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IRT PMCians' Alumni Meet, Perundurai,24th March,2012

This day is one memorable
To all who made it to this meet;
We join colleagues to enable,
Enquiry, foster ties and greet.

We're here to see our old campus,
And talk to teachers, friends, so dear;
We're back to see the greenery,
And walk the lanes with joyful tear!

Our college days were good indeed,
But could have been a bit better;
Yet, we can't live always with greed:
Be content in spirit, letter!

Just when we thought our college days
Were blissful to our hearts and souls,
Time tolled the bell to part our ways,
To take new roads, attaining goals!

The life we led was glorious;
We know we cannot have it back;
Sometimes, we were too furious,
And put our hopes on Lady Luck.

Today, we've come with kith and kin
To boast about our college days;
It had its failures, mirth, woes, win,
That gave us each a smiling face.

We miss those days really much;
Those were most pleasurable and best;
Each moment had a magic touch,
That brought sheer joy to our small nest!

We thank our teachers and stalwarts;
We thank God for mercy showered;
We thank the many unsung hearts,
Who helped us bud, blossom, flowered!

Today, we are all well in health;
We look for brighter days ahead;
We also dream to earn more wealth,
But we must always keep our head!

True joy is when we give others;
Let's make this world a better place;
Let's care with love our sick brothers,
And glorify the human race!

God chose us do the healing stuff;
We are the luckiest of men;
Let's make our patients smile and laugh,
This world, a haven and heaven!

Fondly dedicated by Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar M.D.,
Dean, Prof. of Medicine and former HOD
to all my beloved former medico students
Of IRT PMC, Perundurai
"Happy Alumni Meet"
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-3-12

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Came 23rd morn May 1963

CAME..23rd MORN May 1963
Daddy the 'First Only True Love' In a Childs Life
The saddest, is a heart that has seen a knife
A dad's death a pain, unexplainable and a strife
Our hair neatly combed and to perfection
Our uniforms neat, mum did not fail satisfation
Holding daddy's hands to school we went
After two rainy days at home, which we happily spent.
We were surely not afraid to innocently say
Daddy dear didn't send us 'yesterday'
He said the rains will make us very ill
Our classmates smiled strangely and stood still.
But our teachers clearly tried to tell us so,
Daddy will not forever be at your door.
As kids 'YOU' wll fail to understand,
Time can be so cruel with the clocks hand.
Laughing and singng so merrily
It was a lovely drive home so joyfully
Kreme Crackers, cheese and tea with dad
Away we went for tap dancing and with dad
It was the day before my cuz 'tita's wedding
Dropped in an hour to see what we should bring
Dad went to a meeting and dinner with friends
But things changed as fate had plans to see it end
It was half past eight when the door bell rang
My aunt stood with our family doctor in hand
My mum was worried when the doctor kindly said
'Ibrahims' got a chest pain and is in hospital bed.
She stood there frozen in deep silent pain
Tears streaming down her personality maimed
Instantly she left, shattered, home i stayed
My aunts, brother, dads friend, went and we prayed
Pacing the floor, no control, so impatiently,
Hugging each other wondering desperately?
A wrist watch, dad gave me a couple of hours ago,
With pink roses, a fragracne so sweet, i loved it so.
Anxiously awaiting for good news, in tears
Feelings of heart beat with uncertainity, deadly fears
Our first man we loved and he loved us so
A wonderful dad the best he did for us, just four
Fatherless kids, so seldom we have heard
Staring painfully at each other with unspoken words
So young in our years we need him so near
And a mum too young surely dad should be here
But Alas, the angels did come so suddenly!
And took him away gently and tenderly.
Our first love of our lives, our shining star
Now gone away to heaven, away and so far
A dad is always in a crowd somewhere,
Watching his kids he loves no matter where.
Enjoying the ice cream cone from Piccadilly,
Riding the bikes along Galle Road carefully
A dad no more, never, no longer we see
Sadly no more never ever with us be
A dad who will not, can no longer do call,
Fly kites at our fancies whenever we call.
A daddy, whom no one, can no longer greet.
When other daddies, teachers, friends do meet.
A daddy we always wished to proudly speak.
Through tears that somehow will forcibly leak.
Years whizzed by and at the end of life's play,
The feelings same the terrible loss did not decay.
As the handsome ebony haired daddy of 'mine
With his silver tongue and magical words so fine
Decades went by the angels came and mum was gone,
Before the rise of one dark gloomy August morn.
Tragedy struck my younger brother an accdent, he was slain.
Then my elder brother's voice stilled our hearts in silent pain.
My sister and i stand together all alone.
With thoughts wondering who will walk alone?
The world a stage that we had our part to play,
Graacefully we bow out when we finish our stay.
Memories that wont set me free
dreams that keep on bothering me
Chains of yester year thats firmly tied on to me
Keeps replaying of that wonderful Memory

Create Date: Saturday, April 17,2010


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The Day We Meet Again

The day we meet again
Ill be waiting there
Ill be waiting there for you
Cos the years have been so lonely
Like a dog without a home
Its dangerous when you find out
Youve been drinking on your own
The day we meet again
We will walk in peace
Thru the garden down the road
Where the mist of time is lifting
See it rising in the air
Like the shadow I was chasing
When I looked it wasnt there
Oh no
But just in case youre wondering
What was really on my mind
It wasnt what you took my love
Its what you left behind
And just in case youre wondering
Will it really be the same
You know were only living for
The day me meet again
So hold on - and dont let go
Time heals - you know - I know
The day we meet again
Ill be waiting there
Ill be waiting there for you
Cos the years have been so lonely
Like a dog without a home
Its dangerous when you find out
Youve been drinking on your own
The day we meet again
We will walk in peace
Thru the garden down the road
Where the mist of time is lifting
See it rising in the air
Like the shadow I was chasing
When I looked it wasnt there
Hold on baby dont let go

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Rabindranath Tagore


My fancies are fireflies, —
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.

he voice of wayside pansies,
that do not attract the careless glance,
murmurs in these desultory lines.

In the drowsy dark caves of the mind
dreams build their nest with fragments
dropped from day's caravan.

Spring scatters the petals of flowers
that are not for the fruits of the future,
but for the moment's whim.

Joy freed from the bond of earth's slumber
rushes into numberless leaves,
and dances in the air for a day.

My words that are slight
my lightly dance upon time's waves
when my works havy with import have gone down.

Mind's underground moths
grow filmy wings
and take a farewell flight
in the sunset sky.

The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.

My thoughts, like spark, ride on winged surprises,
carrying a single laughter.
The tree gazes in love at its own beautiful shadow
which yet it never can grasp.

Let my love, like sunlight, surround you
and yet give you illumined freedom.

Days are coloured vbubbles
that float upon the surface of fathomless night.

My offerings are too timid to claim your remembrance,
and therefore you may remember them.

Leave out my name from the gift
if it be a burden,
but keep my song.

April, like a child,
writes hieroglyphs on dust with flowers,
wipes them away and forgets.

Memory, the priestess,
kills the present
and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past.

From the solemn gloom of the temple
children run out to sit in the dust,
God watches them play
and forgets the priest.

My mind starts up at some flash
on the flow of its thoughts
like a brook at a sudden liquid note of its own
that is never repeated.

