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! ! !

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.

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!

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.

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.

Poem – The Swing

 

How 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!

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.

Nepali Poem – Bainsh

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

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.

Nepali Poem – Roti

यो कुनै प्रतिष्ठित बिम्व होइन
जसलाई
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 ।

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.

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.

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—
You!

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.

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?

Song Of The Palace – Bai Juyi

Tears utmost gauze cloth dream not succeed
Night deep before palace press song sound
Red cheek not old favour first cut
Slant lean on smoke cover sit arrive brightness
Her handkerchief all soaked in tears, she cannot dream,
In deepest night before the palace voices sing.
Her rosy cheeks aren’t old, but first love has been cut,
Leaning, wreathed in smoke, she sits until the dawn.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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?

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.

The Fool – 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.

The Downward Course – 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
path.

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.

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.

The Thousands – 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.

Self – 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.

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.

Chorus
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

Chorus

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.

Chorus

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.

Chorus

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.

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.

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.

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
butterfly.”
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.

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.

A Lost Love – Henry Francis Lyte

I meet thy pensive, moonlight face;
Thy thrilling voice I hear;
And former hours and scenes retrace,
Too fleeting, and too dear!

Then sighs and tears flow fast and free,
Though none is nigh to share;
And life has nought beside for me
So sweet as this despair.

There are crush’d hearts that will not break;
And mine, methinks, is one;
Or thus I should not weep and wake,
And thou to slumber gone.

I little thought it thus could be
In days more sad and fair
That earth could have a place for me,
And thou no longer there.

Yet death cannot our hearts divide,
Or make thee less my own:
Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side
Than watching here alone.

Yet never, never can we part,
While Memory holds her reign:
Thine, thine is still this wither’d heart,
Till we shall meet again.

The Lost Leader – Robert Browning

I.

Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat—
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;
They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
So much was theirs who so little allowed:
How all our copper had gone for his service!
Rags—were they purple, his heart had been proud!
We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,
Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,
Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,
Made him our pattern to live and to die!
Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,
Burns, Shelley, were with us,—they watch from their graves!
He alone breaks from the van and the free-men,
—He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

II.

We shall march prospering,—not thro’ his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done,—while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more foot-path untrod,
One more devils’-triumph and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
Life’s night begins: let him never come back to us!
There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,
Forced praise on our part—the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again!
Best fight on well, for we taught him—strike gallantly,
Menace our heart ere we master his own;
Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!

Racism – Nate Tulay

How racist is America,
where the Ku Klux Klan
can march her streets
protected by her police?

Autumn – Kalidasa

HE autumn comes, a maiden fair
In slenderness and grace,
With nodding rice-stems in her hair
And lilies in her face.
In flowers of grasses she is clad;
And as she moves along,
Birds greet her with their cooing glad
Like bracelets’ tinkling song.

A diadem adorns the night
Of multitudinous stars;
Her silken robe is white moonlight,
Set free from cloudy bars;
And on her face (the radiant moon)
Bewitching smiles are shown:
She seems a slender maid, who soon
Will be a woman grown.

Over the rice-fields, laden plants
Are shivering to the breeze;
While in his brisk caresses dance
The blossomed-burdened trees;
He ruffles every lily-pond
Where blossoms kiss and part,
And stirs with lover’s fancies fond
The young man’s eager heart.

I Know A Man – Yehuda Amichai

I know a man
who photographed the view he saw
from the window of the room where he made love
and not the face of the woman he loved there.

God Full Of Mercy – Yehuda Amichai

God-Full-of-Mercy, the prayer for the dead.
If God was not full of mercy,
Mercy would have been in the world,
Not just in Him.
I, who plucked flowers in the hills
And looked down into all the valleys,
I, who brought corpses down from the hills,
Can tell you that the world is empty of mercy.
I, who was King of Salt at the seashore,
Who stood without a decision at my window,
Who counted the steps of angels,
Whose heart lifted weights of anguish
In the horrible contests.

I, who use only a small part
Of the words in the dictionary.

I, who must decipher riddles
I don’t want to decipher,
Know that if not for the God-full-of-mercy
There would be mercy in the world,
Not just in Him.

