I've been watching you
For a long period
As you always have been
So nice to me
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
Perhaps you may not think
That you have never been the girl
Who I may like
Baby, you have never been my choice
Even how can I say it to you
You always had been too good to me
What can I say more than just thanks
Your eyes are what you not
And your doings are saying the whole story
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
Oh! I jus' feel that as
There nothin' is certain
But I mus' tell you
That you are not still the one
Who may I cry for
Who may I die for
Who may I tie with
You are still not the one
I dream for
I know you always have been so close to me!
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
We are not made for each other
You are good at your heart and me too
But you are not still the one
Who I really love
Please forgive me as I don't love you
Bur Baby...
Misconception
But I never realized
On the beach
On the sand
Near the river
I heard a sound.
It was not a bird
Not a child
A beautiful girl
Sitting amid.
She was singing a song
All alone
I was thinking why
Is she so forlorn?
I walked towards her
Step by step
To know what’s wrong
And why is she sad.
I sat next to her
And asked all the why’s
She said nothing
But gave me a smile.
I was bewildered
As to why is she so?
When I tried to get up
She caught my hand and said hello!
I sat back down
And asked what’s wrong?
In no time she asked
“Will you be a friend of mine?”
I said yes
Believing she didn’t have any
But it happened to be different
She actually had many.
Why alone?
I asked her and pat came the answer!
“To be a friend to those
Who didn’t have any near and dear”.
Someone did
Need a friend
But it happened to be me
And not her.
I misconceived my need
For the need of someone alone
But I never realized
That actually I was forlorn!
BACK TO ME
You were walking down the street,
With your bags and your ticket,
We parted from each other hoping to again meet.
In my mind your thoughts fly,
No matter how hard I try,
You only make me cry.
I pull my socks up to forget you,
But I see your face in every drop of dew,
I can’t forget the fact that it makes me feel blue.
It is such a heartbreaker,
We couldn’t be lovers forever,
Our love is the only thing I always endear.
Will you ever come back to me?
To give me the lost joy and glee,
To save me from drowning into the sea.
Will you ever come back to me?
Will we ever together be?
Will y ou ever come back to me?
STRANGER
No friend and no family and to support was no one,
I felt too bad living alone.
No one to talk,
No one with whom I would walk.
No one to care,
I wished for a few but had not even rare.
But when I was weeping alone,
Walking through life I found someone.
Who I thought was a stranger became a friend,
Who understood and cared and became my best friend.
On my face he puts a smile,
Though the distance is more than a mile.
He wiped my tears,
And removed my fears.
But the bad day came when he passed and died,
I was sad and I cried.
I thought I was again alone,
But I felt with me there was someone.
Though in heaven he was,
Always around me his soul was.
Who I thought had flied away like birds,
Had left for me his love in words.
In my heart and my mind his soul was there,
Though he wasn't here his footprints were there.
Who I thought was a stranger became a friend,
Who understood and cared and became my best friend.
I cried sitting near the dead man's grave,
I thought I wasn't but he made me brave.
Though he died,
He yet cared.
Though he passed away,
He met me again as a stranger on my way.
He took nothing with him but just words kind,
He left nothing for me but just a stranger behind.
INDEPENDENCE DAY
Fifty days of independence from you.
You that I am when finally I sleep.
Where colors blur into a muddy brown
and almond eyes are star tingly blue.
You are my context, my only clue.
How do you deny me when I am you?
My tongue curls sounds that you have made.
My box is of stones that you have laid.
I love you and loathe you, my lost is yours,
Your home and mine are foreign shores,
Brown as a nut, and as bleached as afraid,
we are the monster that you have made,
Slowly, slowly the ignorant learn,
Look at us, look at us, we are a thing apart -
Like father like daughter, can't finish what I start.
TIGER
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, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & 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 watered 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?
EIGHT TENTACLES
If only I had an octopus,
I'd soon get my housework done.
I'd soon set him to work on the hoovering,
With tentacle number one.
Tentacle two would grab the mop
And start on the kitchen floor,
While he dusted and polished the furniture,
With tentacles three and four.
