Night – Percy Bysshe Shelley

SWIFTLY walk o’er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,–
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,–
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out.
Then wander o’er city and sea and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand–
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sigh’d for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turn’d to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sigh’d for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
‘Wouldst thou me?’
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur’d like a noontide bee,
‘Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?’–And I replied,
‘No, not thee!’

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon–
Sleep will come when thou art fled.
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night–
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

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Mighty Eagle – Percy Bysshe Shelley

Mighty eagle! thou that soarest
O’er the misty mountain forest,
And amid the light of morning
Like a cloud of glory hiest,
And when night descends defiest
The embattled tempests’ warning!

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The Drowned Lover – Percy Bysshe Shelley

Ah! faint are her limbs, and her footstep is weary,
Yet far must the desolate wanderer roam;
Though the tempest is stern, and the mountain is dreary,
She must quit at deep midnight her pitiless home.
I see her swift foot dash the dew from the whortle,
As she rapidly hastes to the green grove of myrtle;
And I hear, as she wraps round her figure the kirtle,
‘Stay thy boat on the lake,–dearest Henry, I come.’

High swelled in her bosom the throb of affection,
As lightly her form bounded over the lea,
And arose in her mind every dear recollection;
‘I come, dearest Henry, and wait but for thee.’
How sad, when dear hope every sorrow is soothing,
When sympathy’s swell the soft bosom is moving,
And the mind the mild joys of affection is proving,
Is the stern voice of fate that bids happiness flee!

Oh! dark lowered the clouds on that horrible eve,
And the moon dimly gleamed through the tempested air;
Oh! how could fond visions such softness deceive?
Oh! how could false hope rend, a bosom so fair?
Thy love’s pallid corse the wild surges are laving,
O’er his form the fierce swell of the tempest is raving;
But, fear not, parting spirit; thy goodness is saving,
In eternity’s bowers, a seat for thee there.

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Love’s Philosophy – Percy Bysshe Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another’s being mingle-
Why not I with thine?

See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea; –
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

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The Rose – William Browne

A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the North,
Grew in a little garden all alone;
A sweeter flower did Nature ne’er put forth,
Nor fairer garden yet was never known:
The maidens danced about it morn and noon,
And learned bards of it their ditties made;
The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon
Water’d the root and kiss’d her pretty shade.
But well-a-day! – the gardener careless grew;
The maids and fairies both were kept away,
And in a drought the caterpillars threw
Themselves upon the bud and every spray.
God shield the stock! If heaven send no supplies,
The fairest blossom of the garden dies.

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The Sick Rose – William Blake

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

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A Rose In Disguise – Sarah Mellberg

A rose is a rose every day, every night
You too are the same, except different in my sight

You are like a rose, such a beautiful creation
But a rose in disguise, meant to blume for every nation

So show your beauty, for I know what you are
You are a rose in disguise, and very, very wise

A rose is a rose is a rose…..

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A Black Rose – The Black Rose

A Black Rose,
Glistening in the rain,
A sign, a symbol,
An insignia of loss,
It’s the Flower of Darkness,
Lying in wait on this cold winter night,

It represents the beauty of despair,
The grace of defeat,
The feelings we all find hard to bear,
The millions of people that have all loved and lost,
All behind this flower that holds us aloft,

Within its petals we drown our grief,
With its stem we clutch to what’s left of life,
Within its thorns we spite those who have set us so
And within this dark flower we find our peace,
The power to let go and leave the loved lie,

So with this flower we sign our hearts,
We accept our everlasting love,
And move on,

A Black Rose,
Glistening in the rain,
Ill forever love you,
Ill never lose hope,
But until you come back,
Here’s a Black Rose,
For my love…

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Water – Adelaide Rhead

Water still, water deep, how many secrets do you keep?
We look upon your surface calm, and feel the peace that is a balm.
Now the gentle stream runs faster, racing swiftly swiftly —
Over boundless cataracts. Water — share your energy with me.
As a big wide river flowing slowly to the sea,
It fills me with its strength. Love and peace now cover me.
Sunshine on the water fills everything with gold.
And silver from the moonbeams. Feel the joy you now behold.
Water in its many forms soothes the jangled nerves,
Isn’t this a pleasure that everyone deserves?

