Quotes about sorrowful, page 20
When you love a woman
It can happen to you
Suddenly the breeze around becomes new
It can be felt with in you
Suddenly a face come in to view
-When you love a woman
It will make you feel virgin
Every time you think that she is the one
It will gonna make you mad
Everywhere you find her talks with every one
-When you love a woman
Can it happen to her?
And your face turns blue
Can she becomes your?
And everywhere is dew
-When you love a woman
Should you try to convince her?
You know you can’t
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poem by Tarun Sharma
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The Vision of the Archangels
Slowly up silent peaks, the white edge of the world,
Trod four archangels, clear against the unheeding sky,
Bearing, with quiet even steps, and great wings furled,
A little dingy coffin; where a child must lie,
It was so tiny. (Yet, you had fancied, God could never
Have bidden a child turn from the spring and the sunlight,
And shut him in that lonely shell, to drop for ever
Into the emptiness and silence, into the night. . . .)
They then from the sheer summit cast, and watched it fall,
Through unknown glooms, that frail black coffin -and therein
God's little pitiful Body lying, worn and thin,
And curled up like some crumpled, lonely flower-petal-
Till it was no more visible; then turned again
With sorrowful quiet faces downward to the plain.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1906)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Candle and The Moth
O Candle! Why does the moth love you?
Why is this restless soul devoted to you?
Your charm keeps it restless like mercury
Did you teach it the etiquette of Love?
It circumambulates the site of your manifestation
Is it inspired with the fire of your lightning?
Do the woes of death give it the peace of life?
Does your flame possess the quality of eternal life?
If you do not brighten this sorrowful world
This burning heart's tree of Longing may not green up
Falling before you is the prayer of this little heart
The taste for impassioned Love knows this little heart
It has some zeal of the Primeval Beauty's Lover
You are a small ñër, it is a small Kalam
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poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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A Mother's Jewel
Red and white garlands draped the treasure chest.
They marched in tandem in the quietness of
The cathedral, offering up sorrowful
Tears to her crimson dressed body
Not even one dropp of red flowed through her veins
As, she lay between the walls of the living
And the dead... the silencer had
Muffled her voice
While from a distance, morbidly taking notes of
My own mortality in a state of gloom …
The pallbearers step forward.
Abundantly reserved, the grieving mother looks on
As white satin covers her precious pearl
Her heart quietly pulsating grief and
Her damp eyes choosing to hide
Behind shades, then with style
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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A Proud Lady
Hate in the world's hand
Can carve and set its seal
Like the strong blast of sand
Which cuts into steel.
I have seen how the finger of hate
Can mar and mould
Faces burned passionate
And frozen cold.
Sorrowful faces worn
As stone with rain,
Faces writhing with scorn
And sullen with pain.
But you have a proud face
Which the world cannot harm,
You have turned the pain to a grace
And the scorn to a charm.
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poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Vision Of The Archangels, The
Slowly up silent peaks, the white edge of the world,
Trod four archangels, clear against the unheeding sky,
Bearing, with quiet even steps, and great wings furled,
A little dingy coffin; where a child must lie,
It was so tiny. (Yet, you had fancied, God could never
Have bidden a child turn from the spring and the sunlight,
And shut him in that lonely shell, to drop for ever
Into the emptiness and silence, into the night. . . .)
They then from the sheer summit cast, and watched it fall,
Through unknown glooms, that frail black coffin -- and therein
God's little pitiful Body lying, worn and thin,
And curled up like some crumpled, lonely flower-petal --
Till it was no more visible; then turned again
With sorrowful quiet faces downward to the plain.
poem by Rupert Brooke
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Sorrowful Cries
Clouds of cold, dark depressant
Roll over my loathsome state.
Life has become boring suppressant
To this romantic’s lost love relate.
Agéd air dust, in my lungs, consume
Encompassing sweet aroma
Of passion’s addicting perfume
As this Don Juan lies in coma.
Warm, fast flowing red liquid
Turns frigid blue, sluggish slop
As salty tear drizzle invokes mud;
Dried, hardened crust, from toe to top.
Compassionate, loving heart
Fades to solid, stone elect
As companionships depart
And stone, statue body erect.
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poem by Robert L. Bixler III
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Deceitful Dreams
By sorrowful waters I have long dwelt.
By the rushing of winds is where I have made my abiding place.
Turbulent ground, where ones bones turn to dust, is where I walk.
I know naught of the path I am taking, and ere I reach the end, I feel my doom is nigh.
The Ocean of Storms has caught up.
I thought I could put it off, yet it is fast approaching.
Oft have I wandered, in days long sped, the paths of darkness.
Why do I choose to walk with the Blind Ones? Did I not hearken to the wailing of the Beloved Ones?
The Night is chilling...
The Stars have grown pale...
I have been fooled by the delusional idea of waxing control, when in reality my strength wanes.
I yearn for the Days, the Days ere the frost fell upon me.
Ere the happy condition of the heart fled on forsaken wings.
poem by Soren Valentine
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Villanelle: The Asian Tsunami Dec 26th,2004
Women, children and men-Why swallowed thee?
With waters briny, blue and beautiful;
The home of fishes most, O hallowed Sea!
The happy isles of paradise beauty,
Now look so battered, flattened and woeful;
Women, children and men-Why swallowed Thee?
Perhaps, you acted with insanity!
The havoc caused to mankind is painful;
The home of fishes most, O hallowed Sea!
Perhaps, it was just one calamity!
The land seems bruised, so gloomy and awful;
Women, children and men-Why swallowed Thee?
The missing ones are umptine- what pity!
The persons saved looked rather sorrowful;
The home of fishes most, O hallowed Sea!
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poem by John Celes
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I like to be
A black puppy on the road to heaven
but scared of rabies.
A Well-to-do lady will take me
on her way bounds home.
If I am a pebble at a riverside
or a pearl in a deep sea.
Remove my heavy garments
and be naked at a peak of a mountain
before I jump.
A new born child as a God son
in a quiet isolated nunnery.
An unburned candle in a poorest hut.
A pencil sketch drawing of a blind shepherd
and a sorrowful song of a dumb lass.
A soot on a chimney of an exploitation human factory.
I want to go back to my village old thatch school
and learn with my kind teachers again
the meaning of life.
Sleep besides my poor mom
and I promise her this time
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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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