Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

Upon the road of my life,
Passed me many fair creatures,
Clothed all in white, and radiant.
To one, finally, I made speech:
"Who art thou?"
But she, like the others,
Kept cowled her face,
And answered in haste, anxiously,
"I am good deed, forsooth;
You have often seen me."
"Not uncowled," I made reply.
And with rash and strong hand,
Though she resisted,
I drew away the veil
And gazed at the features of vanity.
She, shamefaced, went on;
And after I had mused a time,
I said of myself,
"Fool!"
...

I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY

Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,
Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,
Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,
A deep rolling bass.
Pounded on the table,
Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom,
Hard as they were able,
Boom, boom, BOOM,

...

I, myself, love the nature of nature
A sepulchre is the nature but the darkness inside
Dark roses flourished close to the pasture
Then my father said it's not natural but suicide

My childhood was different than silence
The oak trees and the lilies are the picture
When the rain is more valuable than the silence
Noise and silence form the natural mixture


...

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
...

not of silver nor of coral,
but of weatherbeaten laurel.

Here, he introduced a sea
uniform like tapestry;

here, a fig-tree; there, a face;
there, a dragon circling space --

designating here, a bower;

...

Those charming smiles on those familiar faces,
Kept strolling down the street
Leaving behind no traces.
As time fleeted, old doors  creaked
People changed but not those places.
Those lanes and alleys blushed the same
I remember growing up in these lanes
Where I ran, fell  and played those games
I remember all my old mates and their names
My old street is as beautiful as it claims.
...

SILENT and amazed, even when a little boy,
I remember I heard the preacher every Sunday put God in his
statements,
As contending against some being or influence.
...

These fine days have been my ruin.
On this kind of day I resigned
My job in 'Pious Foundations'
On this kind of day I started to smoke
On this kind of day I fell in love
On this kind of day I forgot
To bring home bread and salt
On this kind of day I had a relapse
Into my versifying disease.
These fine days have been my ruin.

...

In the realm of the heart, a longing resides,
A yearning so deep, it cannot be denied.
My heart's a garden, but parched and bare,
Yearning for the rain of your tender care.
O Proof of Allah, hidden yet near,
My heart calls your name through every tear.
O Master, unseen, the solace I seek,
The strength of my heart grows frail, weak,
Yet your promise, a beacon, steadfast and true,
Keeps my love twinkling, ever renewed.

...