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Water Picture – May Swenson

In the pond in the park
all things are doubled:
Long buildings hang and
wriggle gently. Chimneys
are bent legs bouncing
on clouds below. A flag
wags like a fishhook
down there in the sky.

The arched stone bridge
is an eye, with underlid
in the water. In its lens
dip crinkled heads with hats
that don’t fall off. Dogs go by,
barking on their backs.
A baby, taken to feed the
ducks, dangles upside-down,
a pink balloon for a buoy.

Treetops deploy a haze of
cherry bloom for roots,
where birds coast belly-up
in the glass bowl of a hill;
from its bottom a bunch
of peanut-munching children
is suspended by their
sneakers, waveringly.

A swan, with twin necks
forming the figure 3,
steers between two dimpled
towers doubled. Fondly
hissing, she kisses herself,
and all the scene is troubled:
water-windows splinter,
tree-limbs tangle, the bridge
folds like a fan.

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Going For Water – Robert Frost

The well was dry beside the door,
And so we went with pail and can
Across the fields behind the house
To seek the brook if still it ran;
Not loth to have excuse to go,
Because the autumn eve was fair
(Though chill), because the fields were ours,
And by the brook our woods were there.

We ran as if to meet the moon
That slowly dawned behind the trees,
The barren boughs without the leaves,
Without the birds, without the breeze.

But once within the wood, we paused
Like gnomes that hid us from the moon,
Ready to run to hiding new
With laughter when she found us soon.

Each laid on other a staying hand
To listen ere we dared to look,
And in the hush we joined to make
We heard, we knew we heard the brook.

A note as from a single place,
A slender tinkling fall that made
Now drops that floated on the pool
Like pearls, and now a silver blade.

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Fire & Love – Patricia Gale

Golden orangish flames
Hinted with a hue of blue
Circling round hardened wood
Consuming the outer
Streaking through the grain
Down to its very core

Strange.. the comparison to love
How it begins with a spark
Then a glowing consuming feeling
Circling round the outer till it reaches the very core of the soul
As it streaks through the body then reaching the heart

Fire and love different as night is to day
But none the less….
Both consume and may warm a being
Or leave one with nothing but ashes

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Fire And Ice – Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

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Sea Love – Charlotte Mary Mew

Tide be runnin’ the great world over:
‘Twas only last June month I mind that we
Was thinkin’ the toss and the call in the breast of the lover
So everlastin’ as the sea.

Heer’s the same little fishes that sputter an swim,
Wi’ the moon’s old glim on the grey, wet sand;
An’ him no more to me mor me to him
Than the wind goin’ over my hand.

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At Sea – Aleister Crowley

As night hath stars, more rare than ships
In ocean, faint from pole to pole,
So all the wonder of her lips
Hints her innavigable soul.

Such lights she gives as guide my barque;
But I am swallowed in the swell
Of her heart’s ocean, sagely dark,
That holds my heaven and holds my hell.

In her I live, a mote minute
Dancing a moment in the sun:
In her I die, a sterile shoot
Of nightshade in oblivion.

In her my elf dissolves, a grain
Of salt cast careless in the sea;
My passion purifies my pain
To peace past personality.

Love of my life, God grant the years
Confirm the chrism – rose to rood!
Anointing loves, asperging tears
In sanctifying solitude!

Man is so infinitely small
In all these stars, determinate.
Maker and moulder of them all,
Man is so infinitely great!

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Culture – Oskar Hansen

Education is good, learning is great
One day everyone will have
A University degree but the academia
Will not be so happy
Street cleaners with letters after their name
Cooks with literary degrees,
And the status University gives will mean
Little, everyone is intellectually equal
Something must be done to stop this rot,
Perhaps wood carving will do,
And leave the education to the masses.

