I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it.
quote by Edith Sitwell
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The Culture Of Stupidity
Open your eyes…..,
To the Culture Of Stupidity….,
It’s all around us….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! ! !
We can’t escape….,
From the Culture Of Stupidity ….,
It haunts and annoys us…,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! ! !
It’s hard to believe it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
Why so many can’t see it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity …! ! !
So tell me, The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
How long will it go on….? ? ?
The answer is as simple as this….,
The Culture Of Stupidity shall live…..,
As long as humankind will exist…! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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The Culture Of Stupidity
Open your naive eyes…..,
To the Culture Of Stupidity….,
It’s all around you….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! !
No way to escape….,
From the Culture Of Stupidity ….,
It haunts and stalks you…,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! !
It’s hard to believe it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
That so many can’t see it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity …! !
As liberals keep shying away…..,
From the overwhelming threat…..,
Of radical terrorism today…..,
How long will The Culture Of Stupidity go on….? ?
My answer is as simple as this….,
The Culture Of Stupidity shall live on…..,
As long as humankind and liberalism will exist…! !
poem by Trade Martin
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Stupidity
Stupidity, woe's anodyne,
Be kind and comfort me in mine;
Smooth out the furrows of my brow,
Make me as carefree as a cow,
Content to sleep and eat and drink
And never think
Stupidity, let me be blind
To all the ills of humankind;
Fill me with simple sentiment
To walk the way my father went;
School me to sweat with robot folk
Beneath the yoke.
Stupidity, keep in their place
The moiling masses of my race,
And bid the lowly multitude
Be humble as a people should;
Learn us with patient hearts, I pray,
Lords to obey.
Stupidity and Ignorance,
Be you our buffers 'mid mischance;
Endoctrine us to do your will,
And other stupid people kill;
Fool us with hope of Life to be,
Great god to whom we bow the knee,
--STUPIDITY.
poem by Robert William Service
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Im So Proud
Youre prettier than all the world
And Im so proud, Im so proud, Im so proud of you
cause youre only one fellows girl
Im so proud, Im so proud, Im so proud of you
Im so proud of being loved by you
And it would hurt, hurt to know,
If you ever were untrue, yeah
Sweeter than the taste of a cherry so sweet
Yeah, and Im so proud, Im so proud,
Im so proud of you
Compliments to you from all the people we meet
Yes babe and Im so proud, Im so proud,
Im so proud of you
Im so proud of being loved by you
song performed by Todd Rundgren
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 10
THE GATES of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all
The gods to council in the common hall.
Sublimely seated, he surveys from far
The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,
And all th’ inferior world. From first to last, 5
The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.
Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods,
Natives or denizens of blest abodes,
From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind,
This backward fate from what was first design’d? 10
Why this protracted war, when my commands
Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands?
What fear or hope on either part divides
Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides?
A lawful time of war at length will come, 15
(Nor need your haste anticipate the doom),
When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome,
Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains,
And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.
Then is your time for faction and debate, 20
For partial favor, and permitted hate.
Let now your immature dissension cease;
Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.”
Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge;
But lovely Venus thus replies at large: 25
“O pow’r immense, eternal energy,
(For to what else protection can we fly?)
Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare
In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care?
How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, 30
In shining arms, triumphant on the plain?
Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend,
And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend:
The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats,
With a red deluge, their increasing moats. 35
Æneas, ignorant, and far from thence,
Has left a camp expos’d, without defense.
This endless outrage shall they still sustain?
Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again?
A second siege my banish’d issue fears, 40
And a new Diomede in arms appears.
One more audacious mortal will be found;
And I, thy daughter, wait another wound.
Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave,
The Latian lands my progeny receive, 45
Bear they the pains of violated law,
And thy protection from their aid withdraw.
But, if the gods their sure success foretell;
If those of heav’n consent with those of hell,
To promise Italy; who dare debate 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Loves of the Angels
'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.
Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!
One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!
Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Moore
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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Stupidity
Am so stupid so prefer to write about stupidity,
Think so much from within and feel pity,
Outwardly I m so intelligent but still guilty,
Act and talk wise but involve in politics dirty,
It is maser piece of simplicity,
Look so humble and avail best facility,
Who knows what am I? Man or deity?
