Words speak itself with rhymes.
Rabindranath Tagore
It's very simple to be happy,but it's very difficult to be simple.
Rabindranath Tagore
It's very simple to be happy,but it's very difficult to be simple.
I've been waiting / to be in / this hell here / with you
Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Someone came knocking;
I'm sure-sure-sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But nought there was a stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.
Words speak itself with rhymes.
Rabindranath Tagore
What about now? What about today?
What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?
What if our love never went away?
What if it's lost behind words we could never find?
Baby, before it's too late
What about now?
DIRTY SOCKS
Socks. Socks. Socks.
Everywhere.
Nag. Nag. Nag.
Nobody cares.
Landing softly.
Not where they go.
Scuffled in dark corners.
Dirt and dust they grow.
Never united with their pair.
"Mom, where are my socks!?"
"I have none to wear!"
Tossed by the hamper.
Never inside.
Always bending over.
Swallowing my pride.
Socks. Socks. Socks.
Everywhere.
Smelly and dirty.
Next to the underwear.
And the stranger beamed, and he looked, it seemed,
Like he'd been born anew-
For perched on his pole was the lovely hole
Of the lady that's known as Lou.
The yard sale was great.
Sold everything in my place.
Now to start over new.
Influencers tell me what to do.
Have a need for food, shelter, and clothes.
They say that's not the way to go.
Buy products online,
Thats cheap and refined.
Use a credit card,
Get whatever you want.
Paying the bill is just an affront,
Go to thrift stores for a better jump.
What you want and need,
May be different indeed.
I can't fry my eye lashes to eat,
Hair products can't keep me warm.
Tattoos won't make a room for you.
No place to keep all my stuff that was cheap,
Live in a car with no place to sleep!
Some things vanish.
Others become language.
A star dies in silence.
But the metaphor it leaves behind keeps speaking.
Some people burn loud and fast,
but leave nothing worth repeating.
Others live like quiet truths
and leave behind stories that stay.
Two men looked out from prison bars,
One saw the mud, the other saw stars.
My soul is a hollow lantern,
swinging in the wind of endings.
Its light has guttered,
the wick drowned in its own wax.
I feel the cold breath of the grave
curling into my lungs,
teaching me to exhale silence.
Beneath my ribs,
a black ocean rises,
and somewhere deep inside it
a single bell tolls,
calling my name
again and again
until the marrow answers.
Fire and ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice, 5
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Cuando yo me muera
enterradme con mi guitarra
bajo la arena.
Cuando yo me muera,
entre los naranjos
y la hierbabuena.
Cuando yo me muera,
enterradme, si queréis,
en una veleta.
¡Cuando yo me muera!
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
John DonneNo man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
Emily Jane BrontëHope was but a timid friend-
She sat without my grated den
Watching how my fate would tend
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear.
Through the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard false watch keeping
Still in strife she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping,
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting.
When my last joys strewed the ground
Even sorrow saw repenting
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope - whose whisper would have given
Balm to all that frenzied pain -
Stretched her wings and soared to heaven;
Went- and ne'er returned again!
William BlakeI was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine, –
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!