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Looters

They came and
Looted everything
Of me, except you
Who remained -
Embedded in me

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Light Of The Star Embedded Deep In My Mind

its flicker
magical
it sings
a star sings
inside my mind
embedded
a star
like the flicker of the
mind
sparks of thoughts
ideas of
the mind
flickering
thinking star inside
the mind
embedded singing
star of the minds
thought sparkling
sparks kindling
the mind flickering
star thinking of the
mind inside
embedded singing
star sparkling
flicker
sparks of the mind
thoughts
so alive
open fire
fire open in the sparks
of the mind
embedded star

all mixed up
chant chant
coming back
sparks light
star singing

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A primary knowledge

The knowledge of past history would have remained just an illusion
Had that not been taken over by saints and philosophers without any questions?
Where was it to be stored in the absence of required material and facility?
Still it was there foresight and future vision that it remained a subject of nobility

Why was it needed at all when human was capable of thinking it alone?
If the ability and knowledge was the only answer then it would have not been done
It was felt necessary to keep it retained with saints who kept them alive
In spirit and in its essence to make the life worth and to live

I am of the opinion that vastness of size does not matter
The sea has enough of treasure which has remained unutilized for ever
So if knowledge is to remain untapped then it will be unfortunate for mankind
It is simply nutrition which is essentially required for the growth of human mind

We are provided with an extra sense of observing the minute change
Only book knowledge may not help to understand it better or manage
It has remained our previlage to know it from renowned or knowledgeable persons
As knowledge has not been confined to books and advanced to us with reasons

It is advocated often and again that life is full of mystery
No one can draw or define it with short summary
All the more it has become important and necessary
Everything has been inscribed now clearly and not remained as history

The knowledge has remained consistently as source of inspiration
It has provided ladder to scale life steps with joy and elation
At no stage it has deserted or deceived and proved us very wrong
It has built belief, provided relief and helped to come out very strong

It has never been confined to religion base alone but to scientific field too
It has witnessed tremendous change and decisively gone through
It was not source of discontentment but inspiration and rejuvenation
It has crossed all the boundaries and now become important for inter nations

It is sheer luck that we are gifted with all documental evidences
Many glorious events of past are quoted as an examples or instances
It is nice to feel pulse of past and feel very proud
It speaks of rich heritage and also of strong ground

The past knowledge has survived
The old link is maintained and revived
We can stand erect and claim rich
The same can be passed on or reached

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Ungrateful stage

Ungrateful stage

We are heading towards ungrateful stage
Country is shamed with no affairs to manage
Not that we lack confidence and skill
But there is deficiency of trust and will

How have we remained ungrateful for days?
What pulls us to remain aloof and stay away?
Why doesn’t it bother us for the supreme sacrifice?
How many have laid their lives for committed promises?

We have remained ceremonial in offering gratitude
There is lack of respect and apathy in our attitude
We love the country but not its departed sons
We think, why do we care for causes and reasons?

They were no fools but our well wishers
They could enjoy luxury and comfortably usher
Yet they preferred stones and prisons
Did not change even changed the seasons

Our soldiers are dying everyday for holy land
Still we find no sympathy for them as true friends
Who on this earth is ready to loose life for money?
Is it not the fault with our thinking and mere pity?

We have remembered father of the nation
But kept no ideals with any of the relation
We sit on strike as soon as interests affected
Burnt national properties and irrationally acted

On his name we have made shamed nation
We have looted national property including ration
Poor are no more at our heart for any future use
We have all sympathy and schemes without any truce

We are cheating today the soul and sprit of great father
I wish he could have lived and witness further
He would have uttered “he Ram”(O, Ram) not with pride
But would have uttered “hai ram”(Oh, Rama) help me to hide

You have remained ideal for few but idol for cheaters
Single place to worship and safe heaven for shooters
The independence and freedom is used only by Government
Safe heaven and passage for any concealing movement

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Berrathah

ARGUMENT.

Fingal, in his voyage to Lochlin, whither he had been invited by Starno, the father of Agandecca, touched at Berrathon an island of Scandinavia, where he was kindly entertained by Larthmor, the petty king of the place, who was a vassal of the supreme kings of Lochlin. The hospitality of Larthmor gained him Fingal's friendship, which that hero manifested, after the imprisonment of Larthmor by his own son, by sending Ossian and Toscar, the father of Malvina, so often mentioned, to rescue Larthmor, and to punish the unnatural behavior of Uthal. Uthal was handsome, and, by the ladies, much admired. Nina-thoma, the beautiful daughter of Tor-thoma, a neighboring prince, fell in love and fled with him. He proved inconstant; for another lady, whose name is not mentioned, gaining his affections, he confined Nina-thoma to a desert island, near the coast of Berrathon. She was relieved by Ossian, who, in company with Toscar, landing on Berrathon, defeated the forces of Uthal, and killed him in single combat. Nina-thoma, whose love not all the bad behavior of Uthal could erase, hearing of his death, died of grief. In the mean time Larthmor is restored, and Ossian and Toscar return in triumph to Fingal.

