"devotedly" poems
Theravada or Zen?
It used be Theravada
Little did I know of Buddhist scrolls
Just a couple of commandments
obsessed with death
and a-clinging to enlightenment
Everything I did was with dharma and importance
Then it went to Zen, anything goes
absurdist, all for enlightenment
except overly polite ritual hymns
What’s up with that
when you don’t fear death?
Now I’m sort of back to Theravada
With a hint of roots Zen, Bodhidharma
But devotedly, I’ll take none of it all
Why believe in enlightenment?
Just appreciate the fall
changes
**** It
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
Oh how I earnestly await for thee to awaken from thy slumber.
The time that passes is far from squandered. It bestows upon me, favored opportunity to admire thy beauty.
Desiring not to be selfish. Alas, I cannot help this. Somehow, some way, I need to emerge from it.
Just a glance not even a stare and I am vexed beyond repair.
Do I even seek such hellish things?
To be repaired, would be an unjust, merciless act. Knowing what I did not have, now I possess.
Who in their proper mind would relinquish such a gift?
You would be mad!
Without this Monarch, I would be unhinged, unbalanced, lifeless.
These are the things I ponder, while I wait patiently your end of slumber.
Call me mad, call me insane. For if she is mine and I hers.
Devotedly I Remain.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
I woke up thinking about this.
A Thought About Loyalty
I’ve been thinking about loyalty:
A many-sided world of nuances,
The subtle differences.
We all know it means faithfulness,
A sticking-to devotedly.
Unfurled it shows its nasty sides,
The negatives that worry me:
Allegiance and adherence -
-Ism’s steel prepared to go to war
Against all criticizers,
-Isms’ others
Carving up the brotherhood
Of man.
Not for nothing
That a missile system drawn
To sense and intercept an enemy:
Is named the Patriot:
A system to annihilate.
I worry ‘bout obedience,
Compliance and submissiveness.
I like reliability, dependability,
Dedication if it’s not perverted
Duty, if it leads to thought,
A moral sense,
An ethic that agrees with life;
Loyalty without the strife.
Loyalty to think about.
A Thought About Loyalty 9.10.2017
Nature In & Of Reality; Out Times, Out Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) - 64
BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem
Oh the Loved one, Who is my Beloved!
In the deserted land, there is a Sacred Mountain’
Fondly, called as The Mountain Of Light’s (Jabal Al Noor) '
Where my Divine Creator Imitate His Own Light'
And carefully guarded by the Numerous Angels,
Towards the Sacred Mountain (Jabal Al Noor)!
My Beloved visits daily towards the Peak (Jabal Al Noor)
Where his rest place Cave (Hira) itself based.
He climbs at rosy dawn, towards the sacred peak,
To freely meditate towards his Divine Creator!
Allow me, to unfailingly follow you;
Until the Cave (Hira) entrance,
And comfort Your attractive Paws as your feet dust.
I devotedly follow You, Oh my Beloved!
Towards the Cave (Hira);
Upon the Peak (Jabal Al Noor)
Don't look down for stack of crude stones,
Or don't be worried about any cruel thorns.
At Dawn, Very difficult to track the visible path,
I dearly want to live as his dainty shoes'
Hence, He can climb carefully every glorious day.
Let my Beloved’ peacefully sit and Meditate
Let Him recite, The One and Only (Iqra Bismi Rabika)
Thru the Dear Angel (Jibreel),
Therefore, He can reveal the Divine truth!
I will wait respectfully outside,
Until He solely speaks, the divine truism.
Therefore, I can correctly grasp;
Through My Beloved the eternal truth (Noble Quran)!
The unknown truth of the Divine Creator (Allah)
And His Eternal Existence (The Noble Throne)
Upon the sacred Mountain Of Light’s! (Jabal Al Noor)!
Allah Khair..... Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem
Ummah Thurab - Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 5:13 AM UTC
1. Your cornflower blue eyes crinkled and laughing, sometimes flashing like the storms you love to chase
2. Your strawberry blond mop that smelled nothing like fruit but instead of sweat and grime, clinging to your brow when you removed that Pepsi baseball cap
3. Easter egg hunts on your birthday, like plastic flowers in melted snow and you up trees and on the roof of grandma's garage
4. Rare compromises that built tree forts or wound up the tire swing until it bounced and whirled its passenger like a spinning top
5. When everything you did, I wanted to do too--whether it was rescuing the princess or flying an X-wing
6. Diddy and Dixie Kong headlocked and tangled in armpits, wrestling for the Super Nintendo controller or for the remote for the VCR until Donkey had enough and made them both watch Barney
7. The laughter of you and your friends from the basement or slipping around the corner, back when I said “Me too” and meant “include me”
8. Games of war crouched behind the couches when the only war you dreamt about was the one in Narnia
9. The cliff in Hawaii over the smoking volcanic ocean water and Mom screaming for you to come down
10. When you push me, like the dominoes you used to line up and watch devotedly as they toppled over, one after the other because sometimes general incivility is the very essence of love.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
Cold case lover
How I loved you so!
You always mattered
But,
You
Never
Believed me!
You were my every desire
You were everything to me!
Looking through your eyes
Jaded with jealousy and envy
You laid your hands upon me
Acting out
Your emotional
And
Bitter pain
“Why were you so mean spirited”?
“Who messed with your mind”?
“How can you kneel before me, now?”
Pleading me
To forgive you
As
You bawl, your eyes out
Your relentless begging
Over and over
You
Keep playing mind games, with me!
