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Blissful

Post Your Favourite Poems

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Everything Depends On You

You are as heavy as the ground pulls you, 
As light as your wings flutter.. 
You are as alive as your heart beats, 
As young as your eyes see distance... 
You are as good as the people you love, 
As bad as the people you hate.. 
Whatever the color of your eyebrows and your eyes are, 
Your color is what the one facing you sees.. 
Don't think that what you lived is what you gained: 
You are as close to the end as you lived; however long you live, 
Your life is as long as you love.. 
You are as happy as you can smile. 
Don't be sad, know that you will smile as much as you cry 
Don't think that everything is over, 
You will be loved as much as you love. 
The value nature gives you is in the rise of the sun 
And you are as human as the value you give to the one facing you. 
If you will lie one day; 
Let the one you address believe you as much as the trust for you. 
The longing for the loved one is in the moon light, 
And you are as close to your love as you long for. 
Don't forget, you are as wet as it rains, 
As warm as the sun warms you. 
You are as alone as you feel alone 
And as strong as you feel strong. 
You are as beautiful as you feel beautiful.. 
This is life! 
This is living, 
You live as much as you remember this 
When you forget this, you feel as cold as every breath you take 
And you are forgotten as soon as you forget 
A flower is as beautiful as it is watered, 
Birds are as sweet as they chitter, 
A baby is as baby as it cries. 
And you know everything as much as you learn, learn this as well, 

YOU ARE LOVED AS MUCH AS YOU LOVE...

 

Can Yücel

 

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Footsteps by Constantine P. Cavafy
On an ebony bed decorated
with coral eagles, sound asleep lies
Nero -- unconscious, quiet, and blissful;
thriving in the vigor of flesh,
and in the splendid power of youth.

But in the alabaster hall that encloses
the ancient shrine of the Aenobarbi
how restive are his Lares.
The little household gods tremble,
and try to hide their insignificant bodies.
For they heard a horrible clamor,
a deathly clamor ascending the stairs,
iron footsteps rattling the stairs.
And now in a faint the miserable Lares,
burrow in the depth of the shrine,
one tumbles and stumbles upon the other,
one little god falls over the other
for they understand what sort of clamor this is,
they are already feeling the footsteps of the Furies.
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Exiles by Constantine P. Cavafy
It goes on being Alexandria still. Just walk a bit
along the straight road that ends at the Hippodrome
and you'll see palaces and monuments that will amaze you.
Whatever war-damage it's suffered,
however much smaller it's become,
it's still a wonderful city.
And then, what with excursions and books
and various kinds of study, time does go by.
In the evenings we meet on the sea front,
the five of us (all, naturally, under fictitious names)
and some of the few other Greeks
still left in the city.

Sometimes we discuss church affairs
(the people here seem to lean toward Rome)
and sometimes literature.
The other day we read some lines by Nonnos:
what imagery, what rhythm, what diction and harmony!
All enthusiasm, how we admired the Panopolitan.
So the days go by, and our stay here
isn't unpleasant because, naturally,
it's not going to last forever.
We've had good news: if something doesn't come
of what's now afoot in Smyra,

 

then in April our friends are sure to move from Epiros,
so one way or another, our plans are definitely working out,
and we'll easily overthrow Basil.
And when we do, at last our turn will come.

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Rose
When the rose is gone and the garden faded
you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.
The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil. 
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.
If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.
How will I be awake and aware
if the light of the Beloved is absent?
Love wills that this Word be brought forth.

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The beauty of the heart
The beauty of the heart
is the lasting beauty:
its lips give to drink
of the water of life.
Truly it is the water,
that which pours,
and the one who drinks.
All three become one when 
your talisman is shattered.
That oneness you can't know
by reasoning.

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^ English poems only, please.

It is pointless to post poems in a language no one understands on SC.

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Antigonish -  Hughes Mearns

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today,
I wish, I wish he'd go away...

When I came home last night at three,
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall,
I couldn't see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door...

Last night I saw upon the stair,
A little man who wasn't there,
He wasn't there again today
Oh, how I wish he'd go away...

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14 hours ago, Marbles said:

^ English poems only, please.

It is pointless to post poems in a language no one understands on SC.

Can we make an Urdu poetry thread?

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35 minutes ago, Takalluf said:

Can we make an Urdu poetry thread?

Post away! Let's revive it.