The poem opens with an elegy on the death of Malvina, the daughter of Toscar, and closes with the presages of Ossian's death.

BEND thy blue course, O stream! round the narrow plain of Lutha. Let the green woods hang over it, from their hills; the sun look on it at noon. The thistle is there on its rock, and shakes its beard to the wind. The flower hangs its heavy head, waving, at times, to the gale. "Why dost thou awake me, O gale?" it seems to say: "I am covered with the drops of heaven. The time of my fading is near, the blast that shall scatter my leaves. To-morrow shall the traveller come; he that saw me in my beauty shall come. His eyes will search the field, but they will not find me." So shall they search in vain for the voice of Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter shall come forth in the morning, and thee vote a of my harp shall not be heard. "Where is the son of car-borne Fingal?" The tear will be on his cheek! Then come thou, O Malvina! with all thy music, come! Lay Ossian in the plain of Lutha: let his tomb rise in the lovely field.

Malvina! where art thou, with thy songs; with the soft sound of thy steps? Son of Alpin, art thou near? where is the daughter of Toscar? "I passed, O son of Fingal, by Torlutha's mossy walls. The smoke of the hall was ceased. Silence was among the trees of the hill. The voice of the chase was over. I saw the daughters of the bow. I asked about Malvina, but they answered not. They turned their faces away: thin darkness covered their beauty. They were like stars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly through the mist!"

Pleasant be thy rest, O lovely beam! soon hast thou set on our hills! The steps of thy departure were stately, like the moon, on the blue-trembling wave. But thou hast left us in darkness, first of the maids of Lutha! We sit, at the rock, and there is no voice; no light but the meteor of fire! Soon hast thou set, O Malvina, daughter of generous Toscar! But thou risest, like the beam of the east, among the spirits of thy friends, where they sit, in their stormy halls, the chambers of the thunder! A cloud hovers over Cona. Its blue curling sides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings. Within it is the dwelling of Fingal. There the hero sits in darkness. His airy spear is in his hand. His shield, half covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon; when one half still remains in the wave, and the other looks sickly on the field!

His friends sit round the king, on mist! They hear the songs of Ullin; he strikes the half-viewless harp. He raises the feeble voice. The lesser heroes, with a thousand meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina rises in the midst: a blush is on her cheek. She beholds the unknown faces of her fathers. She turns aside her humid eyes. "An thou come so soon," said Fingal, "daughter of generous Toscar! Sadness dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged son is sad! I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It comes to the hall, but thou art not there. Its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers! Go, with thy rustling wing, O breeze! sigh on Malvina's tomb. It rises yonder beneath the rock, at the blue stream of Lutha. The maids are departed to their place. Thou alone, O breeze, mournest there!"

But who comes from the dusky west, supported on a cloud? A smile is on his gray, watery face. His locks of mist fly on wind. He bends forward on his airy spear. It is thy father, Malvina! "Why shinest thou, so soon, on our clouds," he says, "O lovely light of Lutha? But thou wert sad, my daughter. Thy friends had passed away. The sons of little men were in the hail. None remained of the heroes, but Ossian, king of spears!"

And dost thou remember Ossian, car-borne Toscar, son of Conloch? The battles of our youth were many. Our swords went together to the field. They saw us coming like two falling rocks. The sons of the stranger fled. "There come the warriors of Cona!" they said. "Their steps are in the paths of the flying!" Draw near, son of Alpin, to the song of the aged. The deeds of other times are in my soul. My memory beams on the days that are past: on the days of mighty Toscar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, son of Alpin, to the last sound of the voice of Cona!

The king of Morven commanded. I raised my sails to the wind. Toscar, chief of Lutha, stood at my side: I rose on the dark-blue wave. Our course was to sea-surrounded Berrathon, the isle of many storms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the stately strength of Larthmor. Larthmor, who spread the feast of shells to Fingal, when he went to Starno's halls, in the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his son arose; the pride of fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thousand maids. He bound the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his sounding halls!

