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Materialists and madmen never have doubts.

quote by G.K. Chesterton
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian

All The Madman

Day after day
They send my friends away
To mansions cold and grey
To the far side of town
Where the thin men stalk the streets
While the sane stay underground
Day after day
They tell me I can go
They tell me I can blow
To the far side of town
Where it's pointless to be high
'Cause it's such a long way down
So I tell them that
I can fly, I will scream, I will break my arm
I will do me harm
Here I stand, foot in hand, talking to my wall
I'm not quite right at all...am I?
Don't set me free, I'm as heavy as can be
Just my librium and me
And my E.S.T. makes three
'Cause I'd rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sadmen roaming free
And I'd rather play here
With all the madmen
For I'm quite content they're all as sane
As me
(Where can the horizon lie
When a nation hides
Its organic minds
In a cellar...dark and grim
They must be very dim)
Day after day
They take some brain away
Then turn my face around
To the far side of town
And tell me that it's real
Then ask me how I feel
Here I stand, foot in hand, talking to my wall
I'm not quite right at all
Don't set me free, I'm as helpless as can be
My libido's split on me
Gimme some good 'ole lobotomy
'Cause I'd rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sadmen
Roaming free
And I'd rather play here
With all the madmen
For I'm quite content

[...] Read more

song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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All The Madmen

Day after day
They send my friends away
To mansions cold and grey
To the far side of town
Where the thin men stalk the streets
While the sane stay underground
Day after day
They tell me I can go
They tell me I can blow
To the far side of town
Where its pointless to be high
cause its such a long way down
So I tell them that
I can fly, I will scream, I will break my arm
I will do me harm
Here I stand, foot in hand, talking to my wall
Im not quite right at all...am i?
Dont set me free, Im as heavy as can be
Just my librium and me
And my e.s.t. makes three
cause Id rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sadmen roaming free
And Id rather play here
With all the madmen
For Im quite content theyre all as sane
As me
(where can the horizon lie
When a nation hides
Its organic minds
In a cellar...dark and grim
They must be very dim)
Day after day
They take some brain away
Then turn my face around
To the far side of town
And tell me that its real
Then ask me how I feel
Here I stand, foot in hand, talking to my wall
Im not quite right at all
Dont set me free, Im as helpless as can be
My libidos split on me
Gimme some good ole lobotomy
cause Id rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sadmen
Roaming free
And Id rather play here
With all the madmen
For Im quite content

[...] Read more

song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Believer's Principles : Chap. IV.

Faith and Sense Natural, compared and distinguished.

When Abram's body, Sarah's womb,
Were ripe for nothing but the tomb,
Exceeding old, and wholly dead,
Unlike to bear the promis'd seed:

Faith said, 'I shall an Isaac see;'
'No, no,' said Sense, 'it cannot be;'
Blind Reason, to augment the strife,
Adds, 'How can death engender life?'

My heart is like a rotten tomb,
More dead than ever Sarah's womb;
O! can the promis'd seed of grace
Spring forth from such a barren place?

Sense gazing but on flinty rocks,
My hope and expectation chokes:
But could I, skill'd in Abram's art,
O'erlook my dead and barren heart;

And build my hope on nothing less
That divine pow'r and faithfulness;
Soon would I find him raise up sons
To Abram, out of rocks and stones.

Faith acts as busy boatmen do,
Who backward look and forward row;
It looks intent to things unseen,
Thinks objects visible too mean.

Sense thinks it madness thus to steer,
And only trusts its eye and ear;
Into faith's boat dare thrust its oar,
And put it further from the shore.

Faith does alone the promise eye;
Sense won't believe unless it see;
Nor can it trust the divine guide,
Unless it have both wind and tide.

Faith thinks the promise sure and good;
Sense doth depend on likelihood;
Faith ev'n in storms believes the seers;
Sense calls all men, ev'n prophets, liars.

Faith uses means, but rests on none;
Sense sails when outward means are gone:

[...] Read more

poem by Ralph Erskine
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Bishop Blougram's Apology

No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk.
A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith!
We ought to have our Abbey back, you see.
It's different, preaching in basilicas,
And doing duty in some masterpiece
Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart!
I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes,
Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere;
It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh?
These hot long ceremonies of our church
Cost us a little—oh, they pay the price,
You take me—amply pay it! Now, we'll talk.

