Bisan
e makara bunuche jal
pakabarkaje mate e jale
aru muin baluchen
ni padeina ni padeina.
husiar achhe makara
dekha ni padabar kebhe
muin e makarara sutathi
patangibagir katlabelke ghera.
etar upre etar upre
kete upre achhe ni parena kahi
raet ke raet ni parein kahi
dinbeli paduchen sui.
suilebhi chadsi ken mate sapan
pachkepach pachkepach ainlina
makararathanu aru e bisan
thebe ni rakhi debar e jiban.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Related quotes
You're My Mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think shes a cow
Shes let you down too many times now
Lets go for a drink, forget it for now
Put It behind you, I think its your round
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think hes a pain
He aint got a car, but he drives you insane
Lets go for a drink and sink a few
Enough about him lets talk about you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
TAXI
song performed by Right Said Fred
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Ken Kathake Helua (Kosli Poem)
Ken kathake helua
Kanje dharala bhalu
Pitel peila inar andhar.
Ketnikete saja delana
E nar e andhar aaru muin
Bhabuchen eta mor tihar.
Puspunir mada itha khauchhu ta kha
Ni kaha na gurdu katha jamana badal gaya.
A pila tui nangala ni hela tak
Kari parbu kana mate ni lagbar.
Nakhartake lagauchhu kudher
Ujala take kahuchhu kala andhar.
Gulmal sabu ena arru ja ja daki aan
Pilamanke ghar bhitru.
Gulmal lagbarta ni se
Tumar kabar ni se jibarta kahar paske
Barluti jabardasti
Jena jenta achhe jenta
Badlu balu kenta baluchha kejane
Janhele badlisi ken kenta?
Gulmal ni lag ni lag baele bhi
Kie manba ni lagbar mate.
Thik ta ke thik kahebarkaje
Ketejan ina achan
Janbarke padbar tumke.
Muin achhe aaru morne achhe samia
Pher bhi helua helake sabu jauchhe
Chuilmudke aaru heta henu
Ni kahiparbar kahake.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Tha e ne (Kosli kabita)
Khet mor ta kudmi muin bunmi muin bija
Sabu karmi muin lata bachha palha rua
Daebar madabar gharke buhibar kam bhi mor.
Mate chhadidele aaru ni na kihe kehensithane
Kenta karmi karmi jenta jena chhadmi heta henu
Aaru ni jaen kahin.
Muin achhen e na aaru e na thibartak heba
Jenta karuthimi heta
Ni kalata heba heta kahebarta kenta alajuk aae.
Achhen muin morthane basuchhen uthuchhen gadhuchhen
Dekhuchhen karuchhen mor kam mor khete
Mor kala kam thanu kenta sikhla tume sikhi ja
Aaru tha e na.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Kena kana (Kosli poem)
Kenke jimi ho aaru karmi kana
e kame paemi kenu kete dam
Khaemi kana aaru rahemi kena
Kie achhe kena ho Kana thik kana bhul
Kahemi kentakari aaru janba kie
Han baluchha ki nein.
Kana heichhe and tume karuchha kana
Kie chhinhichhe kahake
Baigan gachhe phaluchhe bhendi
Kie dekhichhe kanje nachhuche
Pusha kukur kie janichhe aaru nachhuchhe
pahanpahanu ni janikari kichhu.
Bat achhe ken inu
Baharikari palabar kaje
Khujuchhen saj je kahemi
muin achhen a amka kan hauchhu ga
Aaru helebi kana kariparbu ken ketebele.
Where what
Where shall I go
What shall I do
What shall I get from where
Where is my share.
Who is where
Who is there to say
Right and wrong
And how he will say
Who knows yes or noes.
What has happened
What are you doing
Who recognized what
Lady finger is there
In brinjal tree
Who has seen the dance
Who has seen the pet dog
In the early morning.
Where is the path
To go out
I am in search of time
To say O so and so
What are you doing and
What shall you do me
See I am here as before.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Wait & See
Datte Tsumazuki nagara tte
kuchi de iuhodo raku janai hazu desho
matte
mou sukoshi wakatte kuretara kitto
motto ii ame ga furu kara
Katte.
sou yobarechatte
tokidoki kodoku kanjite mo daijoubu
Futari de dashita kotae ni nori konde
kumori sora wo oinuku kara
Mawaranai taiya ga me no mae ni
naranderu kedo
accel fumazu ni iru no wa dare darou ne
mujunya
Oh baby wait and see
tama ni wa itasa mo ii yo ne
risuku ga aru kara koso
shinjiru koto ni imi ga aru no sa
mayowanai nante muri
Oh baby can't you see
matsu no wa tokui ja nai kedo
kimetsukeru no wa hayasugirunda
uranai nante shinjitari shinaide
Aijou
mukatte hidari ni ketsubou
dakara kimi ga hitsuyou
tsumetai taido de jibun wo
mamotteru tsumori na no?