In the mountain, stillness surges up
to explore its own height;
in the lake, movement stands still
to contemplate its own depth.

The departing night's one kiss
on the closed eyes of morning
glows in the star of dawn.

Maiden, thy beauty is like a fruit
which is yet to mature,
tense with an unyielding secret.

Sorrow that has lost its memory
is like the dumb dark hours
that have no bird songs
but only the cricket's chirp.

Bigotry tries to keep turth safe in its hand
with a grip that kills it.
Wishing to hearten a timid lamp
great night lights all her stars.

Though he holds in his arms the earth-bride,
the sky is ever immensely away.

God seeks comrades and claims love,
the Devil seeks slaves and claims obedience.

The soil in return for her service
keeps the tree tied to her,
the sky asks nothing and leaves it free.

Jewel-like immortal
does not boast of its length of years
but of the scintillating point of its moment.

The child ever dwells in the mystery of ageless time,
unobscured by the dust of history.

Alight laughter in the steps of creation
carries it swiftly across time.

One who was distant came near to me in the morning,
and still nearer when taken away by night.

White and pink oleanders meet
and make merry in different dialects.

When peace is active swepping its dirt, it is storm.

The lake lies low by the hill,
a tearful entreaty of love
at the foot of the inflexible.

There smiles the Divine Child
among his playthings of unmeaning clouds
and ephemeral lights and shadows.

The breeze whispers to the lotus,
'What is thy secret?'
'It is myself,' says the lotus,
'Steal it and I disappear!'

The freedom of the storm and the bondage of the stem
join hands in the dance of swaying branches.

The jasmine's lisping of love to the sun is her flowers.

The tyrant claims freedom to kill freedom
and yet to keep it for himself.

Gods, tired of their paradise, envy man.

Clouds are hills in vapour,
hills are clouds in stone, —
a phantasy in time's dream.

While God waits for His temple to be built of love,
men bring stones.

I touch God in my song
as the hill touches the far-away sea
with its waterfall.

Light finds her treasure of colours
through the antagonism of clouds.

My heart to-day smiles at its past night of tears
like a wet tree glistening in the sun
after the rain is over.

I have thanked the trees that have made my life fruitflul,
but have failed to remember the grass
that has ever kept it green.

The one without second is emptiness,
the other one makes it true.

Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation
into a harmony with the whole.

They expect thanks for the banished nest
because their cage is shapely and secure.

In love I pay my endless debt to thee
for what thou art.

The pond sends up its lyrics from its dark in lilies,
and the sun says, they are good.

Your calumny against the great is impious,
it hurts yourself;
against the small it is mean,
for it hurts the victim.

The first flower that blossomed on this earth
was an invitation to the unborn song.

Dawn—the many-coloured flower—fades,
and then the simple light-fruit,
the sun appears.

The muscle that has a doubt if its wisdom
throttles the voice that would cry.

The wind tries to take the flame by storm
only to blow it out.

Life's play is swift,
Life's playthings fall behind one by one
and are forgotten.

My flower, seek not thy paradise
in a fool's buttonhole.

Thou hast risen late, my crescent moon,
but my night bird is still awake to greet thee.

Darkness is the veiled bride
silently waiting for the errant light
to return to her bosom.

Trees are the earth's endless effort to
speak to the listening heaven.

The burden of self is lightened
when I laugh at myself.

The weak can be terrible
because they try furiously to appear strong.

The wind of heaven blows,
The anchor desperately clutches the mud,
and my boat is beating its breast against the chain.

The spirit of death is one,
the spirit of life is many,
Whe God is dead religion becomes one.

The blue of the sky longs for the earth's green,
the wind between them sighs, 'Alas.'
Day's pain muffled by its own glare,
burns among stars in the night.

The stars crowd round the virgin night
in silent awe at her loneliness
that can never be touched.

The cloud gives all its gold
to the departing sun
and greets the rising moon
with only a pale smile.

He who does good comes to the temple gate,
he who loves reaches the shrine.

Flower, have pity for the worm,
it is not a bee,
its love is a blunder and a burden.

With the ruins of terror's triumph
children build their doll's house.

The lamp waits through the long day of neglect
for the flame's kiss in the night.

Feathers in the dust lying lazily content
have forgotten their sky.

The flowers which is single
need not envy the thorns
that are numerous.

The world suffers most from the disinterested tyranny
of its well-wisher.

We gain freedom whrn we have paid the full price
for our right to live.

Your careless gifts of a moment,
like the meteors of an autumn night,
catch fire in the depth of my being.

The faith waiting in the heart of a seed
promises a miracle of life
which it cannot prove at once.

Spring hesitates at winter's door,
but the mango blossom rashly runs our to him
before her time and meets her doom.

The world is the ever-changing foam
thet floats on the surface of a sea of silence.

The two separated shores mingle their voices
in a song of unfathomed tears.

As a river in the sea,
work finds its fulfilment
in the depth of leisure.

I lingered on my way till thy cherry tree lost ist bossom,
but the azalea brins to me, my love, thy forgiveness.

Thy shy little pomegranate bud,
blushing to-day behind her veil,
will burst into a passionate flower
to-morrow when I am away.

The clumsiness of power spoils the key,
and uses the pickaxe.

Birth is from the mystery of night
into the grerater mystery of day.

These paper boats of mine are meant to dance
on the ripples of hours,
and not to reach any destination.

Migratory songs wing from my heart
and seek their nests in your voice of love.

The sea of danger, doubt and denial
around man's little island of certainty
challenges him to dare the unknown.

Love punishes when it forgives,
and injured beauty by its awful silence.

You live alone and unrecompensed
because they are afraid of your great worth.

The same sun is newly born in new lands
in a ring of endless dawns.

God is world is ever renewed by death,
a Titan's ever crushed by its own existence.

The glow-worm while exploring the dust
never knows that stars are in the sky.

The tree is of to-day, the flower is old,
it brings with it the message
of the immemorial seed.

Each rose that comes brings me greetings
from the Rose of an eternal spring.
God honours me when I work,
He loves me when I sing.

My love of to-day finds no home
in the nest deserted by yesterday's love.

The fire of pain tracse for my soul
a luminous path across her sorrow.

The grass survives the hill
through its resurrections from countless deaths.

Thou hast vanished from my reach
leaving an impalpable touch in the blue of the sky,
an invisible image in the wind moving
among the shadows.

In pity for the desolate branch
spring leaves to it a kiss that fluttered in a lonely leaf.

The shy shadow in the farden
loves the sun in silence,
Flowers guess the secret, and mile,
while the leaves whisper.

I leave no trace of wings in the air,
but I am glad I have had my flight.

The fireflies, twinkling among leaves,
make the stars wonder.

The mountain remains unmoved
at its seeming defeat by the mist.

While the rose said to the sun,
'I shall ever remember thee,'
her petals fell to the dust.

Hills are the earth's gesture of despair
for the unreachable.

Though the thorn in thy flower pricked me,
O Beauty,
I am grateful.

The world knows that the few
are more than the many.

Let not my love be a burden on you, my friend,
know that it pays itself.

Dawn plays her lute before the gate of darkness,
and is content to vanish when the sun comes out.

Beauty is truth's smile
when she beholds her own face
in a perfect mirror.

The dew-drop knows the sun
only within its own tiny orb.

