English Poems - 06-22-2010, 04:48 AM
there would be no casual conversations in this thread and the poems posted are to be in English only.
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels if Being slow.
Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And life, a Fury slinging flame.
Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.
Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.
I am no bird, and no nest ensnares me.
non commercial would cost less if he was in charge himself which he plans on doing. right now it's n herat but soon it will be in qanadahar.
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06-22-2010, 05:02 AM
A Desire in the Bangles
by Gagan Gill
A desire is in the girl’s bangles:
first they will break on his bed
then on the threshold of his house.
But why on the threshold?
Because in the girl there is a woman
mourning — who is not yet
but a widow to be.
The girl’s fear throbs in her veins
as far as her bangles
The girl’s desire throbs in them
The girl’s mourning throbs in them
Where is the girl’s man
for whom mourning runs in her veins
for whom desire is in her bangles?
Her man is caught
in some other body
some other dream
sorrow, other tears
His every sorrow, dream, tear
is beyond the reach of the mourning girl…
But the girl is only a girl
in her is that primal innocence,
she will give to that man
when she will break her bangles…
رخنه ګر دَ ملک هرګز دَ پرېښو نۀ دے
کۀ هر څو يې شفاعت کا ميا مُلا
(خوشحال خان بابا)
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06-22-2010, 05:22 AM
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
taken from the last stanza of Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken
from The Mountain Interval, 1920
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06-22-2010, 07:26 AM
A Thing of Beauty (Endymion)
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness 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.
06-22-2010, 09:30 AM
Placed upon my hand
the head of a Pakistani Army Officer
Obstacle of our unity
our bloodshed has became a constant laughter
The Mother of our Motherland has been killed
but remains with a single daughter
Hope is strong
War will be very long
06-22-2010, 09:38 AM
I really like this one.
Daddy by Sylvia Plath
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time---
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been sacred of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You----
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two---
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you b*****d, I'm through
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Yousafzai Pakhtun (06-23-2010)
06-22-2010, 07:04 PM
well this is half rap kinda. i posted this up on our last forum. anywayz.
in the kingdom of the ignorant and brainwashed
the free thinker is king
shackled in the chest of the outcast n opressed is wer the revolution exists
in the mind of a child is where revolution begins
to take society out the trench that it dug it self in
bring down ignorant beliefs like the wall of Berlin
breaking all boundaries and reach new heights
to give justice to the poor and needy
grab focus from the rich and greedy
reestablish how things used to be, gods order
retake power from the few give to the masses
shape thoughts, break barriers between the classes
corrupt heads,dictator or king
are like an infectious sting
one humanity and the moral of society
just like these religious figures who are far from piety
using the holy book praying on peoples anxiety
for selfish purposes and demonic notoriety
starts of with a lone voice
that makes the toughest choice
who reaches out and breaths courage into the hearts of the distressed
giving a voice and a face to the oppressed
becomes the throne in the path of tyranny
like valkyrie in Hitler's Germany
thou it only last for an era or two
its human nature an endless cycle
ready to be duplicated by the next generation
of lost babies already in need of salvation
before they can walk face intoxication
by the media becoming mindless drones
who don't have the capacity or knowledge reserve
who end up taking blame for what their parents deserve
lets observe the new age wait for the revolutionary
to re oxygenate this polluted place a missionary
to give us a fresh breath of hope like a prisoner off death row
to return the misguided to the right path like a revert Muslim
like a shepherd herding his flock to lead'om
because its a constant struggle for freedom
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