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Global Culture – Edward Kofi Louis

A global culture is closing up on us,
But with lustful minds to kill mankind;
Yet still, they take up the Bible to calm us down.
When it is not a coup, it is war! !
And like what is now going on in Libya;
But with lustful minds to kill mankind!
Of a global culture,
But little things do mean a lot when you know the value;
And check out the life styles around you today,
For it si a mixture of righteous and evil!
The oil reserves are being bombed today in Libya,
And the dark mushroom clouds bring sadness on our faces;
But how many dead bodies are already recorded?
Of human beings and human identities,
But the global culture is what we know;
With global villages in the state ot our minds,
But quote it from the Torah and compare it with the modernizations around you.
Oh mankind! ! What have we done to ourselves on this earth?
Where is the missing link and, why the hatred? ! !
But the positive ones are never heard in times like this;
With the magnitudes of the negative one crowning the day!
But let us sit down and talk about it.

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Indian Culture – Bijay Kant Dubey

Indian thought and culture,
Its ethos and tradition
And ethnicity,
History of thought and philosophy,
History of tradition,
Myth and mysticism
Doing the rounds,
Religion and spirituality,
Theology and metaphysics
And cosmology,
How to analyze it?

But apart from it, there is something
Of course in Western science and learning
Which but we cannot deny,
The modern appliances and tools
Of day-to-day usage.

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Butterflies And Football – Anita Atina

On a sunny day, that warmed the winter breeze
Running with laughter and children,
With butterflies flitting o’er bobbing heads,
Coyly swaying grass,
Smiling up to clear blue skies!

Little sparrows twitter startled,
From their gentle snooze in the shadows.
Happy shouts play pass, with stomping feet
Arms waving, jumping
This way, this way! And goallll! ! !

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Football Is Round – Louisa Dai

A shooting ball is swooshing;
People in globe are watching.
On a sudden
Hails of cheers, vales of tears.
At losers’ silence, winners’re proud
Football is round.

In the humming of vuvuzel
Behind yellow and red card
All pass in the eyes of eagle
Nothing is impossible.
Football is round
For entertaining goal.

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Football – Fred Babbin

With Apologies to Oliver Twist and everybody else.

Football, glorious football.
Don’t care what it looks like -.
Burned! Underdone! Crude!
Don’t care what those crooks like.
Just thinking of growing fat.-
Our senses go reeling.
One moment of knowing that
Full-up feeling from sitting on
the couch!
Football, glorious football!
What wouldn’t we give for
That extra bit more,
that’s all that we should live for.
Why should we be fated
to do nothing but brood
on football,
magical football,
wonderful football,
marvelous football,
fabulous football,
beautiful football,
glorious football!

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Football – Louis Jenkins

I take the snap from the center, fake to the right, fade back…
I’ve got protection. I’ve got a receiver open downfield…
What the hell is this? This isn’t a football, it’s a shoe, a man’s
brown leather oxford. A cousin to a football maybe, the same
skin, but not the same, a thing made for the earth, not the air.
I realize that this is a world where anything is possible and I
understand, also, that one often has to make do with what one
has. I have eaten pancakes, for instance, with that clear corn
syrup on them because there was no maple syrup and they
weren’t very good. Well, anyway, this is different. (My man
downfield is waving his arms.) One has certain responsibilities,
one has to make choices. This isn’t right and I’m not going
to throw it.

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A Good Boy – Poem



I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day,
I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play.

And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood,
And I am very happy, for I know that I’ve been good.

My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair,
And I must be off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer.

I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise,
No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes.

But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn,
And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn.

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Poem – The Swing


Robert_Louis_StevensonHow do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside–

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown–
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

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Poem – Love, What Is Love


LOVE – what is love? A great and aching heart;
Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair.
Life – what is life? Upon a moorland bare
To see love coming and see love depart.

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Nepali Poem – Bainsh

घोप्टे काँडाबीच फुलेको
नाजुक फुल
जसको मनमोहक सुगन्धले
हरेक बैँसालु मन पग्लन्छ
र फुल टिप्ने चटारोमा
पटक पटक दर्फरिन्छ ।

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Poem – By You I Long To Be Kissed

I would love too

As the window on the bus,
Steamed up I began to trace,
A heart shape with our names,
Written inside copied face to face.

Doodling in class I found myself,
Over and over scribbling the same,
Inside my book cover hidden writing,
My first and your last name.