Tentacle five would turn on the tap
And tackle the washing up,
While tentacle six took a well-earned break
And curled round a china cup.
Tentacle seven would make the beds
And set the pillows straight,
And all the while he'd be balancing
On tentacle eight.
COUNTED NIGHTS AND DAYS
Each year does cast a piece of time
One human step for us to climb
Twelve months of counted nights and days
Completes us through a yearly phase
One thing's for sure while we do live
We’ll never know what life will give
Anticipation's just a view
For what may happen, could come true
So many times we’re filled with thought
Some last a lifetime, some do not
We live through choices made within
How we should strive to stave off sin
Pray often for what’s good to be
And let your love spread openly
God clearly wants for us to know
His way leads to eternal glow
Do greet first day with hope held high
And keep your heart your watchful eye.
The Frog and the Bird
Short poem about understanding worth of people...
By a quiet little stream on an old mossy log;
Looking very forlorn, sat a little green frog;
He'd a sleek speckled back, and two bright yellow eyes,
And when dining, selected the choicest of flies.
The sun was so hot, he scarce opened his eyes,
Far too lazy to stir, let alone watch for flies,
He was nodding, and nodding, and almost asleep,
When a voice in the branches chirped, 'Froggie, cheep, cheep!'
'You'd better take care,' piped the bird to the frog,
'In the water you'll be if you fall off that log.
Can't you see that the streamlet is up to the brim?'
Croaked the froggie, 'What odds! You forget I can swim!'
Then the froggie looked up at the bird perched so high
On a bough that to him seemed to reach to the sky;
So he croaked to the bird: 'If you fall you will die!'
Chirped the birdie, 'What odds! You forget I can fly!'
OLD CAROL
He came all so still
Where his mother was,
As dew in April
That falleth on the grass.
He came all so till
To his mother's bower,
As dew in April
That falleth on the flower.
He came all so still
Where his mother lay,
As dew in April
That falleth on the spray.
Mother and maiden
Was never none but she;
Well may such a lady
God's mother be.
FROM HEART OF TEACHER
When alone I am sad and troubled
I walk in dark with no one but singled
Miles and miles with a ray a hope
I move with a lot of scope
Carrying with me no prejudice
But lot of charm and no malice
Unknown of the evils of life.
when in school I am truly bound
By the love and respect of the loved
A child is the greatest creation of God
I feel lucky to be with them lord
Children! You are the best
This is the result of my ultimate quest.
GRAND PARENTS ARE SPL
Grandparents are special people
With wisdom and pride.
They are always offering love and kindness
And are always there to guide.
They often make you feel so confident
And strong.
Their arms are always open
No matter what you did wrong.
They try to help out in every way
That they can.
They love all their grandchildren the same
Whether you're a child, woman or man.
They are always there to listen
And to lend a helping hand.
They show you respect
And they try to understand.
They give their love, devotion and so much more,
That's easy to see.
Grandparents, what perfect examples
Of the kind of person that we should be.
GRANDMOTHER
A grandmother has a special talent -
She always knows just what to do
To make her grandchildren happy
And to show she loves them, too.
At the family get-togethers,
She's the first person to look for -
She can entertain small children for hours,
And they always keep asking for more.
You can tell when a grandmother's teasing
By the twinkle that shines in her eyes-
She's an expert at settling problems,
For she's loving, patient and wise.
Her grandchildren always admire her,
Even when they are grown -
They always feel proud and happy
To claim Grandmother as their own!
OWL
The owls have feathers lined with down
To keep them nice and warm;
The rats have top-coats soft and brown
To wrap in from the storm;
And nearly every bird and beast
Has cosy suits to wear
But Mr. Hedgehog has the least
Of any for his share.
His back is stuck with prickly pins
That breezes whistle through,
And when the winter-time begins
The only thing to do
Is just to find a leafy spot,
And curl up from the rain,
Until the Spring comes bright and hot,
To waken him again.
The owls and rats and all their folk
Are soft and smooth to touch,
But hedgehogs are not nice to stroke,
Their prickles hurt so much.