Long pined the king in his cave, beside his rolling sea. Day did not come to his dwelling: nor the burning oak by night. But the wind of ocean was there, and the parting beam of the moon. The red star looked on the king, when it trembled on the western wave. Snitho came to Selma's hall; Snitho, the friend of Larthmor's youth. He told of the king of Berrathon: the wrath of Fingal arose. Thrice he assumed the spear, resolved to stretch his hand to Uthal. But the memory of his deeds rose before the king. He sent his son and Toscar. Our joy was great on the rolling sea. We often half unsheathed our swords. For never before had we fought alone, in battles of the spear.

Night came down on the ocean. The winds departed on their wings. Cold and pale is the moon. The red stars lift their heads on high. Our course is slow along the coast of Berrathon. The white waves tumble on the rocks. "What voice is that," said Toscar, "which comes between the sounds of the waves? It is soft hut mournful, like the voice of departed bards. But I behold a maid. She sits on the rock alone. Her head bends on her arms of snow. Her dark hair is in the wind. Hear, son of Fingal, her song; it is smooth as the gliding stream. We came to the silent bay, and heard the maid of night.

"How long will ye roll round me, blue-tumbling waters of ocean? My dwelling was not always in caves, nor beneath the whistling tree. The feast was spread in Tor-thoma's hall. My father delighted in my voice. The youths beheld me in the steps of my loveliness. They blessed the dark-haired Nina-thoma. It was then thou didst come, O Uthal! like the sun €4 heaven! The souls of the virgins are thine, son of generous Larthmor! But why dost thou leave me alone, in the midst of roaring waters? Was my soul dark with thy death? Did my while hand lift the sword? Why then hast thou left me alone, king of high Fin-thormo?"

The tear started from my eye, when I heard the voice of the maid. I stood before her in my arms. I spoke the words of peace! "Lovely dweller of the cave! what sigh is in thy breast? Shall Ossian lift his sword in thy presence, the destruction of thy foes? Daughter of Tor-thoma, rise! I have heard the words of thy grief. The race of Morven are around thee, who never injured the weak. Come to our dark bosomed ship, thou brighter than the setting moon! Our course is to the rocky Berrathon, to the echoing walls of Fin-thormo." She came in her beauty; she came with all her lovely steps. Silent joy brightened in her face; as when the shadows fly from the field of spring; the blue stream is rolling in brightness, and the green bush bends over its course!

The morning rose with its beams. We came to Rothma's bay. A boar rushed from the wood: my spear pierced his side, and he fell. I rejoiced over the blood. I foresaw my growing fame. But now the sound of Uthal's train came, from the high Fin-thormo. They spread over the heath to the chase of the boar. Himself comes slowly on, in the pride of his strength. He lifts two pointed spears. On his side is the hero's sword. Three youths carry his polished bows. The bounding of five dogs is before him. His heroes move on, at a distance, admiring the steps of the king. Stately was the son of Larthmor! but his soul was dark! Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretells the storms.

We rose on the heath before the king. He stopped in the midst of his course. His heroes gathered around. A. gray-haired bard advanced. "Whence are the sons of the strangers?" began the bard of song. "The children of the unhappy come to Berrathon: to the sword of car-borne Uthal. He spreads no feast in his hall. The blood of strangers is on his streams. If from Selma's walls ye come, from the mossy walls of Fingal, choose three youths to go to your king to tell of the fall of his people. Perhaps the hero may come and pour his blood on Uthal's sword. So shall the fame of Fin-thormo arise; like the growing tree of the vale!"

"Never, will it rise, O bard!" I said, in the pride of my wrath. "He would shrink from the presence of Fingal, whose eyes are the flames of death. The son of Comhal comes, and kings vanish before him. They are rolled together, like mist, by the breath of his rage. Shall three tell to Fingal, that his people fell? Yes! they may tell it, bard! but his people shall fall with fame!"

I stood in the darkness of my strength. Toscar drew his sword at my side. The foe came on like a stream. The mingled sound of death arose. Man took man; shield met shield; steel mixed its beams with steel. Darts hiss through air. Spears ring on mails. Swords on broken bucklers bound. All the noise of an aged grove beneath the roaring wind, when a thousand ghosts break the trees by night, such was the din of arms! But Uthal fell beneath my sword. The sons of Berrathon fled. It was then I saw him in his beauty, and the tear hung in my eye! "Thou art fallen, young tree, I said, with all thy beauty round thee. Thou art fallen on thy plains, and the field is bare. The winds come from the desert! there is no sound in thy leaves! Lovely art thou in death, son of car-borne Larthmor"

Nina-thoma sat on the shore. She heard the sound of battle. She turned her red eyes on Lethmal, the gray-haired bard of Selma. He alone had remained on the coast with the daughter of Tor-thoma. "Son of the times of old!" she said, "I hear the noise of death. Thy friends have met with Uthal, and the chief is low! O that I had remained on the rock, enclosed with the tumbling waves? Then would my soul be sad, but his death would not reach my ear. Art thou fallen on the heath, O son of high Fin-thormo? Thou didst leave me on a rock, but my soul was full of thee. Son of high Fin-thormo! art thou fallen on thy heath?"