Forlorn thoughts from the forsaken hives of all ages,
swarming in the air, hum round my heart
and seek my voice.

The desert is imprisoned in the wall
of its unbounded barrenness.

In the thrill of little leaves
I see the air's invisible dance,
and in their glimmering
the secret heart-beats of the sky.

You are like a flowering tree,
amazed when I praise you for your gifts.

The earth's sacrifical fire
flames up in her trees,
scattering sparks in flowers.

Foretsts, the clouds of earth,
hold up to the sky their silence,
and clouds from above come down
in resonant showers.

The world speaks to me in pictures,
my soul answers in music.

The sky tells its beads all night
on the countless stars
in memory of the sun.

The darkness of night, like pain, is dumb,
the darkness of dawn, like peace, is silent.

Pride engraves his frowns in stones,
loe offers her surrender in flowers.

The obsequious brush curtails truth
in diference to the canvas which is narrow.

The hill in its longing for the far-away sky
wishes to be like the cloud
with its endless urge of seeking.

To justify their own spilling of ink
they spell the day as night.

Profit smiles on goodness
when the good is profitable.

In its swelling pride
the bubble doubts the turth of the sea,
and laughs and bursts into emptiness.

Love is an endless mystery,
for it has nothing else to explain its.

My clouds, sorrowing in the dark,
forget that they themselves
have hidden the sun.

Man discovers his own wealth
when God comes to ask gifts of him.

You leave your memory as a flame
to my lonely lamp of separation.

I came to offer thee a flower,
but thou must have all my garden,—
It is thine.

The picture—a memory of light
treasured by the shadow.

It is easy to make faces at the sun,
He is exposed by his own light in all

History slowly smothers its truth,
but hastily struggles to revive it
in the terrible penance of pain.

My work is rewarded in daily wages,
I wait for my final value in love.

Beauty knows to say, 'Enough,'
barbarism clamours for still more.

God loves to see in me, not his servant,
but himself who serves all.

The darkness of night is in harmony with day,
the morning of mist is discordant.

In the bounteous time of roses love is wine,—
it is food in the famished hour
when their petals are shed.

An unknown flower in a strange land
speaks to the poet:
'Are we not of the same soil, my lover?'

I am able to love my God
because He gives me freedom to deny Him.

My untuned strings beg for music
in their anguished cry of shame.

The worm thinks it strange and foolish
that man does not eat his books.

The clouded sky to-day bears the visior
of the shadow of a divine sadness
on the forehead of brooding eternity.

The shade of my tree is for passers-by,
its fruit for the one for whom I wait.

Flushed with the glow of sunset
earth seems like a ripe fruit
ready to be harvested by night.

Light accepts darkness for his spouse
for the sake of creation.

The reed waits for his master's breath,
the Master goes seeking for his reed.

To the blind pen the hand that writes is unreal,
its writing unmeaning.

The sea smites his own barren breast
because he has no flowers to offer to the moon.

The greed for fruit misses the flower.

God in His temple of stars
waits for man to bring him his lamp.

The fire restrained in the tree fashions flowers.
Released from bonds, the shameless flame
dies in barren ashes.

The sky sets no snare to capture the moon,
it is her own freedom which binds her.
The light that fills the sky
seeks its limit in a dew-drop on the grass.

Wealth is the burden of bigness,
Welfare the fulness of being.

The razor-blade is proud of its keenness
when it sneers at the sun.

The butterfly has leisure to love the lotus,
not the bee busily storing honey.

Child, thou bringest to my heart
the babble of the wind and the water,
the flower's speechless secrets, the clouds' dreams,
the mute gaze of wonder of the morning sky.

The rainbow among the clouds may be great
but the little butterfly among the bushes is greater.

The mist weaves her net round the morning,
captivates him, and makes him blind.

The Morning Star whispers to Dawn,
'Tell me that you are only for me.'
'Yes,' she answers,
'And also only for that nameless flower.'

The sky remains infinitely vacant
for earth there to build its heaven with dreams.

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt
at being told that it is a fragment
awaiting perfection.

Let the evening forgive the mistakes of the day
and thus win peace for herself.

Beauty smiles in the confinement of the bud,
in the heart of a sweet incompleteness.

Your flitting love lightly brushed with its wings
my sun-flower
and never asked if it was ready to surrender its honey.

Leaves are silences
around flowers which are their words.

The tree bears its thousand years
as one large majestic moment.

My offerings are not for the temple at the end of the road,
but for the wayside shrines
that surprise me at every bend.

Hour smile, my love, like the smell of a strange flower,
is simple and inexplicable.

Death laughs when the merit of the dead is exaggerated
for it swells his store with more than he can claim.

The sigh of the shore follows in vain
the breeze that hastens the ship across the sea.

Truth loves its limits,
for there it meets the beautiful.

Between the shores of Me and Thee
there is the loud ocean, my own surging self,
which I long to cross.

The right to possess boasts foolishly
of its right to enjoy.

The rose is a great deal more
than a blushing apology for the thorn.

Day offers to the silence of stars
his golden lute to be tuned
for the endless life.

The wise know how to teach,
the fool how to smite.

The centre is still and silent in the heart
of an enternal dance of circles.

The judge thinks that he is just when he compares
The oil of another's lamp
with the light of his own.

The captive flower in the King's wreath
smiles bitterly when the meadow-flower envies her.

Its store of snow is the hill's own burden,
its outpouring if streams is borne by all the world.

Listen to the prayer of the forest
for its freedom in flowers.

Let your love see me
even through the barrier of nearness.

The spirit of work in creation is there
to carry and help the spirit of play.

To carry the burden of the insturment,
count the cost of its material,
and never to know that it is for music,
is the tragedy of deaf life.

Faith is the bird that feels the light
and sings when the dawn is still dark.

I bring to thee, night, my day's empty cup,
to be cleansed with thy cool darkness
for a new morning's festival.

The mountain fir, in its rustling,
modulates the memory of its fights with the storm
into a hymn of peace.

God honoured me with his fight
when I was rebellious,
He ignored me when I was languid.

The sectarina thinks
that he has the sea
ladled into his private pond.

In the shady depth of life
are the lonely nests of memories
that shrink from words.

Let my love find its strength
in the service of day,
its peace in the union of night.

Life sends up in blades of grass
its silent hymn of praise
to the unnamed Light.

The stars of night are to me
the memorials of my day's faded flowers.

Open thy door to that which must go,
for the loss becomes unseemly when obstructed.

True end is not in the reaching of the limit,
but in a completion which is limitless.

The shore whispers to the sea:
'Write to me what thy waves struggle to say.'
The sea writes in foam again and again
and wipes off the lines in a boisterous despair.

Let the touch ofthy finger thrill my life's strings
and make the music thine and mine.

The inner world rounded in my life like a fruit,
matured in joy and sorrow,
will drop into the darkness of the orogonal soil
for some further course of creation.

Form is in Matter, rhythm in Force,
meaning in the Person.

There are seekers of wisdom and seekers of wealth,
I seek thy company so that I may sing.

As the tree its leaves, I shed my words on the earth,
let my thoughts unuttered flower in thy silence.

My faith in truth, my vision of the perfect,
help thee, Master, in thy creation.

All the delights that I have felt
in life's fruits and flowers
let me offer to thee at the end of the feast,
in a perfect union of love.