On our school trip that day,
I took pictures with my phone,
Of us all in a group,
And my favourite of you alone.

I sit behind you in class,
You don’t even know I exist,
Mine is a one way crush,
By you I long to be kissed.

In my locker I did see,
A note which was hidden inside,
Which started Emily I have written,
The words that I could not find.

I had the courage to say,
That I have liked you from,
Afar and will you please be,
My date to this years prom.

Well who’d have thought he felt,
The same way as I do,
In a note from me to him,
I said I would love too.

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Nepali Poem – Roti

यो कुनै प्रतिष्ठित बिम्व होइन
न घाम झैँ कवितामा सजाउँन पाउँ
न जून झैँ गीतमा गाउँन पाउँ
यो कुनै गुराँस होइन
यो कुनै पलाँस पनि होइन
न मन्दीर पुज्नै पाउँ
न प्रेमीकाको हातमै थमाउँ ।

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Poem – Why Does It Happen To Me

Why does it happen to me

What’s that on your…..

Face you’ve got white all round,
Your mouth said the RAC guy,
Looking in the rear view mirror,
Oh no it’s toothpaste said I.

What’s that in your….

Hair it’s white and sticky said,
My boyfriend while we did sit,
By the beach at the seaside,
On my head a Seagull had shit.

What’s that on your….

Shoe said my friends as I,
Walked past and behind me,
Followed a trail of toilet paper,
For the whole pub to see.

What’s wrong with your….

Skirt just turn around it looks,
Like its ruffled at the back,
Rushing to the mirror to check,
It was tucked in my bum crack.

What’s that on your….

Are you cold said a colleague,
Yes it is here where I’m sat,
Staring at my chest he said,
On those could hang your hat.

Nicky you need to….

Tie your straps tighter look,
On your costume mum did shout,
Bouncing in the pool at aqautone,
As my boobs decided to pop out.

As they turned up their noses….

The yoga instructor had us tied,
Up like a rubber band in pose,
She said relax and that’s when,
I farted so loud as I rose.

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Spring Visit – Bai Juyi

Remnants of sun ribbon the river–
half and half, black river red.
Third night, ninth month lovely hour;
pearled dew, bent bow moon.

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A Foresaken Garden – Bai Juyi

I enter the court
Through the middle gate—
And my sleeve is wet with tears.

The flowers still grow
In the courtyard,
Though two springs have fled
Since last their master came.

The windows, porch, and bamboo screen
Are just as they always were,
But at the entrance to the house
Someone is missing—

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After Lunch – Bai Juyi

After eating lunch, I feel so sleepy.
Waking later, I sip two bowls of tea,

then notice shadows aslant, the sun
already low in the southwest again.

Joyful people resent fleeting days.
Sad ones can’t bear the slow yers.

It’s those with no joy and no sorrow—
they trust whatever this life brings.

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The Philosopher – Bai Juyi

“Those who speak know nothing;
Those who know are silent.”
These words, as I am told,
Were spoken by Lao Tzu.
If we are to believe that Lao Ttzu
Was himself one who knew,
How comes it that he wrote a book
Of five thousand words?

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Night Snow – Bai Juyi

Startled at the cold stiffness of my pillow,
I see that the window is a sheet of pure white.
Deep in the night, the weight of snow increases
Until I hear bamboo snapping in the darkness.

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Justice – Archie Greenidge

Justice, justice, justice!
Where art thou? ye Stewarth?
Justice is the very warmth of an inn,
When interred from the bitter slippery, frosty storm.
Justice is the norm.
It’s illusive to the door, like a very fastened door,
Cannot be entrusted to flurry mind.
Justice must be mandated.
With justice the waves are calm,
There is never a harm.
No one needs justice until
They themselves are imprisoned.
Justice is not heresy,
It’s the healing of the soul.

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A Strange Justice – Afzal Shauq

The one
who is supposed to
give me justice has
amazingly declared her heart
as a court,
she herself as a judge to hear,
her brain as a lawyer to plea,
herself witnesses to prove,
even then
her decisions are also based on
the rules and regulations
mentioned in the black book of law,
she constructed herself
as per her own willingness too.

