Authors

From the Ocean

March 31, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

The timeless waves crash against the desolate beach,
Haunted cries of the gulls, hanging in a lonely wind.
As sand whips around my feet plumes of reeds guide my eyes.
The pink horizon holding memories of an ancient mariner’s tale.
Each breath invigorates my soul with peace from this world,
The muffled applause of sea and shingle, constant and steady.

With no one to share this feast of spindrift and salty spray,
Stinging my face and eyes with each playful stroke.
My face is raised to the life giving spume of Hyperion’s breath.,
Then hand circling on the carpet of glistening sand.
Dunlin and Knot race to and fro’ before the surf,
The trial of life gives play for a taste of the oceans fruit.

Lonely sea, cold sea, steely resolute friend and foe,
Thought invoking, soul refreshing, invigorating sea.
The much travelled winds arms wrapped around me,
I roam past boats long since abandoned.
Their paint ageing pastel by sea and sun, flaking slowly.
With bones of crab pots stacked in disarray,

Where bladder wrack dried black, lies tangled in nets.
Sand dunes flow like a dry sea in a world of secretive shallow.
They stretch along the coast, giving echo to the surf.
As i stand with an ear to the curlews impassioned cry,
Eons have passed since man first stepped from the ocean.
But, like the gull and the wave, I’ll be drawn back evermore.

Phil Hall may 2012

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Pity Me Not

March 31, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

 

Pity me not because the light of day
At close of day no longer walks the sky;
Pity me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the year goes by;
Pity me not the waning of the moon,
Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,
Nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon,
And you no longer look with love on me.

This love I have known always: love is no more
Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,
Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,
Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales.
Pity me that the heart is slow to learn
What the swift mind beholds at every turn.

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)


Source: youtube channel SpokenVerse
Read by Tom O'Bedlam

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I Love You

March 30, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

When April bends above me
And finds me fast asleep
Dust need not keep the secret
A live heart died to keep.


When April tells the thrushes,
The meadow-larks will know,
And pipe the three words lightly
To all the winds that blow.


Above his roof the swallows,
In notes like far-blown rain,
Will tell the little sparrow
Beside his window-pane.


O sparrow, little sparrow,
When I am fast asleep,
Then tell my love the secret
That I have died to keep.


Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933)


 

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The Forest Path

March 20, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Oh, the charm of idle dreaming
Where the dappled shadows dance,
All the leafy aisles are teeming
With the lure of old romance!

Down into the forest dipping,
Deep and deeper as we go,
One might fancy dryads slipping
Where the white-stemmed birches grow.

Lurking gnome and freakish fairy
In the fern may peep and hide . . .
Sure their whispers low and airy
Ring us in on every side!

Saw you where the pines are rocking
Nymph’s white shoulder as she ran?
Lo, that music faint and mocking,
Is it not a pipe of Pan?

Hear you that elusive laughter
Of the hidden waterfall?
Nay, a satyr speeding after
Ivy-crowned bacchanal.

Far and farther as we wander
Sweeter shall our roaming be,
Come, for dim and winsome yonder
Lies the path to Arcady!

Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874 – 1942)

 


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A Minor Bird

March 17, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.

Robert Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)

 

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Don't reject the crooked road...

March 17, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments






Don't reject the crooked road and don't take the straight one,

instead take the one traveled by the ancestors.



(Cambodian Proverb)

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The Daffodils

March 17, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
The thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:


For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


William Wordsworth (7 April 1770 – 23 April 1850)




 

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The Road Not Taken

March 16, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost (1874-1963)

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A Lake And A Fairy Boat

March 15, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

A lake and a fairy boat
To sail in the moonlight clear, -
And merrily we would float
From the dragons that watch us here!

Thy gown should be snow-white silk
And strings of oriental pearls,
Like gossamers dipped in milk,
Should twine with thy raven curls!

Red rubies should deck thy hands,
And diamonds should be thy dower -
But fairies have broke their wands,
And wishing has lost its power!

Thomas Hood (23 May 1799 – 3 May 1845)





 

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The Station

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Tonight I arrived at a train station.
Same as the rest. Lingering, suffocating,
serene at times, submerged
under the magic spell of the clock.
And I played the mole, tired little beast
crouched in a corner,
watching them go by, running, giving up,
or devouring the teller’s little window
to ask for a ticket, a schedule,
and running again.

Tonight I arrived at the station,
and I refused to remember the other one, the very short one,
blown and shaken
like a freezing poplar.
I remember myself there, torn from the train,
returned to the crowds,
searching the useless walls
for light, noon, some color,
a locust tree spinning its enigmas in the delusions of my body. Then
everything was darkened earth,
a bolt of fear from my neck to my waist,
and hatred for the unrepentant rain’s proclamation.