She rose pale in her tears. She saw the bloody shield of Uthal. She saw it in Ossian's hand. Her steps were distracted on the heath. She flew. She found him. She fell. Her soul came forth in a sigh. Her hair is spread on her face. My bursting tears descend. A tomb arose on the unhappy. My song of wo was heard. "Rest, hapless children of youth! Rest at the noise of that mossy stream! The virgins will see your tomb, at the chase, and turn away their weeping eyes. Your fame will be in song. The voice of the harp will be heard in your praise. The daughters of Selma shall hear it: your renown shall be in other lands. Rest, children of youth, at the noise of the mossy stream!"

Two days we remained on the coast. The heroes of Berrathon convened. We brought Larthmor to his halls. The feast of shells is spread. The joy of the aged was great. He looked to the arms of his fathers; the arms which he left in his hall, when the pride of Uthal rose. We were renowned before Larthmor. He blessed the chiefs of Morven. He knew not that his son was low, the stately strength of Uthal! They had told, that he had retired to the woods, with the tears of grief. They had told it, but he was silent in the tomb of Rothma's heath.

On the fourth day we raised our sails, to the roar of the northern wind. Larthmor came to the coast. His bards exalted the song. The joy of the king was great; he looked to Rothma's gloomy heath. He saw the tomb of his son. The memory of Uthal rose. "Who of my heroes," he said, "lies there? he seems to have been of the kings of men. Was he renowned in my halls before the pride of Uthal rose? Ye are silent, sons of Berrathon! is the king of heroes low? My heart melts for thee, O Uthal! though thy hand was against thy father. O that I had remained in the cave! that my son had dwelt in Fin-thormo! I might have heard the tread of his feet, when he went to the chase of the boar. I might have heard his voice on the blast of my cave. Then would my soul be glad; but now darkness dwells in my halls."

Such were my deeds, son of Alpin, when the arm of my youth was strong. Such the actions of Toscar, the car-borne son of Conloch. But Toscar is on his flying cloud. I am alone at Lutha. My voice is like the last sound of the wind, when it forsakes the woods. But Ossian shall not be long alone. He sees the mist that shall receive his ghost. He beholds the mist that shall form his robe, when he appears on his hills. The Sons of feeble men shall behold me, and admire the stature of the chiefs of old. They shall creep to their caves. They shall look to the sky with fear: for my steps shall be in the clouds. Darkness shall roll on my side.

Lead, son of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds begin to rise. The dark wave of the lake resounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora with its branches bare? It bends, son of Alpin, in the rustling blast. My harp hangs on a blasted branch. The sound of its strings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, O harp, or is it some passing ghost? It is the hand of Malvina! Bring me the harp, son of Alpin. Another song shall rise. My soul shall depart in the sound. My fathers shall hear it in their airy hail. Their dim faces shall hang, with joy, from their clouds; and their hands receive their son. The aged oak bends over the stream. It sighs with all its moss. The withered fern whistles near, and mixes, as it waves, with Ossian's hair.

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poem by James Macpherson
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They are still my kin

I didn’t go to him for any favour;
He remained my friend.

I didn’t do with him any business;
He remained my cousin.

I didn’t have with him any common roof;
He remained my brother.

I didn’t keep to her my eyes wide open;
She remained my wife.

I didn’t get from them any allowance;
They remained my children.

