Alexander Pushkin - Winter morning - Russian literature

One of those poems of Alexander Pushkin - part of things that keeps me going...

Therez nothing better than russian classics to brake cluttered soul to a soft slumber

Reading Alexander Pushkin's Eugene Onegin is just an experience as self-contemplation as both can brings you down to tears. One my the sheer multitude of his thoughts prompting the worthiness of our living having only the mind to read and relish and the later by revealing your true self to yourselves and how wasteful a life i lead without even a pinch of purpose to it.

Pushkin is the mozart of literature even personally akin to his life to some degree. Though his life was always described as poignant, paradoxical, fickly and the likes he rose as an invincible master of literature amdist the western and european contemporaries.

I had read from a prose in one of book i read during those may days which i still remember calls him a man of parody. He lived in a world of delusions thinking himself awful and yet living with beautiful women of his days.

Eugene Onegin is still considered to be one such paradoxical work http://www.cogsci.indiana.edu/EugeneOnegin.html

Winter morning - Alexander Pushkin

Cold frost and sunshine: day of wonder!
But you, my friend, are still in slumber -
Wake up, my beauty, time belies:
You dormant eyes, I beg you, broaden
Toward the northerly Aurora,
As though a northern star arise!

Recall last night, the snow was whirling,
Across the sky, the haze was twirling,
The moon, as though a pale dye,
Emerged with yellow through faint clouds.
And there you sat, immersed in doubts,
And now, - just take a look outside:

The snow below the bluish skies,
Like a majestic carpet lies,
And in the light of day it shimmers.
The woods are dusky. Through the frost
The greenish fir-trees are exposed;
And under ice, a river glitters.

The room is lit with amber light.
And bursting, popping in delight
Hot stove still rattles in a fray.
While it is nice to hear its clatter,
Perhaps, we should command to saddle
A fervent mare into the sleight?

And sliding on the morning snow
Dear friend, we'll let our worries go,
And with the zealous mare we'll flee.
We'll visit empty ranges, thence,
The woods, which used to be so dense
And then the shore, so dear to me

Hope

Read it somewhere... Sounded hopeful at 2 past midnight...

"While some see hopeless Ends, Some see Endless Hopes.."

Hope another day another time things will change for good.

Silence - A poem I read somewhere

A poem on silence…. I read somewhere… written by kids…

Can’t imagine how deep a kid of 12’s thoughts could be… This one sure can express multitudes of her feelings….

Really am envy of her as to how pristine and beautiful her thoughts are…

-------------------------------------------------

Silence shines when you’re alone

It dances through the glass

When I feel quiet, silence

Tiptoes into my dreams

It somersaults through the ocean

Until it falls into my hands

-       By Victoria, age 12

Battered and out...

Guess Im done with all my misery
And all the things that i did to me so smeary
Still standing but battered
The pain that keeps me all so cluttered

The miles I tread seems getting longer
As the wind and darkness seem to grow stronger
Undeterred I try still keep chasing on
Un-fluttered the darkness still keeps stalking on

Distant dreams seems just a mirage
Adding just one more year to my age
Last tasted success seems eons ago
Leaving me stranded with so many miles to go

The days are getting longer and loner
Smacking a reminder that im just another goner
Trembling legs tumbling tears i still try
To break the shackles from the cobwebs of my life

Years in a jiffy seem to roll me by
As life seem so still and im laying bye
Sometimes i wonder cursing me why
Withered and battered still i lie

can't believe I'm so broken inside.
for i've failed to keep my self aside
Nothing else here seem to matter anymore
Don't think I have it in me no more

Courage is what I once had so high
Ravaging with time as it feels the end game draws nigh
Dreaded yet I try keep walking on
The dire straits of my life hardly seem to move on

So many threats and fears, so many wasted years
Before my life can actually be won to be my own


And yep there were some rare moments of gold
With lot many stories gone untold
And yep there were flashes of light
filled with hope of may and might

We see just what we want to see
So you feel just what you want to be
Hoping that everything is coming back to me
I hope I'll just be what I was to be

If the poem by Rudyard Kipling

IF - Rudyard Kipling

Was actually reminiscing my childhood days when i remembered one of my English teacher. The way he narrated the IF poem... so artistically that it still remains in the fragments of my brain....