Tonight I arrived
and renounced this air stifled between the walls,
the cloistered anger,
the bitter little shoot in search of
the shade and the downpour.
Trains go by. I can’t help but see in them
a fleeting sadness, a foreshadowing of the north wind,
a promise to bygone loves.
I look at the mole, being dragged along
thrown into this zigzag of shouts and shapes
looking doubtful, accusing, as if figuring out
the schedule, and the ruins
of an ancient music.

I see the night fly by,

and the sky in my shoes, and the outline
of my body traveling
through this gallery of angels tripping over each other
trying not to miss the train,
trying to be happy, trying to get to the bottom
of this inglorious journey.

Carlos Francisco Monge

(Translated from Spanish by Victor S. Drescher)©

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I Have Forsworn You

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

I have forsworn you, closed all memory;
I work and eat, listen to music, sleep,
Walk in the garden, watch the changing moon
Pretending that I have no need of you.
But all the while I know it is not true.
Your silence weaves around me such a tight cocoon
Of loneliness and sadness, such a deep
And painful longing that I know it is a fallacy
To feel and say or think that I am free.

Anne Ranasinghe
 

Excerpt from Anna Ranasinghe’s book “Du Fragst Mich, Warum ich Gedichte Schreibe – You Ask Me Why I Write Poems” (Pages 44 /45, Maro Verlag)

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Yearning

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Summertime has been the blossom over
Autumn chill has seen off meadow clover
A circling flock of starlings I can see
Come roosting on the rowan berry tree
I do so yearn for days of early spring

I contemplate the cold October sky
A starlit night with frost descending
I shiver at the moon so bright on high
While deep within a sigh ascending
I do so yearn for days of early spring

Considering the snowy winter scene
The furry squirrel darting on the green
A flurrying of snowflakes in the wake
The icing on my frosted Christmas cake
I do so yearn for days of early spring

Aware of the advancing march of time
Awakening I stretch my limbs and yawn
A serenade of melodies sublime
Blackbirds sing in chorus at the dawn
I do so yearn for days of early spring

With disregard of frequent April showers
I fond regard a feathered friend I made
Flitting to and fro among the bowers
Now perching on the handle of my spade
A fine return for days of early spring

Joe Sharp

 

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SINGER ™

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Could it be that the old sewing


machine
my mother gave me
would finally come in handy?


You see, my love,
You need to be careful.
I am a seamstress’s daughter,
and every time we kiss
I yearn to stitch our lips together:
It is in my genes.


… But then I remember
the thrill of feeling your breath


getting closer,
the warmth of your tongue as it


reaches out from a distance,
and I let your mouth go
unattached like a nonchalant piece of


fabric
which fate is still unknown in a


tailor’s mind,
so that the miracle keeps creating


itself
under my starving needle,
with no thread needed
but the imaginary line
that magically fuses
your heart with mine.





Joumana Haddad


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NEW WEB SiGHT (Search: The Third Eye)

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments


User Name: Vihang
Password: Naik’s poetry

Verifying…
Characters incorrect.

Cancel. Done.
Connect. Done.

Type tea.
It’s a cyber cafe.

Search: your third eye
lost in the internet.

You compute.
Is there a software

for love or a command?
Tell me

can love be
programmed?

Beauty is surf.
Surfing beauty.

Here there is
no boundary.

You need no
permission

to enter into
any body’s site.

Download bytes.
You only need

a smooth surfing
in a lusty web

with open sites.
Run anti-virus.

Is the love
poem you received

through e-mail
is by an alien.

Robot? Reply.
Your vision

makes an inductive
leap.

The fear grips
an e-age as the century

turns.
Shri Y2K acquires

the Satanic status.
Reboot love

and life.
Search

your third eye
in the world wide web.

Site not found.