So though it looks a little queer,
His coat is best of all;
For nobody could interfere
With such a bristly ball.
4TH JULY NIGHT
The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky
A white sky bomb fizzed on a black line.
A rocket hissed it's red signature into the west.
Now a shower of Chinese fire alphabets,
A cry of flower pots broken in flames,
A long curve to a purple spray, three violet balloons -
Drips of seaweed tangled in gold, shimmering symbols of mixed numbers,
Tremulous arrangements of cream gold folds of a bride's wedding gown -
A few sky bombs spoke their pieces, then velvet dark.
The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky.
LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where the words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action -
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
WHEN AND WHY
When I bring you coloured toys, my child,
I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds,
on water, and why flowers are painted in tints-
when I give coloured toys to you, my child.
When I sing to make you dance,
I truly know why there is music in leaves,
and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth-
when I sing to make you dance.
When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands,
I know why there is honey in the cup of the flower,
and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice -
when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.
When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling,
I surely understand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light,
and what delight the summer breeze brings to my body-
when I kiss you to make you smile.
PORTRAIT OF LADY
Objects are lessons; from bowls, hairpins, brooches,
you learn of forgotten lives. The stories say
my grandmother was a fever tree:
two birds sat on her branches, one pecking
at a grape, the other singing an aria.
What history's bookkeepers do not show
is the tremor down the spine she felt,
the tendril of blood that coiled in her nose
when the whistle of a train announced
her husband's return from a tour of duty.
In the stories, she's an actor, a pilgrim;
shadow-boxing with a thunderstorm,
she slips through scrubbed floors
and ember beds. She leaves me
a loaf of shortbread in the oven,
a page of couplets in a script I cannot read
and wrapped in a peel of green appleskin,
a tea cup glazed with a Dutch windmill.
the last one of the set.
The urchin-cut waif in the vignette above
is the child she was. Voyeur, clairvoyante,
she stares in at windows, her head a gourd
hollowed by the age she never reached
in life, her hair a silver floss.
Objects are lessons; the light seeps
through the slats, sets off a shimmer
on her lace. She's crocheted the evening
and its creatures: the silken thread
that she pulls from her pattern
knots tight around my neck.
CRICKET
ricket is a wonderful game,
From which players get fame.
Some people watching are tense,
When they see the opposition hit the ball to the fence.
Some people buy tickets,
To watch the bowlers take wickets.
There is a batsman who works hard to concentrate,
There is a bowler who tries to make him frustrate.
There is an umpire, who always makes the right decision,
To help the players who are out to accomplish a mission.
But these days there is a lot of chaos in cricket,
Because the players play deliberately bad on the wicket.
I hope cricket is played sincerely,
So that everyone can enjoy it happily.
PARADISE LOST
The small dark rooms,
And the great halls,
Are just alike,
That stole my sunny days,
Never to return back even once.
Angry and worn-out,
A mere bundle of bones,
I lie here,
Fallen and grief stricken.
Wines, fish and food,
I loved them most,
And a good sleep to my heart's desire,
And I thought no more.
The curse of the immoral days,
Burn me right day and night,
The greatest treasure of my youth,
I lost them mid-way.
My gray days make me sore,
And I look at the rising sun,
The only fabric of my hope,
That reassures me with radiant warmth.
I believe it is not just a ball of fire,
But a most splendid thing,
Absolutely generous,
That glorifies the earth,
With all its skill.
It is real love affair like,
And I watch it flourish,
Day-time, at dawn and dusk,
Bringing a heavenly religious order.
I hear the birds chirp,
I see the grassy lands and the cattle,
The butterflies, the roses and the tulips,
The magnificence is unbelieving.
It is all so wonderful,
Everything is bewitching,
The excellence of seasons,
The glory of rains,
The blossom of the spring-time,
It is all so awesome.
I wish I were young again,
And go to woods or distant seas,
And watch the sunset over those hills,
Sitting under a grove of trees,
And never be stupid again,
Even if I lived only for a day.
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