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Not everyone can be an orphan.

quote by Andre Gide
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Orphan Boy's Tale

Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless orphan's tale,
Ah! sure my looks must pity wake,
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.

Yet I was once a mother's pride,
And my brave father's hope and joy,
But in the Nile's proud fight he died,
And I am now an orphan boy.

Poor foolish child! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,
And see the lighted windows flame!

To force me home my mother sought,
She could not bear to see my joy;
For with my father's life 'twas bought,
And made me a poor orphan boy.

The people's shouts were long and loud,
My mother, shuddering, clos'd her ears;
'Rejoice! rejoice!' still cried the crowd;
My mother answered with her tears.

'Why are you crying thus,' said I,
'While others laugh and shout for joy?'
She kiss'd me -- and with such a sigh!
She called me her poor orphan boy.

'What is an orphan boy?' I cried,
As in her face I look'd and smil'd;
My mother through her tears replied,
'You'll know too soon, ill-fated child!'

And now they've toll'd my mother's knell,
And I'm no more a parent's joy;
O lady, -- I have learnt too well
What 'tis to be an orphan boy.

Oh! were I by your bounty fed!
Nay, gentle lady, do not chide,--
Trust me, I mean to earn my bread;
The sailor's orphan boy has pride.

Lady, you weep! -- ha? -- this to me?
You'll give me clothing, food, employ
Look down, dear parents! look and see
Your happy, happy orphan boy!

poem by Amelia Opie
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Orphan Girl

(gillian welch)
I am a orphan
On gods highway
But Ill share my troubles
If you go my way
I have no mother
No father no sister
No brother
I am an orphan girl
I have had friendships
Pure and golden
But the ties of kinship
I have not known them
I know no mother
No father no sister
No brother
I am an orphan girl
But when he calls me
I will be able
To meet my family
At gods table
Ill meet my mother
My father my sister
My brother
No more an orphan girl
Blessed savior
Make me willing
And walk beside me
Until Im with them
Be my mother
My father my sister
My brother
I am an orphan girl
Be my mother
My father my sister
My brother
I am an orphan girl
I am an orphan girl

song performed by Emmylou Harris
Added by Lucian Velea
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AN ORPHAN PARTING(İ f there were no sins..How would be aware of good things)

ı have got enough of everything
life and living
seen everything I had to see
enough and enough
that is enough
now..time is approaching
it is the era and time of parting
do not acquit me
do not bless me
if you want
do not forgive my wrong doings
sins and offenses
cause ı know and ı feel
in fact who is the one offended
born an orphan
grew an orphan
ı will leave this world an orphan
let them share
what I left behind
and remember me
but my poems
I am parting as an orphan
I want to live a new life
if there is one there
may be there
I will be an orphan
my FATHER the GODMetinb SAHİ N

poem by Metin Sahin
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The Death of Poverty

He was born like that
He was born into poverty
And his parent spoke it religiously to his ears
That this chain must be broken
Broken by work, work and nothing but hard work

His parent worked till their dying day
Only to still remain in chain
Fetters fatter and more stubborn with age
With determination he set out in rage
Bearing the pain, shame, hunger, and inhumanity
That the rich dream must become reality

Now, he is old, looking at then and now
The faded colour of poverty still painted today
And it will surely coat tomorrow
In this thought he was lost
Not knowing when he wandered to the edge
The neighbourhood of the dark one in black hood
He was seized by the neck and ceased

His orphaned son decided to be himself unlike his father
Or his strict grandparent of no par
The best singing couple our church ever had
But an ability self labeled vice they never shared
Not even among factory brethren with whom they worked hard

The orphaned son took to the pun shop
His father’s sacred baseball kit
In exchange for his love, his passion-
A guitar

Always under the oak tree the orphan sat
Harmonizing the strings
Using his father’s words as a song:
“Of how he was the best bat man in town
But the game he loved so much
He had to quit
For it was but a lure
Away from his purposeful journey
In the combat to kill poverty”

As the orphan sang, playing guitar one day
Soaring in the clouds of rhythm
A Cadillac had since stopped by
The occupant arrayed in fine fabric
Nodding with misty eyes
Wondering why a talent as this
Should waste away
He resolved in his heart to take him away

[...] Read more

poem by Osagie Isiramen
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No One Is Orphan, If Companion Is In Hearts!