It is as good as they are none to me;
With the God’s grace I could keep them as mine.
19.09.2008

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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By The Way

By the way, every little thing about her face
Fills him up, the image so pleasing it could never be erased
Here to stay, embedded in his mind, he wishes they could be together
All the
Time
By the way she says things, the tone, just to hear her voice
He cant explain, the sound so exciting to him a perfect choice
Here to stay, embedded in his mind, he wishes they could be together
All the
Time
Crazy independent spanish speaking arty flirty red wine drinking sexy
Tomboy
With a natural way of thinking carefree innocent shes slightly sneaky
Confident and proud from another country has her way lives for today
Ty the
Way shes far away
By the way, holding her, hugging her can feel so warm
Just think about it, two bodies embracing, creating love in this form
Here to stay, embedded in his mind, he wishes they could be together
All the
Time
Crazy independent spanish speaking arty flirty red wine drinking sexy
Tomboy
With a natural way of thinking crazy
Then she kissed him and she went away
Far across to san francisco bay
Youd think that she would think again
And only want to be with him
Regardless of the things that pull her far away, shes far away...
Crazy independent spanish speaking arty flirty red wine drinking sexy
Tomboy
With a natural way of thinking crazy
By the way shes far away and by the way shes far away
Crazy independent spanish speaking arty flirty red wine drinking
By the way shes far away and by the way shes far away

song performed by Gwen Stefani
Added by Lucian Velea
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D.J.'s

By the way, every little thing about her face
Fills him up, the image so pleasing it could never be erased
Here to stay, embedded in his mind, he wishes they could be together all
the
time
By the way she says things, the tone, just to hear her voice
He can't explain, the sound so exciting to him a perfect choice
Here to stay, embedded in his mind, he wishes they could be together all
the
time
Crazy independent spanish speaking arty flirty red wine drinking sexy
tomboy
With a natural way of thinking carefree innocent she's slightly sneaky
Confident and proud from another country has her way lives for today by
the
Way she's far away
By the way, holding her, hugging her can feel so warm
Just think about it, two bodies embracing, creating love in this form
Here to stay, embedded in his mind, he wishes they could be together all
the
time
Crazy independent spanish speaking arty flirty red wine drinking sexy
tomboy
With a natural way of thinking crazy
Then she kissed him and she went away
Far across to San Francisco Bay
You'd think that she would think again
And only want to be with him
Regardless of the things that pull her far away, she's far away...
Crazy independent spanish speaking arty flirty red wine drinking sexy
tomboy
With a natural way of thinking crazy
By the way she's far away and by the way she's far away
Crazy independent spanish speaking arty flirty red wine drinking
By the way she's far away and by the way she's far away

song performed by No Doubt
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The Master of the Dance

A chant to which it is intended a group of children shall dance and improvise pantomime led by their dancing-teacher.

I

A master deep-eyed
Ere his manhood was ripe,
He sang like a thrush,
He could play any pipe.
So dull in the school
That he scarcely could spell,
He read but a bit,
And he figured not well.
A bare-footed fool,
Shod only with grace;
Long hair streaming down
Round a wind-hardened face;
He smiled like a girl,
Or like clear winter skies,
A virginal light
Making stars of his eyes.
In swiftness and poise,
A proud child of the deer,
A white fawn he was,
Yet a fwn without fear.
No youth thought him vain,
Or made mock of his hair,
Or laughed when his ways
Were most curiously fair.
A mastiff at fight,
He could strike to the earth
The envious one
Who would challenge his worth.
However we bowed
To the schoolmaster mild,
Our spirits went out
To the fawn-looted child.
His beckoning led
Our troop to the brush.
We found nothing there
But a wind and a hush.
He sat by a stone
And he looked on the ground,
As if in the weeds
There was something profound.
His pipe seemed to neigh,
Then to bleat like a sheep,
Then sound like a stream
Or a waterfall deep.
It whispered strange tales,

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poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Leave Me Alone

Please leave me alone
As you have devastated my like cyclone
My love feeling is uprooted
I feel robbed of or looted

I feel dejected and sad
The days have been not that bad
I feel sunny days are coming ahead
Peaceful, heart felt and lovely life to lead

I love to take refuge
In natures lap and refuse
All defeatist views at first sight
I feel it correct step and very right

I may lye down on ground and sleep
Not a dropp of tear from eyes to weep
It is total wash out and clean sweep
I refuse to surrender under any threat

I will never cry over split or spoiled relation
It is never a question or bone of contention
I loved it till the last and remained faithful
It was to my mind very successful

Here I feel whole of earth with me
How best I feel and totally worry free!
World was never this much beautiful
I felt it from within as it is trustful too

Where does the beauty lye?
Why at all I should cheat conscience and tell lies?
Where will it lead me from real world?
Where relations are hot and cold

I have no remorse so far as love is concerned
It was precious this before and never turned
To cause any ill feeing or desertion
As it remained sting free and without concern

I can shout from top of the roof
As it needs no words or proof
It has strength of iron or steel
The world has to realize it still

