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Anonymity is the truest expression of altruism.

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Altruism

The voice of hope to the call of nature,
Come closer to me and feel my love;
Oh mankind! Arise to a call.
Love one another to make the world go round,
Hope is the ingridient of faith;
The voice of hope,
The strength of faith,
Love crowns all things.
Altruism, altruism! Arise to the call of hope;
The altruism of love which does unite us all,
All in one love with the message of hope;
From the North to the South and then,
To the East and the West;
Love one another without fear.

Our memories will grow with sensitivity and insight,
Live clean and be yourself;
For, loving yourself first means the love of all mankind!
Here we are today,
Love is the power supreme;
True nobility is revealed in selfless unobtrosive service,
Love one another to crown the day.
To the voiceless and the disadvantage,
Do your best to bring smiles on their faces too;
Cos', there is no vision except by faith.
Altruism, altruism, altruism! !
There is no faith except by hope;
So is the voice of hope to the love of one another.

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Without Expression

Written by: Terry Reid 1968
Have you ever ridden horses through a rainstorm?
Or a lion through a busy street bazarre?
There are many things I'd love to turn you on to
But somehow I feel they're safer where they are
Yes, there's a man I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
Yes, there's a man that I know
With no expression, darling
He's got none at all
Well, some people are inbound with infatuation
And some others spill depression as the law
From one's mother getting at no imagination
So beware then, maybe sin is at your door
Yes, there's a man that I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
Yes, there's a man I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
But you may never, never
See this man laughing
Come to think of it,
I've never seen him cry
But he might be sitting
And you hear him singing
And by and by he'll stop and sigh
Before his voice would even begin to speak
And he'd just cry
Yes, There's a man I know
With no expression, darling
He's got none at all
Yes, There's a man that I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
Have you ever, ever ridden horses through a rainstorm?
Or a lion through a busy street bazarre?
There are many things I'd love to turn you on to
But somehow I feel they're safer where they are
Yes, There's a man that I know
With no expression
He's got none at all
There's a man that I know
With no expression
He's got none at all

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Anonymity is the truest expression of altruism.

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Man With No Expression

There's a man I know with no expression no not none at all
Have you ever ridden horses through a rainstorm
or led a lion through a busy street bazaar
There are many things I'd like to turn you on to
but somehow I feel you're safer where you are
If you're looking for examples to refer to
take a look around yourself I'm sure you'll find
there are many things to make your life much brighter
and I'd bet there's many more inside your mind
There's a man I know with no expression no not none at all
There's a man I know with no expression no not none at all
But I've never seen this man laughing
and come to think of it I've never seen him cry
But I might by sitting hear him singing
By and by he'll stop and sigh
he'll feel a breeze and then begin to freeze
as he thinks goodbye
Have you ever ridden horses through a rainstorm
or led a lion through a busy street bazaar
There are many things I'd like to turn you on to
but somehow I feel you're safer where you are
There's a man I know with no expression no not none at all
There's a man with no expression
man with no expression
man with no expression

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Tears To Tell

The time has come to watch you go watch you go
We weathered rough storms together
Couldnt conceive of the end
When I heard of your leavin
It came as a shock and surprise
Like the deepest kinds of love
Lost on the inside
Locked right on the inside
What is the greatest expression of love,
To let go and wish well
But all these finer feelings have left me with tears to tell
I couldnt be the one to hold you stop you go
It is like stripping the soul
Letting all the finest pieces go
You know these feelings between us
Could not be expressed
You will never know my old secrets
They are so deeply felt they are so deeply felt
What is the greatest expression of love
To let go and wish well
But all these finer feelings have left me
What is the greatest expression of love,
To let go and wish well
But all these finer feelings have left me with tears to tell
Leaving me with my anecdoted and private jokes
The memory of a friend
You dont seem to know my old secrets
They are so deeply felt they are so deeply felt
What is the greatest expression of love
To let go and wish well
But all these finer feelings have left me
What is the greatest expression of love
To let go and wish well
But all these finer feelings have left me with tears to tell
But all these finer feelings have left me with tears to tell

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Too Much Freedom

If we were to stay anonymous
And our need for identity be forgotten
Then life would have too much freedom
And end in its own destruction

For anonymity leads to
Self expression
Of the most extreme
For their freedom fears not

The eternal cell of scrutiny
For their is no face to judge
And confine its uncontrollable
Laugh from the face of mankind

To be free from the curse of identity
Is to be cursed with freedom
For too much freedom
Leads to too much power
And a 'Common Power' at that.

For conflicting ideas
Of freedom and voice
Would choose to eliminate
Hindrances by its own hand
Without the ordered hand of identity

For a faceless man
Is a man without shame
And doth be invisible
For his own expression may threaten
The expression of others

A darkened shade
Placed across the world by total freedom
Will forever mask the anonymous
For their actions can not be traced
To the identity that had given breath to it.