No one is orphan here,
He that may come to your door
to test,
Whether you are orphan without
virtues,
When you have a little kindness to fellow men,
In them may certainly some fill
your heart with their gratitude
and love,
In that them, that Almighty
smiles laughs, O my dear, why you fear,
You are never an orphan,
When I am here to take care of you!
and you one day lived upto me,
And showed that no one can be
orphan, when I dwell in every heart!
And on that day,
not even,
your eyes,
but all your cells,
Comes to tear, Because the happiness of his
warmth we can't bear!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The De Facto Orphan

THE DE FACTO ORPHAN

I have lot of kith and kin
And sadly, living parents
Yet, I lived a life, full of pains
Lonely, as that of an hapless orphan

My boyhood days in the dark boarding halls
Youthful phase was spent in a disciplined hostel
Parents were prompt in paying the mess- bills
As an unfailing donor servicing the cause of or an orphan

They never knew the times I wept
Nor the nights that went unspent
Like a soldier coming home on an annual warrant
I returned to the ‘barracks' with moods so silent

Politely signing on the dotted- lines of the reports of progress
Duties of my parents ended there itself
Inwardly I am sick, in search of love, affection and parental caress
Banished from the family web, I prefer to be listed as an ORPHAN

Louis Santhana

poem by Santhana Louis
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The Orphan Maid

November's hail-cloud drifts away,
November's sunbeam wan
Looks coldly on the castle grey,
When forth comes Lady Anne.
The orphan by the oak was set,
Her arms, her feet, were bare;
The hail drops had not melted yet,
Amid her raven hair.
'And, dame,' she said, 'by all the ties
That child and mother know,
Aid one who never knew these joys,
Relieve an orphan's woe.'
The lady said, 'An orphan's state
Is hard and sad to bear;
Yet worse the widow'd mother's fate
Who mourns both lord and heir.
'Twelve times the rolling year has sped,
Since, when from vengeance wild
Of fierce Strathallan's Chief I fled
Forth's eddies whelm'd my child.'
'Twelve times the year its course has borne,'
The wandering maid replied;
'Since fishers on Saint Bridget's morn
Drew nets on Campsie side.
'Saint Bridget sent no scaly spoil;
An infant, wellnigh dead,
They saved, and rear'd in want and toil,
To beg from you her bred.'
That orphan maid the lady kiss'd,-—
'My husband's looks you bear;
Saint Bridget and her morn be bless'd!
You are his widow's heir.'
They've robed that maid, so poor and pale
In silk and sandals rare;
And pearls, for drops of frozen hail,
Are glistening in her hair.

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Orphain Train

(Julie Miller)
Come all you broken hearted, come and lay your burden down
Come kings and queens, come royalty surrender up your crown
Come empty-handed come with nothing of your own to claim
Come naked, poor, come like a child to ride the orphan train
Chorus: Come ride, ride on the orphan train
Put your ear to the track, you can hear your name
Come ride, ride on the orphan train, it'll take you all the way home
The way is narrow, it is steep that brings you to the door
But love awaits there to embrace your heart forevermore
(Repeat Chorus)
Come you abandoned, you forsaken
Friendless and alone, come refugees left homesick for
Some place you've never known
Here princes, paupers, criminals and saints are all the same
No more or less than God's beloved child aboard this train
(Repeat Chorus twice)
It'll take you all the way home
It's gonna take you all the way home

song performed by Lee Ann Womack
Added by Lucian Velea
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Gertrude of Wyoming

PART I

On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming!
Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall,
And roofless homes, a sad remembrance bring,
Of what thy gentle people did befall;
Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all
That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.
Sweet land! may I thy lost delights recall,
And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,
Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore!

Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,
The happy shepherd swains had nought to do
But feed their flocks on green declivities,
Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe,
From morn till evening's sweeter pastimes grew,
With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown,
Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew;
And aye those sunny mountains half-way down
Would echo flageolet from some romantic town.

Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes
His leave, how might you the flamingo see
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes--
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:
And every sound of life was full of glee,
From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men;
While hearkening, fearing naught their revelry,
The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades, and then,
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.

And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime
Heard, but in transatlantic story rung,
For here the exile met from every clime,
And spoke in friendship every distant tongue:
Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung
Were but divided by the running brook;
And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung,
On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook,
The blue-eyed German changed his sword to pruning-hook.

Nor far some Andalusian saraband
Would sound to many a native roundelay--
But who is he that yet a dearer land
Remembers, over hills and far away?
Green Albin! what though he no more survey
Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore,
Thy pelloch's rolling from the mountain bay,
Thy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Campbell
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Undying One - Canto II

'YEARS pass'd away in grief--and I,
For her dear sake whose heart could feel no more,
The sweetness and the witchery of love,
Which round my spirit such deep charm had wove:
And the dim twilight, and the noonday sky,
The fountain's music, the rich brilliancy
Of Nature in her summer--all became
To me a joyless world--an empty name--
And the heart's beating, and the flush'd fond thought
Of human sympathy, no longer brought
The glow of joy to this o'er-wearied breast,
Where hope like some tired pilgrim sank to rest.
The forms of beauty which my pathway cross'd
Seem'd but dim visions of my loved and lost,

Floating before me to arouse in vain
Deep yearnings, for what might not come again,
Tears without aim or end, and lonely sighs,
To which earth's echoes only gave replies.
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
And I departed--once again to be
Roaming the desert earth and trackless sea:
Amongst men; but not with them: still alone
Mid crowds, unnamed--unnoticed--and unknown.
I wander'd on--and the loud shout went forth
Of Liberty, from all the peopled world,
Like a dark watch-word breathing south and north
Where'er the green turf grew, or billow curl'd;
And when I heard it, something human stirr'd
Within my miserable breast, and lo!
With the wild struggling of a captive bird;
My strong soul burst its heavy chain of woe.
I rose and battled with the great and brave,
Dared the dark fight upon the stormy wave.--
From the swarth climes, where sunshine loves to rest,
To the green islands of the chilly west,
Where'er a voice was raised in Freedom's name,
There sure and swift my eager footstep came.
And bright dreams fired my soul--How sweet will be
To me the hour of burning victory!

When the oppressor ceaseth to oppress,
And this sad name the tortured nations bless:
When tyranny beneath my sword shall bend,
And the freed earth shall turn and own me for her friend!
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
Where Rome's proud eagle, which is now a name,
Spread forth its wings of glory to the sky;

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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I WILL NEVER FORGET YOU (Isaiah 49: 14-16)

I will never forget you,
My people
I have carved you
on the palm of My hand
I will never forget you
I will not leave you orphan
I will never forget My own

Does a mother forget her baby,
or a woman the child
within her womb?
Yet even if these forget,
yes even if these forget,
I will never forget My own

I will never forget you,
My people
I have carved you
on the palm of My hand
I will never forget you
I will not leave you orphan
I will never forget you,
My people
I have carved you
on the palm of My hand
I will never forget you
I will not leave you orphan
I will never forget My own

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Rokeby: Canto IV.

I.
When Denmark's raven soar'd on high,
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky,
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke,
And the broad shadow of her wing
Blacken'd each cataract and spring,
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source,
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force;
Beneath the shade the Northmen came,
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name,
Rear'd high their altar's rugged stone,
And gave their Gods the land they won.
Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine,
And one sweet brooklet's silver line,
And Woden's Croft did title gain
From the stern Father of the Slain;
But to the Monarch of the Mace,
That held in fight the foremost place,
To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse,
Near Stratforth high they paid their vows,
Remember'd Thor's victorious fame,
And gave the dell the Thunderer's name.

