Yes You Are!Like the Blossoming rose,Like the Rays of hope.Like a deer in the forest,Like an athlete full of zest.Like a lamp in temple,Like the life feeling ample.Like the feel of the dawn,Like the grace of the swan.Like the melody of sitar,Like the rage of guitar.Like a group of angels in the sky,Like the pot...

Cheapen words and they’ll cheapen you

Some who grow dull religious straight commenceAnd gain in morals what they lose in sense.

My silence knot is tied up in my hair; as if to keep my love out of my eyes. I cannot speak to one for whom i care. A hatpin serves as part of my disguise. In the play, my role is baticeer; a word which here means “person who trains bats.” The audience may...

Cook was a captain of the powder-days When captains, you might have said, if you had been Fixed by their glittering stare, half-down the side, Or gaping at them up companionways, Were more like warlocks than a humble man— And men were humble then who gazed at them, Poor horn-eyed sailors, bullied by devils’ fists...

The life we’re given is on a thread, so wear it well.

Shelley’s servant”. Wasn’t that a wonderful gesture of humility by someonewho was such a great poet himself? And later, Bharatiyar had his own dasan, the poet Subburathinam, who tookthe pen name Bharathidasan. Subburathinam’s poetry inspired yet another poet who wrote as Surada, short for Subburathina-dasan. And to think this long chain of inspiration spans centuries,...

Ultimately not one amongst usWill ever be denied that,The glimmer of a chance to shine.

Be Visionary …

Maggunitanay ta, unya binanwagan sa bituon, / Latason ta ang hataas nga patag sa kagabhion.(Let us hold hands, and guided by the stars, / Let us tread the long pathway of the night.)

Everything that drowned me taught me how to swim.

you’re already naked in this worldin this timein this lifebeacause your next loveyour next hungeryou next laughterand even your next tearmay never come

Caged BirdA free bird leaps on the back of the windand floats downstream till the current endsand dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.But a bird that stalks down his narrow cagecan seldom see through his bars of ragehis wings are clipped and his feet are tied so...

And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, “Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!

…for if a woman’s body can attract the holy angels, how much more the unholy man.

Look upward to himLook upward on our goalKeep your eyes on himLook upward to him

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.”Beware the Jabberwock, my son The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!”He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought—So rested...

It’s better to swim in the sea belowThan to swing in the air and feed the crow,Says jolly Ned Teach of Bristol.

Sea-feverI must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.I must down to...

I paid, got up, walkedto the door, openedit.I heard the mansay, “that guy’snuts.”out on the street Iwalked northfeelingcuriouslyhonored.

Where is my oasis? Too far fromhere for me to crawl with thesedead legs, refusing to co-operateHands and fingers clawing uselesslythrough the grains of sand…

We remember though all the firelit glowOf a great hearth’s gleam and glare,And we looked for a space at each happy faceAnd the love that was written there.

Thou therefore on these Herbs, and Fruits, and Flow’rsFeed first, on each Beast next, and Fish, and Fowl, No homely morsels, and whatever thingThe Scyth of Time mows down, devour unspar’d, Till I in Man residing through the Race, His thoughts, his looks, words, actions all infect, And season him thy last and sweetest prey.

I wonder how many women are held up in their bed waiting to be sung to, served wine to, read poetry to, kissed slowly with.

Green was the silence, wet was the light,the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

These aren’t still shots; the camera is always moving. And the scene is always just slipping out of sight, as if in spite of myself I were always descending a hill, rounding a corner, stepping into the street with a companion who urges me on, while I look back over my shoulder at the sight...

Como se acuerda con los pajarosla traduccion de sus idiomas?How is the translation of their languages Arranged with the birds?

and I ask myself and you, which of our visions will claim uswhich will we claimhow will we go on livinghow will we touch, what will we knowwhat will we say to each other.

The trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans. I say, the trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans.

Hjuki and BilHjuki and Bil chased the moon,With waters from Byrgir’s well,Upon their shoulders they did share,Simul the pole and Saegr.‘Mani,’ they cried and chased the sky,‘From Byrgir whence we came,To water the earth and water your drink,And water the seas with rain’.Hati looked back and Skol ahead,But Mani gave no reply,For Hjuki he took,...

No non-poetic account of reality can be complete.

Two things consistently bring me pleasure: hot sweet tea and writing. Which is not to say that either are particularly good for me…I use entirely too much sugar and so far don’t find sucralose to be a good alternative. Also, writing is not a practice that engenders confidence. Quite the opposite. It’s about making yourself...

If only you would realize some day, how much have you hurt me,If only your heart ever, craves for me or my presence…If only you feel that love again someday for me,If only you are affected someday by my absence…Only you can end all my suffering and this unbearable pain,If only you would know what...

If what we need to dream, to move our spirits most deeply and directly toward and through promise, is discounted as a luxury, then we give up the core — the fountain — of our power, our womanness; we give up the future of our worlds. (From “Poetry is Not a Luxury”)

All the same, we ought to point out that if the kinds of poetry and representation which are designed merely to give pleasure can come up with a rational argument for their inclusion in a well-governed community, we’d be delighted — short of compromising the truth as we see it, which wouldn’t be right —...

He said he’d hurt himself against a wall or had fallen down.But there was probably some other reason for the wounded, the bandaged shoulder.With a rather abrupt gesture, reaching for a shelf to bring down some photographs he wanted to look at, the bandage came came undone and a little blood ran.I did it up...

…the wind has a purpose – to rattle the window panes, disturb the cat and make me miss you …

For a game, you don’t need a teacher.

…my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight – we go camping at night – it’s my lucid dream of being with you…

Hope without love is hopeless.

So what if the airin Paris smells of romance?My shirt smells of you.

To transform a grimace into a sound sounds impossible, yet it is possible to transform a vision into music, to go outside an enslaved personality, to become impersonal by transforming into sand, into water, into light.

Bring death to those of Evenfall.

With me: one minus one = one; with you: it’s zero. Here lies the only difference.

At two o’clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen,You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun.And the trees in the Shadow rustle and the trees in the moonlight glisten,And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is done.

Digressions are part of harmony, deviations too.

You are only as free as you think you are and freedom will always be as real as you believe it to be.

When all is lost, there is still a memory.

My friend, you thought you lost Him;that all your life you’ve been separated from Him.Filled with wonder, you’ve always looked outside for Him,and haven’t searched within your own house.

To dream on occasion is not dreaming, To love on occasion is not love.