So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs.
No deprecation—nay, I beg you, sir!
Beside 't is our engagement: don't you know,
I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out,
We'd see truth dawn together?—truth that peeps
Over the glasses' edge when dinner's done,
And body gets its sop and holds its noise
And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time:
Truth's break of day! You do despise me then.
And if I say, "despise me"—never fear!
1 know you do not in a certain sense—
Not in my arm-chair, for example: here,
I well imagine you respect my place
(Status, entourage, worldly circumstance)
Quite to its value—very much indeed:
—Are up to the protesting eyes of you
In pride at being seated here for once—
You'll turn it to such capital account!
When somebody, through years and years to come,
Hints of the bishop—names me—that's enough:
"Blougram? I knew him"—(into it you slide)
"Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day,
All alone, we two; he's a clever man:
And after dinner—why, the wine you know—
Oh, there was wine, and good!—what with the wine . . .
'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk!
He's no bad fellow, Blougram; he had seen
Something of mine he relished, some review:
He's quite above their humbug in his heart,
Half-said as much, indeed—the thing's his trade.
I warrant, Blougram's sceptical at times:
How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!"
Che che, my dear sir, as we say at Rome,
Don't you protest now! It's fair give and take;
You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths:
The hand's mine now, and here you follow suit.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Get Up Off Your Pity Pot To Stop It

To wiggle out from under all doubts,
With a hanging them out to dry...
In front of passersby to eye,
Is intended to get attention.

Give those petty bits of pity,
To solicit empathy...
Away.
Today.
And...
Throw those doubts you've picked to pity,
With that selfishness that doesn't pay...
To get attention to gain.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Get up off your pity pot to drop.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.

Fight those doubts to stop and dropp them.
'Cause no pity benefits.
Fight those doubts to stop and dropp them.
'Cause no pity benefits.
And...
Believe this or not,
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.

Give those petty bits of pity,
To solicit empathy...
Away.
Today.
And...
Throw those doubts you've picked to pity,
With that selfishness that doesn't pay...
To get attention to gain.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Lost For Words

If I can't find the words...
Waiting for this feeling
That I'm drowning in to subside
You make me swim like a beginner
Like I'm new at life
All these words don't come easy
No they always seem to stop
There is awkward silence yeah
Anytime we talk
Oh but I wanna let it in
I wanna ease all your doubts
I keep trying to get it out
But if I can't find the words
To tell you what I'm feeling
Baby that don't mean
It don't mean that I don't feel it
I'm trying to tell you girl
But if you don't believe just look and see
My face says what you mean to me
When I can't find the words
I know I can send you flowers
To try to make my feelings clear
And girl I could hold you tight for hours
I wanna tell you what you're trying to hear
Oh and I wanna let it in
I wanna ease all your doubts
I keep trying to get it out
But if I can't find the words
To tell you what I'm feeling
Baby that don't mean
It don't mean that I don't feel it
I'm trying to tell you girl
But if you don't believe just look and see
My face says what you mean to me
When I can't find the words
But I know sometimes I leave you so upset
Cos I got all these bits and pieces in my head
I know because I let you struggle with the things I haven't said
When I can't find the words
When I can't find the words
When I, when I, when I can't find the words
I wanna ease all your doubts (ease all your doubts)
I keep trying to get it out
But if I can't find the words
To tell you what I'm feeling
But baby that don't mean
It don't mean that I don't feel it
I'm trying to tell you girl
But if you don't believe just look and see
My smile says what you mean to me

[...] Read more

song performed by Ronan Keating
Added by Lucian Velea
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Do Re Mi

DO RE MI FA SO LA TI DO
anagram
DO I FORMALISE, DOAT?