II.
Yet Scald or Kemper err'd, I ween,
Who gave that soft and quiet scene,
With all its varied light and shade,
And every little sunny glade,
And the blithe brook that strolls along
Its pebbled bed with summer song,
To the grim God of blood and scar,
The grisly King of Northern War.
O, better were its banks assign'd
To spirits of a gentler kind!
For where the thicket-groups recede,
And the rath primrose decks the mead,
The velvet grass seems carpet meet
For the light fairies' lively feet.
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown,
Might make proud Oberon a throne,
While, hidden in the thicket nigh,
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly;
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings
Round ash and elm, in verdant rings,
Its pale and azure-pencill'd flower
Should canopy Titania's bower.

III.
Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade;

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Norma-Jean

Oh my gosh its August again!
And for all that are and were?
I think of one,
Orphan Angel,
Norma-Jean,
An Icon of one,
That became what,
The 1950's wanted,
Then died because,
Of,
Pressure and pain,
Of,
Fame and fortunes,

Now here it is August again,
The first week and the beginning,
The first week and the ending,
For,
Norma-Jean Mortensen,
Norma-Jean Baker,
Norma-Jean Dorherty,
Norma-Jean Di-Maggio,
Norma-Jean Miller,
Marilyn Monroe,

A week of celebrating her birth,
A week of remember her death,
A week of what and who she was,
A child born,
And orphaned off,
And what ended up,
A pawn in the idles game,
Of fame and fortune,
With scandel and ruination,
Her Birthday,
And Death Anniversary,
Each in the beginning of August,

Oh my gosh its August again!
And for all that are and were?
I think of one,
Orphan Angel,
Norma-Jean,
Now an Icon embossed,

When in the books,
Of one left to be,
And raised here and there,
Orphan Angel,
Norma-Jean,

[...] Read more

poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Without father - half orphan, without mother - complete orphan.

Tywa proverbs
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Add Assets To The Society

Competitive but not accommodating,
Energetic but not sympathetic,
Prosperous but not generous,
And aggressive but not considerate
You make your children at all cost.
You beam with their growth and your worth.
They would orphan you at a later stage
And orphan each other among themselves
Foe want of qualities you have ignored
To inculcate in their characters.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Man is An Orphan

No man died without being an orphan.
His mother dead, he is an orphan.
Wife and daughter are unfit to match her.
Mother alone has the drive to save him

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Poverty's Child

Poverty's child,
An orphan on the street,
He runs for life,
He fights for food,
He has no home,
He has no shoes,
no mother, no father,
no nothing.
He dies young...
Poverty's child,
An orphan on the street.

poem by Joseph Fuller
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Iceberg

Life is a roller coaster that we all ride
Life is a roller coaster that we all ride
Life is a roller coaster that we all ride
Iceberg-Ive fallen in love with an
Iceberg-its only the tip of the
Iceberg-Ive heard that its cool
I got class, I got style
But once in a while out on the town
I must go
Youd better wash out your zone
Watch out you stone bone headed woman
Watch out you bone headed man
Iceberg-its freezin over second avenue
Theres not a thing that you can
Iceberg-its comin over second avenue
Youd better believe theres nothin
You can do about it
I was an orphan and I couldnt help it
Ive been in and out of trouble
Ever since they left me in a basket
On the freeway
Its me thats been doggin your shadow
Its me thats been a shadowin your dog
You got me hung up lock and stock and barrel
Ill always be behind you in the fog
So you better not annoy me
Or Ill do somethin that I might regret
Youd better not annoy me or Ill do
Somethin that you wont forget in a hurry
And I might be back for some sloppy seconds
Youve heard me heavy breathing on the telephone
My word they say that Im belongin
In a home for crazy people
But you know I dont belong there
I was an orphan and I couldnt help it
Id been in and out of trouble
Ever since they left me
In a basket on the freeway
Lie lie lie etc
Die die die etc
Hooray hooray ha ha ha
Hooray ha ha ha
Get down get down get down get down
Theres really not a lot that you can do
Lay down lay down lay down lay down
Theres really not a lot that you can do
Theres really not a lot that you can do
And I might be back for sloppy seconds
Life is a roller coaster that we all ride
Life is a roller coaster that we all ride