A favourite poem of mine which tells you how to be a successful man and more a successful human being. No wonder he got his Nobel so early... Here it is for it means something at every stage of ur life when you read...


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;


If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;




If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And—which is more—you'll be a Man my son!

We are the creator of our own DESTINY !!!

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We were all meant to shine, as children do.
It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.

Hope.... The Elixir Of Life

Just wrote this today morning. I guess it sounds a bit hopeful.

Hope - The Elixir of Life....

Just one of the days Im feeling low
Not knowing what else i do not know
Seems im straying away as i had lost track of my life
Besieged by ire, haplessness, sloth, dissent and strife

When evey hope I carried seems to fade away,
The roads i've tread seems so far away
While everything thatz me is totally retarded
And all your distant dreams have fatally departed

I kept staring at the dark and infinite sky
Asking the glimmering stars as to why ?
Why was I not the chosen one ??
Why should I die as yet another one ???

Why isn't truth always the triumphant one ?
Why is this life so mean and nasty than fun ??
Is it so that the happiness is a perception of life
I guess its a deception thatz so shoddy & naive

Yet therez something in me that cries so foul,
And says dreams cannot die, be doomed to furl.
They transform and haunt you for all your days
Till you come to terms with your ways but never frays.

For they are the elixir of every lives in the world
full of hopes like those stories as a kid you were told.
The Beauty of life that I can now see
For i guess i've got new wings up to flee

Dreams so many that have sprung like a tree
The fight is on for I must to be free
I shall not give up for i stand reformed
From dreams to reality Now i hope to be transformed

Remember Hope is what that springs into life
and makes it a journey so exciting to ride
Worry not for you have miles to go before you sleep
For there is no time to whine and weep.

Life, what is it but a dream?

I would like to share with you one of my favourite poems by a poet who, I've always felt, did not get the accolades he deserved simply because of his phenomenal success as a writer of children's books - Lewis Carroll. The success of Alice in Wonderland overshadowed his poetry - despite the fact that many of his poems actually feature in his prose writings as an integral part of the story. As a writer of humorous verse and nonsense verse he has few peers. Unfortunately, as in prose so in poetry, humorous writers tend not to be taken seriously when the talk veers round to literary greatness.This is a poem in a different, dreamier, mood. Whenever I find myself exasperated by people talking about the feverish pace of modern life this poem springs to mind , especially the last five lines.

A Boat, beneath a sunny sky

Lingering onward dreamily

In an evening of July -

Children three that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a simple tale to hear-

Long has paled that sunny sky:

Echoes fade and memories die:

Autmun frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise.

Alice moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream -

Lingering in a golden gleam -

Life, what is it but a dream?

[The initial letters of this poem when read downward give the full name of the original Alice (in Wonderland) - Alice Pleasance Liddell]

Apropos of what I've written above , I remain deeply sceptical about whether life has really become fast-paced. I'm often tempted to tell these 'fast-paced' people the story of the donkey chasing a carrot dangling in front of him, tantalisingly out of reach, unable to understand that it's dangling from a stick tied to his own body and that he's never going to be able reach it. The Promised Land is always going to be 'just around the next corner'. No, we've simply lost the ability to slow down, relax, introspect, to think of something other than the 'rat race'. Are we increasinly losing touch with our inner selves, with nature, with the finer things in life, things which cannot be measured in money? W.H.Davies had it right :

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

I've often been accused of being impractical and out of touch with the times. There was a time when I would be ready to argue the point spiritedly but these days, I just smile and let it go. Why give myself hypertension and ulcers? As for me, I'd rather be

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream -

Lingering in a golden gleam

After all Life, what is it but a dream???

My Lost Youth - A poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This one is perhaps the most emotive and moving poem I have read for a long time. Longfellow's style is so candid, and full of excited melancholy. I particularly love the refrain, which I didn't post under the memorable lines I have read, as I wanted to post the whole poem here...

