,
A lamb in town thou shalt him find.
Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid;
His sugared words hath me betrayed.
Then mayst thou joy and be right glad,
Although in woe I seem to moan,
Thy father is no rascal lad,
A noble youth of blood and bone;
His glancing looks, if he once smile,
Right honest women may beguile.
Come, little boy, and rock asleep,
Sing lullaby, and be thou still;
I that can do nought else but weep
Will sit by thee and wail my fill.
God bless my babe, and lullaby,
From this thy father's quality.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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The Land Of Christmas
(Carly Simon)
Take me into your hands
Make me into your prayer
Take me away to the land of Christmas
And dismiss my fear
Show me the way
You see I need a way to pass
through the pain
Breathe it and bear it and rise up again
Take me away to the land of Christmas
Where I can receive your kiss
Feel the strength in my heart
And wail like a baby
And sail through the storm
Be tender as Mary
With her newborn son
Is feeling small a very good thing?
Is feeling big really very small?
Take me away to the land of Christmas
Where I won't question your love at all
And when I kneel to you
It doesn't mean I'll get the message right
Take me away to the land of Christmas
Where I can't resist surrendering
And I'll wail like a baby
And sail through the storm
Be tender like Mary
With her newborn son
On Christmas morn
Tender as Mary
With her newborn son
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gates of Paradise
The eternal entrance into Eden
Is not locked with seven precious seals;
It has no charms nor light of heaven,
And the people don't know that it is.
It's a doorway in a wall forgotten --
Stones, moss and nothing more else,
Near stands a beggar; and the rotten,
Keys are hanging at his gaudy waist.
Paladins ride by in agitation,
Trumpets wail, and minted silver chant;
Nobody spares his attention
To the Peter -- the Apostle, the saint.
They dream: There, by Sepulchre of Savor,
Paradise will open doors for us;
At the footing of the Mount Thabor
The committed hour will thrust.
So by the armored monster goes;
In the air the trumpets ring and wail;
The Apostle in the tattered cloth,
Like a beggar, looks and poor and pale.
poem by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
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A Cradle Song, The Arbor of Amorous Devices, 1593-4
COME little babe, come silly soul,
Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief,
Born as I doubt to all our dole,
And to thyself unhappy chief:
Sing lullaby, and lap it warm,
Poor soul that thinks no creature harm.
Thou little think'st and less dost know
The cause of this thy mother's moan;
Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe,
And I myself am all alone:
Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail?
And know'st not yet what thou dost ail.
Come, little wretch--ah, silly heart!
Mine only joy, what can I more?
If there be any wrong thy smart,
That may the destinies implore:
'Twas I, I say, against my will,
I wail the time, but be thou still.
And dost thou smile? O, thy sweet face!
Would God Himself He might thee see!--
No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace,
I know right well, for thee and me:
But come to mother, babe, and play,
For father false is fled away.
Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance
Thy father home again to send,
If death do strike me with his lance,
Yet mayst thou me to him commend:
If any ask thy mother's name,
Tell how by love she purchased blame.
Then will his gentle heart soon yield:
I know him of a noble mind:
Although a lion in the field,
A lamb in town thou shalt him find:
Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid,
His sugar'd words hath me betray'd.
Then mayst thou joy and be right glad;
Although in woe I seem to moan,
Thy father is no rascal lad,
A noble youth of blood and bone:
His glancing looks, if he once smile,
Right honest women may beguile.
Come, little boy, and rock asleep;
Sing lullaby and be thou still;
I, that can do naught else but weep,
Will sit by thee and wail my fill:
God bless my babe, and lullaby
From this thy father's quality.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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A guest mourner does not wail as though his heart is broken.
the shadow
divided into two
sirens wail
haiku by Chenou Liu
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Whiteboy
Send him to the fields, send him to the wars
Send him on down to slave on the farms
Steal his land, rob his soul
Send him on down to dig that hole
Give him no hope, give him no trial
Put him in chains, break that smile
Pull that barge, tote that bale
Listen to him singin, hear him wail
You wouldnt do that to a whiteboy
You wouldnt do that to a whiteboy
You wouldnt do that to a whiteboy
Give him no peace, give him no rest
Teach him to believe your God is the best
Sail him away, to the promised land
Send him on down into his masters hand
Take his woman, take his child
Take him on down to the murder mile
Pull that barge, tote that bale
Whats that song you hear him wail
Now you wonder why hes an angry man
Why theres fire in your fathers land
And wonder now what tomorrow will bring
Will you hear him screamin, will you hear him sing.
(manny charlton)
Publishing copyright: elgin music
Copyright 1986 nazareth (dunfermline) ltd., dunfermline
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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