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Cant Get No Justice – Eric Cockrell

black man
in them poverty chains
cant get no justice
in them sterile white courts.

blue collar man
in them grimy working chains
cant get no justice
in them insulated courts.

freedom man
in them speak out chains
cant get no justice
in them walled off courts.

poor woman, ha!
in them second class chains
cant get no justice
in them man-god courts.

you and me
in them angry tired chains
cant get no justice
in them fictional courts!

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Bush Justice – Charles Harpur

A Dealer, bewitched by gain-promising dreams
Settled down near my Station, to trade with my Teams,
And to sell to, my men too! from whom, through the nose,
Until then, I had screw’d just what prices I chose;
And for this, to be sure, I so hated the man,
That I swore ne’er to rest till I’d settled some plan
Whereby in the Lockup to cleverly cram him!
And so to my Super the matter I put,
Who thereupon ‘found’ a sheep’s head near his hut,
And the ‘how came it there?’ was sufficient to damn him,
The Beak before who I then lugg’d him, as you
May suppose, being neck-deep in Squattery too.

‘Twas a beautiful Hearing, as noted at large
By the Clerk (who was bonuss’d)-sheep-stealing the charge;
‘Twould make your hearts laugh in the Records to see
How we bullied him out of his wits! -I say we,
Because while on this side against him 1 banged,
On the other the Beak said he ought to be hanged,
For a gallows-grained, scandalous son of transgression!
And committing him then-the case being so plain,
We sent him three hundred miles ‘down on the chain’
To his Trial-and eke to his ‘acquittal’, at Session!
For what care we Squatters for Law on a push?
And for Justice! what has she to do with the Bush?

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Justice – Langston Hughes

That Justice is a blind goddess
Is a thing to which we black are wise:
Her bandage hides two festering sores
That once perhaps were eyes.

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The Fool – Gautam Buddha

Lord Gautam Buddha

Lord Gautam Buddha 563 BCE – 480 BCE


Long is the night to one who is awake.
Long is ten miles to one who is tired.
Long is the cycle of birth and death
to the fool who does not know the true path.

If a traveller does not meet with one who is better or equal,
let one firmly travel alone;
there is no companionship with a fool.

‘These sons belong to me, and this wealth belongs to me;’
with such thoughts a fool is tormented.
One does not belong to oneself;
how much less sons and wealth?

The fool who knows one’s own folly,
is wise at least to that extent;
but the fool who thinks oneself wise is really a fool.

If a fool is associated with a wise person all one’s life,
the fool will not perceive the truth,
any more than a spoon will taste the soup.

If an intelligent person is associated with a wise person
for only one minute, one will soon perceive the truth,
just as the tongue does the taste of soup.

Fools of little understanding are their own worst enemies,
for they do wrong deeds which bear bitter fruits.
That action is not well done, which having been done,
brings remorse, whose result one receives crying with tears.
But that action is well done, which having been done,
does not bring remorse,
whose result one receives gladly and cheerfully.

As long as the wrong action does not bear fruit,
the fool thinks it is like honey;
but when it bears fruit, then the fool suffers grief.

Let a fool month after month
eat food with the tip of kusha grass;
nevertheless one is not worth one-sixteenth
of those who have understood the truth.

A wrong action, like newly drawn milk, does not turn soon;
smouldering, like fire covered by ashes, it follows the fool.
When the wrong action, after it has become known,
turns to sorrow for the fool,
then it destroys one’s brightness and splits the head.

Let the fool wish for reputation,
for precedence among the mendicants,
for authority in the convents,
for veneration among the people.

‘Let both the householders and the mendicants
think that this is done by me.
Let them always ask me
what should be done and what should not be done.’

Such is the wish of the fool
of increasing desire and pride.
One road leads to wealth; another road leads to nirvana.
Let the mendicant, the disciple of Buddha, learn this,
and not strive for honour but seek wisdom.

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The Downward Course – Gautam Buddha

Gautam Buddha

Gautam Buddha 563 BCE – 480 BC


He who says what is not, goes to hell; he also who, having done a thing, says I have not done it. After death both are equal, they are
men with evil deeds in the next world.

