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A Joy!

It’s a joy smelling to high heavens
At day’s end, tending my garden
Dressed in mud
Kissed by the sun

It’s a joy singing old tunes
Alone, in a crowd
Loosing the key midway
Pulling it off anyways

It’s a joy dancing naked
Before my most feared critic
Peaking at myself in a
Horror-struck vanity mirror

It’s a joy being silent
When all else profound
A frog, yellow bellied
Dozing off on a lotus leaf

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poem by Deva De Silva
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Across the Universe

This was inspired by the Beatles song of the same name

Words are flowing out like endless streams into a paper cup
They stand and sigh and soon they slip away
Across the universe
Through tomorrow drains today an open mind locked in a grave
Unwilling to relinquish me

*Jai guru deva, nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

Images of broken light which dance before me like
A million eyes they blink and I am gone
Across the universe
Desperation touches joyous feelings fluttering about
From here to there and in between they’re lost
Across the universe
*
Vision walking in a life unfurled within a restless void
Unlimited and bound to none they run

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poem by P.R. Prosper
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In Solitude

A glass of red wine spent
Recalling life's events
Crowded in my skin
In Solitude

Relishing a melody of lament
Drifting through my window
Gliding in uninvited
In solitude

Last night I cried out loud
For the sake of hearing a sound
Though I did not hear me
In solitude

Gawking at my naked fear
Of living a life unseen
Yearning to belong
In solitude

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poem by Deva De Silva
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Home Sonnets--Address To Ireland

I

Mother of soldiers! once there was a time
When your sons' swords won fame in many a clime;
When Europe press'd on France, they fought alone
For her, and served her better than their own!
Those were the days your exiles made their fame
By gallant deeds which put our age to shame-
Those were the days Cremona city, saved,
Stood to attest what Irish valor braved!
When England's chivalry, sore wounded fled
Before the stormy charge O'Brien led-
When travellers saw in Ypres' coir display'd
The trophies of your song-renown'd brigade!
Mother of soldiers! France was proud to see
Your shamrock then twined with the fleur de lis!

II

Mother of soldiers! in the cause of Spain

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poem by Thomas D Arcy McGee
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Brahmā, Vişņu, Śiva

I THE DARK

In a worldless timeless lightless great emptiness
Four-faced Brahma broods.

nasad asin, no sad asit tadanim;
nasid raja no vioma paro yat.
kim avarivah? kuha? kasya sarmann?
Ambhah kim asid, gahanam gabhiram?

na mytur asid, amrtam na tarhi.
na ratria ahna asit pratekh.
anid avatam svadhaya tad ekam.
tasmad dhanyan na parah kim canasa.

tama asit tamasa gudham agre;
apraketam salilam sarvam a idam.
tuchyenabhu apihitam yad asit,
tapasas tan mahinajayataikam.

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poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Elegy I. To Charles Deodati (Translated From Milton)

At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come,
Charged with thy kindness, to their destin'd home,
They come, at length, from Deva's Western side,
Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide.
Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be,
Though born of foreign race, yet born for me,
And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam,
Must seek again so soon his wonted home.
I well content, where Thames with refluent tide
My native city laves, meantime reside,
Nor zeal nor duty, now, my steps impell
To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell.
Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I,
That, to the musing bard, all shade deny.
'Tis time, that I, a pedant's threats disdain,
And fly from wrongs, my soul will ne'er sustain.
If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent
Beneath my father's roof, be banishment,
Then call me banish'd, I will ne'er refuse
A name expressive of the lot I chuse.

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poem by William Cowper
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Lycidas

In this Monody the author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately
drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637;
and,
by occasion, foretells the ruin of our corrupted Clergy, then in
their height.

YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more,
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forced fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear
Compels me to disturb your season due;
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,

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poem by John Milton
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Crispian Reading From The Mahabharata

Once, the sage Durvasas came to the capital of Kuntibhoja. He was famed throughout the world for his pennants and meditations. He wanted to spend a few days with the king. The princess Kunti had been appointed by her father to attend to the wants of the sage.
Indeed, the sage was so pleased with her that he wanted to grant her a boon. He summoned her to his presence and told her that he would teach her a certain incantation. If she recited it, any Deva whom she thought of would come to her. She received the gift with the humility becoming the daughter of a king, and Durvasas went away.
The child - she was hardly a girl - did not understand what Durvasas meant when he said that the heavenly being whom she invoked would come to her. She was as excited as a child with a new toy.
It was early in the morning. Through the Eastern window she could see the Sun just rising. The East was drenched in the colour of liquid gold. The waters of the river were lapping against the walls of the palace. It was an unforgettable scene. The Sun and his soft beams - beams which had the coolness of the dawn - and the beautiful river with her path glowing with the red and gold of the rising Sun. The scene touched the heart of the young girl. She lost herself in the beauty of that majestic vision. Kunti thought how wonderful it would be if the Sun could be there by her side. In a flash she remembered the mantra which the great Durvasas had taught her. Why, if she recited it the Sun would come to her. Yes, that was the way he said. He would come to her.
The poor child, in blissful ignorance, held her palms together, palms that looked like a lotus bud, and invoked the Sun with the incantation she had learnt.
She opened her eyes - a miracle was happening. Along the watery path of the river, the Suns rays travelled fast. She was blinded by a sudden brilliance. And then Surya, the Sun G

song performed by Kula Shaker
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From 'Arcades

O'RE the smooth enameld green
   Where no print of step hath been,
   Follow me as I sing,
   And touch the warbled string.
Under the shady roof
Of branching Elm Star-proof,
   Follow me,
I will bring you where she sits
Clad in splendor as befits
   Her deity.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.

313. From 'Comus'
i

THE Star that bids the Shepherd fold,
Now the top of Heav'n doth hold,
And the gilded Car of Day,
His glowing Axle doth allay

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poem by John Milton
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Henry And Emma. A Poem.

Upon the Model of The Nut-Brown Maid. To Cloe.

Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command
(Though low my voice, though artless be my hand.
I take the sprightly reed, and sing and play,
Careless of what the censuring world may say;
Bright Cloe! object of my constant vow,
Wilt thou a while unbend thy serious brow?
Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains,
And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains?
No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old,
Though since her youth three hundred years have roll'd:
At thy desire she shall again be raised,
And her reviving charms in lasting verse be praised.

No longer man of woman shall complain,
That he may love and not be loved again;
That we in vain the fickle sex pursue,
Who change the constant lover for the new.

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poem by Matthew Prior
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