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Exit point

Searching the exit point
I remained there as before
Seeing the house-full every-time
I remained cool seeing the dog
Inside the house and doing mischief
I could not find one and locate where
They have gone and for what purpose
With the coconut I had with me
Seeing them all in this sky I
Remained again aloof with
The alphabet of life that was not mine
Searching the exit point
I called O Mayabi where are you
And you are there inside holding me
As before and here under I remained cool.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Traces Of Sadness

Verse 1:
He walked through the neon light
His future's 'bout to burn
His face was a mask of violence
He'd just reached the bitter end -
That point of no return
There was nothing left to reach
Chorus:
Just traces of sadness
(All the tears remained uncried)
Just echoes of madness
(All his fantasies had died)
He buried his daydreams
(But the nightmares stayed alive)
(Addiction's like a fence)
(That keeps away your second chance)
When the road to freedom ends
Verse 2:
Drinks and drugs and all the rest
He walked that one way street
That leads into desperation
And he learned the hardest way
To steal and fight and cheat
There was nothing left to learn
Chorus:
Just traces of sadness
(All the tears remained uncried)
Just echoes of madness
(All his fantasies had died)
He buried his daydreams
(But the nightmares stayed alive)
(Addiction's like a fence)
(That keeps away your second chance)
When the road to freedom ends
Bridge:
Deep down in his soul he found
The words he had to learn:
There is no way to return
Chorus:
Just traces of sadness
(All the tears remained uncried)
Just echoes of madness
(All his fantasies had died)
He buried his daydreams
(But the nightmares stayed alive)
(Addiction's like a fence)
(That keeps away your second chance)
When the road to freedom ends
When the road to freedom ends
(The traces of sadness)

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song performed by Vanilla Ninja
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Chickenguinea

Chicken guinea, yes it is chicken guinea
Villagers were told to listen to their plea
It was wide spread in whole of the village
It did not spare children, young and people of all the ages

It was wide spread in entire village
Just like epidemic, it started to take toll of all the ages
It had affected the persons when they were at work
Women while washing and men at their place of work

The laborer had spade up in air when affected
The house wife had no time to take out hand and act
The soap remained in hand while taking bath
All feared for life and medical teams were on rescue path

The actual cause remained unknown but was found
Some of the pigs were given poison while roaming around
Their bodies were scattered and lying in open
The germs spread immediately and effect was all of sudden

The human body parts were severely affected
Some had hand struck and could not lift hand or act
Legs and muscles were inviting lots of pain
It took heavy toll but worries and concern remained

Out of 15000 population three fourth of them were under attack
Entire population may complain about severe headache
I remember it had no medicine to offer any assistance
It remained for longer period with series of pains sequences

It brought some kind of awareness as it had to do with cleaning
The hygienic condition was to be maintained with real meaning
The disease was to remain over spread as it lacked proper handling
Yet it was tackled with whatever medicine was available and on hand

Some of the diseases are not spreading of their own
We are inviting them despite its seriousness is known
We wake up only when it is going out of hand
It affects everybody whether it is foe or friend

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Extreme corner

She held my hand firmly
No expressions but remained calmly
She was deep in thought and looked sadly
She wanted to say something but feared badly

Generally speaking, it is always one sided affair
Ladies suffer more and this one is totally unfair
Pain and agony kill them from inside
They have no means to retain or easily confide

I had spent very memorable moments
I flowed with her but remained silent
She wore deserted look and looked barren
I was experiencing hell in heaven

I tried to read her face between lines
She was unable to keep herself on sideline
She was about to weep with almost broken stage
I tried to console her as understood and correctly guessed

It was not all about my desertion
That was never feared and remained out of question
I am of opinion that relation must remain open and frank
But her cal composure made me to think and I slowly sank

She had never thought of illogical bond
Even though she remained firm and fond
I was from different cast and little inferior
More in age and looked more of senior

She feared backlash and reprisal
The dark clouds indicated their arrival
She sensed of some unforeseen consequences
Even though she was of strong mind with presence

Tears rolled out endlessly in mere silence
I allowed her to deplete sorrows at once
“We ere meant for each other and remain so”
I assured her with firm resolve to forget and forgo

Sometimes sentiments drive us to the extreme corner
Any good or bad things come in life later or sooner
But some lucky people get them as they wanted
And some suffer as they were meant to be suffocated

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Cymon And Iphigenia. From Boccace

Old as I am, for lady's love unfit,
The power of beauty I remember yet,
Which once inflamed my soul, and still inspires my wit.
If love be folly, the severe divine;
Has felt that folly, though he censures mine;
Pollutes the pleasures of a chaste embrace,
Acts what I write, and propagates in grace,
With riotous excess, a priestly race.
Suppose him free, and that I forge the offence,
He showed the way, perverting first my sense:
In malice witty, and with venom fraught,
He makes me speak the things I never thought.
Compute the gains of his ungoverned zeal;
Ill suits his cloth the praise of railing well.
The world will think that what we loosely write,
Though now arraigned, he read with some delight;
Because he seems to chew the end again,
When his broad comment makes the text too plain,
And teaches more in one explaining page
Than all the double meanings of the stage.

