~*~ OLD MEMORIES ~*~

~*~ OLD MEMORIES ~*~
~*~ OLD MEMORIES ~*~

I treasure sweet old memories
As the time goes swiftly by
A few bring smiles of happiness
And some tears to the eye

They all r precious in their way
Reopening the door of old
That have been shut these many years
What pictures they unfold

These dear old, sweet old memories
All play their special part
In bringing joy and opening up
The latch strings of the heart ... (:->
  

Jun, 17 2010     414 chars (3 sms)     3965 views       English Poetry

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Who Is Here? Who Is There?

In the Garden, when the autumn wind blows,
In the bird’s voice there is wailing and lamentation.

In the lovesick nightingale’s song there is a call,
with a different effect, a different mark.

Still, the nightingale is yearning for the love of the flower.
Still, the salamander is nesting in the oven.

Still, Mansur is hanging on the gallows.
He says: “I’m the Truth,” yet the secret (truth) is hidden.

Still, Zulaykha is not afraid of rebuke.
Still, Yusuf is evading Zulaykha.

Still, the Christian maiden is breaching Sheikh San’an''s faith.
Still, the Sheikh is tending her swine.
Majnun is drunk from love, and Layla is drunk from coyness.
The mountain existed and this madman also existed.

The eyes of beauties were drunken and murderous.
Her tongue was like sugar, and her lips the confectioner.

The suffering boy and the loving girl existed,
the tyrant father and miser mother were also there.

That teasing that breaches faith,
the arrow of coy that pierces the soul,


It was not that Mazun was targeted last night,
the arrow was there and the target was there.
“You can shed tears that she is gone,
or you can smile because she has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that she''ll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all she''s left.
Your heart can be empty because you can''t see her,
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember her only that she is gone,
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what she''d want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.”
O Bearer, bring the wine that brings joy
To increase generosity, & let perfection buoy
Give me some, for I have lost my heart
Both traits from me have kept apart
Bring the wine whose reflection in the cup
Signals to all the kings whose times are up
Give me wine, and with the reed-flute I will sing
When was Jamshid, and when Kavoos was king
Bring me the elixir whose grace and alchemy
Bestows treasures, from bonds of time sets free
Give me so they''ll open the doors once again
Of long life and the bliss that will remain
Bearer give the wine that the Holy Grail
Will make claims of sight in the Void and thus fail
Give me so that I, with the help of the Grail
All secrets, like Jamshid, themselves avail
Speak of the tale of the wheel of fate
Understanding where we went wrong

is the beginning to an end

I lost my ways in the cloudy night searching for

for that true love

Is true love! when you let you self

go to dark places you can come back

Empty lies trying to explain why

I ''m leaving you

Sorry love! is just too late

for you and I

finding the right words trying

to stop your tears from coming

down

I didn''t mean to hurt you but I don''t

love you anymore

I want to find that someone

that my heart will skip a beat

each time I look her

Seductive candlelight

of lust and passion are

at my door step

coming, undress me

and let me forget my pain

those are lost word

I can find to tell you

that I don''t love you anymore.......
But human mind is often a monkey
It jumps and hops towards success and it''s key
As guinea pigs we go on and on
thru the tedious cycle of life rite from the time we were born
We never know our way nor our destination
But man goes on with God as prime stimulation
Realise that life isn''t constant dying and learn to honour fraternity
And indeed life is a "gift snatched frm eternity"
THE WAY TOU MAKE ME FEEL. . .


You make me feel special,
You make me feel new,
You make me feel loved,
With everything you do.

You hold me close when I am sad.
You wipe the tears from my face.
Every time we are together,
It seems like the perfect place.

My eyes light up when you enter a room.
I smile when we are together.
No matter how bad things are,
You always make them better.

I love the way you kiss me,
The way you hold me tight.
I love the way you touch me,
I could be with you all night.

I love the way you can make me laugh
For absolutely no reason at all.
I love how no matter what I do,
You will be there to catch me when I fall.

I just want you to know,
That even though we sometimes fight,
I will always love you!
No matter what, day or night.
Today when I signed online,
I was happy and pleased to see.
That in my incoming mail,
Was a letter from you to me.
I love the mails you send me
And all of the giggles too!
But the biggest thrill of all,
Was seeing it came from you.
Now we don''t talk that much
So letters and cards say it all.
But I want you to know they''re special
No matter how big or small.
So keep the e-mail coming
I love it ever so much.
And know its really appreciated,
Whenever you keep in touch!
Miss U
Pain ! Pain ! Pain


so positive is your poetry !


Meena

Doesn''t really matter
My heart wont shatter
What if I am alone

------Clap !

The sweet laughter—I didn’t love in vain.
I didn’t graft reason onto love.

She pulls me, she pulls me with her lasso-like braid.
How could I be separated from her ambergris-scented hair?

Peris, lovely, tall beauties –
Mazun won’t refuse if they want his soul.

I’ve put my head in their path.
My head’s bad luck is because of my tongue.
Because of you I chose exile,
I’ve been estranged from my tribe for some time.

I watered my flower with my tears,
Injustice! Don’t take me away from my flower.

There’s nothing wrong if a king wants a pauper,
If a pauper desires a king, he can’t help it.

My desire is too high; my luck is too low,
There is no cure for this pain but death.

What’s with the melancholic ascetic?
He argues with me about faith and religion.

The religion of the lover is the beloved.
I’m taking no path but my own.
Fight
We have to fight
If we wanna live it right
We have to look at the sky
Invaded with the sun light
...We have to go for our dream
...Without perhaps or might
And when we reach
We have to fight
To avoid falling
From such a big height