[...] Read more

song performed by 10 Cc
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Canto the Twelfth

I
Of all the barbarous middle ages, that
Which is most barbarous is the middle age
Of man; it is -- I really scarce know what;
But when we hover between fool and sage,
And don't know justly what we would be at --
A period something like a printed page,
Black letter upon foolscap, while our hair
Grows grizzled, and we are not what we were; --

II
Too old for youth, -- too young, at thirty-five,
To herd with boys, or hoard with good threescore, --
I wonder people should be left alive;
But since they are, that epoch is a bore:
Love lingers still, although 't were late to wive;
And as for other love, the illusion's o'er;
And money, that most pure imagination,
Gleams only through the dawn of its creation.

III
O Gold! Why call we misers miserable?
Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall;
Theirs is the best bower anchor, the chain cable
Which holds fast other pleasures great and small.
Ye who but see the saving man at table,
And scorn his temperate board, as none at all,
And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing,
Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring.

IV
Love or lust makes man sick, and wine much sicker;
Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss;
But making money, slowly first, then quicker,
And adding still a little through each cross
(Which will come over things), beats love or liquor,
The gamester's counter, or the statesman's dross.
O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper,
Which makes bank credit like a bank of vapour.

V
Who hold the balance of the world? Who reign
O'er congress, whether royalist or liberal?
Who rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain? [*]
(That make old Europe's journals squeak and gibber all.)
Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain
Or pleasure? Who make politics run glibber all?
The shade of Buonaparte's noble daring? --
Jew Rothschild, and his fellow-Christian, Baring.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Daddy' Warbucks

What's missing is the eyeballs
in each of us, but it doesn't matter
because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
You let me touch them, fondle the green faces
lick at their numbers and it lets you be
my 'Daddy! ' 'Daddy! ' and though I fought all alone
with molesters and crooks, I knew your money
would save me, your courage, your 'I've had
considerable experience as a soldier...
fighting to win millions for myself, it's true.
But I did win, ' and me praying for 'our men out there'
just made it okay to be an orphan whose blood was no one's,
whose curls were hung up on a wire machine and electrified,
while you built and unbuilt intrigues called nations,
and did in the bad ones, always, always,
and always came at my perils, the black Christs of childhood,
always came when my heart stood naked in the street
and they threw apples at it or twelve-day-old-dead-fish.

'Daddy! ' 'Daddy, ' we all won that war,
when you sang me the money songs
Annie, Annie you sang
and I knew you drove a pure gold car
and put diamonds in you coke
for the crunchy sound, the adorable sound
and the moon too was in your portfolio,
as well as the ocean with its sleepy dead.
And I was always brave, wasn't I?
I never bled?
I never saw a man expose himself.
No. No.
I never saw a drunkard in his blubber.
I never let lightning go in one car and out the other.
And all the men out there were never to come.
Never, like a deluge, to swim over my breasts
and lay their lamps in my insides.
No. No.
Just me and my 'Daddy'
and his tempestuous bucks
rolling in them like corn flakes
and only the bad ones died.

But I died yesterday,
'Daddy, ' I died,
swallowing the Nazi-Jap animal
and it won't get out
it keeps knocking at my eyes,
my big orphan eyes,
kicking! Until eyeballs pop out
and even my dog puts up his four feet

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Sexton
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