What needs he paraphrase on what we mean?
We were at worst but wanton; he's obscene.
I nor my fellows nor my self excuse;
But Love's the subject of the comic Muse;
Nor can we write without, nor would you
A tale of only dry instruction view.
Nor love is always of a vicious kind,
But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind,
Awakes the sleepy vigour of the soul,
And, brushing o'er, adds motion to the pool.
Love, studious how to please, improves our parts
With polished manners, and adorns with arts.
Love first invented verse, and formed the rhyme,
The motion measured, harmonized the chime;
To liberal acts enlarged the narrow-souled,
Softened the fierce, and made the coward bold;
The world, when waste, he peopled with increase,
And warring nations reconciled in peace.
Ormond, the first, and all the fair may find,
In this one legend to their fame designed,
When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind.
In that sweet isle, where Venus keeps her court,
And every grace, and all the loves, resort;
Where either sex is formed of softer earth,
And takes the bent of pleasure from their birth;
There lived a Cyprian lord, above the rest
Wise, wealthy, with a numerous issue blest.

But, as no gift of fortune is sincere,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Paradise Regained

THE FIRST BOOK

I, WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite
Into the desert, his victorious field
Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence 10
By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire,
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,
And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds,
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds
Above heroic, though in secret done,
And unrecorded left through many an age:
Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.
Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand 20
To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked
With awe the regions round, and with them came
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed
To the flood Jordan--came as then obscure,
Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore
As to his worthier, and would have resigned
To him his heavenly office. Nor was long
His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a Dove 30
The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice
From Heaven pronounced him his beloved Son.
That heard the Adversary, who, roving still
About the world, at that assembly famed
Would not be last, and, with the voice divine
Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to whom
Such high attest was given a while surveyed
With wonder; then, with envy fraught and rage,
Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air
To council summons all his mighty Peers, 40
Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved,
A gloomy consistory; and them amidst,
With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake:--
"O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World
(For much more willingly I mention Air,
This our old conquest, than remember Hell,
Our hated habitation), well ye know
How many ages, as the years of men,

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poem by John Milton
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The Princess Betrothed To The King Of Garba

WHAT various ways in which a thing is told
Some truth abuse, while others fiction hold;
In stories we invention may admit;
But diff'rent 'tis with what historick writ;
Posterity demands that truth should then
Inspire relation, and direct the pen.

ALACIEL'S story's of another kind,
And I've a little altered it, you'll find;
Faults some may see, and others disbelieve;
'Tis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve;
Alaciel's mem'ry, it is very clear,
Can scarcely by it lose; there's naught to fear.
Two facts important I have kept in view,
In which the author fully I pursue;
The one--no less than eight the belle possessed,
Before a husband's sight her eyes had blessed;
The other is, the prince she was to wed
Ne'er seemed to heed this trespass on his bed,
But thought, perhaps, the beauty she had got
Would prove to any one a happy lot.

HOWE'ER this fair, amid adventures dire,
More sufferings shared than malice could desire;
Though eight times, doubtless, she exchanged her knight
No proof, that she her spouse was led to slight;
'Twas gratitude, compassion, or good will;
The dread of worse;--she'd truly had her fill;
Excuses just, to vindicate her fame,
Who, spite of troubles, fanned the monarch's flame:
Of eight the relict, still a maid received ;--
Apparently, the prince her pure believed;
For, though at times we may be duped in this,
Yet, after such a number--strange to miss!
And I submit to those who've passed the scene,
If they, to my opinion, do not lean.

THE king of Alexandria, Zarus named,
A daughter had, who all his fondness claimed,
A star divine Alaciel shone around,
The charms of beauty's queen were in her found;
With soul celestial, gracious, good, and kind,
And all-accomplished, all-complying mind.

THE, rumour of her worth spread far and wide,
The king of Garba asked her for his bride,
And Mamolin (the sov'reign of the spot,)
To other princes had a pref'rence got.

THE fair, howe'er, already felt the smart

[...] Read more

poem by La Fontaine
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Thunderbolt

I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt staying bold.

I'm the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.