Some have thought deeply and explored the
meaning of thy truth,
and they are great;
I have listened to catch the music of thy play,
and I am glad.

The tree is a winged spirit
released from the bondage of seed,
pursuing its adventure of life
across the unknown.

The lotus offers its beauty to the heaven,
the grass its service to the earth.

The sun's kiss mellows into abandonment
the miserliness of the green fruit clinging to its stem.

The flame met the earthen lamp in me,
and what a great marvel of light!

Mistakes live in the neighbourhood of truth
and therefore delude us.

The cloud laughed at the rainbow
saying that is was an upstart
gaudy in its emptiness.
The rainbow calmly answered,
'I am as inevitably real as tha sun himself.'

Let me not grope in vain in the dark
but keep my mind still in the faith
that the day will break
and truth will appear
in its simplicity.

Through the silent night
I hear the returning vagrant hopes of the morning
knock at my heart.

My new love comes
bringing to me the eternal wealth of the old.

The earth gazes at the moon and wonders
that she sould have all her music in her smile.

Day with its glare of curiosity
puts the stars to flight.

My mind has itstrue union with thee, O sky,
at the window which is mine own,
and not in the open
where thou hast thy sole kingdom.

Man claims God's flowers as his own
when he weaves them in a garland.

The buried city, laid bare to the sun of a new age,
is ashamed that is has lost all its song.

Like my heart's pain that has long missed its meaning,
the sun's rays robed in dark
hide themselves under the ground.
Like my heart'spain at love's sudden touch,
they change their veil at the spring's call
and come out in the carnival of colours,
in flowers and leaves.

My life's empty flute
waits for its final music
like the primal darkness
before the stars came out.

Emancipation from the bondage of the soil
is no freedom for the tree.

The tapestry of life's story is woven
with the threads of life's ties
ever joining and breaking.

Those thoughts of mine that are never captured by words
perch upon my song and dance.

My soul to-night loses itself
in the silent heart of a tree
standing alone among the whispers of immensity.

Pearl shells cast up by the sea
on death's barren beach,—
a magnificent wastefulness of creative life.

The sunlight opens for me the word's gate,
love's light its terasure.

My life like the reed with ist stops,
has its play od colours
through the gaps in its hopes and gains.

Let not my thanks to thee
rob my silence of its fuller homage.

Life's aspirations come
in the guise of children.

The faded flower sighs
that the spring has vanished for ever.

In my life's garden
my wealth has been of the shadows and lights
that are never gathered and stored.

The fruit that I Have gained for ever
is thet which thou hast accepted.

The jasmine knows the sun to be her brother
in the heaven.

Light is young, the ancient light;
shadows are of the moment, they are born old.

I feel that the ferry of my songs at the day's end
will brong me across to the other shore
from where I shall see.

The butterfly flitting from flower to flower
ever remains mine,
I lose the one that is netted by me.

Your voice, free bird, reaches my sleeping nest,
and my drowsy wings dream
of a voyage to the light
above the clouds.

I miss the meaning of my own part
in the play of life
because I know not of the parts
that others play.

The flower sheds all its petals
and finds the fruit.

I leave my songs behind me
to the bloom of the ever-returning honeysuckles
and the joy of the wind from the south.

Dead leaves when they lose themselves in soil
take part in the life of the forest.

The mind ever seeks its words
from its sounds and silence
as the sky from its darkness and light.

The unseen dark plays on his flute
and the rhythm of light
eddies into stars and suns,
into thoughts and reams.

My songs are to sing
that I have loved Thy singing.

When the voice of the Silent touches my words
I know him and therefore I know myself.

My last salutations are to them
who knew me imperfect and loved me.

Love's gift cannot be given,
it waits to be accepted.

When death comes and whispers to me,
'Thy days are ended,'
let me say to him, 'I have lived in love
and not in mere time.'
He will ask, 'Will thy songs remain?'
I shall say, 'I know not, but this I know
that often when I sang I found my eternity.'

'Let me light my lamp,'
say the star,
'and never debate
if it will help to remove the darkness.'

Before the end of my journey
may I reach within myself
the one which is the all,
leaving the outer shell
to float away with the drifting multitude
upon the current of chance and change.

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Hearts Done Time

Met a woman, she had a man
Couldnt help it, I had a plan
Right around midnight he was gone
Saw her red light, she left it on
And oh, my hearts done time
And oh, now shes mine
If theres a reason for these chains
Its like we suffer to ease the pain
Now I got this feelin inside of me
My hearts in jail and I cant break free
Now shes mine
Now shes mine
Now shes mine
Now shes mine
Now shes mine
Now shes mine
Now shes mine
Now shes mine

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One Day You Meet A Stranger

one day you meet a stranger in your house
and you very well know his name
and you serve him coffee
and you feed him fish and rice
the dinner that you can afford, and you tell him
stories about your past and you go beyond
you tell him about your present, your woes and of
course some happy experiences, and you go beyond that
as you serve him some glasses of wine
you tell him about your future, your questions and your hopes,
your anticipations, and some fears, some longings
you tell him that somehow you are afraid about the uncertainties

and then the stranger faces you
his face is exactly you, everything, everthing, you shake his hand
you know his name very well, and you stop this dramatic thing

having a monologue with yourself one cold, and lonely evening.

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Ode VI: Hymn To Cheerfulness

How thick the shades of evening close!
How pale the sky with weight of snows!
Haste, light the tapers, urge the fire,
And bid the joyless day retire.
—Alas, in vain i try within
To brighten the dejected scene,
While rouz'd by grief these fiery pains
Tear the frail texture of my veins;
While winter's voice, that storms around,
And yon deep death-bell's groaning sound
Renew my mind's oppressive gloom,
Till starting horror shakes the room.

Is there in nature no kind power
To sooth affliction's lonely hour?
To blunt the edge of dire disease,
And teach these wintry shades to please?
Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant fair,
Shine through the hovering cloud of care:
O sweet of language, mild of mien,
O virtue's friend and pleasure's queen,
Asswage the flames that burn my breast,
Compose my jarring thoughts to rest;
And while thy gracious gifts i feel,
My song shall all thy praise reveal.

As once ('twas in Astræa's reign)
The vernal powers renew'd their train,
It happen'd that immortal Love
Was ranging through the spheres above,
And downward hither cast his eye
The year's returning pomp to spy.
He saw the radiant god of day,
Waft in his car the rosy May;
The fragrant Airs and genial Hours
Were shedding round him dews and flowers;
Before his wheels Aurora pass'd,
And Hesper's golden lamp was last.
But, fairest of the blooming throng,
When Health majestic mov'd along,
Delighted to survey below
The joys which from her presence flow,
While earth enliven'd hears her voice,
And swains, and flocks, and fields rejoice;
Then mighty Love her charms confess'd,
And soon his vows inclin'd her breast,
And, known from that auspicious morn,
The pleasing Cheerfulness was born.

Thou, Cheerfulness, by heaven design'd
To sway the movements of the mind,
Whatever fretful passion springs,
Whatever wayward fortune brings
To disarrange the power within,
And strain the musical machine;
Thou, Goddess, thy attempering hand
Doth each discordant string command,
Refines the soft, and swells the strong;
And, joining nature's general song,
Through many a varying tone unfolds
The harmony of human souls.