But under the guise of stupidity known ability,
I spend lavishly on charitable work,
On table I eat with spoon and fork,
Among the poor sit on floor and share,
Show the visible closeness and care,
People comment it is mere stupidity,
I laugh and utter it has sound validity,
Why I should remain in close vicinity?
Exposing less nobility and more infidelity,
I have learned the art of deceiving skill,
No weapons in hand but instinct to kill,
Corner all benefits at ease with good will,
Still remain unconcerned and no bitter pill,
Work well and still look stupid and fool,
All enjoy fruits and I have to remain cool,
It won’t find favour with me and I reject,
So to act with stupidity and new ideas inject,
Nobody will pay any special attention,
This will save me from possible tension,
You know politicians now get easy pension,
Thought no work done but with all mention,
So I love stupidity and take pride,
People feel pity but I never hide,
I act stupid but things do clever,
Always upper hand and mistakes fewer,
I love to be and prefer being hated most,
Gain always more but almost nothing is lost,
It s blessing in disguise or opportunity offered,
Rest who are clever and intelligent always suffered
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Stupidity Sows Wisdom Seeds
Adonai we understand
stupidity is necessary
individual stupidity
cultural sect stupidity
collective stupidity
all teaches lessons
stupidity strife sows
wise wisdom seeds
morals as life lessons
so where are instructions
safe laws as authority basis
early script interpretations
collections ancient writings
commentaries as warnings?
All are written in Talmud.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Ramdas Choi Chang poems 4
Poem 1
Wonderful is life,
Wonderful to live and enjoy,
Enjoy stupidity of own in
laughing at stupidity of others, Mr. Bean and Chaplin are great
ones,
Bringing out that frozen
stupidity in all of us melt and
flow!
Poem2
Great was that dance
Of Michael Jackson,
Great was dance of greater
dancers but no one can dance on
our heart like our own ignorance
hand in hand with our stupidity!
Poem3
They say God is Love,
God is great, as great as love,
Both are great mysteries
but not as great as men and
woman!
They can use or misuse both God and Love,
as they can use or misuse fire or
knife!
Poem4
Come come my dear fountain of
Love,
Come come my dear spirit,
tell me please in which flavour,
You are at your best, which form
of spirit, Wine or divine?
Poem5
There were great men,
some worked for all and some
worked for
Themselves,
God is that great,
as mysterious as life and universe,
a few penetrated some of them,
yet mystery continued as
[...] Read more
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Battle Of The Lake Regillus
A Lay Sung at the Feast of Castor and Pollux on the Ides of Quintilis in the year of the City CCCCLI.
I.
Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note!
Ho, lictors, clear the way!
The Knights will ride, in all their pride,
Along the streets to-day.
To-day the doors and windows
Are hung with garlands all,
From Castor in the Forum,
To Mars without the wall.
Each Knight is robed in purple,
With olive each is crowned;
A gallant war-horse under each
Paws haughtily the ground.
While flows the Yellow River,
While stands the Sacred Hill,
The proud Ides of Quintilis
Shall have such honor still.
Gay are the Martian Kalends,
December's Nones are gay,
But the proud Ides, when the squadron rides,
Shall be Rome's whitest day.
II.
Unto the Great Twin Brethren
We keep this solemn feast.
Swift, swift, the Great Twin Brethren
Came spurring from the east.
They came o'er wild Parthenius
Tossing in waves of pine,
O'er Cirrha's dome, o'er Adria's foam,
O'er purple Apennine,
From where with flutes and dances
Their ancient mansion rings,
In lordly Lacedaemon,
The City of two kings,
To where, by Lake Regillus,
Under the Porcian height,
All in the lands of Tusculum,
Was fought the glorious fight.
III.
Now on the place of slaughter
Are cots and sheepfolds seen,
And rows of vines, and fields of wheat,
And apple-orchards green;
The swine crush the big acorns
That fall from Corne's oaks.
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Babbington Macaulay
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Spoilt Child...