Mind finds through magic interface
enchantment in soft smile whose grace
leaves senses reeling into space.
Form, face, inspires as, in disgrace,
Time disappears, and in its place
all doubts dissolved, we solve life’s chase.
Mingling, jingling, words may trace
cheer and charm which interlace
heart with heart, - no commonplace
encounter doubles pulse rate race.
It sudden seems, in any case,
prismatic colour tones replace
monochrome monochord most embrace

12 June 1997 revised 1 October 2005
robi03_0844_robi03_0000 SXX_LMX

For previous version see below
See also Musical Anagram Riddle
24 November 2006 revised 7 February 20090207 robi03_1511_robi03_0000 QSW_MXX
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
DO I FORMALISE, DOAT?
anagram
DO RE MI FA SO LA TI DO

Has music found fresh form and face
Enchanting in a smile whose grace
Leaves senses reeling into space?
Each note breathes light as, in disgrace,
Now Time departs, and in its place
Eternity all doubts does chase.
So, as a mirror, words here trace
Cheer whose charm may interlace
Heart with heart, - no commonplace
Magic doubles pulse rate race!
It sudden seems, in any case,
That rainbow colours may replace
The black and white our lives embrace!

12 June 1997

Poem © Jonathan Robin Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Giving And The Taking Was A Lesson Saved

You make my days...
More sunny in the night time.
That faith I gave,
Stayed.
When you said I would be yours.
And you'd be mine.

And everyday.
In every way...
We've been paid.

The price was high,
And we could have ran away.

But the giving and the taking was a lesson,
We saved.

You make my days...
More sunny in the night time.
That faith I gave,
Stayed.
When you said I would be yours.
And you'd be mine.

And everyday.
In every way...
We've been paid.

The price was high,
And we could have ran away.

But the giving and the taking was a lesson,
We saved.

And everyday.
In every way...
We've been paid.

The price was high,
And we could have ran away.

But the giving and the taking was a lesson,
We saved.

We now have no doubts.
We can work things out.
Because the giving and the taking was a lesson saved.
We now have no doubts.
We can work things out.
Because the giving and the taking was a lesson saved.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Pull It Up From Deep In Your Gut

Pull it up from deep in your gut,
What's possible.
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
To leave doubts.
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Ambition,
To lift...
A determined initiative.

Pull it up from deep in your gut,
What's possible.
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
To leave doubts.
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Ambition,
To lift...
A determined initiative.

So...
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Doubts to drop.
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Fears to stop.
And,
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
With a doing...
To want to arrive on top.

Now...
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Do it.
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Now...
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Don't be foolish...
Like those fooled,
That nobody can do what they choose.

So...
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Doubts to drop.
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Fears to stop.
And,
Pull it up from deep in your gut,
Don't be foolish...
Like those fooled,
That nobody can do what they choose.

Pull it up from deep in your gut.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Knowledge. Book I.

The bewailing of man's miseries hath been elegantly and copiously set forth by many, in the writings as well of philosophers as divines; and it is both a pleasant and a profitable contemplation.
~
Lord Bacon's Advancement of Learning.

The Argument

Solomon, seeking happiness from knowledge, convenes the learned men of his kingdom; requires them to explain to him the various operations and effects of Nature; discourses of vegetables, animals and man; proposes some questions concerning the origin and situation of the habitable earth: proceeds to examine the system of the visible heaven: doubts if there may not be a plurality of worlds; inquires into the nature of spirits and angels, and wishes to be more fully informed as to the attributes of the Supreme Being. He is imperfectly answered by the Rabbins and Doctors; blames his own curiosity: and concludes that, as to human science, All Is Vanity.

Ye sons of men with just regard attend,
Observe the preacher, and believe the friend,
Whose serious muse inspires him to explain
That all we act and all we think is vain:
That in this pilgrimage of seventy years,
O'er rocks of perils and through vales of tears
Destined to march, our doubtful steps we tend,
Tired with the toil, yet fearful of its end:
That from the womb we take our fatal shares
Of follies, passions, labours, tumults, cares;
And at approach of death shall only know
The truths which from these pensive numbers flow,
That we pursue false joy and suffer real wo.

Happiness! object of that waking dream
Which we call life, mistaking; fugitive theme
Of my pursuing verse: ideal shade,
Notional good; by fancy only made,
And by tradition nursed; fallacious fire,
Whose dancing beams mislead our fond desire;
Cause of our care, and error of our mind:
Oh! hadst thou ever been by Heaven design'd
To Adam, and his mortal race, the boon
Entire had been reserved for Solomon;
On me the partial lot had been bestow'd,
And in my cup the golden draught had flow'd.

But, O! ere yet original man was made,
Ere the foundations of this earth were laid,
It was opponent to our search ordain'd,
That joy still sought should never be attain'd:
This sad experience cites me to reveal,
And what I dictate is from what I feel.

