POEM OF THE DAY

Lament

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We who are left, how shall we look again

Happily on the sun or feel the rain

Without remembering how they who went

Ungrudgingly and spent

Their lives for us loved, too, the sun and rain?

A bird among the rain-wet lilac sings –

But we, how shall we turn to little things

And listen to the birds and winds and streams

Made holy by their dreams,

Nor feel the heart-break in the heart of things?

The Messages

“I cannot quite remember … There were five

Dropt dead beside me in the trench – and three

Whispered their dying messages to me …”

Back from the trenches, more dead than alive,

Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a broken knee,

He hobbled slowly, muttering vacantly:

“I cannot quite remember … There were five

Dropt dead beside me in the trench – and three

Whispered their dying messages to me …

“Their friends are waiting, wondering how they thrive …

Waiting a word in silence patiently …

But what they said, or who their friends may be,

“I cannot quite remember … There were five

Dropt dead beside me in the trench – and three

Whispered their dying messages to me …”

~~~~~~Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

Grateful thanks to Mr Vijay Mishra and Facebook 

POEM OF THE DAY

Grateful thanks to Maya Angelou, Mr Vijay Mishra and Facebook for this MOTHER'S DAY poem 

POEM OF THE DAY

Remembering Ralph Waldo Emerson on his death anniversary (Born: 25 May 1803, Boston, Massachusetts, United States----Died: 27 April 1882, Concord, Massachusetts, United States). A poet, essayist, philosopher, he was also the pioneer of transcendentalism. His poem 'Brahma' is my favourite and it echoes the theme "All is God" and so there is nothing to worry about or to be afraid of.

Brahma

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BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

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If the red slayer think he slays,

Or if the slain think he is slain,

They know not well the subtle ways

I keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near;

Shadow and sunlight are the same;

The vanished gods to me appear;

And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;

When me they fly, I am the wings;

I am the doubter and the doubt,

I am the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,

And pine in vain the sacred Seven;

But thou, meek lover of the good!

Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

Grateful thanks to Mr Vijay K Mishra and Facebook