Kaerarenai mono wo ukeireru chikara
soshite ukeirerarenai mono wo
kaeru chikara wo choudai yo
Oh baby wait and see
yappa itai no wa iya dakedo
risuku ga aru kara koso
tatakau hodo ni tsuyoku naru no sa
osorenai nante muri
Oh baby can't you see
matsu no wa tokui ja nai kedo
kimetsukeru no wa hayasugirunda
uranai nante shinjitari shinaide
So baby wait and see
iyasenai kizu nante nai
risuku ga aru kara koso
aisuru hodo ni setsunai no ka na
sonna ni waruku wa nai
Doko ka tooku he
nigetara raku ni naru no ka na
sonna wake nai yo ne
doko ni itatte watashi wa watashi nan dakara
Ki ga takasugiru nara sagete mo ii yo
[...] Read more
song performed by Utada Hikaru
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The Cruise of the 'In Memoriam
The wan light of a stormy dawn
Gleamed on a tossing ship:
It was the In Memoriam
Upon a mourning trip.
Wild waves were on the windward bow,
And breakers on the lee;
And through her sides the women heard
The seething of the sea.
“O Captain!” cried a widow fair,
Her plump white hands clasped she,
“Thinkst thou, if drowned in this dread storm,
That savèd we shall be?”
“You speak in riddles, lady dear,
How savèd can we be
If we are drowned?” “Alas, I mean
In Paradise!” said she.
“O I’ve sailed North, and I’ve sailed South”
(He was a godless wight),
“But boy or man, since my days began,
That shore I ne’er did sight!”
The Captain told the First Mate bold
What that fair lady said;
The First Mate sneered in his black beard—
His eyes burned in his head.
“Full forty souls are here aboard,
A-sailing on the wave—
Without the crew, and, ’twixt us two,
I think they’ve none to save—
“Full forty souls, and each one is
A mourner, as you know.
They weep the scuppers full; the ship
Is waterlogged with woe.”
Again he sneered in his black beard:
“The cruise is not so brief,
But, ere we land on earthly strand,
All will have found relief.”
“Nay, nay,” the Captain said, “First Mate,
You have forgotten one
With eyes of blue; the tears are true
From those dear eyes that run!
“She mourns her sweetheart drowned last year,
[...] Read more
poem by Victor James Daley
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Humanity poem in Hindi by Deepak kumar deep
Aasman me sitaron ko
kisi se ladte dekha hai?
kya suraj chanda taaron ko
raushni sene se adhte dekha hai.
Kya kabhi shikayat ki hai hawa ne
ki mai muft me kyon bahun
nadee ke sheetal jal se poocho
kya kabhi inkar kiya usne
apna jal dene se..
Pashu pakshai bhi apne anusar
sewa jagat ki kare hain
pedh paudhe sabhi ke liye hai
dhoof, chon, hawa
verna, jaati, dekh nahi dete..
Kintu,
ye insan hi aisa kyon
apni khudgarj lalsaon ki khatir
dusron ka sukh chain cheen raha
''Manavta'' sabad ki to isne
hinsha hi kar dali hai.
Aakhir kyon hai aisa insan.
Ham bhi apne aham ko tyagen
aur manavta apnayen
jitna ho ham sabse,
par sewa se punya kamayen
laden na ham baat baat par
prem se har baat sulghayen
jab ek prabhu ke balak hain ham
fir kaisa hai ghagda
chod ninda nafrat ko
har manav ko gale lagayen
chote baden ki baaten ab
rahne hi den kitabon me
saccha pyar karke sabse
is jeevan ko safal banayen.
Aakhir kyon ke is sawal ko
ye jahan kyon duhraye
aisi karni bane hamari,
'deep' jag me ujiyara ho jaye...
poem by Deepak Kumar deep
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The Vicksburg Jail
O, when the poar pris'ner is put in the jaile,
he is put in a cell and his doors are all bar'd
With a great long chane he is bound to the floor,
And dam thear mean soles thay can do nothing more.