Born, as I as, great David's favourite son,
Dear to my people on the Hebrew throne,
Sublime my court, with Ophir's treasures bless'd.
My name extended to the farthest east,
My body clothed with every outward grace,
Strength in my limbs, and beauty in my face,

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Power. Book III.

The Argument

Solomon considers man through the several stages and conditions of life, and concludes, in general, that we are all miserable. He reflects more particularly upon the trouble and uncertainty of greatness and power; gives some instances thereof from Adam down to himself; and still concludes that All Is Vanity. He reasons again upon life, death, and a future being; finds human wisdom too imperfect to resolve his doubts; has recourse to religion; is informed by an angel what shall happen to himself, his family, and his kingdom, till the redemption of Israel; and, upon the whole, resolves to submit his inquiries and anxieties to the will of his Creator.

Come then, my soul: I call thee by that name,
Thou busy thing, from whence I know I am;
For, knowing that I am, I know thou art,
Since that must needs exist which can impart:
But how thou camest to be, or whence thy spring,
For various of thee priests and poets sing.

Hearest thou submissive, but a lowly birth,
Some secret particles of finer earth,
A plain effect which Nature must beget,
As motion orders, and as atoms meet,
Companion of the body's good or ill,
From force of instinct more than choice of will,
Conscious of fear or valour, joy or pain,
As the wild courses of the blood ordain;
Who, as degrees of heat and cold prevail,
In youth dost flourish, and with age shalt fail,
Till, mingled with thy partner's latest breath,
Thou fliest, dissolved in air and lost in death.

Or, if thy great existence would aspire
To causes more sublime, of heavenly fire
Wert thou a spark struck off, a separate ray,
Ordain'd to mingle with terrestrial clay,
With it condemn'd for certain years to dwell,
To grieve its frailties, and its pains to feel,
To teach it good and ill, disgrace or fame,
Pale it with rage, or redden it with shame,
To guide its actions with informing care,
In peace to judge, to conquer in the war;
Render it agile, witty, valiant, sage,
As fits the various course of human age,
Till, as the earthly part decays and falls,
The captive breaks her prison's mouldering walls,
Hovers awhile upon the sad remains,
Which now the pile or sepulchre contains,
And thence, with liberty unbounded, flies,
Impatient to regain her native skies?

Whate'er thou art, where'er ordain'd to go,
(Points which we rather may dispute than know)
Come on, thou little inmate of this breast,
Which for thy sake from passions'l divest
For these, thou say'st, raise all the stormy strife,

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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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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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto III.

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 strain'd 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, or 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.
He, who grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,
So that no wonder waits him; nor below
Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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One mad man makes many madmen: many madmen make madness.

Gypsy proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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One madman makes many madmen and many madmen makes madness.

Gypsy proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hateful Hate

[ music: natalie merchant/words: natalie merchant ]
In the dark night a giant slumbered untouched for centuries
til awakened by a white mans cry: this is the eden I was to find.
There were lands to be charted and to be claimed for a crown,
When a hero was made by the length he could stay in this dangerous land of hateful hate.
Curiosity filled the heads of these, there was an upper room they had to see.
Curiosity killed the best of these for a heros hometown welcoming.
Still they moved on and on.
Who came building missions?
Unswerving men of the cloth who gave their lives in numbers untold so that black sheep entered the fold.
Captured like human livestock, destined for slavery.
Naked, walked to the shore where great ships moored for the hellbound journies.
Bought and sold with a hateful hate.
Curiosity filled the breasts of these with some strange ecstasy.
Curiosity killed the best of these by robbing their lives of dignity.
Still they moved on and on.
Calling men of adventure for a jungle bush safari.
Come conquer the, his claws and teeth.
See death in his eyes to know youre alive.
European homesteads grew up in the colonies with civilized plans for wild hinterlands, their guns and God willing.
Such a hateful hate.
Curiosity spilled the blood of these for their spotted skins and ivory.
Curiosity filled the heads of these madmen with the lies of destiny.
Curiosity spilled the blood of these, then blotted their lives from history.
Curiosity filled the heads of these, one man claimed all that he could see.
Curiosity still entices these madmen with a lusting and a greed.
Their legacy, legacy, legacy...

song performed by 10000 Maniacs
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Three Great Stimulants

