LIFE, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall ?
Rapidly, merrily,
......
War's a joke for me and you,
Wile we know such dreams are true.
- Siegfried Sassoon
Out there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death,-
Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland,-
Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand.
We've sniffed the green thick odour of his breath,-
Our eyes wept, but our courage didn't writhe.
He's spat at us with bullets and he's coughed
......
The Village Life, and every care that reigns
O'er youthful peasants and declining swains;
What labour yields, and what, that labour past,
Age, in its hour of languor, finds at last;
What form the real picture of the poor,
Demand a song--the Muse can give no more.
Fled are those times, when, in harmonious strains,
The rustic poet praised his native plains:
No shepherds now, in smooth alternate verse,
......
1
I was sleeping when Namdeo and Vitthal Stepped into my dream.
'Your job is to make poems. Stop wasting time,' Namdeo said.
Vitthal gave me the measure and gently aroused me from a dream inside a dream.
Namdeo vowed to write one billion poems.
'Tuka, all the unwritten ones are your responsibility.'
2
To repeat Your name is to string pearls together.
The pleasure in your manifested form is always new.
......
But you can have the fig tree and its fat leaves like clown hands
gloved with green. You can have the touch of a single eleven-year-old finger
on your cheek, waking you at one a.m. to say the hamster is back.
You can have the purr of the cat and the soulful look
of the black dog, the look that says, If I could I would bite
every sorrow until it fled, and when it is August,
you can have it August and abundantly so. You can have love,
though often it will be mysterious, like the white foam
that bubbles up at the top of the bean pot over the red kidneys
until you realize foam's twin is blood.
......
amazon,
un niño llamado bezos,
el bosque de los sueños
se comió el mapa.
nada está lejos,
todo es un estante.
puedes vender,
pero pagas para ser visto.
la visibilidad se subasta
......
Calm and serene it is,
With bright sunshine and a sweet smell.
Pretty little flowers surround me,
Emanating a smell as sweet as honey.
A book in one hand and coffee in the other,
I sit and enjoy the silence that drowns me.
My heart throbs with happiness,
No, it’s contentment.
So much, that I feel placid.
Suddenly, everything blurs as a drop of tear falls,
......
Little Miss Mary was thirteen years old, and lived in gold, olden days;
Like the longed for future, peeking at past, both of them full of praise.
Miss Mary lived in a western town, with her dear Mother and Father;
And adored redbirds as daily companions, singing 'til days got darker.
Mary loved the magical, motley circus, eager as they came to town;
For they offered the exciting and new, with old favorites, like clowns.
The fuchsia faction was in full flower, in gardens of Mary and friends,
......
Soon dawn at plum morn
though pearly moon still keeps watch,
for the golden end.
Afternoon's recalled in dreams
adorned in wild color schemes.
Memory Lane sleeps
as orange noon is coming,
after dusk scarlet.
Lemon-lime hours revisit
......
Subspecies of Man
Could a sleeping god be hiding
In a world of fools? Not quite.
There are types of men abiding—
Most are nothing, void of light.
Slaves and madness wouldn't fester
If the masses held a spark.
Tyrants wouldn’t rule and pester—
......