Our beds are maid of old rotten rugs,
And when you lay down you are covered with bugs;
The rugs they will swear they will never give bail,
And you're bound to get lousy in Vicksburg Jale.
In the morning you get a piece of bread
As hard as a rock and as heavy as lead,
A cup of cold coffee and meat that is stale,
And your are bound to get hungry in the Vicksburg jale.
Our jury they are a mighty mean crew,
Thay will look at a man as if thay would look him through;
The Judge he will prattle, all hell he don't fear,
He will bring you in guilty if you prove yourself clear.
Our Stats Arturny are men of renown,
Thay spend all thear time in lofing around,
Your pockets they will pick and your cloths will sell,
Get drunk on the mony, that is doing well.
The jailor comes round at nine in the night,
In one of his hands he carrys a light,
He will rap at your door and give you a hale,
To see that you're safe in the Vickburg Jale.
Oh, honrably kind friends I have finish'd my song,
I hipe I have song to you nothing that is wrong;
For fighting and drinking I never did fail,
And I don't give a dam for the Vicksburg Jail.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Aagla din
Rahemi kenta chhadikari tamke
Bisita laguche samiya
Ni thilabele tame ine.
Mor aink ni parbar dekhi
Aaru kichhu ketebele.
Raet ni sarbar ni sarbar din
Aaru muin hauchhen hapsi kechdei.
Morthanu kenke paleichha bhail tame
Mor e chhuri hebarta sat aai kain.
Kaan thirar lagi muin ni parbar rahi
morta kenta heba tamar
kede kede bepari helena phel ena
Aaru chhadikari palale na surat.
Aaru ken kaje mate deba kie kana
Phulmala aaru muin kahemi hela hela
Thik bujhagala.
Aagla din takichhe mate aaru
Tumke dekhabarkaje aaru ken kenta.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Sabu Aachhe(Kosli Poem)
Sabu aachhe
E tamar bhitre
Khuji kari paele
janaadba buarpuo.
Tume purthi aae
Kuti kuti purthi aachhe
E tamar bhitre.
Khuja aaru dekha
Kede kede samudar
Aaru aaru kete kana
Tar bhitre aachhe
Tamar lagi.
Tame kenta dakuchha
Pher kahake
Aaru kie asikari
Khujideba kenu
Tumke tume ni khujle.
Muin khujuchhe mate
Dekhuchha ki nain
Khuja tume tumke
Jie jahake paeba aaga
Kaheba karuthila kana
Ni pauthilabele.
English version; -
Everything is here
Everything is within you
If you find these out
You are really the son of your father
You are the world
Crores of worlds are there
Within you
Search out
The seas
And all others
Are there only for you
Why are you calling others
Who is there to come and
Search you out
If you are not searching yourself
[...] Read more
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A unequalled melody - for Sandra Fowler! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Edges of fluffy clouds are tinted pink
As Sun sets and Portulacca folds its lips.
Taking Nature’s cue, I slow down my pace.
Go back home to the rhythm of my breath.
At dusk, In company of poetry
Sit on the brown parquet floor, earnestly
It has come from distant lands to reach me.
Would you believe, words too have wings?
'Before the music ends', melody stirs
The long forgotten notes of Jal Tarang.
Eyes closed, am spellbound by sheer elegance
Of images; right word in the right place.
Jal Tarang is an ancient musical instrument. Cups of varying sizes, made of bronze or porcelain are filled with water. The pitch is changed by adjusting the volume of water in the cup. The number of cups depends on the melody being played. Bowls are arranged in semi circle in front of the player so he can reach them easily. He softly hits the cup with a wooden stick on the border to get the sound. it require great skill to produce right notes.Jal means water and tarang i think waves of sound.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Taki tha (Kosli poem)
e phirphirimane kenta usad hei kari kindruchan dekha ta
Dekha ta e bhursakirahmane paso aasi kari gharbhitarke
Guda karmu baluchan.
Han bala jentajenta kahi kahi galabelke muin
No kaheba kenaade kichhu aaru kahela baele
Barluti bag gudanu bag chua ke betinelabagir
Betinele ni kaheba mte kichhu.
asur heu ki parur amkasi gute bi ni aasi
e am gachhe aaru ladi heiche khali patar.
Tumar balad ta bada sutar hele paske gale
Marsi lad han balata kahuchen sonpurian mita.