Fair guardian of domestic life,
Kind banisher of homebred strife,
Nor sullen lip, nor taunting eye
Deforms the scene where thou art by:
No sickening husband damns the hour
Which bound his joys to female power;
No pining mother weeps the cares
Which parents waste on thankless heirs:
The officious daughters pleas'd attend;
The brother adds the name of friend:
By thee with flowers their board is crown'd,
With songs from thee their walks resound;
And morn with welcome lustre shines,
And evening unperceiv'd declines.

Is there a youth, whose anxious heart
Labors with love's unpitied smart?
Though now he stray by rills and bowers,
And weeping waste the lonely hours,
Or if the nymph her audience deign,
Debase the story of his pain
With slavish looks, discolor'd eyes,
And accents faltering into sighs;
Yet thou, auspicious power, with ease
Can'st yield him happier arts to please,
Inform his mien with manlier charms,
Instruct his tongue with nobler arms,
With more commanding passion move,
And teach the dignity of love.

Friend to the Muse and all her train,
For thee i court the Muse again:
The Muse for thee may well exert
Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art,
Who owes to thee that pleasing sway
Which earth and peopled heaven obey.

Let melancholy's plaintive tongue
Repeat what later bards have sung;
But thine was Homer's ancient might,
And thine victorious Pindar's flight:
Thy hand each Lesbian wreathe attir'd:
Thy lip Sicilian reeds inspir'd:
Thy spirit lent the glad perfume
Whence yet the flowers of Teos bloom;
Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale
Delicious blows the inlivening gale,
While Horace calls thy sportive choir,
Heroes and nymphs, around his lyre.

But see where yonder pensive sage
(A prey perhaps to fortune's rage,
Perhaps by tender griefs oppress'd,
Or glooms congenial to his breast)
Retires in desart scenes to dwell,
And bids the joyless world farewell.
Alone he treads the autumnal shade,
Alone beneath the mountain laid
He sees the nightly damps ascend,
And gathering storms aloft impend;
He hears the neighbouring surges roll,
And raging thunders shake the pole:
Then, struck by every object round,
And stunn'd by every horrid sound,
He asks a clue for nature's ways;
But evil haunts him through the maze:
He sees ten thousand demons rise
To wield the empire of the skies,
And chance and fate assume the rod,
And malice blot the throne of God.
—O thou, whose pleasing power i sing,
Thy lenient influence hither bring;
Compose the storm, dispell the gloom,
Till nature wear her wonted bloom,
Till fields and shades their sweets exhale,
And music swell each opening gale:
Then o'er his breast thy softness pour,
And let him learn the timely hour
To trace the world's benignant laws,
And judge of that presiding cause
Who founds on discord beauty's reign,
Converts to pleasure every pain,
Subdues each hostile form to rest,
And bids the universe be bless'd.

O thou, whose pleasing power i sing,
If right i touch the votive string,
If equal praise i yield thy name,
Still govern thou thy poet's flame;
Still with the Muse my bosom share,
And sooth to peace intruding care.

But most exert thy pleasing power
On friendship's consecrated hour;
And while my Sophron points the road
To godlike wisdom's calm abode,
Or warm in freedom's ancient cause
Traceth the source of Albion's laws,
Add thou o'er all the generous toil
The light of thy unclouded smile.
But, if by fortune's stubborn sway
From him and friendship torn away,
I court the Muse's healing spell
For griefs that still with absence dwell,
Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams
To such indulgent placid themes,
As just the struggling breast may cheer
And just suspend the starting tear,
Yet leave that sacred sense of woe
Which none but friends and lovers know.

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There Was A Time / When Poetry Was The Poet's Only Life


There was a time
When Poetry was the Poet’s only life-
All that was in his experience
Had its meaning
Only as Poetry.

But when he began to understand
‘Poetry’ had primarily become a ‘means’
For his own Greed and Ego.
Poetry was lost.

But as he was a Poet in his soul,
He and his life too were also lost.

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See You In The Next One (Have A Good Time)

How hard is it for me to wait for you
See you in the next one have a good time
Could be a lifetime before I see you again
See you in the next one have a good time
Eyes they open wide
Eyes they open wide
I like the way
It was hate the way it is now
Lack of time and a wasted week end
You wore your lies like a filmstar
Eyes they open wide
Eyes they open wide
I like the way it was
Hate the way it is now

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Look Out For My Love

Theres a lot to learn
For wastin time
Theres a heart that burns
Theres an open mind.
Look out for my love, look out for my love
Look out for my love, look out for my love
You own it
You own it now
You own it.
Theres a weight on you
But you cant feel it
Livin like I do
Its hard for you to see it.
Was I hurt too bad
Can I show you daylight
How could I be sad
When I know that you might.
Look out for my love, look out for my love
Look out for my love, look out for my love.
Look out for my love
Its in your neighborhood
I know things are gonna change
But I cant say bad or good.
Silver wings of mornin
Shinin in the gray day
While the ice is formin
On a lonely runway.
Hydraulic wipers pumpin
til the window glistens
Somethin sayin somethin
No one seems to listen.
Men with walkie-talkies
Men with flashlights wavin
Up upon the tower
Time reads daylight savings.
Im home again to you babe
You know it makes me wonder
Sittin in the quiet slipstream
In the thunder.
Look out for my love, look out for my love
Look out for my love, look out for my love.

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Solid State

Live for the cause pain dies for
Deems real the shadows of the door
Set falls thru the halls of time
There dwells landfill's crime
You ask how ? Solid State !
Kill for the need sick lost time
Pidgeons falling to ground
Bury graves fill beyond lies
Deep bruise falling to die
You ask how ? Solid State !
Rot around pray their coming for you
The one to die predecessor
Taking the souls and trade what we want
The fabric of life we dont know deciding
Go to the place of sacrifice
With the jewels preventing access
Above with land kills battery
Encircle the weak preparing the souls of life
Rot around pray their coming for you
The one to die predecessor
Taking the souls and trade what we want
This fabric of life we take your blood or please take your blight and pain
{insert weird samples here}
You ask how ? Solid State !
Live for the pain cause dies for
Deems real the shadows of the door
Set falls thru the halls of time
There dwells landfill's crime
You ask how ? Solid State !
Live for the cause pain dies for
Deems real the shadows of the door
Solid State

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His name

I hear a loud voice in morning "Allah Akbar"
It is heard across the town and even very far
I come out from the bed and look at the bright star
Same glittering and light even placed among small stars

What a pleasant morning to feel with his name!
One may wonder with the little thought "from where he came"
It is time to bow head and offer earnest prayers
Then to prepare for other activities as players

Why other religious places too lag behind?
Same meaning but with different slogan to find
Remember almighty for his graceful act
Owe everything to him for this known fact

O lord Ram or Allah Akbar I honestly swear
I am not afraid from life but have only one fear
Never subject us to feel pain and shed the tears
Only bless us each morning for your name to hear

Even if we are fast asleep you repeat the same cycle
Come out from your vault and make the full circle

y and night take place and make beautiful round
Where on earth human beings find it around!

Kindness emerge all of sudden whenever I see at the cross
Force me to think twice whether life was not at total loss
Did I perform any act that can be detrimental to my faith?
What will I answer when I shall see thou after the death?

