The Lovers Of The Poor

arrive. The Ladies from the Ladies' Betterment League
Arrive in the afternoon, the late light slanting
In diluted gold bars across the boulevard brag
Of proud, seamed faces with mercy and murder hinting
Here, there, interrupting, all deep and debonair,
The pink paint on the innocence of fear;
Walk in a gingerly manner up the hall.
Cutting with knives served by their softest care,
Served by their love, so barbarously fair.
Whose mothers taught: You'd better not be cruel!

The Seafarer

(From the early Anglo-Saxon text)

May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days
Hardship endured oft.
Bitter breast-cares have I abided,
Known on my keel many a care's hold,
And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent
Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head
While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted,

Fergus Falling

He climbed to the top
of one of those million white pines
set out across the emptying pastures
of the fifties - some program to enrich the rich
and rebuke the forefathers
who cleared it all at once with ox and axe -
climbed to the top, probably to get out
of the shadow
not of those forefathers but of this father
and saw for the first time

The Seafarer

May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days
Hardship endured oft.
Bitter breast-cares have I abided,
Known on my keel many a care's hold,
And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent
Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head
While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted,
My feet were by frost benumbed.
Chill its chains are; chafing sighs

Miriam

One Sabbath day my friend and I
After the meeting, quietly
Passed from the crowded village lanes,
White with dry dust for lack of rains,
And climbed the neighboring slope, with feet
Slackened and heavy from the heat,
Although the day was wellnigh done,
And the low angle of the sun
Along the naked hillside cast
Our shadows as of giants vast.

Falling Hairs, A Curious Thing!

Falling hairs, a curious thing,
It may be a condition that makes us sting.

Thinning tresses, is it a sign of age?
or can it also be called a symbol of sage?

People say if you are hairless, you are wealthy-
are they serious or playing some game, filthy

Is the hairless scalp, a mark of riches?

Christmas, 1873

Christmas-Days are still in store:-
Will they change-steal faded hither?
Or come fresh as heretofore,
Summering all our winter weather?

Surely they will keep their bloom
All the countless pacing ages:
In the country whence they come
Children only are the sages!

Beautiful Place

This world is beautiful place
this beautiful place with lass
with her sunset
beautiful
when her sun raises
it's beautiful
and moon in a light move
is beautiful
through out of her night
is beautiful

Rajnish Magna

Rajnish Manga

No word to express my thankfulness,
No poetry is bubbling in the mind,
O dear Poet The Great I bow to you,
Rajnish Manga a critic and a poet,
Connoisseur and saturated self.

Within your mind do I see a bard,
Soaring and floating above the Sky,

................................Caligula

Caligula, like Nero, was not born neurotic (by today's standards) . They progressed to that stage through power, and money....
----------...

Ah Caligula, with puff pouty lips, I hear your trumpet call
out away across barren sands.
Have you enough soft silks, satins?
Have you enough silk, satin skins?
Cast away your wine...cast away your mind?
Or will you drown scorpions in grapemares?
Only scorpions mark passage to your palace lair...

I Think I Am Getting Old

I think I am getting old
and dreams just go away
I can not to them hold
to reality of each day
o life was once so easy
like a poetry's line
but now it gets breezy
and harder to define

What feelings are about

...Life's Looking Glass

Rows of chimney pots do their still smoking dance
Then thru our windows early morning glance,
By chance ‘Is it raining? '
Sometimes a sunny day is gaining,
Thru life's looking glass
In the poorest lane
The garbage cans stand still,
No reflection from the old wooden fence in vain,
A black cat rattles a rusty tin can
The cobbled road portrays its oldness.

Oldness And Slowness

OLDNESS AND SLOWNESS

Oldness and slowness
More difficulty in moving
Aching much of the time
I will never be young and pain- free again
I will never forget my body most of the time again

I understand better now
The dream of the person being only a soul

Enjoying Life

Enjoying life before it all away goes
On to the winter’s playing penumbra field
What was of proceeding is now like glows
One at a time falling in oldness yield
The day becomes dark like evening light
With all its memories broken treasures
This is the extend of each morning bright
Nothing to behold of its going pleasures
In living a dream that once was of spring
Every hour coming is now on so dear

Lane To Somewhere

Lane to somewhere
As the morning comes
People from here and there
Walking among blossoms
Daydreaming on their way
Everything on the go
Here comes the new day
In the early morn glow

Yesterday is now gone

A Leaf Of The Earth

A leaf of the earth
Awoken with its dream
The spring coming birth
And rivers of easy stream
The casting of the clouds
High above the land
And to and fro crowds
So easy to understand

Imprisonment made free

Sing A Song Of Sunshine

Sing a song of sunshine
for winter is gone,
now is summer fine
to carry the world on.
The days are gone of dim
for playful hours bright,
frosty coldness rim
lost into the night.

Sing a song of sunshine

Into The Morning

Into the Morning
everything is gone,
love and its yearning
that keeps heartbeat on.
the rivers of time
streaming to oldness,
that once was prime
memories now caress.

Yesterdays are waking

Give Me Colors

Give me colors all to see
Always extra and some more

Shades of tomorrows to be
Another view of earth´s contour

Not empty handed to go on
Just the dreams a la mode

Because ways shall be gone

When Clouds Get Dim

I have a song to give you of
It is in shades of autumn's lay
Song of a breezing the trees love
When colors fade over and play
It has its longings inside all
Never to return here again back
You can hear its murky call
In the flowers shivering talk

When the night comes through