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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

[...] Read more

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Let Me Open Up Our Love File (I Felt Magic In The Air)

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

for only the second time together
enjoying and being lost in rainy romantic weather
you stared here and there
while walking to metro station
but i looked at you as my final destination

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

all of sudden, you pointed something
quickly, for you,
i was ready to do anything
you asked for ice-cream
there I was living up my dream

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

dear, i can remember
your beautiful face expression
indirectly you said we look good in pair
and, i felt magic in the air
yeah...i felt magic in the air
yeah, yeah...yeah
i can remember
your beautiful face expression
indirectly you said we look good in pair
and, i felt magic in the air

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

your arrival caused a great excitement
in midway of tough chemistry assignment
i couldn't help my fluttering eyes
looking at you n your glittering red band
stepping ahead if an angel on my heart's land

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

all of sudden, you pointed something
quickly, for you,
i was ready to do anything

[...] Read more

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We Poets are Farmers Still

We poets are farmers still,
ploughing our mind in the invisible field,
whenever the mind makes the pen wield.
Sowing the seeds of emotion,
in the field of melancholy,
we reap the expression of joy
with our hearts happy and merry.
Gardeners we are to our core,
as we are happy to see our words bloom
amidst the reverberation of “Encores”.
Idioms, our fertilizers,
simile and metaphors, the growth enhancers.
The monsoon, the joy of spring,
when in the winds of expression,
our joy swings.
Words bearing a new look,
publicity reaping the best
out of our joyous moods.
Our alert mind, the scare crow,
driving the birds of plagiarism away,
helps the expression to bloom and grow.
Again we wait for the next showers,
hoping this time, the day will be ours.
We then sow the time awaited seeds of expression,
with the waves of time, the blooming showers.
Their timed sprout is now,
when you lovers of art,
read it aloud and feel it in your heart.

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Online Anonymity

The anonymity of Online poetry…
Is a blessing in disguise

No one knows the size of our nose
Or the color of our eyes

Whether we’re easy going…
Laid back types…or stuffy

Whether we’re a little overweight
Or better said, “a little fluffy”

We can write and post, cry and whine
Be meek or boast, be dull or shine

Let our artistic side show
Of which few acquaintances know

Thanks to the online anonymity
you can expose yourself shamelessly

…In your poetry Online…

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The Blue Nowhere

Afloat and adrift
In the “blue nowhere”
Amongst nebulous nothingness
Yet anxious to share

To dwell in anonymity
Yet not in close proximity
Giving unusual free rein
To things usually unshared

Words put in prose
sent into the blue
In poems that are proposed
To be read by you

Anonymity is blindness
Nonconformity a kindness
So we cast our emotions
On ethereal oceans

Set afloat and adrift
In the “blue nowhere'

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* * *

In a bid to seek peace
in a place not similar to home
where hope is thought to come
here comes the solitude i sought
within the environs of a church.
but very contrary to my thought'
around me are three individuals
sorry, betrayal, and anonymity
are names that suited the ambiguity.

I feel sorry for sorry,
for the dirty game i played,
her feelings were forsaken
in a state of emotional agitation
by me she was heartbroken.

The bitterness behind betrayal
is far much beyond compare
Throwing her chastity somewhere
yet a loving soul waited patiently
only to get the shock of his life.
his love & respect kicked away
just for no reason than 'exam stress'.

from anonymity i seek hope
with enough caution to get peace
and not to lose myself to nowhere.
A love to be build from experience
aware of all the pit holes
ready to abound more and more
in love, happiness and peace.

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To A Great Writer

you started with a mask
as you assume the name of the anonymous
on something so serious
as love
and as thrilling as the procedure
for betrayal
you explore the religious and the mundane
making a mockery of
the sanctions
you fly away like a bird and come back
as a snake
like a transformer
you turn yourself into a truck
a jet
a chopper
in the acts of love on the tracks of lust
sipping dews
and bathing on the waterfalls of sexy
desires
and you do not mind what they say
you are happy anyway
in your anonymity at the end of the day
you die
and then early morning you resurrect yourself
on the greatness of your solid
and long flesh
you weep when you like it and you
laugh the hardest when you want to retrieve what
you have lost
you are the modern man of our age
as you question their pillars and thrones
you sting the king
and you made love with the queen and you get away
with the princess
into the castles of your air
into the death of anonymity you live and then you vanish

there is no name but you have become great
like all the rest who only wanted to think
not speaking and still unable to write

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Anonymity for history?

I do not want to be seen.

(Can you appreciate what I mean?)
I want to be invisible among the crowd,
not loudly laughing, not outstanding,
not too hushened, not too loud,
not the one with blue-burning eyes,
or the rabbit-in-headlights look of suprise;

I wish to engage with history....
so many things I desire to see
and to be
a part of them,
absorb them;
and I ask myself:

just when
will I take myself back to earlier London,
to Waterloo Bridge,
Londinium,
its Celtic heritage
vivid, burning
in my brain....

when will I see sights no longer, now,
the same...?

... Wander along to Pulcher's place, Isis;
-seal my memories
with your kiss upon my face,
(in 'that' place)
and a photograph,
and a wee ironic, captured laugh....?

