O Bearer bring the

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

Jun, 18 2010 761 chars (5 sms) 2280 views English Poetry

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Students Funny SMS on Paper

Students Ka Almmiya

At The Time Of Exam Preprtion

A V Ho Gya > A V Ho Gya > A V Ho Gya >

After Paper: A Ki Ho Gya ;-(

|==================================|

Teacher: What Is Chemical Formula For Water?

John: H I J K L M N O

Teacher: What Are You Talking?

John To Teacher: Yesterday You Told It Is H to O

You showed me

You showed me the sea..though your depiction
Her turbulent surface..chides my emotions
Her serene belly...recalls my intentions
The setting sun...reminds me of lost time
Fistful of sand...coerceing to let bygones be
Wave''s dance with winds...accentuates team-spirit
Sails at full mast.....suggests effeciency at peak

I look up

I look up
as a tear rolls slowly
down my cheek
I think about better days
and wonder if I''ll feel that way again
you look at me
with those eyes I know so well
always serious, so deep and insightful
as though you''re always in control
But not today
not now
Now you look so scared
like for once you don''t have the answer
I gaze at you
looking deep into those hazel eyes
Hoping to understand
why you''ve said those things you did
I wonder for a moment
if this is all a dream
if I shall wake in the morning
and be relieved
you look at me
with a confusion I have never seen
slowly pull me towards you
and wipe the tears from my cheek
Suddenly in the distance, a shadow appears,
A tear rolls down my face and the image is clear.

The past

The past
is an archive of events
even when I die,
you turn back your neck
and I''ll eternally
have what came
before

and there''s somewhere
somewhere a man
singing softly
unique and parched
it''s all the pain
holding her
in my arms

Vessel to the words
he can''t see before
before the chords

Maddened by a red sun
skeptical
going on through this
and behind
a wagging tail
the sands continue
to sift

A little past
the way we were
And then, by that
will always be...!!!

My Pillow gaze

My Pillow gazes upon me at night

Empty as a gravestone;

I never thought it would be so bitter

To be alone,

Not to lie down asleep in your hair.

I lie alone in a silent house,

The hanging lamp darkened,

And gently stretch out my hands

To gather in yours,

And softly press my warm mouth

Toward you, and kiss myself, exhausted and weak-

Then suddenly I''m awake

And all around me the cold night grows still.

The star in the window shines clearly-

Where is your blond hair,

Where your sweet mouth?

Now I drink pain in every delight

And poison in every wine;

I never knew it would be so bitter

To be alone,

Alone, without you.

I stand at the edge

I stand at the edge straight as a board
Overwhelmed by my fears my desires ignored
I reach out my hands only to hold myself back
My mind racing sorting fiction from fact
My head lifts and eyes brighten when I hear you call
Still I remain motionless, I don''t wanna fall

I''m afraid, but what exactly am I afraid of?
My heart shutters at the thought of falling in love
Overcome by fear I remain completely still
My emotions can''t deepen if I refuse to feel
Once again my name escapes from your lips
I feel the gentle brush of your sweet fingertips

O Bearer bring the

Beloved''s Manifestation

One lover is roaring.
He is eager to see a shining face.

Another is distressed,
keen to see her lustrous hair.

Another desires his lover’s breasts.
Describes them as ripe pomegranates,
Hails them improperly,
Praises apples of Isfahan.

One lover says: "My beloved is going away.
My liver''s blood became my wine.
From my cry the world became deaf.
Is this friend in the grinding mill?"

Mine is above all others'' loves.
He is dear, a husband to widows.

He knows everything,
whether the meaning or the expression.

The light of his candle doesn''t vanish.
He is the beloved, I''m the lover.

He is the ocean, Mazun the fish,
How wonderful, what an endless sea he is.

Because of you

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.

Who Is Here? Who Is There?

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.

On your knee

On your knee, in the lamplight,
dipping buttered toast in your coffee,
I hear the hush of the silent house.
The other children gone off to school,
you and I sit together
alone in the dim morning light,
full of love and trust,
chattering to one another about
simple times with unfurrowed brows.
We were so close then.
I hold that memory in my mind
like an old black and white photograph
one would carry in a wallet, worn soft
from years of riding in a back pocket,
a photo
showing the ones you love,
the most beautiful mother,
the best loved and dearest held,
the treasured one--
to be shown far from home.

At every sunset

At every sunset, I cry and plead
Slow and just living, and yet I bleed
With angst, do I cry, take me home.
Please take me away from this old age home.

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O Bearer bring the

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