Many men whose shoulders are covered with the yellow gown are ill-conditioned and unrestrained; such evil-doers by their evil deeds go to hell.

Better it would be to swallow a heated iron ball, like flaring fire, than that a bad unrestrained fellow should live on the charity of the land.

Four things does a wreckless man gain who covets his neighbour’s wife,-a bad reputation, an uncomfortable bed, thirdly, punishment, and lastly, hell.

There is bad reputation, and the evil way (to hell), there is the short pleasure of the frightened in the arms of the frightened, and the king imposes heavy punishment; therefore let no man think of his neighbour’s wife.

As a grass-blade, if badly grasped, cuts the arm, badly-practised asceticism leads to hell.

An act carelessly performed, a broken vow, and hesitating obedience to discipline, all this brings no great reward.

If anything is to be done, let a man do it, let him attack it vigorously! A careless pilgrim only scatters the dust of his passions
more widely.

An evil deed is better left undone, for a man repents of it afterwards; a good deed is better done, for having done it, one does not repent.

Like a well-guarded frontier fort, with defences within and without, so let a man guard himself. Not a moment should escape, for they who allow the right moment to pass, suffer pain when they are in hell.

They who are ashamed of what they ought not to be ashamed of, and are not ashamed of what they ought to be ashamed of, such men,
embracing false doctrines enter the evil path.

They who fear when they ought not to fear, and fear not when they ought to fear, such men, embracing false doctrines, enter the evil

They who forbid when there is nothing to be forbidden, and forbid not when there is something to be forbidden, such men, embracing false doctrines, enter the evil path.

They who know what is forbidden as forbidden, and what is not forbidden as not forbidden, such men, embracing the true doctrine,
enter the good path.

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The Just – Gautam Buddha


Lord Gautam Buddha 563 BC – 480 BC


Whoever settles a matter by violence is not just.
The wise calmly considers what is right and what is wrong.
Whoever guides others by a procedure
that is nonviolent and fair
is said to be a guardian of truth, wise and just.

A person is not wise simply because one talks much.
Whoever is patient, free from hate and fear,
is said to be wise.

A person is not a supporter of justice
simply because one talks much.
Even if a person has learned little,
whoever discerns justice with the body
and does not neglect justice is a supporter of justice.

A person is not an elder
simply because one’s head is gray.
Age can be ripe, but one may be called ‘old in vain.’
The one in whom there is truth,
virtue, nonviolence, restraint, moderation,
whoever is free from impurity and is wise,
may be called an elder.

Mere talk or beauty of complexion does not make
an envious, greedy, dishonest person become respectable.
The one in whom all these are destroyed,
torn out by the very root,
who is free from hate and is wise, is called respectable.

Not by a shaven head does one who is undisciplined
and speaks falsely become an ascetic.
Can a person be an ascetic
who is still enslaved by desire and greed?
Whoever always quiets wrong tendencies, small or large,
is called an ascetic, because of having quieted all wrong.

A person is not a mendicant
simply because one begs from others.
Whoever adopts the whole truth is a mendicant,
not the one who adopts only a part.
Whoever is above good and bad and is chaste,
who carefully passes through the world in meditation,
is truly called a mendicant.

A person does not become a sage by silence,
if one is foolish and ignorant;
but the wise one, who, holding a scale,
takes what is good and avoids what is bad,
is a sage for that reason.
Whoever in this world weighs both sides
is called a sage because of that.

A person is not a noble,
because one injures living beings.
One is called noble,
because one does not injure living beings.

Not only by discipline and vows,
not only by much learning,
nor by deep concentration nor by sleeping alone
do I reach the joy of release which the worldly cannot know.
Mendicant, do not be confident
until you have reached the extinction of impurities.

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The Thousands – Gautam Buddha

Lord Gautam Buddha

Lord Gautam Buddha 563 BCE – 480 BCE


Better than a thousand meaningless words
is one sensible word if hearing it one becomes peaceful.
Better than a thousand meaningless verses
is one word of verse if hearing it one becomes peaceful.
Better than reciting one hundred verses of meaningless words
is one poem if hearing it one becomes peaceful.