Endless Poem – Yehuda Amichai

In a modern museum
In an old synagogue
In the synagogue
I
Within me
My heart
Within my heart
A museum
Within a museum
A synagogue
Within it
I
Within me
My heart
Within my heart
A museum

Dalit – Suraj Bhandari

हामी बस्ने बस्तीहरूमा

हावा पनि डराई-डराई बग्दछ

सूर्यको किरण पनि

मन नलागी-नलागी खस्दछ

हामी बस्ने भूगोलको नजिक भएर

कुनै अक्षांश र देशान्तर रेखा पनि जाँदैन

कुनै जहाज र विमान पनि जाँदैन

किनकि-

सामाजिक भनिएको समाजले नै

बनाएका दलित हौँ हामी ।

हाम्रा आँगनमा फुल्ने गुराँसहरू

राष्ट्रिय फूल होइनन्

हाम्रा घरमा डुल्ने डाँफे

राष्ट्रिय पंक्षी होइनन्

हामीले पालेको गाई

राष्ट्रिय जनावर होइन

हामीले छोएको कपडाले

राष्ट्रिय झन्डा बन्दैन

हामीले फलाएको अक्षता

कुनै मन्दिरमा चढ्दैन

हाम्रो सयपत्रीले

कुनै देउता पुजिँदैन

किनकि-

सामाजिक भनिएको समाजले नै

बनाएका दलित हौँ हामी !

हाम्रा धमनी, हाम्रा सिराबाट

हाम्रो नसा-नसा भएर

लहु होइन, दलित बग्दछ

हाम्रो पसिनाको रंग दलित हो

हाम्रो रगतको रंग दलित हो

हामी रुँदा आखाबाट दलित खस्छ

हामी हाँस्दा ओठमा दलित बस्छ

हाम्रो शिरको जुम्रा,

हाम्रो पेटको जुका दलित नै त हो

किनकि-

सामाजिक भनिएको समाजले नै

बनाएका दलित हौँ हामी !

हामी दलितहरूको कण्ठबाट आएको

एउटै दबित आवाज छ

हजुर बेदलितहरूसमक्ष–

हरपल हामीभित्र दमाहा बजाइरहने

हाम्रो मुटु झिकेर लैजानुहोस्

र तपाईंको समाजको प्रयोगशालामा

परिक्षण गरेर बताउनुहोस्

के हामी दलित हौँ ?

होइनौं भने त केही भएन

परन्तु केही गरी हौँ भने

छर्किदिनुहोस् एक-एक अञ्जुली गंगाजल

तपाईं बेदलितहरूको कमण्डलुबाट

ताकि आइन्दा फेरि कसैले

हाम्रो घरमा दलित भएर जन्मनु नपरोस्

किन्तु तपाईंको गंगाजलले पनि

हामी चोखिएनौँ भने

कुन तीर्थको अमृतले

कुन गंगाको जलले चोखाउनुहुनेछ

हामीलाई छुँदा अशुद्ध भएकी

तपाईँकी गंगालाई ?

Source: http://www.baahrakhari.com

The Beloved Comes Home – Mirabai

The one I longed for has come home;
The raging fire of separation is quenched.
Now I rejoice with Him, I sing in bliss.

The peacocks at the cloud’s roar
Dance with unbound joy;
I rejoice in ecstasy
At the sight of my Beloved.

I am absorbed in His love;
My misery of wandering
In the world has ended.
The lily bursts into bloom
At the sight of the full moon;
Seeing Him, my heart blossoms in joy.
Peace permeates this body of mine;
His arrival has filled my home with bliss.

That very Lord has become my own
Who is ever the redeemer of His devotees.
Mira’s heart, scorched by the blaze of separation,
Has become cool and refreshed;
The pain of duality has vanished.

A Cowherding Girl – Mirabai

The plums tasted
sweet to the unlettered desert-tribe girl-
but what manners! To chew into each! She was ungainly,
low-caste, ill mannered and dirty,
but the god took the
fruit she’d been sucking.
Why? She’d knew how to love.
She might not distinquish
splendor from filth
but she’d tasted the nectar of passion.
Might not know any Veda,
but a chariot swept her away-
now she frolics in heaven, esctatically bound
to her god.
The Lord of Fallen Fools, says Mira,
will save anyone
who can practice rapture like that-
I myself in a previous birth
was a cowherding girl
at Gokul.

A Great Yogi – Mirabai

In my travels I spent time with a great yogi.
Once he said to me.
“Become so still you hear the blood flowing
through your veins.”

One night as I sat in quiet,
I seemed on the verge of entering a world inside so vast
I know it is the source of
all of
us.