My Lost Youth - A poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Often I think of the beautiful town 
That is seated by the sea; 
Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old town, 
And my youth comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 
And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
And islands that were the Hersperides 
Of all my boyish dreams. 
And the burden of that old song, 
It murmurs and whispers still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the black wharves and the slips, 
And the sea-tides tossing free; 
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships, 
And the magic of the sea. 
And the voice of that wayward song 
Is singing and saying still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the bulwarks by the shore, 
And the fort upon the hill; 
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, 
And the bugle wild and shrill. 
And the music of that old song 
Throbs in my memory still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the sea-fight far away, 
How it thundered o'er the tide! 
And the dead captains, as they lay 
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay, 
Where they in battle died. 
And the sound of that mournful song 
Goes through me with a thrill: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I can see the breezy dome of groves, 
The shadows of Deering's Woods; 
And the friendships old and the early loves 
Come back with a sabbath sound, as of doves 
In quiet neighborhoods. 
And the verse of that sweet old song, 
It flutters and murmurs still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart 
Across the school-boy's brain; 
The song and the silence in the heart, 
That in part are prophecies, and in part 
Are longings wild and vain. 
And the voice of that fitful song 
Sings on, and is never still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

There are things of which I may not speak; 
There are dreams that cannot die; 
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, 
And bring a pallor into the cheek, 
And a mist before the eye. 
And the words of that fatal song 
Come over me like a chill: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

Strange to me now are the forms I meet 
When I visit the dear old town; 
But the native air is pure and sweet, 
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, 
As they balance up and down, 
Are singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, 
And with joy that is almost pain 
My heart goes back to wander there, 
And among the dreams of the days that were, 
I find my lost youth again. 
And the strange and beautiful song, 
The groves are repeating it still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Interruptions

Sitting quietly,
listening to voices:
harsh, calm, strange—
and silent.

Waiting for something
to happen, for perhaps
a miracle.

For a time when this turbulent
sea of wasted breath
shall sink into peace.

Stillness will pervade.

But before that,
there’ll be that ominous, almost
disconcerting
calm…

The loser...

I love no one,'cos I am not capable of loving anymore.
I feel nothing,
No happiness,
No sadness,
No Love,
No hatred,
Nothing
I am Nothing,
I am hollow,
I don't want to live,
Neither do I want to die

They say time heals all wounds.
Does it?
Does it?
I am still as numb as i was when death came
And touched her on the shoulder,
My love, you told me to live on,
So I am living,
But I am not alive,
I am just a walking corpse.

The Memories of our time together are golden,
They remain etched forever in my brain,
As the only time I was alive.
I am Hollow,
I am Hollow,
I am dead inside,
Just a living corpse,
Just a living corpse.

hope u liked it!!

Spring haikus

1.
a lost pleasure is
tucked in the folds of darkness
birds sing at sunrise

2.
the apricot tree
long bare suddenly flowers
at which spring smiles back

First Light

It’s been going on all night
Make no mistake
Don’t be beguiled by the innocent look
Of those trees hanging about,
Hands in pockets, in the fields
Still pooled with darkness
Don’t be misled by the silver light,
The anarchic flight of sparrows
Or the crows practising tai chi

Don’t be fooled by the rising safety curtain
On the moon-clean stage
After the first act’s carnage has been cleared
Or the warming up of the orchestra
Now missing its woodwind section

This is not a fresh start
This is no new dawn

The sound of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
A neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one deared
Disturb the sound of silence.

Fools said i,you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you.
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the signs said, the words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whispered in the sounds of silence

I don't remember what was the last song I liked so much .What was yours?

Tribute to Saurav Ganguly - The prince of the cricketing world

Its always very easy to give up. all u've to say is 'I quit' and that's
all there is to it. the hard part is to carry on..


They say, there are few men every now and then after whom
the world will be changed forever
proud I am to see such a man in my lifetime
so virtuous and passion personified

To him winning is everything
The ever spirited fighter who lives his dreams
Rising often from the ruins with a never-say-die attitude
pushing his own limits, erasing his boundaries

the elegant strokes he played
And the powerful hooks he swayed
Throwing the bowlers tottering in tantrums
As a cold-blooded predator prying its Prey

so relentless are his display of courage, exuberance and style
A prodigy of valour whose contribution to the game will be ever lived
His aggression is synonyms with his name
whose eternal grandeur can never be quashed as his fame

The Bengal tiger snarls a little
while all those who faces him runs belittle
so powerfully he hits the balls
that dreadfully thumps into the foemen's walls.