Eleven years of selected Urdu poems and ash'aars there. But it has died down since the last 3/4 of years. Angrezi-speaking maghribi kids have taken over SC entirely.

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1 hour ago, Marbles said:

Post away! Let's revive it.

Eleven years of selected Urdu poems and ash'aars there. But it has died down since the last 3/4 of years. Angrezi-speaking maghribi kids have taken over SC entirely.

Bismillah kijiye :dwarf:

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Possibly one of the most underrated poets in English history - Thomas Wyatt. These words hit me like a tonne of bricks. 

An extract from 'Circa Regna Tonat' – About the Throne the Thunder Rolls

These bloody days have broken my heart.
My lust, my youth did them depart,
And blind desire of estate.
Who hastes to climb seeks to revert.
Of truth, circa Regna tonat.


 

Bakir and Marbles like this

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Oh my Lord,

the stars glitter

and the eyes of men are closed.

Kings have locked their doors, 

and each lover is alone with his love.

Here, I am alone with you.

 

~ Rabia-al-Basri

 

 

Edited by Heavenly_Silk
Marbles, Hameedeh and reisiger like this

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Whether of high or low degree, we mortals think

our various vanities are running well

until some blow falls; then we moan.

- Lines from Solon fr. 13.

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We are but chessmen, destined it is plain,
That great chess player, Heaven, to entertain;
It moves us on life’s chess-board to and fro,
And then in death’s box shuts us up again.

—Omar Khayyam

reisiger and Gaius I. Caesar like this

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There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul! 

~ Emily Dickinson

Hameedeh, notme, reisiger and 1 other like this

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Whenever I need a smile, I read this poem by Samantha Reynolds.

JANUARY 4, 2011
A red jacket

A four-year-old boy once asked me
if a ladybug
was a very, very small turtle
in a red jacket.

I told him
there are things we can never know,
like why small turtles
choose
such flashy clothes.

http://bentlily.com/2011/01/04/a-red-jacket/

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"The Fear of God"

If you should rise from Nowhere up to Somewhere,
From being No one up to being Someone,
Be sure to keep repeating to yourself
You owe it to an arbitrary God
Whose mercy to you rather than to others
Won’t bear too critical examination.
Stay unassuming. If for lack of license
To wear the uniform of who you are,
You should be tempted to make up for it
In a subordinating look or tone,
Beware of coming too much to the surface
And using for apparel what was meant
To be the curtain of the inmost soul.

- Robert Frost

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The Tiger by William Blake

Tiger Tiger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

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“Hope” is the thing with feathers - 
That perches in the soul - 
And sings the tune without the words - 
And never stops - at all - 
 
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - 
And sore must be the storm - 
That could abash the little Bird 
That kept so many warm - 
 
I’ve heard it in the chillest land - 
And on the strangest Sea - 
Yet - never - in Extremity, 
It asked a crumb - of me.
 
-E. Dickinson
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Waiting
 
Eyes fluttered through the long night,
salty and wet.
You came and left,
as did every breath.  

I was happy O dream of my desire,
You will come encrusted, in sapphire.
Reticent eyes shying to ground,
you will come, smiles abound.
 
Yet in my restless heart rise,
tides of gloom.
The lonesome shehnai (a musical instrument like Clarinet) cries,
through my house of blues.

The leaves rustle and I think
you have arrived.
My devout prostrations I think,
reached my beloved.

 Vigilant through the night,
the stars now need sleep.
There was a hope of your arrival
that now sinks deep.
 
The dawn awake
from its slumber shone.
O breeze you came,
but you came alone.

 My darling the enemy of my sleep,
object of my worship, master of my soul.
Please come, so my worship and desires may meet.
Please come, so death may come, at your feet.

(Makhdoom Moinuddin) 
English Translation by L K Atheeq

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Acquainted with the Night (R. Frost)
 
I have been one acquainted with the night. 
I have walked out in rainand back in rain. 
I have outwalked the furthest city light. 
 
I have looked down the saddest city lane. 
I have passed by the watchman on his beat 
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. 
 
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet 
When far away an interrupted cry 
Came over houses from another street, 
 
But not to call me back or say good-bye; 
And further still at an unearthly height, 
One luminary clock against the sky 
 
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 
I have been one acquainted with the night.
 
 
Hamza Yusuf making Tadabbur of it
 

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