I open the eyes gracefully and thank almighty
What a day to enjoy and feel with simple beauty!
Everywhere to see colorful birds and enjoy melody
Endeavour to feel "he belongs to all and not to somebody"

It is time to start with day's routine
Duties and rights both combine
It may be only option to feel fine
As his presence is very much divine

* Lord Ram.. Worshipped by Hindu*
*Allaho Akbar……. BY Muslims*

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Triple Trouble

If You
If You
Wanna Know
Wanna Know
The real deal about the three
Well let me tell you
We're triple trouble ya'll
We're gonna bring you up to speed
Cause I'm a specializer, rhyme reviser
Ain't selling out to advertisers
What you get is what you see
And you won't see me out there advertising
See I like to party not drink Bacardi
'Cause I'm not looking to throw up on nobody
Known for my spiel like wheelie one wheel
'Cause this is like having a delicious meal
Moving the crowd, well that's a must
I got some words that apply to us and that's
Mesmerizing, tantalizing
Captivating, we're devastating
If You
If You
Wanna Know
Wanna Know
The real deal about the three
Well let me tell you
We're triple trouble ya'll
We're gonna bring you up to speed
Here's one for the bleachers and the upper tier
Versatile like All-Temp-A-Cheer
If you wanna drink call Mr. Belvedere
Run this rap game like a brigadier
I got kicks on the one, seven and eleven
Snares on the five and thirteen
Rhymes on time and that's the given
We're hot on the disco scene check it a check it
Slow down with I-me, got to stop stingin'
The source of the problem is at the origin
You've got lyrics that have got me cringin'
You're like a fish-wife, quit your damn whingin'
If You
If You
Wanna Know
Wanna Know
The real deal about the three
Well let me tell you
We're triple trouble ya'll
We're gonna bring you up to speed
Hey yo, BAM super nature god damn
Cerrone on the microphone I am
Adrock a.k.a sharp cheddar
My rhymes are better
What the Helen in Troy is that?
Did I hear you say my rhymes is wack?
I'm beautiful you can't touch me
If you pick a rose, well you might just bleed
We're originators you can't feign
Ignorance or pass the blame
'Nuff rhymes coming out the brain
'Nuff beats to drive you insane
'Nuff moves to make your neck crane
'Nuff skill to make the rhymes ingrain
'Nuff heat to leave you in flames
'Nuff style that you can't defame
You see I walk like Jabba The Hutt
With the style so new y'all be like what?
Turn the party out like a bon vivant
With the skill at will that I know you want
On a hot day sip on iced latte
Devious like Wyllie Coyote
Hot to trote or maybe not-e
'Cause little did they know there was a baby in her body
Mesmerizing, tantalizing, captivating, devastating
If You
If You
Wanna Know
Wanna Know
The real deal about the three
Well let me tell you
We're triple trouble ya'll
We're gonna bring you up to speed
Roses are beautiful to look at, but they're thorny
Stems may cause them to be difficult to handle
thus making their beauty a bit awkward

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Epistle To Augusta

My sister! my sweet sister! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine;
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
Go where I will, to me thou art the same­
A loved regret which I would not resign,
There yet are two things in my des­tiny, -
A world to roam through, and a home with thee.

The first were nothing-had I still the last,
It were the haven of my happiness;
But other claims and other ties thou hast,
And mine is not the wish to make them less.
A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past
Recalling, as it lies beyond redress;
Reversed for him our grandsire's fate of yore,
He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore.

If my inheritance of storms hath been
In other elements, and on the rocks
Of perils, overlook'd or unforeseen,
I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks,
The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen
My errors with defensive paradox;
I have been cunning in mine overthrow,
The careful pilot of my proper woe.

Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward.
My whole life was a contest, since the day
That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd
The gift,- a fate, or will, that walk'd astray;
And I at times have found the struggle hard,
And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay:
But now I fain would for a time survive,
If but to see what next can well arrive.

Kingdoms and empires in my little day
I have outlived, and yet I am not old;
And when I look on this, the petty spray
Of my own years of trouble, which have roll'd
Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away
Something-I know not what-does still uphold
A spirit of slight patience; not in vain,
Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain.

Perhaps the workings of defiance stir
Within me - or perhaps a cold despair,
Brought on when ills habitually recur,
Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air,
(For even to this may change of soul refer,
And with light armour we may learn to bear,)
Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not
The chief companion of a calmer lot.

I feel almost at times as I have felt
In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks,
Which do remember me of where I dwelt
Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books,
Come as of yore upon me, and can melt
My heart with recognition of their looks;
And even at moments I could think I see
Some living thing to love-but none like thee.

Here are the Alpine landscapes which create
A fund for contemplation;- to admire
Is a brief feeling of a trivial date;
But something worthier do such scenes inspire:
Here to be lonely is not desolate'
For much I view which I could most desire,
And, above all, a lake I can behold
Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old.

Oh that thou wert but with me! - but I grow
The fool of my own wishes, and forget
The solitude which I have vaunted so
Has lost its praise in this but one regret;
There may be others which I less may show
I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet
I feel an ebb in my philosophy,
And the tide rising in my alter'd eye.

I did remind thee of our own dear Lake,
By the old Hall which may be mine no more.
Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore:
Sad havoc Time must with my memory make,
Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before;
Though, like all things which I have loved they are
Resign 'd For ever, or divided far.

The world is all before me; I but ask
Of Nature that with which she will comply
It is but in her summer's sun to bask,
To mingle with the quiet of her sky,
To see her gentle face without a mask,
And never gaze on it with apathy.
She was my early friend, and now shall be
My sister - till I look again on thee.

I can reduce all feelings but this one;
And that I would not; for at length I see
Such scenes as those wherein my life begun.
The earliest - even the only paths for me -
Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun,
I had been better than I now can be;
The passions which have torn me would have slept;
I had not suffer'd, and thou hadst not wept.

With false Ambition what had I to do?
Little with Love, and least of all with Fame;
And yet they came unsought, and with me grew,
And made me all which they can make -a name.
Yet this was not the end I did pursue;
Surely I once beheld a nobler aim.
But all is over - I am one the more
To baffled millions which have gone before.

And for the future, this world's future may
From me demand but little of my care;
I have outlived myself by many a day;
Having survived so many things that were;
My years have been no slumber, but the prey
Of ceaseless vigils; for I had the share
Of life which might have fill'd a century,
Before its fourth in time had pass'd me by.

And for the remnant which may be to come
I am content; and for the past I feel
Not thankless,-for within the crowded sum
Of struggles, happiness at times would steal,
And for the present, I would not benumb
My feelings further. - Nor shall I conceal
That with all this I still can look around,
And worship Nature with a thought profound.

For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart
I know myself secure, as thou in mine;
We were and are - I am, even as thou art
Beings who ne'er each other can resign;
It is the same, together or apart,
From life's commencement to its slow decline
We are entwined-let death come slow or fast,
The tie which bound the first endures the last!

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Patrick White

I Circumnavigated My Eyes

I circumnavigated my eyes
to wash these ashen rags of grief off
like the torn sails of the Magellanic Clouds.
I knew how deeply I was lost
when I set my starmaps afire
because they got in the way of the shining,
to give them a first hand experience
of lighting things up for themselves
like arsonists playing with draconian desire.
Took me years to get the last shadow
of your misdirected spearhead out of my heart,
make white noise out of the snarling chainsaw
that accompanied you like a seeing-eye dog.