Aaru ken ken katha ni kahela ken aaru hemane
kahuchhan taki tha
Taki tha taki tha Mahanadi khaend dhaskilajae.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Amber Whale
WE were down in the Indian Ocean, after sperm, and three years out;
The last six months in the tropics, and looking in vain for a spout,—
Five men up on the royal yards, weary of straining their sight;
And every day like its brother,—just morning and noon and night—
Nothing to break the sameness: water and wind and sun
Motionless, gentle, and blazing,—never a change in one.
Every day like its brother: when the noonday eight-bells came,
'Twas like yesterday; and we seemed to know that to-morrow would be the same.
The foremast hands had a lazy time: there was never a thing to do;
The ship was painted, tarred down, and scraped; and the mates had nothing new.
We'd worked at sinnet and ratline till there wasn't a yarn to use,
And all we could do was watch and pray for a sperm whale's spout—or news.
It was whaler's luck of the vilest sort; and, though many a volunteer
Spent his watch below on the look-out, never a whale came near,—
At least of the kind we wanted: there were lots of whales of a sort,—
Killers and finbacks, and such like, as if they enjoyed the sport
Of seeing a whale-ship idle; but we never lowered a boat
For less than a blackfish, —there's no oil in a killer's or finback's coat.
There was rich reward for the look-out men,—tobacco for even a sail,
And a barrel of oil for the lucky dog who'd be first to 'raise' a whale.
The crew was a mixture from every land, and many a tongue they spoke;
And when they sat in the fo'castle, enjoying an evening smoke,
There were tales told, youngster, would make you stare—stories of countless shoals
Of devil-fish in the Pacific and right-whales away at the Poles.
There was one of these fo'castle yarns that we always loved to hear,—
Kanaka and Maori and Yankee; all lent an eager ear
To that strange old tale that was always new,—the wonderful treasure-tale
Of an old Down-Eastern harpooneer who had struck an Amber Whale!
Ay, that was a tale worth hearing, lad: if 'twas true we couldn't say,
Or if 'twas a yarn old Mat had spun to while the time away.
'It's just fifteen years ago,' said Mat, 'since I shipped as harpooneer
On board a bark in New Bedford, and came cruising somewhere near
To this whaling-ground we're cruising now; but whales were plenty then,
And not like now, when we scarce get oil to pay for the ship and men.
There were none of these oil wells running then,—at least, what shore folk term
An oil well in Pennsylvania,—but sulphur-bottom and sperm
Were plenty as frogs in a mud-hole, and all of 'em big whales, too;
One hundred barrels for sperm-whales; and for sulphur-bottom, two.
You couldn't pick out a small one: the littlest calf or cow
Had a sight more oil than the big bull whales we think so much of now.
We were more to the east, off Java Straits, a little below the mouth,—
A hundred and five to the east'ard and nine degrees to the south;
And that was as good a whaling-ground for middling-sized, handy whales
As any in all the ocean; and 'twas always white with sails
From Scotland and Hull and New England,—for the whales were thick as frogs,
And 'twas little trouble to kill 'em then, for they lay as quiet as logs.
And every night we'd go visiting the other whale-ships 'round,
Or p'r'aps we'd strike on a Dutchman, calmed off the Straits, and bound
To Singapore or Batavia, with plenty of schnapps to sell
[...] Read more
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Mate-man, Mate-woman
Mate-man, mate-woman were expressions
Jack London’s wife and Jack would use,
not only in their mating sessions
but whenever they would schmooze.
Daddy-boy and Mother-girl
were alternatives, but I
prefer the mate words when I whirl
my woman round while feeling spry.
Partners should not be a daddy
or a mother when they mate,
for how could they then be the baddie
whom lusty lovers love to date?
I get pleasure in abundance
from my mate, though she’s a mother,
Croydon hoyden she, I London’s
imperfect product whom no other
has managed to call from the wild,
domesticate, however rash
I used to be, a London child.
For her I even take out trash,
mate-woman always to me, and
the trophy of the man she twirls
around her here in La-La land,
the greatest of all Mother girls.
Inspired by Thomas Meaney’s review of Paul Malmont’s novel “Jack London in Paradise” (“Jack London, island playboy, ” LA Times, January 5,2009) :
[T]he sex scenes in 'Jack London in Paradise' come as an unexpected pleasure. Here is Jack with his temptress wife, Charmian: 'With a mournful groan, he slid onto the bed next to her... she placed her hand tenderly on his belly then slowly slid it down to where everything remained soft.' To which Charmian responds, winningly: 'Here in Aloha-land you'll grow as strong as you ever were... My Mate-Man.' Under the covers, Malmont is at his campy best, whether he means it or not (and yes, he is on firm historical footing - 'mate-man' and 'mate-woman' were the Londons' actual pet names for each other) .