I’m a spoiled child, my dad is Bill
Our kingdom great, we masters of thrill…
My conception on a desktop, in a hard wheezing disk;
My delivery, through a window, dodging swine-virus risk;
My restroom, air-conditioned, in mother’s pregnant board;
Our receptionist, in charge, welcoming icons aboard;
Our mansion has spare rooms, with backup storage slots;
Our kitchen is African, with smiling cooking pots;
Indeed I’m a proud son, a proud son of Bill…
Bigger than my name, I’m a proud son of Bill…
Our Kingdom great, we masters of thrill…..
Friends, all rich, chauffeured by daddy’s drivers;
Home fence, all pest-proof, free from fornicating lizards;
Visitors, some welcomed by father’s genius wizards;
Messenger, never argues, an obedient cute little mouse!
Compound, so green, all members can browse
Indeed I’m a proud son, a proud son of Bill…
Bigger than my name, I’m a proud son of Bill…
Our Kingdom great, we masters of thrill
Our farms, awesome, all initiates explore;
Fun-rooms, romantic, young tourists adore;
Music, so soothing like death-bed tranquilizers;
Sound Pitch, harmonious with smiling equalizers;
Language, so sacred, our dictionary in binary;
Secrets, well hidden as resentments of an emissary;
Theatre, so specious with father’s grand platform;
Food, straws of fire, few souls can fathom;
Indeed I’m a proud son, a proud son of Bill….
Bigger than my name, I’m a proud son of Bill
Our Kingdom great, we masters of thrill…
We conquerors of souls, rulers of the universe;
Older folks elude us like an old Greek verse;
Young folks hobnob us, our company, their game;
The blue-tied befriend us, our wealth, their fame;
“Facebookers” kiss us, our infatuation, their network;
Evil souls, seduce us, our grief, their pork.
Indeed I’m a proud son, a proud son of Bill…
Just who can foot our Bill…
The Bill of our Gate…
The Gate of our Father?
Indeed I’m a proud son, a proud son of Bill
Long live our Bill Gate! !
Long live my dad!
(INSPIRED BY THE COMPUTER WORLD)
poem by Meshack Sewe
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Ninth Book
EVEN thus. I pause to write it out at length,
The letter of the Lady Waldemar.–
'I prayed your cousin Leigh to take you this,
He says he'll do it. After years of love,
Or what is called so,–when a woman frets
And fools upon one string of a man's name,
And fingers it for ever till it breaks,–
He may perhaps do for her such thing,
And she accept it without detriment
Although she should not love him any more
And I, who do not love him, nor love you,
Nor you, Aurora,–choose you shall repent
Your most ungracious letter, and confess,
Constrained by his convictions, (he's convinced)
You've wronged me foully. Are you made so ill,
You woman–to impute such ill to me?
We both had mothers,–lay in their bosom once.
Why, after all, I thank you, Aurora Leigh,
For proving to myself that there are things
I would not do, . . not for my life . . nor him . .
Though something I have somewhat overdone,–
For instance, when I went to see the gods
One morning, on Olympus, with a step
That shook the thunder in a certain cloud,
Committing myself vilely. Could I think,
The Muse I pulled my heart out from my breast
To soften, had herself a sort of heart,
And loved my mortal? He, at least, loved her;
I heard him say so; 'twas my recompence,
When, watching at his bedside fourteen days,
He broke out ever like a flame at whiles
Between the heats of fever . . . 'Is it thou?
'Breathe closer, sweetest mouth!' and when at last
The fever gone, the wasted face extinct
As if it irked him much to know me there,
He said, Twas kind, 'twas good, 'twas womanly,'
(And fifty praises to excuse one love)
'But was the picture safe he had ventured for?'
And then, half wandering . . 'I have loved her well,
Although she could not love me.'–'Say instead,'
I answered, 'that she loves you.'–'Twas my turn
To rave: (I would have married him so changed,
Although the world had jeered me properly
For taking up with Cupid at his worst,
The silver quiver worn off on his hair.)
'No, no,' he murmured, 'no, she loves me not;
'Aurora Leigh does better: bring her book
'And read it softly, Lady Waldemar,
'Until I thank your friendship more for that,
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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The Zenana
WHAT is there that the world hath not
Gathered in yon enchanted spot?
