My favourite poem

We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee;
we are as the mountain and the echo in us is from thee.

We are as pieces of chess engaged in victory and defeat:
our victory and defeat is from thee, O thou whose qualities are comely!

Who are we, O Thou soul of our souls,
that we should remain in being beside thee?

We and our existences are really non-existence;
thou art the absolute Being which manifests the perishable.

We all are lions, but lions on a banner:
because of the wind they are rushing onward from moment to moment.

Their onward rush is visible, and the wind is unseen:
may that which is unseen not fail from us!

Our wind whereby we are moved and our being are of thy gift;
our whole existence is from thy bringing into being.


Masnavi Book I, 599-607
Rumi

Re: My favourite poem



I like it. Puts me in mind of Marat/Sade.

Re: A wonderful perons who treads


Rama, please post the author's name. I know what it is, but do others?

Re: A wonderful perons who treads


Yeah. Some of us may not be past the sixth grade.

Tegret and appologize
It was written by a world famous American( born in San Fransco--Robert Lee Frost. )
I typed at the bottom of the above quote
but somehow the mistake occurred for which i regret.

I suggest we keep one thread for posting Favorite poems to make it easy for readers.

Matter for Gratitude

"ESPECIALLY should we be thankful for having escaped
the ravages of the yellow scourge by which our neighbors
have been so sorely afflicted."

--Governor Stoneman's Thanksgiving Proclamation

Be pleased, O Lord, to take a people's thanks
That Thine avenging sword has spared our ranks--
That Thou hast parted from our lips the cup
And forced our neighbors' lips to drink it up.
Father of Mercies, with a heart contrite
We thank Thee that Thou goest south to smite,
And sparest San Francisco's loins, to crack
Thy lash on Hermosillo's bleeding back--
That o'er our homes Thine awful angel spread
His wings in vain, and Guaymas weeps instead.

We praise Thee, God, that Yellow Fever here
His horrid banner has not dared to rear,
Consumption's jurisdiction to contest,
Her dagger deep in every second breast!
Catarrh and Asthma and Congestive Chill
Attest Thy bounty and perform Thy will.
These native messengers obey Thy call--
They summon singly, but they summon all.
Not, as in Mexico's impested clime,
Can Yellow Jack commit recurring crime.
We thank Thee that Thou killest all the time.

Thy tender mercies, Father, never end:
Upon all heads Thy blessings still descend,
Though their forms vary. Here the sown seeds yield
Abundant grain that whitens all the field--
There the smit corn stands barren on the plain,
Thrift reaps the straw and Famine gleans in vain.
Here the fat priest to the contented king
Points out the contrast and the people sing--
There mothers eat their offspring. Well, at least
Thou hast provided offspring for the feast.
An earthquake here rolls harmless through the land,
And Thou art good because the chimneys stand--
There templed cities sink into the sea,
And damp survivors, howling as they flee,
Skip to the hills and hold a celebration
In honor of Thy wise discrimination.

O God, forgive them all, from Stoneman down,
Thy smile who construe and expound Thy frown,
And fall with saintly grace upon their knees
To render thanks when Thou dost only sneeze.

Ambrose Bierce

Drinking my own anger


I couldn’t hit the earth in my bouts of anger; as it
was the one which grew the food necessary for my
survival,

I couldn’t hit the wall in my bouts of anger; as it
was the one which sequestered my scalp against
tumultuous storm and rain; it was the one which constituted and
fortified my dwelling,

I couldn't hit the tree in my bouts of anger; as it
was laden with the fruits I nibbled in my times of
relish; imparted me with velvety breeze in the
sweltering night,

I couldn’t hit the mirror in my bouts of anger; as it
magnificently portrayed to me my pellucid and candid
reflection; and doing so I knew would exacerbate the
situation further; would make my own hand bleed,

I couldn’t hit mothers stomach in my bouts of anger;
for it was the singular pouch which had bore me for 9
months unrelentingly; the very sacred sac which was
responsible for my existence today,

I couldn’t hit the snake in my bouts of anger; for it
guarded my treasury of wealth unflinchingly all night
and day; and would viciously retort back the instant I
raised my fingers to strike,

I couldn’t hit the Sun in my bouts of anger; for it
was the sole source of light which maneuvered me in
the day; lit up my every morning with an enchanting
smile,
I couldn’t hit the child in my bouts of anger; for it
was all the energy I possessed; was the sweetest
little form of God running gleefully on this earth,

I couldn’t hit the waters in my bouts of anger; for
they were the ones who pacified my thirst several
times a day; blended my life with loads of mesmerizing
cool and shade,

I couldn’t hit the silver plate in my bouts of anger;
for it was the one in which I actually consumed my
food three times in a day; and insulting it could
probably result in not getting food even three times a
year,

I couldn’t hit the car in my bouts of anger; for it
was the one which transported me marathon distances;
saw to it that I my feet rested in luxury; as I
reached the summit at whirlwind speeds,

I couldn’t hit my beloved in my bouts of anger; as she
was the one who transpired me to live every second;
she was the one who took upon herself every affliction
to save me from the tiniest of wound today,

I couldn’t hit my sister in my bouts of anger; as she
was the one whom I played with irrespective of my
augmenting age; with whom I shared all my secrets of
life; sometimes woke her even in the middle of the
night,

I couldn’t hit my pet dog in my bouts of anger; as he
was the one who was the first to welcome me at
ethereal dawn; wag his tail incessantly until the time
I took him in my arms,

I couldn’t hit my eye in my bouts of anger; for it was
the only instrument whom I relied upon to sight this
world; and also it would incorrigibly shut tight; as I
tried and approached it with my fist,
I couldn’t hit the century old boat in my bouts of
anger; as it was the one on which my ancestors sailed;
the one where my rudimentary roots lay profoundly
embedded,

I couldn’t hit the cow in my bouts of anger; as it was
the only animal which gave me sacrosanct milk;
impregnated my bones with Herculean strength to take
on the mantle of this entire world,

I couldn’t hit the idol of God in my bouts of anger;
as it was the one who had evolved me and my kin in the
first place; would
burn me to inconspicuous ash the moment I irritably
hurled my fingers towards his Omnipotent form,

And I couldn’t hit a single thing on this earth; for
whatever I hit was something sacred or something which
was intimately dear; something which I possessed or
something which had possessed me for infinite years,

That’s when I decided to wholesomely DRINK MY OWN
ANGER; whenever I was infuriated and my body
reverberated beyond the point of no control; rather
than unnecessarily victimizing somebody, taking it out
on the innocent world…




(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.

Nikhil Parekh

More Frost


The rain to the wind said
"You push and I'll pelt"
Together they smote the garden bed
'Til the flowers actually knelt
And lay lodged, though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.

I SO LIKED SPRING by Charlotte Mew

I so liked Spring last year
Because you were here; --
The thrushes too --
Because it was these you so liked to hear --
I so liked you.

This year's a different thing, --
I'll not think of you.
But I'll like Spring because it is simply Spring
As the thrushes do.

I am of the opinion that the handful active members of A2k are well-versed to pick and choose or cut and paste.
This thread was disapproved by the people who speak better ENGLISH.
Rama

I am not sure I understood you clearly. I was finding more than one threads for wonderful poems and I thought it would be easier to find people's favorite poems in one place. Obviously looking for my convenience !!
Who disapproved your thread ? Who speaks better English?
Can you make a distinction between what happened and what is your reaction?

When I first came here, dlowan started me on a process of finding much loved poetry on the internet (thanks for that Deb, BTW) and one of the things I ran across was A Shakespeare Sonnet a Day. Today's sonnet was this. Sometimes he got it right.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.