An innate leader with a unique calibre
That made him the best ever a country can have
Who faces the victories in par with the loss
Even when all his works gone for a toss.

One cannot forget the blistering innings he played
Both with his contemporaries and critics
The all-round performances he displayed
That only goes to show his commitment to the game

But nothing was smooth for this storm rider
who has been the man of action both on and off the field
For a man who suffered the most due to politics and policies
He endured the most and still inspired a lot to who me meant something

Such a quality he possessed as a sportsman
whose willow speaks more than his words
Though his critics found it hard to swallow
He is the man the cricketing fraternity can never forget

For every fall he had, he bounced back and made his mark
The harder he hit, he hit back
If only the jokers had known they can't stop the shining sun with their bare hands
For it only grows with time..

He is simply a man out of time
whose integrity has been tested more than a time
have we honored him enough and gave him the respect he deserved ??
We cannot help but vacuously wondering why ??

will time heal the wounds he suffered
will the pain of the scars he bears ever abate
Only time will tell what remains to be seen
for we all know he is a fighter with a never ceasing attitude

An emotive final that he ever played
Awaits him amidst his protagonists and admirers
the greatest gladiator of our times
who resurrects himself every time out of nowhere

Its very unfortunate for him to call it quits and ever retire
a whole new conspiracy in its own attire
as the curtains draws for a final time in nagpur
Herez me wishing him. may a new life dawns on him altogether

the man of unquestionable integrity, commitment and passion
that had made him to the lords hall of fame
the ruthless display of him swaying his shirt
again only goes to show his aggression and passion for the game

He greatly inspires everyone with his flamboyance
and the remarkable display he exhibited as a scrapper
That makes everyone learn the lesson: No matter how harder you are hit,
The harder u push, the harder u can hit back

A true believer of hard work, determination and courage
he is the infinite pond amidst the mirages
The undisputed DADA of the cricketing world,
The epochal prince of the modern day cricket

one would only run out of adjectives
for he is a finesse display of class and courage
Whose prodigious life is an inspiration to everyone
Sourav Ganguly - I bow to thee...

- Chuppandi

What do you do with the mad that you feel

A nice poem i got from somewhere....
Mr. Roger says the title/first line comes from a child. I liked it. I hope you too like it…

What do you do with the mad that you feel
When you feel so mad you could bite?
When the whole wide world seems oh, so wrong…
And nothing you do seems very right?

What do you do? Do you punch a bag?
Do you pound some clay or some dough?
Do you round up friends for a game of tag?
Or see how fast you go?

It’s great to be able to stop
When you’ve planned a thing that’s wrong,
And be able to do something else instead
And think this song:

I can stop when I want to
Can stop when I wish.
I can stop, stop, stop any time.
And what a good feeling to feel like this
And know that the feeling is really mine.
Know that there’s something deep inside
That helps us become what we can.
For a girl can be someday a woman
And a boy can be someday a man.

-Fred M. Rogers

Poor Rich.....

Good Bye...

How the words escaped
the teeming mind
How the world seemed
to stop short in its
never ending journey
round around

All because of
the qualms of parting
Fears looming large
Of deprivation
Of love, Of amity
Of solitude

Little does the
heart know that
Goodbye is a mirage
that ebbs away
leaving behind
The indelible,
The ever cherished,
The omnipresent,
Memories.

P.S.1 : Dedicated to my Best Friends Forever.
Wherever you go
Together we shall stay
In our heart
In our Dreams

Who am I ???

I am, but a shattered dream
A scratched wound
A lost hope for some
Life for another
I am a prayer in silence
A cry in despair
I am a painful memory
An unfulfilled wish

I am, but a longing for love
A confession of feelings
A petal in some book of past
A budding flower of spring
A dried leaf floating aloof
Going where breeze takes it

I am, but an admiration
In the eyes of a loved one
A disturbed thought
In the mind of some person
A truth in disguise
A secret kept in the vault of the heart
A smile on the lips of a woman…

I am... merely a thought!