Poem of the day-89: "The Grave" by Longfellow

For thee wert born,
Ere thou wert born,
For thee was a mould means
Ere thou of mother camest.
But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen
How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein.
The heel-ways are low.
The side-ways unigh.
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained
And death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell,
And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,
And leavest thy friends;
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,
Who will ever see
How that house pleaseth thee,
Who will ever open
And descend after thee,
The door for thee
For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.

Priya's Poems-13: "Parting Moments"

my feet;
fixed in a magnetic stillness.
emotions;
rise and fall,
like waves at heart shore.
words jumble and tumble
at the lips;
words fail,
eyes speak in hush and lull.
eyes ;
reading each other's heart to deep.
mind;
freezes thy picture in memory,
silence in conversation
hands in raise,
wave in motion,
tears rolldown,
from the wet eyes
down the cheeks.......
voice is heard inside my heart
"good bye dear........
good luck
awaiting
thy early arrival......."

Poem of the day-88: "Spring" by Longfellow

Gentle Spring! - in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,
And thou, - thou makest the sad heart gay.
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
Thy sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old
Their beards of icicles and snow;
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;
Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for nought both late and early.
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
When they merry step draws near.

Priya's Poems-12: "The Biggest Lie*"

Thou poisoned
the minds
of our first parents
made fools
of our knowledge.

Thou, a beautiful seductress*
unconspicuous to all
seducing everyone,
who come
in search of thee...
thou are so beautiful
oh, i love you dear.

Thou pervert
the young minds
many lost their lives
in scrutinising thee....

Thou induce
the poets brain
for many
thou were a sloppy slide
for a few
thou were a large ladder.

Thou the
most perilous addiction
make them
thy impetuous slave
to live
in delusion.

They pierce
inside thee...
to hedge reality.
thou make them
to overleap themselves.........

Thou THE BIGGEST LIE*.......

--------------------------

*IMAGINATION

Poem of the day-87: "The Brook" by Longfellow

Laugh of the mountain! - lyre of bird and tree!
Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn!
The soul of April, unto whom are born.
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee!
Although, wherever thy devious current strays
The lap of earth with gold and silver teems,
To me thy clear proceeding brighter teems,
To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems
Than golden sands, that charm each shephered's gaze
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent
As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count!
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current!
O sweet simplicity of days gone by!
Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid round!

Priya's Poems-11: "Beautiful!"

oh! it's the mirror of thy heart
nay! it's the picture of thy soul
how many.......
sometimes black
sometimes blue
sometimes green
sometimes grey
sometimes red
sometimes pink
thousands of emotions........
all dancing up and down
like waves
sometimes tears
sometimes fears
sometimes cry
sometimes shy
sometimes cold
sometimes bold
though thou fail
they speak in silence
for thee...
oh! what a beauty
the ultimate seduction
LARGER than opium
it's the index of thy mind.....
like a grape in ice cream
beautiful......
PAIR OF BLACK ROSES

Poem of the day-86: "A Psalm of Life" by Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting.
And our hearts, though stout and brave
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, however pleasant
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God overhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footsteps on the sands of time.

Footsteps, that perhaps another,
Sailing over life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Priya's Poems-10: "Ode to Juno"

A Tale is in air.
An unheard melody,
Silent lamentations,
Some commemorations,
Vacant dreams,
It’s an Untold tale
of this barren land.

Others
In green.
With blossoming of flowers
in Varied colours…
With barley and rye
Ready for harvest,
With melodies of
Cuckoos and nightingales,
Always in spring.

But,
Tears are soaked in this barren land
Grim in grey and blue,
Howls of
owls and vultures,
Always in winter.

Longing for spring,
Oh what black curse,
Have fallen upon me?

Of fertile nights ,
And winds of melodious ,
sweet lullabies,
pardoned here are rotten woods ,
Of which cradles are made,
yet broken they start ,
and broken they stay.

Ye……..JUNO
Waiting for thy grace.

Poem of the day-85: "Footsteps of Angels" by Longfellow

When the hours of Day are numbered
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful fire-light
Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;

He the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the road-side fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.

O, though oft depressed and lonely
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!

Priya's Poems-9: "The Deserted School"

In the midst of fields,
cusp of the village;
Deep in the bush,
On the highways,
Is the deserted school,
Busy at nights.

Learners are varied
Affluent and the impoverished
Young and old
Primitive and polished
Both
canny ,clever
And
Dope ,dunce
Are
Daily visitors.

Periodical screams,
Recurrent laughs,
intermittent cries,
with screeching of owls,
all the night.

Many tiny pieces of cigarettes,
broken pieces of liquor bottles,
stained cloth,
shattered condoms.

In a corner
Of the wall,
Portrait of
Our father
With his OLD stick,
In search of truth(path)….
Hangs upside down!!!!

Poem of the day-84: "The Light of the Stars" by Longfellow

The night is come, but not too soon;
And sinking silently
All silently, the little moon
Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven
But the cold light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?
The star of love and dreams?
O no! from that blue tent above,
A hero's armor gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise,
When I behold afar,
Suspended in the evening skies,
The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;
Then beckonest with thy mailed hand.
And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light.
But the cold light of stars;
I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute and still,
And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoever thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.

O fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know ere long,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.

Priya's Poems-8: "Whither Arcadia?"