You may decide to run and hide.
But I've learned throughout my life...
Those who run let life slip by,
And cry in denial.
Setting themselves up...
For struggles and trials.

When I was young I was often hushed,
I would question too much.
With unedited questions asked.
To connect in my mind to grasp.

I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.

I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
And with a boldness I still hold.

When I was young I was often hushed,
I would question too much.
With unedited questions asked.
To connect in my mind to grasp.

Zip zap crack with answers due.
Answer my questions asked of you!

I'm the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.

Zip zap crack with answers due.
Answer my questions asked of you!
I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Orlando Furioso Canto 17

ARGUMENT
Charles goes, with his, against King Rodomont.
Gryphon in Norandino's tournament
Does mighty deeds; Martano turns his front,
Showing how recreant is his natural bent;
And next, on Gryphon to bring down affront,
Stole from the knight the arms in which he went;
Hence by the kindly monarch much esteemed,
And Gryphon scorned, whom he Martano deemed.

I
God, outraged by our rank iniquity,
Whenever crimes have past remission's bound,
That mercy may with justice mingled be,
Has monstrous and destructive tyrants crowned;
And gifted them with force and subtlety,
A sinful world to punish and confound.
Marius and Sylla to this end were nursed,
Rome with two Neros and a Caius cursed;

II
Domitian and the latter Antonine;
And, lifted from the lowest rabble's lees,
To imperial place and puissance, Maximine:
Hence Thebes to cruel Creon bent her knees,
Mezentius ruled the subject Agiline,
Fattening his fields with blood. To pests like these
Our Italy was given in later day,
To Lombard, Goth, and Hun a bleeding prey.

III
What shall I of fierce Attila, what say
Of wicked Ezzeline, and hundreds more?
Whom, because men still trod the crooked way,
God sent them for their pain and torment sore.
Of this ourselves have made a clear assay,
As well as those who lived in days of yore;
Consigned to ravening wolves, ordained to keep
Us, his ill-nurturing and unuseful sheep;

IV
Who, as if having more than served to fill
Their hungry maw, invite from foreign wood
Beyond the mountain, wolves of greedier will,
With them to be partakers of their food.
The bones which Thrasymene and Trebbia fill,
And Cannae, seem but few to what are strewed
On fattened field and bank, where on their way
Adda and Mella, Ronco and Tarro stray.

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poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Orlando Furioso Canto 19

ARGUMENT
Medoro, by Angelica's quaint hand,
Is healed, and weds, and bears her to Catay.
At length Marphisa, with the chosen band,
After long suffering, makes Laiazzi's bay.
Guido the savage, bondsman in the land,
Which impious women rule with civil sway,
With Marphisa strives in single fight,
And lodges her and hers at full of night.

I
By whom he is beloved can no one know,
Who on the top of Fortune's wheel is seated;
Since he, by true and faithless friends, with show
Of equal faith, in glad estate is greeted.
But, should felicity be changed to woe,
The flattering multitude is turned and fleeted!
While he who loves his master from his heart,
Even after death performs his faithful part.

II
Were the heart seen as is the outward cheer,
He who at court is held in sovereign grace,
And he that to his lord is little dear,
With parts reversed, would fill each other's place;
The humble man the greater would appear,
And he, now first, be hindmost in the race.
But be Medoro's faithful story said,
The youth who loved his lord, alive or dead.

III
The closest path, amid the forest gray,
To save himself, pursued the youth forlorn;
But all his schemes were marred by the delay
Of that sore weight upon his shoulders born.
The place he knew not, and mistook the way,
And hid himself again in sheltering thorn.
Secure and distant was his mate, that through
The greenwood shade with lighter shoulders flew.

IV
So far was Cloridan advanced before,
He heard the boy no longer in the wind;
But when he marked the absence of Medore,
It seemed as if his heart was left behind.
'Ah! how was I so negligent,' (the Moor
Exclaimed) 'so far beside myself, and blind,
That I, Medoro, should without thee fare,
Nor know when I deserted thee or where?'

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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I Love The African Woman

I Love The African Woman
I love the African woman
Her golden eyes
Burnt by smoke yet remained pure
Her black hair
Burdened by loads yet remained long
I love the African woman
Her dark lips
Kissed and chewed by men, Black and White
Yet remained full and thick
Her tender breast
Fondled by hands, smooth and callous
Yet remained firm and tall
At her back great men slept
On her laps heroes were nursed
At the meeting of her thighs all men dream
Her feet, hardened and bruised
Yet she keep moving
With pride
With dignity
I love her African heart
I love her African passion
I love the African woman

poem by Joseph Eli Atisu
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