When will I again walk over Ludgate Hill
-stretch my limbs through history, until
I feel as exhausted in mind as much as in body
as Classicianus must surely have been?


The forum and the basilica
ever, ever nearer, nearer;
Leadenhall Market;
and let us not forget
that kiss
to accomplish
the art of walking
whilst talking
whilst taking me, you, us
by tube, train, bus

[...] Read more

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The perfection of anonymity

Even in the place where some knew my name
I walked unknown though, occasionally, some would mutter,
some would mouth a whisper:
That's him
and point in the direction.
Here, however, is the perfection of anonymity
for I
not only go without an identity,
I go too without a name.
Here, however, as
I slip through department stores and streets
and get off trains and walk into stations
like a shadow
as one more in the crowd
is the perfection of my anonymity for I not only
go without an identity, I go too without a name.


(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))

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Alexander Pope

An Essay on Criticism

Part I

INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.


'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

[...] Read more

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Miles to go

Don’t frown upon my poems?
They are all dear and gems,
I don’t adore but donate,
Give it to others but not narrate,

I cerate them in days light,
Win the war without any fight,
Never to assert authority or right,
No goal less life but with vision and sight,

Where does poems take you?
Near to God and near to THOU,
It is not simple expression of words,
Planted by HIM and blessings from LORDS,

So I go all out for its truest presentation,
Nothing leaves behind for any question,
It is simple form of expression,
Not invading in domain with any aggression,

I wish you could walk and think,
Come along with when I sink,
Your blessings will encourage or instill,
I have miles to go and work unfinished still.

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Experience

--A COSTLY good ; that none e'er bought or sold
For gem, or pearl, or miser's store, twice told :
Save certain watery pearls, possessed by all,
Which, one by one, may buy it as they fall.
Of these, though precious, few will not suffice,
So slow the traffic, and so large the price !

It is for wrinkled brows, grey locks, and sighs,
Not for bright blooming cheeks and sparkling eyes ;
When those have faded, these as dimly shine--
Then, in their stead, Experience may be thine.
Books will assert, and sires and pulpits teach,
And youth may listen to their sober speech,
And smiling lips pronounce a careless 'yes,'
While neither eye nor heart can acquiesce.
But grief extorts conviction ; brings to view
Those slightest words, and answers--'very true.'
Surprised, reluctant, yet at last compelled
To own, what long in doubtful scale was held,
That life, whate'er the course our own has led,
Is much the same as what our fathers said.

A tattered cottage, to the view of taste,
In beauty glows, at needful distance placed :
Its broken panes, its richly ruined thatch,
Its gable graced with many a mossy patch,
The sunset lighting up its varied dyes,
Form quite a picture to poetic eyes ;
And yield delight that modern brick and board,
Square, sound, and well arranged, would not afford.
But, cross the mead to take a nearer ken,--
Where all the magic of the vision then ?
The picturesque is vanished, and the eye,
Averted, turns from loathsome poverty ;
And while it lingers, e'en the sun's pure ray
Seems almost sullied by its transient stay.
The broken walls, with slight repairs embossed,
Are but cold comforts in a winter's frost :
No smiling, peaceful peasant, half refined,
There tunes his reed on rustic seat reclined ;
But there the bended form and haggard face,
Worn with the lines that vice and misery trace.
Thus fades the charm, by vernal hope supplied
To every object it has never tried ;
--To fairy visions, and elysian meads,
Thus vulgar, cold reality succeeds.

When sanguine youth the plain of life surveys,
It does not calculate on rainy days.
Some, as they enter on the unknown way,

[...] Read more

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Essay on Psychiatrists

I. Invocation

It‘s crazy to think one could describe them—
Calling on reason, fantasy, memory, eves and ears—
As though they were all alike any more

Than sweeps, opticians, poets or masseurs.
Moreover, they are for more than one reason
Difficult to speak of seriously and freely,

And I have never (even this is difficult to say
Plainly, without foolishness or irony)
Consulted one for professional help, though it happens

Many or most of my friends have—and that,
Perhaps, is why it seems urgent to try to speak
Sensibly about them, about the psychiatrists.


II. Some Terms

“Shrink” is a misnomer. The religious
Analogy is all wrong, too, and the old,
Half-forgotten jokes about Viennese accents

And beards hardly apply to the good-looking woman
In boots and a knit dress, or the man
Seen buying the Sunday Times in mutton-chop

Whiskers and expensive running shoes.
In a way I suspect that even the terms “doctor”
And “therapist” are misnomers; the patient

Is not necessarily “sick.” And one assumes
That no small part of the psychiatrist’s
Role is just that: to point out misnomers.


III. Proposition

These are the first citizens of contingency.
Far from the doctrinaire past of the old ones,
They think in their prudent meditations

Not about ecstasy (the soul leaving the body)
Nor enthusiasm (the god entering one’s person)
Nor even about sanity (which means

Health, an impossible perfection)
But ponder instead relative truth and the warm

[...] Read more

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The truest greatness lies in being kind, the truest wisdom in a happy mind.

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