A Comment - Poem by Akhtar Jawad
My friend, I know you're a teacher,
for the students, a great preacher,
but when you come back at home,
don't you see yourself in Rome?
Keep for students your moral teaching.
Come to the readers after total bleaching.
Why don't you remain always poetic?
Don't you have a balance at home?
I know you are truly aesthetic,
write a page of love and burn the tome.
Even a word of love is better than a book,
Have in a mirror your lovely nice look!
(A Fantasy a great poem by Valsa George.
Dozing on a hammock
Strung between two towering palms
With the sky above-
colour washed in turquoise blue
and the waters below
reflecting that heavenly hue,
you came to me
sailing in a dream
like the strains of a symphony
causing endless vibrations
in my solitary heart
you showed up
all too sudden
like a rainbow on my vacant sky
after a cloud burst of cloistered grief
to blaze it with iridescent shades
embalmed my bruised spirit
with the coolness of a summer drizzle
falling, like manna
over starved Israelites
in their arduous odyssey
through blistering sands
Your passionate breath,
spewed on my face
bore the scent of opening buds
in the mazy tangle of wild creepers
growing dense in nearby woods.
Your amorous whispers
fell in my ears
with the sweetness of the melody
from Krishna's flute
with Radha near, love sick)
her lips curled in an immaculate smile.
Your soft footsteps
like the jingle of a court dancer
echoed in the silence of my soul
with a hundred evocations
As the jingles
came nearer in synchronizing rhythm
I held out my arms
to clasp you in tight embrace
and reel you in frenzied jig
But you vanished,
with the swiftness
of bubbles rising and breaking
in a beer glass,
leaving me to my desolate zone
The sky overhead had changed
into another shade
Still I lay in mid air,
with my eyes sealed tight
to re-live that dream
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye