Discrimination Love

Me have never known,
love blanketing heart.
Me have never known,
love which me feel sometime too felt bitter.
When love isn't it pamper me?,
with soft radius of it engulf me in solemn.
till isn't it have complained again,
that love discriminate heart.

REASON TO FLY

You give me a reason to fly When gravity tugs at my soul As thoughts turn to ebony coal I think of your smile and I sigh No demons can drag me to Hell An Angel is guarding my dreams The moon blesses me with her beams I’m mesmerized under your spell At dawn you are sunshine and light At dusk I lay held in a trance On moonbeams and stardust we dance You fill up my life with delight The world with its sadness and sin No longer fills me with despair My soul unto you I shall bear To show you the love that’s within Though Gods will that we are apart I’ll live each day like it’s the last Invoking no future no past I carry your name in my heart

LOVE COLORS

If silver wings would magically appear

and I could fly above you like a bird,

then blue would melt away as skies turned clear

and sadness would no longer be a word.

I’d shower you with gold dust from above,

you’d raise pink lips to heaven to be kissed,

the days would all be painted with our love,

and grey would disappear from spectrum’s list.

The moon would glow – not white, but envy’s green,

as lover’s blush outshines her in the night,

the daffodils would bow to their new Queen,

your radiance outshining golden light.

I’d pluck a purple comet from the sky,

and lock it in a jar for you to keep,

a rare kaleidoscopic butterfly

to flutter dry your tears if you should weep.

I’d change the world, and make the sun turn brown,

if that would keep the beige smile in your eyes,

you only need to tell me that you’re down

then lift your head – you’ll see me in your skies.

The Deacons Masterpiece a poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Deacons Masterpiece

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day,
And then, of a sudden, it - ah, but stay,
And I'll tell you what happened without delay,
Scaring the parson into fits,
Frightening people out of their wits,
Have you ever heard of that, I say?

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,
Georgius Secundus was then alive,

Snuffy old drone from the German hive.
That was the year when Lisbon-town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
And Braddock's army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,
There is always somewhere a weaker spot,
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,
In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,
In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, - lurking still,
Find it somewhere you must and will,
Above or below, or within or without,

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,
A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.

But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do),
With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou,"
He would build one shay to beat the taown
'N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun';
It should be so built that it couldn' break daown:
"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t 's mighty plain
Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain;
'N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain,
Is only jest
T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk
Where he could find the strongest oak,
That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke,
That was for spokes and floor and sills;
He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
The crossbars were ash, from the strightest trees,
The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,
But lasts like iron for things like these;
The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum,"
Last of its timber,--they couldn't sell 'em,
Never an axe had seen their chips,
And the wedges flew from between their lips,
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery tips;
Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,
Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,
Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
Found in the pit when the tanner died.
That was the way he "put her through."
"There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!"

Do! I tell you, I rather guess
She was a wonder, and nothing less!
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
Deacon and Deaconess dropped away,
Children and grandchildren - where were they?
But there stood the stout old-one-hoss shay
As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day!

Eighteen Hundred; it came and found
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.
Eighteen hundred increased by ten;--
"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came;--
Running as usual; much the same.
Thirty and forty at last arrive,
And then came fifty, and Fifty-five

Little of all we value here
Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
Without both feeling and looking queer.
In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,
So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
(This as a moral that runs at large;
Take it, - You're welcome. - No extra charge.)

First of November - the-Earthquake-day,
There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay,
A general flavor of mild decay,
But nothing local, as one may say.
There couldn't be, - for the Deacon's art
Had made it so like in every part
That there wasn't a chance for one to start.
For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,
And the floor was just as strong as the sills,
And the panels just as strong as the floor,
And the whipple-tree neither less nor more,
And spring and axle and hub encore,
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt
In another hour it will be worn out!

First of November, 'Fifty-five!
This morning the parson takes a drive.
Now, small boys, get out of the way!
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,
Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.
"Huddup!" said the parson. Off went they.
The parson was working his Sunday text,
Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed
At what the - Moses - was coming next.
All at once the horse stood still,
Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.
First a shiver, and then a thrill,
Then something decidedly like a spill,
And the parson was sitting up on a rock,
At half-past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,
Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!
What do you think the parson found,
When he got up and stared around?
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,
As if it had been to the mill and ground!
You see, of course, if you're not a dunce,
How it went to pieces all at once,
All at once, and nothing first,
Just as bubbles do when they burst.

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
Logic is logic. That's all I say.

The Deacons Masterpiece
Oliver Wendell Holmes

 

"Say I'm you"

Rumi Poem, Leila and Majnun

Majnun saw Layla's dog and began kissing it
running around like a haji circling the Ka’aba.
bowing to ist paws, holding ist head, scratching
its stomach, giving it sweets and rosewater.
'You Idiot,' said someone passing by.
'Dogs licks their privates and sniff
excrement on the road. This is insane,
the intimate way you treat that dog.'
'Look through my eyes', said the lover.
'See the loyalty, how he guards the house
of my Friend, how he’s so glad to see us.
Whatever we feel, grief, the simple delight
of being out of the sun, he feels
that with us completely
Don’t look too much at surface actions.
Discover the lion, the rose of his real nature.
Friend, this dog is a garden gate into the invisible.’
Anyone preoccupied with pointing out what’s wrong
misses the unseen. Look at his face!

Spirits Rebellius

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Lazarus and his Beloved

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