I picked the morning paper off the floor
It was full of other peoples little wars
Wouldnt they like their peace
Dont we get bored
And we call for the three great stimulants
Of the exhausted ones
Artifice, brutality and innocence
Artifice and innocence
No tanks have ever rumbled through these streets
And the drone of planes at night has never frightened me
I keep the hours and the company that I please
And we call for the three great stimulants
Of the exhausted ones
Artifice, brutality and innocence
Artifice and innocence
Oh and deep in the night
Our appetites find us
Release us and bind us
Deep in the night
While madmen sit up building bombs
And making laws and bars
Theyd like to slam free choice behind us
I saw a little lawyer on the tube
He said, its so easy now, anyone can sue.
Let me show you how your petty aggravations can profit you!
Call for the three great stimulants
Of the exhausted ones
Artifice, brutality and innocence
Artifice and innocence
Oh and deep in the night
Appetites find us
Release us and blind us
Deep in the night
While madmen sit up building bombs
And making laws and bars
Theyre gonna slam free choice behind us
Last night I dreamed I saw the planet flicker
Great forests fell like buffalo
Everything got sicker
And to the bitter end
Big business bickered
And they call for the three great stimulants
Of the exhausted ones
Artifice, brutality and innocence
Artifice and innocence
Oh these times, these times
Oh these changing times
Change in the heart of all mankind
Oh these troubled times

song performed by Joni Mitchell
Added by Lucian Velea
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To-Day, This Insect

To-day, this insect, and the world I breathe,
Now that my symbols have outelbowed space,
Time at the city spectacles, and half
The dear, daft time I take to nudge the sentence,
In trust and tale I have divided sense,
Slapped down the guillotine, the blood-red double
Of head and tail made witnesses to this
Murder of Eden and green genesis.

The insect certain is the plague of fables.

This story's monster has a serpent caul,
Blind in the coil scrams round the blazing outline,
Measures his own length on the garden wall
And breaks his shell in the last shocked beginning;
A crocodile before the chrysalis,
Before the fall from love the flying heartbone,
Winged like a sabbath ass this children's piece
Uncredited blows Jericho on Eden.

The insect fable is the certain promise.

Death: death of Hamlet and the nightmare madmen,
An air-drawn windmill on a wooden horse,
John's beast, Job's patience, and the fibs of vision,
Greek in the Irish sea the ageless voice:
'Adam I love, my madmen's love is endless,
No tell-tale lover has an end more certain,
All legends' sweethearts on a tree of stories,
My cross of tales behind the fabulous curtain.'

poem by Dylan Thomas
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Gazing Out

I gazed out over the crazy sea in halves,
Faint breezes witnessed me as well,
Inner youth was a commodity, in surplus.
But she marries the wrong man, in this stand
Called understanding, so take him in where they begin.
Utterly comforted as the sun, it was gazing and stargazing,
Openly committing folly under the sun and stars,
Like a world of men and women in unity.
Carnage planned children from the start,
Stretching the limbs of madmen and sanity.
Filled with pain and bliss, the madness of a person
Is so laughable and so tame, you will be in tears.
She felt the youth of her soul in a period of doubt,
But the madmen have approached her and taken lives.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Wrathful

O pupils of Gaza . .
Teach us . . .
A little of what you have
For we have forgotten . . .
Teach us . .
To be men
For we have men . .
dough they become . . .
Teach us . .
How the rocks become
in the children's hands,
precious diamond . .
How it becomes
The child's bicycle, a mine
And the silk ribbon . .
An ambush . .
How the feeding bottle nipple . .
If detained not
Turns into a knife . . . .
O pupils of Gaza
Care not . .
about our broadcasts . .
And hear us not . .
Strike . .
Strike . . .
With all your powers
And firmly in your hands take matters
And ask us not . .
We the people of arithmetic . .
And of addition . .
And of subtraction . .
Your wars do carry on
And abstain from us . .
We're the deserters
from the service,
Your ropes do bring
And hang us . . .
We're mortals . .
Who possess not tombs
And orphans . .
who possess not masters
We kept already to our rooms . .
And we asked you
To fight the dragon . .
We've diminished, before you
A thousand century . .
And you've grown
-Within a month-Centuries . .
O pupils of Gaza . .
Return not . .

[...] Read more

poem by Nizar Qabbani
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