Near the farm it resides
Far and wide
Wide, tide full of pride.
Unadulterated water
Always tasted by honey guide.
Un-chided by all.
With Barbados pride
Side by side.
Near the lantern of the lighthouse.
Giving sweet stimulating
Invigorating air
Pure and white.

Crowd pleasing worldwide
Lies this Continental divide.

Years along with
Colours changed.
The abandoned lake
Void out of water
Gushing out of
Industrial garbage
By the giant factory
Remodeled on a old light house
Emitting
Foul and filthy air
interminably,
In black and grey.
Scattered Corpses of dead animals
Half eaten by vultures
In the midst of deep dark bushes
Lies deserted………

Poem of the day-83: "Hymn to the Night" by Longfellow

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might.
Stoop over me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night
Like some old poet's rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there.
From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care.
And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair.
The best-beloved Night!

Priya's Poems-7: "ROSE"

Thou were a
ROSE to me..
A beautiful Red ROSE
Loved you so much
Marveled thee
Glorified thee
Worshipped thee
Came near thee
To smell thy sweet fragrance
But thou
Poked my heart
With thy poisonous thorn.
I bleed………

Poem of the day-82: "God's Acre" by Longfellow

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground God's Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison over the sleeping dust.

God's Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
comfort to those, who in the grave have sown
The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.

Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith, that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the arch-angel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
And each bright blossom, mingle its perfume
With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and Acre of our God.
This is the place, where human harvests grow!

Priya's Poems-6: "How do I tell thee?"

I was
swallowed
by this darkness.
Thou came
for my rescue……..
Oh, my beautiful angel.
My hapless heart
was
capturing thy pictures
ignoring my
pride and prejudice.

My madcap mind
was drowned
in thy thoughts.
Longing to express
my limpet love
for these
long years.

Oh…how the
Turtle time
scrolled
in thy absence.

I pinched
the pages of our memory
those footprints
of our love….

Yes..I still preserve…
Am a prisoner
to my
words, thoughts and action.
How do I tell thee……
That……
I love you.

Priya's Poems-5: "Tears of a Broken Heart"

I loved thee,
I loved thee,
more than anything in this life.
I gave thee everything

Love,
affection,
care,
concern.

But,
What have you
given
me
in return?

affliction,
pain,
suffering.

am drenched in
this pain of rain.

But see ,
my Tears are soaked.

Oh My love is true.

My broken dreams chase me.
I run in misery.
I stood stoic
In storms of life
With striving struggle.

Even now
the space in my heart is filled
only memories of thee
with my TRUE LOVE.

Yes,
Oh My love is true.

I believe
One day
You will
Realize my true love
Will I be
Alive then?

I don’t know?
Oh do not hurt me
Do not hurt me any more........
Am already dead.

Priya's Poems-4: "I am a Poet"

I am a poet.
My emotions invite me (to write
sometimes it delights
at times
instructs.
sometimes the skylark and nightingale
inside me
sing songs of ecstasy of love.
At times
the owls and wolves
cry the tale of betrayal.

Every time I take
emotions of water
from the
deep mortal lake of my heart.
I pour glory
and agony
in the bucket of my poem.

It has quenched
the thirst of my
friends and critics.


I am a passionate painter.
I paint words.
I paint in grey
bringing tears
to reader’s eyes.
I paint in green
bringing smile
to the lips of the readers.
i paint in abstract
of mystery and myth
in bold
and make my readers
wonder,think,bewildered.
At times
I paint in figures
In blunt.
I use many colours.

I am a secret gardener.
I sow seeds
in the fertile land of my heart.
I water them
by my continuous thoughts.
Colourful flowers blossom
bringing joy to beholders eyes.

I write.
My lake never goes dry.
I write when am loved.
I write when am hated.
I write when am adored.
I write when am dumped.
I will write
Until my last sigh.
As I am a poet.

Priya's Poems-3: "A Poem is Born"

The beast inside me
runs faster and faster
in the deep forest,
runs in hunger.

The search is on

for the creative desire.
Runs on rugged ,stony
Coarser path.
Wheezes for a long
with its wide-open mouth
and tongue out.
Sniffs everywhere
Comes to a place.
Fixes the theme.

The night …veiling the pole..
Stares at a singing raven
Barks in return.
Blinks for few seconds.
Shakes its head.
Fixes the narrative.

Digs the place.
Until the moon bids adieu
and
welcomes the sun.
Digs for
diction
rhyme
rhythm
meter.
Digs fastly.
Scoop out the bone marrow.
A poem is born.

Priya's Poems-2: "The Inward Journey"

My dreams
dragged me
to a deep dark forest.
I walked
Walked a long way
in calm serene darkness.
My mind
haunted me
to go back.
My heart preached my mind
and the conflict went on.
I was awestruck.
I had two options.
Either
Drop the
hands off my dream
and go back
or
believe and follow
him blindly.
I opted
for the second one.
I walked.
Walked a long way
with my
new companions
agony and affliction
hunger and humiliation
thirst and tiredness.
My mature companion
Strong ambition
Controlled all of us.
We followed him.
“there was no light
but darkness visible”
everywhere.
We walked.
Walked a long way.
We believed him.
We followed him.
I saw a hope of light
from a long distance.
Yes…..it was hope….
It sat before me
With his legs crossed……..
Welcomed me
With a sweet smile……..