1/5/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Kentaje kejane (Kosli kabita)
Marbarta khali achhe agake
Kenta bala?
Bala ta jive had achhe baele.
Nipara ithirlagi tamebhi smilhei
Hemanakarsange.
Rakata susuchhan hemane
Kaelja khujuchhan hemane
Kahuchhan angurthanu aaru kenta
Mithalagta bo.
Ketnikete gadh
Maet paen sabuke misei
Karuchhan putla aaru hetake
Dekhauchhan sapan aaru
Kahuchhan sapan aamar
Itarupre ni kahipara kichhukihe.
Kentaje kejane marbarke aaichhan
Jenmane ni parbar mari
Aaru jenmane ni maru baluchhan
Ni parbar banchhi.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child
leaving his bed wander'd alone, bareheaded, barefoot,
Down from the shower'd halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as
if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories sad brother, from the fitful risings and
fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as
if with tears,
From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in
the mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous'd words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such as now they start the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man, yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.
Once Paumanok,
When the lilac-scent was in the air and Fifth-month grass
was growing,
Up this seashore in some briers,
Two feather'd guests from Alabama, two together,
And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown,
And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand,
And every day the she-bird crouch'd on her nest, silent, with
bright eyes,
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never
disturbing them,
Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.
Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great sun!
While we bask, we two together.
Two together!
Winds blow south, or winds blow north,
Day come white, or niqht come black,
Home, or rivers and mountains from home,
Singing all time, minding no time,
[...] Read more
poem by Walt Whitman
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Rajaki
Kanhu bujhibi mu kete pani kouthi
kete pabana muthei kie dhaunchi kuade
kana puni rakhijauchhi katakare.
Saru bhitare maru thiba katha kie janiba
janithile bi kahiba kiana
kahiki hana khaiba kiana
chahata chikana dushuchha ta
gadi chalichhi thik
badalokanka bada katha
kahibini kemiti
tupuru tupuruku praghata kale
pralaya emiti.
Abhaba katha
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Taet
Pachas degla
sorsutar nain rahebar
god taltalala
thartharla hat
kain kainta aink nain disbar
gaintsabu chitkopotka
khaila baele nain jirbar
aaru hagamuta.
kentakari nachsan
kain karba janikari
pakharghare achhekie
kain karba janikari
kashi hela ki nain ganita
udla ki nain bel
kain sinema lagichhe
janikari bhi bhaida nain
nain kaha kichhi
nain lagibara jhumra
muin cheyichhen heta bhi nunhese
mte nain pachhrana
kahelata heba ki nain hue.
muin khula rakhichhen taet
jiba aasbar lukarthanu
sunmibalikari kainkainta
jenta mate nain subhe.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Ichhanusare
Badha deuchhi jouta
Kuaku dia
Kuara thanta sakta.
Gunduchi musara machare
Aasa pakhei pakhei
Dekhibaku swapna
Jouta tumara.
Tuma sathi surya
Aau tumathi aakasha.
Bandha upare dekha
Tume kete jogya.
Rari boliba kana Achi
Mu ujagara sadabele
Mandira mothi aahu
Mu hajibaku chenhen na
Drusyare.
Jie nachuchi ghurnijhadare
Tari pruthibi aau jite sie
Spasta bari niswas praswasa.
Khola dwara tume aasipara
Khelipara kahipara
Ichhanusare tumara.
Nain badha galani kuaa
Subhasamachara dei.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Sea-Shore Memories
OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child,
leaving his bed, wander'd alone, bare-headed, barefoot,
Down from the shower'd halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they
were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories, sad brother--from the fitful risings and fallings
I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with
tears, 10
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the
transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous'd words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither--ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man--yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, 20
Taking all hints to use them--but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.
Once, Paumanok,
When the snows had melted--when the lilac-scent was in the air, and
the Fifth-month grass was growing,
Up this sea-shore, in some briers,
Two guests from Alabama--two together,
And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with brown,
And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand,
And every day the she-bird, crouch'd on her nest, silent, with bright
eyes,
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing
them, 30
Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.
Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great Sun!
While we bask--we two together.
Two together!
Winds blow South, or winds blow North,
Day come white, or night come black,
[...] Read more
poem by Walt Whitman
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