At first the intensity of the pain
clued me forensically into thinking
the sheer immensity of your crime of passion,
the number of times you stabbed me through the heart
meant you loved me more than you cared to let on
but then I noticed all your knives were smiling
like scalpels that had just blooded the moon in my eyes
and I could see the savage delight
you took in my Orphic dismemberment
like an artist in a surgical theatre of vivisected hearts.
Incisions I'll remember for the rest of my life
like paper cuts from a black belt in loveletters.

I forgave what I could and deliberately
misunderstood the rest to let you pass
without being noticed by the demonic lighthouses
that kept watch along the coast like candles
at a black mass for a continental shift in perspective.
I think I was still half in love with you
when I was assessing the drift of our separation
in light years, and the grief, at times, when it didn't seem
potentially lethal, was almost suicidally beautiful,
but as my afterlives dragged on like retrogressive epicycles,
as you did when you pulled the stars out by their roots,
I let the garden return to the wild
and laid out a defensive position of black holes
the dead who once bloomed here
never need worry about being exhumed from.

And I remember standing on the trajectory of a bridge
throwing the bones of my body parts off
like the pages of a calendar scored by a sword
in a cutting edge experiment with oviparous clones
born like mystic comas from spiritual replications
of the same cosmic egg you could never break out of
even after I defused myself like the supernova
of an unexploded terrorist who was once wired to you
like the memory of an old risk that wasn't worth the cause
or the collateral damage it would have done
to the startled innocence of the bystanding stars,
not to mention the traumatic disheartening of the sun
in having to realign its shining with midnight
like a firefly in a dream on a flowerless, terminal ward.

You were the anti-enlightenment that occluded my identity
as if I'd never been there in the first place,
and that would have been fine, I would have
happily lived for you as a better lost cause
than the one I was waging like an unholy war of one.
I would have burned in my inexhaustible solitude
like a discipline of devotion refining my passion for you
into a sword worth falling upon in the name of your integrity.
It would have been a privilege, a tribute, a blessing
to have had you there to give it all up to,
knowing you can never lose what you freely give away,
to get behind your dream like a demonically fulfilled familiar.
Capo, and consigliere, but the power went to your ego,
forgetting that arrogance makes you unguardedly stupid
and stupid will get you killed faster than evil,
but you didn't need my advice to assist you with that.

Not to be. That's the last plea of exoneration
from people who don't know the damage
they've done to each other without even trying to.
The inert delusions of neon gas that highlights
the stations of the heart where we stopped
along the way for a garish night
of PyschoBabylonic heartbreak gone berserk
and solar flares ionized the gun-metal, electrical fragrance
of flowers going supernova in space as if
they were ripping the veils and spiderwebs off
the gutter wisdom of the upper atmosphere gone slumming.

Even if I didn't need to, from playful firefly
to dragon sage with dusky yellow blood,
I would have transmogrified myself for you,
an oracular shapeshifter delighted to accommodate
the most delicate lineaments of protozoic desire
to keep you from bottoming out like the Burgess Shale
into a motile labyrinth of genetic cul de sacs
waiting for your traffic jam to turn green again.

Not to be. The gavel of whose will?
The officious seal of whose blood?
Better to be loved than righteous, feast the heart
among friends and lovers rather than
nibble on the bitter weeds of your isolated sanctimony.
You were always trying to salvage
perfection from its flaws, dehumanize it somehow
into nanodiamonds you wanted to genetically replicate.
Pollen of crystal flowers in a menagerie of bees
that turned their hive into a kiln of glass honey
that shattered like tears at your feet when you wept.

Who isn't an approximation of the person
they hoped to achieve, who isn't the fraud
of their own accomplishment, more disbelieving
in themselves than those who applaud with envy
the strawdog that gets thrown on the fire
after it's served a ritual purpose no one
quite understands? Hard to find a rose in the wild
that isn't supple and pudgy, blighted and marred,
soiled by life, armed and scarred, dust on its leaves.
You wanted to excise the imperfections
as if you were editing my emotional life.
I was always the diamond in the rough
you were going to send like a foolish jewel
to a multi-faceted finishing school
where they scrubbed your ancestry out of you
like bituminous coal off your immaculate, adamantine record.

Trouble is when you let that happen
you're not rooted in life anymore,
you scrape the poetry of living
from out under the moon's fingernails.
And there's no way you can plough a mirror
and throw a seed in it and expect it to sprout
however you exalt and weep over it.
Life may be a black hole,
but it's not an infertile ditch
of mercury trying to pass
for a thread of silver in the moonlight
through the eye of a needle wider than the Hubble
popping bubbles like worlds in the multiverse.

I offered you dragons, but you wanted me to be
a hyena with great table manners whenever
we were eating the leftovers of a lion
at your mother's place, and I was always
the savage you picked on to say grace
as if the words would somehow burn in my mouth.

And I suppose I could have been seated
at the appropriate place at the table below the salt
and not eaten before those you considered alpha dogs did,
and torn my share of meat from the spoils
of the psychological leg-hold traps set for everyone,
and honed my night vision to take down
an albino baby rhino on a National Geographic documentary
to reveal that scavengers know how to hunt on the sly
nocturnally. Maybe you would have seen me
in a different light, maybe it would have become
easier in time to become what you had in mind for me
but I can shift hearts and minds as easily as forms
and when I assumed I was you for a moment
I could see, after the hyena, you had me
lined up like a chimpanzee in a cage
with needles taped to my shaved head
as I expired in my solitude like visiting hours
with pain the only nurse on the night shift
working over time in the lab of a perfumery
to make the abattoir you made of the roses
I used to bring you, smell more like blood than flowers.

And that's when my sense of empathy
began to grow eyelids so I could turn it off at night
to identify with the dream figures
that didn't wake up with me when I did
and I began to evolve an affectionate sensitivity
to the exquisite features of compassion inherent
in painting life masks on the emptiness
to amuse my own inconceivable sensibilities.

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Galloping Horse

Watching, in sarrow as you gallop away
in your mighty white horse to the endless shimmering sea
I can only watch so long, before breaking down to face away-
mourning the day i went wrong.
In hoping and knowing that youll return
i leave without saying a word
But i turn too soon and forever lost-you become-
in human and in thought
Now i carry such a burden as to have you-
gone from my life, my soul, and my mind
but still in hoping, and knowing that you will not return,
i wait by the sea-searching for a galloping horse
And in dreams i imagine your smile once more,
by the galloping horse
And in visions i see you, returning-
by the galloping horse.

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Cause it hasn't been that long
since you almost hit the tree.
Cause it hasn't been that long
since you hit the pole because of speed.
Do you remember
the ambulance it took you there?
Do you remember
they cut your pants your favorite pair?
They shaved your head.
Where's all your hair.
The doctor said,
"We need some staples for his head."
The doctor said,
"Another foot you could be dead."
The doctor said,
"We need some staples for his head."
The doctor said,
"You should have took the bus instead."
All you could hear
was kachunk, kachunk, kachunk.
All you could hear
was the doctor putting staples in this punk.
He could have died that day.
Which means that he would not be here.
He would have gone away,
friends and family we'd shed our tears.
But the good thing would be
is that we would always know.
He would be living
with Jesus Christ in his new home.