Where, pale, and with a languid eye,
The fair Sultana listlessly
Leans on her silken couch, and dreams
Of mountain airs, and mountain streams.
Sweet though the music float around,
It wants the old familiar sound;
And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.—
She's very young, and childhood's days
With all their old remembered ways,
The empire of her heart contest
With love, that is so new a guest;
When blushing with her Murad near,
Half timid bliss, half sweetest fear,
E'en the beloved past is dim,
Past, present, future, merge in him.
But he, the warrior and the chief,
His hours of happiness are brief;
And he must leave Nadira's side
To woo and win a ruder bride;
Sought, sword in hand and spur on heel,
The fame, that weds with blood and steel.
And while from Delhi far away,
His youthful bride pines through the day,
Weary and sad: thus when again
He seeks to bind love's loosen'd chain;
He finds the tears are scarcely dry
Upon a cheek whose bloom is faded,
The very flush of victory
Is, like the brow he watches, shaded.
A thousand thoughts are at her heart,
His image paramount o'er all,
Yet not all his, the tears that start,
As mournful memories recall
Scenes of another home, which yet
That fond young heart can not forget.
She thinks upon that place of pride,
Which frowned upon the mountain's side;
While round it spread the ancient plain,
Her steps will never cross again.
And near those mighty temples stand,
The miracles of mortal hand,
[...] Read more
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Aint To Proud To Beg
Holland/whitfield
I know you wanna leave me
But I refuse to let you go
If I have to beg, plead for your sympathy
I dont mind cause you mean that much to me
Aint to proud to beg, sweet darling
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Aint to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Now Ive heard a crying man is half a man
With no sense of pride
But if I have to cry to keep you
I dont mind weeping
If itll keep you by my side
Aint to proud to beg, sweet darling
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
(dont you go away)
Aint to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Aint to proud to beg, sweet darling
Aint to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Instrumental
(dont you go away)
(dont you go away)
If I have to sleep on your doorstep all night and day
Just to keep you from walking away
Let your friends laugh, even this I can stand
cause I wanna keep you any way I can
Aint to proud to beg, sweet darling
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Aint to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Aint to proud to beg, sweet darling
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Aint to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Put yourself in my place
I only for a little while
Come on, try it, come on, try it
Come on, try it (try it, try it, try it)
Put yourself in my place
I only for a little while
Come on, try it, come on, try it
Come on, try it (try it, try it, try it)
Aint to proud to beg, sweet darling
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Aint to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please dont leave me girl, dont you go
Choruses to fade
song performed by Rick Astley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sir Eustace Grey
Scene: --A MADHOUSE.
Persons: --VISITOR, PHYSICIAN, AND PATIENT.
VISITOR.
I'll know no more;--the heart is torn
By views of woe we cannot heal;
Long shall I see these things forlorn,
And oft again their griefs shall feel,
As each upon the mind shall steal;
That wan projector's mystic style,
That lumpish idiot leering by,
That peevish idler's ceaseless wile,
And that poor maiden's half-form'd smile,
While struggling for the full-drawn sigh! -
I'll know no more.
PHYSICIAN.
Yes, turn again;
Then speed to happier scenes thy way,
When thou hast view'd, what yet remain,
The ruins of Sir Eustace Grey,
The sport of madness, misery's prey:
But he will no historian need,
His cares, his crimes, will he display,
And show (as one from frenzy freed)
The proud lost mind, the rash-done deed.
That cell to him is Greyling Hall: -
Approach; he'll bid thee welcome there;
Will sometimes for his servant call,
And sometimes point the vacant chair:
He can, with free and easy air,
Appear attentive and polite;
Can veil his woes in manners fair,
And pity with respect excite.
PATIENT.
Who comes?--Approach!--'tis kindly done: -
My learn'd physician, and a friend,
Their pleasures quit, to visit one
Who cannot to their ease attend,
Nor joys bestow, nor comforts lend,
As when I lived so blest, so well,
And dreamt not I must soon contend
With those malignant powers of hell.