If a person were to conquer in battle
a thousand times a thousand people,
if another conquers oneself,
that one is the greatest conqueror.

Conquering oneself is better than conquering other people;
not even a god, a spirit, nor Mara with Brahma,
could turn into a defeat the victory
of one who always practices the discipline of self-control.

If a person month after month for a hundred years
should sacrifice with a thousand offerings,
and if but for one moment that person paid reverence
to one whose soul is grounded in knowledge,
better is that reverence than a hundred years of sacrifices.

If a person for a hundred years
should worship Agni in the forest,
and if but for one moment that person paid reverence
to one whose soul is grounded in knowledge,
better is that reverence than a hundred years of worship.

Whatever a person sacrifices in this world
as an offering or as an oblation
for a whole year in order to gain merit,
the whole of it is not worth a quarter.
Reverence shown to the virtuous is better.
To the one who always reveres and respects the aged,
four things increase: life, health, happiness, and power.

Better than a hundred years
lived in vice and unrestrained
is living one day if a person is virtuous and contemplative.
Better than a hundred years
lived in ignorance and unrestrained
is living one day if a person is wise and contemplative.

Better than a hundred years
lived in idleness and weakness
is living one day if a person courageously makes effort.

Better than a hundred years
of not perceiving how things arise and pass away
is living one day if a person
does perceive how things arise and pass away.

Better than a hundred years
of not perceiving immortality
is living one day if a person does perceive immortality.

Better than a hundred years
of not seeing the supreme path
is living one day if a person does see the supreme path.

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Self – Gautam Buddha

Gautam Buddha

Gautam Buddha 563 BCE – 480 BC

If a person holds oneself dear,
let one watch oneself carefully.
The wise should be watchful
during at least one of the three watches.

Let each person first direct oneself to what is right;
then let one teach others; thus the wise will not suffer.
If a person makes oneself as one teaches others to be,
then being well-controlled, that one might guide others,
since self-control is difficult.

Self is the master of self;
who else could be the master?
With self well-controlled
a person finds a master such as few can find.

The wrong done by oneself, born of oneself,
produced by oneself, crushes the fool,
just as a diamond breaks even a precious stone.
The one whose vice is great brings oneself down
to that condition where one’s enemy wishes one to be,
just as a creeper overpowers the entangled sala tree.
Bad actions and actions harmful to ourselves are easy to do;
what is beneficial and good, that is very difficult to do.

The fool who scorns the teaching of the saintly,
the noble, and the virtuous, and follows wrong ideas,
bears fruit to one’s own destruction,
like the fruits of the katthaka reed.

By oneself is wrong done; by oneself one suffers;
by oneself is wrong left undone; by oneself is one purified.
Purity and impurity come from oneself;
no one can purify another.

Let no one neglect one’s own duty
for the sake of another’s, however great;
let a person after one has discerned one’s own duty,
be always attentive to this duty.

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Let’s Drink To Our Next Meeting – Hew Ainslie

Let’s drink to our next meeting, lads,
Nor think on what’s atwixt;
They’re fools wha spoil the present hour
By thinking on the next.

Then here’s to Meg o’ Morningside,
An Kate o’ Kittlemark;
The taen she drank her hose and shoon,
The tither pawned her sark.

A load o’ wealth, an’ wardly pelf,
They say is sair to bear;
Sae he’s a gowk would scrape an’ howk
To make his burden mair


Gif Care looks black the morn, lads,
As he’s come doon the lum,
Let’s ease our hearts by swearing, lads,
We never bade him come.


Then here’s to our next meeting, lads,
Ne’er think on what’s atwixt;
They’re fools who spoil the present hour
By thinking on the next.


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Morning Joy – Claude McKay

At night the wide and level stretch of wold,
Which at high noon had basked in quiet gold,
Far as the eye could see was ghostly white;
Dark was the night save for the snow’s weird light.

I drew the shades far down, crept into bed;
Hearing the cold wind moaning overhead
Through the sad pines, my soul, catching its pain,
Went sorrowing with it across the plain.

At dawn, behold! the pall of night was gone,
Save where a few shrubs melancholy, lone,
Detained a fragile shadow. Golden-lipped
The laughing grasses heaven’s sweet wine sipped.