© Vihang A. Naik

From :
Poetry Manifesto ( New & Selected  Poems ) by Vihang A. Naik
Published by Indialog Publications 

Pvt. Ltd , New Delhi, 2010 .
ISBN : 8184430337 ; ISBN-13 : 

9788184430332, 978-8184430332

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Thy Gift, Thy Tables, Are Within My Brain

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full charactered with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date even to eternity—
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be missed.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more.
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.
William Shakespeare

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She walks in Beauty

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron. 1788–1824

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A Prayer for My Children

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

When you find yourself in a faraway land
surrounded by men, animals that mutter strange
sounds, do not be afraid: neither you, your parents,

nor your ancestors have ever been alone.
So trust the earth to bear you up, follow
the wind as it leads you through valleys

clustered with trees heavy with fruit –
some that seem familiar enough to eat,
but you still aren’t sure they are the same

as the ones you left on the other side
of the river that you’ve now forgotten.
Eat. Feast on the bounty. Feed the fire

that burns away the knot in your stomach,
sets ablaze the horizon, all that your eyes
can see – that has been promised to you

since your cry pierced the morning air:
your parents bathed you with kisses,
baptized you with caresses,
swaddled you in care before you uttered
your first words to the moon, sun, stars,
wobbled your first steps into unknowing –

all the while rising into your inheritance.
And if you awaken under the branches of a cotton tree,
cradled in its roots, draw a circle around yourself

and all those whom you love, cross
yourself three times before you step
over the threshold. Welcome the ancestors,

all the kindly spirits who have followed you,
your parents across many seas, oceans,
and deserts; entertain them with strong drink

and soft food: rice, yams, bananas, the ever
present rum to bless the hands that have lifted
you up, and sanctified the place you now call home.

Geoffrey Philp

From Dub Wise (Peepal Tree, 2011), ©

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Air Vif

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

J’ai regardé devant moi
Dans la foule je t’ai vue
Parmi les blés je t’ai vue
Sous un arbre je t’ai vue

Au bout de tous mes voyages
Au fond de tous mes tourments
Au tournant de tous les rires
Sortant de l’eau et du feu

L’été l’hiver je t’ai vue
Dans ma maison je t’ai vue
Entre mes bras je t’ai vue
Dans mes rêves je t’ai vue

Je ne te quitterai plus.

Paul Eluard (1895 – 1952)

Air Vif

I looked in front of me
In the crowd I saw you
Among the wheat I saw you
Beneath a tree I saw you

At the end of my journeys
In the depths of my torment
At the corner of every smile
Emerging from water and fire

Summer and winter I saw you
All through my house I saw you
In my arms I saw you
In my dreams I saw you

I will never leave you.

Source: http://www.poetryintranslation.com/

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Song From Heine

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

I scanned her picture dreaming,
Till each dear line and hue
Was imaged, to my seeming,
As if it lived anew.

Her lips began to borrow
Their former wondrous smile;
Her fair eyes, faint with sorrow,
Grew sparkling as erstwhile.

Such tears as often ran not
Ran then, my love, for thee;
And O, believe I cannot
That thou are lost to me!
Thomas Hardy (1840 – 1928)

 

 

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The Butterfly And The Bee

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Methought I heard a butterfly
Say to a labouring bee,
Thou hast no colours of the sky
On painted wings, like me.

Poor child of vanity! those dyes,
And colours bright and rare,
With mild reproof, the bee replies,
Are all beneath my care.

Content I toil from morn till eve,
And, scorning idleness,
To tribes of gawdy sloth I leave
The vanities of dress.

William Lisle Bowles (1762 – 1850)

 


 

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Autumn Song

March 12, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,
The sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storm of glittering sheaves,
Of fair and frail and fluttering

leaves,
The wild wind blows in a cloud.

Hark to a voice that is calling
To my heart in the voice of the wind:
My heart is weary and sad and alone,
For its dreams like the fluttering

leaves have gone,
And why should I stay behind?
Sarojini Naidu (India 1879 – 1949 )

 


 

 

 

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The Brook

March 10, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Alfred Lord Tennyson (England 1809 – 1892)

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorpes, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip’s farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

 


 

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I Live, I Die, I Burn, I Drown

March 10, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

I live, I die, I burn, I drown
I endure at once chill and cold
Life is at once too soft and too hard
I have sore troubles mingled with joys


Suddenly I laugh and at the same time cry
And in pleasure many a grief endure
My happiness wanes and yet it lasts unchanged
All at once I dry up and grow green


Thus I suffer love's inconstancies
And when I think the pain is most intense
Without thinking, it is gone again.


Then when I feel my joys certain
And my hour of greatest delight arrived
I find my pain beginning all over once again.


Delmira Agustini (1886 - 1914)

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To break out of the chaos of my darkness

March 10, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

"To break out of the chaos of my darkness
Into a lucid day is all my will.
My words like eyes in night, stare to reach
A centre for their light: and my acts thrown
To distant places by impatient violence
Yet lock together to mould a path of stone
Out of my darkness into a lucid day."


Extract from: The Still Centre, 1935


Stephen Spender

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"Nature" is what we see

March 10, 2013 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.
Emily Dickinson



 






 


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