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The Comfort in Talking Shop

there is a warmth that comes with the talk of work-
when two or more individuals converse about skills & their
prospective mutual context,
of which they may or may not have worked together in
for weeks, months or
but which all parties speaking
know something about because they all hold relevant
in the area being discussed-
people who genuinely work at their jobs,
whatever they may be,
are able to find a kind of sustenance in the work itself
which others may never find,
if they spend their whole lives
about every little thing it is that they do-
these individuals
may never know the comfort
which comes with discussing the simple nuances
of a job that is shared,
which brings with it no obligation except
the present work that is needed to be
unlike other communities which members of a workplace may also be involved in,
together or alone,
the job
brings with it a sense of solidarity
that may be unique to our species
which can lead to discussions of past employment and
past experiences in our lives
revealing that our paths have led us to such a specific
juncture in time
wherein we now toil
until that time when we part ways & move on.

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My Sort O' Man

I don't believe in 'ristercrats
An' never did, you see;
The plain ol' homelike sorter folks
Is good enough fur me.
O' course, I don't desire a man
To be too tarnal rough,
But then, I think all folks should know
When they air nice enough.

Now there is folks in this here world,
From peasant up to king,
Who want to be so awful nice
They overdo the thing.
That's jest the thing that makes me sick,
An' quicker 'n a wink
I set it down that them same folks
Ain't half so good 's you think.

I like to see a man dress nice,
In clothes becomin' too;
I like to see a woman fix
As women orter to do;
An' boys an' gals I like to see
Look fresh an' young an' spry.--
We all must have our vanity
An' pride before we die.

But I jedge no man by his clothes,--
Nor gentleman nor tramp;
The man that wears the finest suit
May be the biggest scamp,
An' he whose limbs air clad in rags
That make a mournful sight,
In life's great battle may have proved
A hero in the fight.

I don't believe in 'ristercrats;
I like the honest tan
That lies upon the healthful cheek
An' speaks the honest man;
I like to grasp the brawny hand
That labor's lips have kissed,
For he who has not labored here
Life's greatest pride has missed:

The pride to feel that yore own strength
Has cleaved fur you the way
To heights to which you were not born,
But struggled day by day.
What though the thousands sneer an' scoff,
An' scorn yore humble birth?
Kings are but puppets; you are king
By right o' royal worth.

The man who simply sits an' waits
Fur good to come along,
Ain't worth the breath that one would take
To tell him he is wrong.
Fur good ain't flowin' round this world
Fur every fool to sup;
You 've got to put yore see-ers on,
An' go an' hunt it up.

Good goes with honesty, I say,
To honour an' to bless;
To rich an' poor alike it brings
A wealth o' happiness.
The 'ristercrats ain't got it all,
Fur much to their su'prise,
That's one of earth's most blessed things
They can't monopolize.

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Wake Up. Snap Out Of It!

A meeting was conducted,
To reconcile from any indifferences created.

It was agreed that a clean slate,
Freed of conflicting debates...
Would initiate comprehension.
And welcome understanding of those involved.

What did she do?
And what is her name? '

Hold on.
I am not through.
Don't be rude.

A confrontation was expected.
And the one who had agreed to meet...
Came prepared for a confrontation to greet.
And when it was apparently not on the agenda...
An intention to start one began.
And any peace then in the room had to surrender.

'And 'she' gloated,
Didn't she?
I bet she did! '

How do you know it was a woman?

'Who called the meeting to end indifferences?
You? '


'Who introduced conflict in the first place?
You? '

I was the one who tried to get it resolved.
I had grown tired of the bickering.

'And others were there to witness this? '


'She wanted to see you defeated!
That's how women are.
If you are not sleeping with them.
OR doing the 'hanky panky'...
Forget it!
She came to ensure you would be victimized.'

That's that fair.
You shouldn't generalize like that!

'Wake up.
Snap out of it!

I bet she hasn't changed at all.
And here you are defending the right,
To be thrown under the bus.
Trust me...
She set out to see you accused and defamed.

Would you like to get a prescription of morphine?
You definitely need 'something' for that self infliction.
Leave women like that alone.
Restrict them to limits when dealing with them.'

I must say this...
Not 'all' women are vindictive.
Only those who have been caught in lies.
And seek to use charm to undo their misdeeds.
Men can be like that too.
But women seem to be professional at it!

I want to make this clear.
This is my 'opinion' based upon 'my' experiences.
I love women. I do.
But getting the ones I've known to admit their deceptions,
Is like re-inventing the wheel to produce a totally new concept.

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What Yall Want

Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh ugh
What yall niggas want, huh?
Ugh, ugh, ugh
Lubia huh? papi screamin out of they mouth
Bomb shell just a second
Mami wanna speak out
What I need in my life
Make ya body freak out
Baby seem like the type
Married niggaz sneak out
Like Im ballin yall
Yes I be appallin yall
Boss type hold it down
Wantin all of yall
Callin yall never chasin me down
Three weeks, heartbroken
Yes you hatin me now
She speaks soft spoken
Till she datin the clown
Im takin em down
Reel em in and makin em drown
I said gimme that, but Im takin it now
What I need from a nigga
Negative in his sound
Or dasity even askin me
For ass, I laugh
This bitch is fast and free
Swatin em off
When I see this niggas a flea
Plotin of cost for riches
Millionaire wannabe, uh huh
Chorus: [nokio]
What yall niggas want? [what we want, wha? ]
Cant touch [uh]
All yall niggaz need [what we need in our life? ]
Is right here with me [uh]
Sounds yall wanna hear [who da, who dat? ]
Swizz beats [uh]
Im the one you fear [why? ]
Its my time, feel me
Popular since I started my life
Eve you know my name
Probably the dangerous type
Brick house stallion
Think you taming me right?
Not this baby val philly streets
They raisin her right
Keep it pretty or can make it gritty be a lady!
Need boots pocket books and a baby 380!
But prefer to keep it
Calm and cool
When Im heated I suggest you move
Just avoid a bad situation
What you got to prove?
Leave her be
Chicken squakin hatin frequently
Manic man is obsessed
And stalkin me
If he
Icy enough, Im pricin his stuff
Be nicy enough
To let him spin, Im callin ya bluff
Puttin it down
Ruff ryders puttin they work
Snatched up the illest viscous pittbull in a skirt
Makin em hurt
Haters steady dishin up dirt
Changin the game, settin the rules
Makin it work, uh
Leavin em scared
Mami takin all of this here
All of this fame Im hungry
Hope you cats is prepared
Niggas, set me up
And imma take it and run
Think its a game
Just check out how my format is done
Stalkin ya shine
And I do it to perfection
Made a promise everytime I touch the mic
To bless em
Used to tease me how I keep is greezy
Just to test em
Eve handcuff niggas but I dont arrest em
Shorty bang
Hear the niggaz sayin
Shout my name
Make the thugish niggas scream
Watchin me entertain
Dicks brick when I like the lips
Just keepin it plain
Fantasizin about this bitch
Got em goin insaine
Ooohs and ahhhs
57 thick in the thighs
Every thugs dream wife
See the love in they eyes
My time to shine
Whole package make her a dime
Want some more?
It aint over, just keep pressin rewind, uh
Uh, 99, like 2000
Ruff ryders
Dru hill
Swizz beats
Comin for that ass

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