The sun rose smiling o’er the river’s breast,
And my soul, by his happy spirit blest,
Soared like a bird to greet him in the sky,
And drew out of his heart Eternity.

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Joy – Carl Sandburg

Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands
And take it when it runs by,
As the Apache dancer
Clutches his woman.
I have seen them
Live long and laugh loud,
Sent on singing, singing,
Smashed to the heart
Under the ribs
With a terrible love.
Joy always,
Joy everywhere–
Let joy kill you!
Keep away from the little deaths.

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Butterfly Wings – Valerie Anderson

Butterfly wings.
Dancing, shimmering lights.
They are the northern lights
of the south during the day.

Beautiful lime green.
Flash and flutter.
Dancing upon the walls.
Making such a clutter.
Those butterfly wings.

A light periwinkle blue.
As blue as the ocean.
Mysterious as the moon.
Reminds me of that sky, full of clouds.
Those butterfly wings.

A deep blood red.
So vibrant and full of life.
A deep, swirling crimson.
So loyal and true.
Those butterfly wings.

A sparkling sunny yellow.
So bright and cheerful.
Almost like a lighter gold.
So friendly and caring.
Those butterfly wings.

Those wings hold character.
Opposites they hold as well as mystery.
So dark but light and sure.
Are those butterfly wings.

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Butterfly Laughter – Katherine Mansfield

In the middle of our porridge plates
There was a blue butterfly painted
And each morning we tried who should reach the
butterfly first.
Then the Grandmother said: “Do not eat the poor
That made us laugh.
Always she said it and always it started us laughing.
It seemed such a sweet little joke.
I was certain that one fine morning
The butterfly would fly out of our plates,
Laughing the teeniest laugh in the world,
And perch on the Grandmother’s lap.

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Lost – Farzana Hossain

I lost everything when i lost you.
I lost my life when i lost you.
I lost my senses when I find my self in a deep misery.
I lost my pride when I lost my potency of loving you.
I never stop my self to love you.
I apart my self from your loving thought.
I lost everything when I lost you.
I am lost in my own world.
I am looking at you in my blur eyes.
I know you will come to me.
And I will get everything I wanted.
I will not lose anything because you are not lost for me.
Your sweet and tender smile gives me the pleasure of this world.
It’s a gift from heaven when I will find you in my arm
But I just lost my way to get back to you.
I lost everything when I lost you.

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Mutability – Percy Bysshe Shelley

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!–yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest.–A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.–One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!–For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.

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The Sunset – Percy Bysshe Shelley

There late was One within whose subtle being,
As light and wind within some delicate cloud
That fades amid the blue noon’s burning sky,
Genius and death contended. None may know
The sweetness of the joy which made his breath
Fail, like the trances of the summer air,
When, with the Lady of his love, who then
First knew the unreserve of mingled being,
He walked along the pathway of a field
Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o’er,
But to the west was open to the sky.
There now the sun had sunk, but lines of gold
Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points
Of the far level grass and nodding flowers
And the old dandelion’s hoary beard,
And, mingled with the shades of twilight, lay
On the brown massy woods — and in the east
The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose
Between the black trunks of the crowded trees,
While the faint stars were gathering overhead–
‘Is it not strange, Isabel,’ said the youth,
‘I never saw the sun? We will walk here
To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me.’

That night the youth and lady mingled lay
In love and sleep–but when the morning came
The lady found her lover dead and cold.
Let none believe that God in mercy gave
That stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild,
But year by year lived on–in truth I think
Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles,
And that she did not die, but lived to tend
Her agèd father, were a kind of madness,
If madness ’tis to be unlike the world.
For but to see her were to read the tale
Woven by some subtlest bard, to make hard hearts
Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief;–
Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan:
Her eyelashes were worn away with tears,
Her lips and cheeks were like things dead–so pale;
Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins
And weak articulations might be seen
Day’s ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self
Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day,
Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!

‘Inheritor of more than earth can give,
Passionless calm and silence unreproved,
Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest,
And are the uncomplaining things they seem,
Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love;
Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were– Peace!’
This was the only moan she ever made.

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