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Proud To Be Loud
Listen up good
I got a lot to say
I know what I want
And I get my own way
I call em as I see em
I dont play by the book
One dose of volume
Thats all it took
Ive seen it, Ive done it
Ive heard it before
Now its my turn
To settle the score
Ill sing it, Ill shout it
Ill say it again
I dont care if they
Never give in cause im
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
You know Im proud
Proud to be loud
Well Ive alway believed
In freedom of speech
And Ive always been the one
Who practiced what I preached
Love it or leave it
Ill give you the choice
But itll snow in hell
Before I lower my voice
I live it, I breathe it
I gotta have more
Its full blast
And this means war
The power, the glory
Its callin my name
I wont start to
Play their game cause im
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
Im proud to be loud
And Ill never
Turn it down again no!!
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
Im proud,
Proud to be loud
song performed by Pantera
Added by Lucian Velea
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Are you proud yet?
i made it many miles without you i can make it farther i know i can
you never taught me how to ride a bike but i know how
you never helped me with my homework but i got A's
you never there to give me advice but i handled it without you
im tired of trying to make you proud, im about to give up its hard to never hear you say it
when i lost my bestfriend over a stupid gun you werent there to be my rock i made it without you are you proud yet?
im strong like mom im more like here everyday im proud of that she has been my rock, when i do something little she says she is proud
i made it thur middle school without you barely there i realized mom was right im glad im not like you
started high school your still not there physically yes but mentally you could careless, are you proud i know mom is
im turning 18 and going to graduate, are you proud yet, no you told me you didnt want to see me graduate, am i ever gonna hear you say it.
maybe not but i know one thing you have taught me is not to be like you, im like mom
i got pubished in a book, are you proud no you said you could careless, how can you be so heartless.
I let go of many things youve done, said and you promised maybe that wasnt a smart idea but ill learn so are you proud yet.
honestly i keep thinking im never gonna be your perfect kid, i dont care because mom made me the women i am and made me not like you, im strong are you proud yet?
After all is said and done i know mom is proud i made it this far without you, proud yet i know i am!
poem by Sarah Selinger
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For Me You Are…………
Building the wall of confidence, all around my ribs
Inspiring, when am alone, even in noise
Showing me, the fairy way, when I get confused
Hauling me from, those atrocious affairs, that matters
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Pursuing illusion, enlightening my life
Reaching, as a shadow at the time of tide
Intimacy, in the dream that comes into my mind
Yielding smile at my labor, creating zeal at my failure
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
At every insult and every admire
Youth mind, mine even if retires
Occupying for me, the seat of mentor
Uprooting all solitary despairs
Aspiring not to be worry, else to fear
Reinforcing skeleton by self-esteem of yours
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Enriching my each moment, being even so bare
Animating my life, that anyone can't imagine
Nursing me, to special from alone
Grasping me in the midst of up and down
Enlivening those deadly postures of dreams
Lightening by a heavy power as thunderstorm
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Forgiving me for each-every mistakes done
Organizing such beautiful ceremonies
Rearranging me, trying to make me genuine
My life you are, I can't remain alone
Eagerly, have awaited for you, oh my feminine!
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
[...] Read more
poem by Nibedit Nahak
Added by Poetry Lover
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Canto the Third
I.
Is thy face like thy mother’s, my fair child!
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart?
When last I saw thy young blue eyes, they smiled,
And then we parted, - not as now we part,
But with a hope. -
Awaking with a start,
The waters heave around me; and on high
The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour’s gone by,
When Albion’s lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
II.
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar!
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe’er it lead!
Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed,
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale,
Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
Flung from the rock, on Ocean’s foam, to sail
Where’er the surge may sweep, the tempest’s breath prevail.
III.
In my youth’s summer I did sing of One,
The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind;
Again I seize the theme, then but begun,
And bear it with me, as the rushing wind
Bears the cloud onwards: in that tale I find
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears,
Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind,
O’er which all heavily the journeying years
Plod the last sands of life - where not a flower appears.
IV.
Since my young days of passion - joy, or pain,
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string,
And both may jar: it may be, that in vain
I would essay as I have sung to sing.
Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling,
So that it wean me from the weary dream
Of selfish grief or gladness - so it fling
Forgetfulness around me - it shall seem
To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.
V.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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