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I was alone with a chair on a plain
Which lost itself in an empty horizon.
The plain was flawlessly paved.
Sleep, let me sleep, for I am sick of care;
Sleep, let me sleep, for my pain wearies me.
Shut out the light; thicken the heavy air
With drowsy incense; let a distant stream
(16th January 1949)
I thank whatever gods may be
For all the happiness that's mine;
Seasons Of Life
Gazing at the breezy night
Empty or lack of immense sunlight
And the onset of Winters shined
Though reflecting warmth of mankind
No love is comparable to mother's love
Inspiration when life becomes tough
Mother's love is unconditional and eternal
Sacrificial lamb for the child
A Servant To Servants
I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!
Where and what is silence ?
In the stillness of nature,
In the dark night with the glowing moon,
In the cold grave,
Cold, wet leaves
Floatingon moss-coloured water,
And the croaking of frogs-
Cracked bell-notes in the twilight.
The other day as I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room
bouncing from typewriter to piano
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold.
What of the quarry ye went to kill?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still.
Life is a jest;
Take the delight of it.
Laughter is best;
Sing through the night of it.
Edgar Albert Guest
I saw the sunset-colored sands,
The Nile like flowing fire between,
Where Rameses stares forth serene,
And Ammon's heavy temple stands.
He came without an invitation
Lying under the stairs
As if waiting for my permission
Was scared and cold the first time I took him in hand.
A Song In The Desert
Friend, thou beholdest the lightning? Who has the charge of it,
To decree which rock-ridge shall receive, shall be chosen for targe of it?
Which crown among palms shall go down, by the thunderbolt broken;
While the floods drown the sere wadis where no bud is token?
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing:-'Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover
And your English summer's done.'
My death is an excuse,
Some sleepy sleeping people have to wake up.
Mother, do not think that the red will hang on you hanging on the hanging, you just see how many young people will bleed the cold by watching them hang on a hanging trap.
Even after my death, Iqbalab will speak every stroke of my blood's blood.
Hot streaks of white rolls down my cheek
As he holds me ever so close to his heart
The beat of it is like a sweet lullaby reminding me how much he loves me
People Like Candles
*PEOPLE LIKE CANDLES*
*"The world would have been a better domicile to dwell in, if our impediments are equally solved. But nay, some are like candles"* *paciolo pen saint*
Paciolo Pen Saint
Almost Lost My Love.
Its a pretty day today, I love days like these because the cold soothing wind that blows is a reminder of you being by my side no matter what comes. The clouds that shelter me from the sun remind me of how the thought of you keeps all the dark memories away. The slight rain feels like your kisses filled with love and compassion making me sure of good and kindness in this world
But today isn't a pretty day although it's like the ones i look forward to the most, but just like most things i ruined it.
The clouds are darker than i remember and the thougts they bring darker still.
The slight rain mirrors my eyes and no matter how much the clouds and I cry we cant wash my guilt away.
Before Our Freedom
In the dungeons of untrue liberty, we were laid,
Chains of inhumanness clustered our treasured feet,
Good tidings they preached, to us, roes we weet,
“Static efforts that puzzled fettered minds”, I said,
A desert life, lonely it may seem
A long journey awaits
But aimless you feel
With no clear path to take
Cinderella in the street
In a ragged gown,
Sloven slippers on her feet,
Shames our tidy town;
Summer pleasures they are gone like to visions every one
And the cloudy days of autumn and of winter cometh on
I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone
Far away from heart and eye and for ever far away
News From Babylon
“Archaeologists have discovered a love-letter among the ruins
of Babylon.”-Newspaper report.
The world hath just one tale to tell, and it is very old,
Through an accidental crack in the curtain
I can see the eight o'clock light change from
charcoal to a faint gassy blue, inventing things
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device-
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Sunshine Cat
They did this to her, the men who know her, the man
She loved, who loved her not enough, being selfish
And a coward, the husband who neither loved nor
Used her, but was a ruthless watcher, and the band
A Legend Of Truth
Once on a time, the ancient legends tell,
Truth, rising from the bottom of her well,
Looked on the world, but, hearing how it lied,
Returned to her seclusion horrified.
Good Things Come With Time
Close enough the call to light,
I'd rather duck under my bed tonight.
The cold chills but the shimmers delight,
The mornings of a dark spell so right.
Last, to the chamber where I lie
My fearful footsteps patter nigh,
And come out from the cold and gloom
Into my warm and cheerful room.
Robert Louis Stevenson
The Desire To Paint
Unhappy perhaps is the man, but happy the artist, who is torn with this desire.
I burn to paint a certain woman who has appeared to me so rarely, and so swiftly fled away, like some beautiful, regrettable thing the traveller must leave behind him in the night. It is already long since I saw her.
She is beautiful, and more than beautiful: she is overpowering. The colour black preponderates in her; all that she inspires is nocturnal and profound.
Her eyes are two caverns where mystery vaguely stirs and gleams; her glance illuminates like a ray of light; it is an explosion in the darkness.
A Boy Named Sue
Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of booze.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,