Begging me for mercy
To come back,
One,
Last
Time
With my swollen eyes,
Broken bones,
Twisted up, insides
My heart is torn!
“Are you a dead man walking”?
“Do you not ‘feel’ no more”?
“Will I get to see tomorrow’s sunrise”?
If,
I stay another day
With you
Playing Russian roulette with my life
I am terrified, I am petrified!
My eyes are blind,
My heart too forgiving!
But,
I am not leaving
“Will I become a cold case ****** one day?"
I wonder...
At the hands of my own stupidity!
“What will you do on that day, dear lover?"
“Will you lie and be deceitful?"
“Will you hide things?"
Just like
You did, from me!
Will you ‘vow’ devotedly
You did it
All
In the name of ‘Love?'
"Will you brag about,
Your ‘bitter sweet victory?"
Open wounds,
Bleeding soul
Release me free
From this man’s betrayal!
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
a celestial body
lesser of age but
brighter in composition
was found to be
unexpectedly disarming
in its distorted form
unable to maintain
its expected shape
it was drawn in by
the voracious needs
of the other's gravity
a starry beckoning
that caused these
entities to draw forth
towards one another
this sharing of energies
a merger however
seemingly not unlike
those observed before
and yet something
about this pairing
steals the attention
of the experts and
the admirers alike
this rotation of one
about the other
guarding devotedly
from perils unseen
in the midst of
this stellar pirouette
there continues a chaos
pulling from all directions
both together and apart
defiant and undeniable
fluctuating with unknowns
eventually to become
Mar 7, 2024
Mar 7, 2024 at 6:45 AM UTC
Visions of oppositions, positions and prison. The forward missions, the capitalism, criticism and optimism. The Amor, the adored, the allure and the awards! The doors, the poor, the gore and the sore.
The any and many! The many hoards of pennies, before the lords of plenty. The awkward, the backward, the hospital wards and the
mental. Furthermore, more roar and war with a governmental evil,
medieval in blue! Therefore as I do accrue the clues, the dues, the hues and views. Something’s of me? My belated peeling, feelings related to that of a shrine of the divine. Etched and sketched by a pencil and stencil. Designed by the heavens divine. A displaced or misplaced,
abused, bruised and reused utensil. Something’s of me? I am often depressed, half-dressed and suppressed. Distraught and stressed by
thoughts, thoughts that are fought, sought and taught. As I endeavor, forever dedicated. However, medicated or sedated! A neglected, suspected sinner. A grinner and winner in entice haste, with precise
pace! As I taste the waste of this offending never-ending race. Regardless heartless, relentless congress. Yes, in confessing to you; beware of the care, the dare, the flare, the rare of scare! Attempt to see
what I have seen in contempt! In-between or as a teen. The obscene or serene! The many scenes at the seams. Driven by schemes and themes
it seems! Full of the brave that craves! The deprave and the rave. Those things which sing from the grave... Something’s of me? These are no lies, as a book carefully look into my sorrowful eyes. See why I despise, why I am wise. Look beyond the ancient, powerful skies.
They’re in wonderful constant, radiant disguise. Something’s of me?
My sensitive life of delight in fight, fright and plight. My life of sight, my life of trite. My negative pride! My life’s awesome, positive stride! Inside as I cry, as I hide… I depressingly, devotedly, ignorantly, triumphantly, unfortunately, hopefully and literally say. I am definite that one day I will embark into the dark. Emulate as a creative,
relative spark! Onto Noah’s great and infinite ark. Sailing into the prevailing, unveiling rain... with much too gain, maintain, regain and retain. Believing, weaving and leaving the grieving, the blame, the flame, the fame, the insane and the pain.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
I know what it is to be deceived.
I know what it is to say blindly and devotedly that which ought to be said.
I know what it is to deal with those who open their mouths and say all that is dishonest, disingenuous. Predictably so, leaving you wondering exactly why any of us bother with any of it at all. Leaving you wonder whether our persona is what are we are told to be, rather than who we are.
Surrounding me, enveloping me, suffocating me are the actors, trampling on this world they use, unashamedly, as their stage.
How lifeless they are. How robotically, disingenuous they are. Yet, how enthusiastic they are in the delivery of their well-learnt script! Those words that come pouring out, stolen from a script they've been given, those words light as air, float above us all, without weight. Meaningless
Yet, with such energy and enthusiasm they deliver these words.
They are either uncaring or unaware that they trample all that matters in the process. On all that makes life not a repetitious slog of playing a game. No. They do not understand the destructive activity they are partaking in with such fervor.
As, the ritual ends, and the curtains close, how hungrily they grovel for appraisal, every last drop of it. Lifeless, without a soul they are, yet artful in the game of deception, they have learnt to be. Able to appear filled with energy and glee, leaving it unbeknownst to anyone that when looked inside of mechanisms and cold metal is all that will be discovered.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
When he is sad,
My tears are just watery entities,
And my lips are chapped laments
That wish to kiss him on his porcelain cheek
And send him to an unspoken bliss.
When he is sad,
My whole world
Is an electric madness
That I dare not live,
But grieve over.
I hope to never see him cry
But when a somber tear be shed,
I will immerse myself
In a pain that goes on forevermore;
I will hug him with a fond embrace.
His sadness is a grief
That cannot be spoken by a sensitive heart like I,
For I would sunder in yonder
April skies.
I am in love with him
And it's so strange...
Such an intricate force
That has never been.
It's like my heart and mind's
Devotion, humanity, and passion
Depends upon him.
When he laughs,
When he is a jovial friend and brother of mine,
We are beautiful.
We laugh and, at last,
Have sought the sublime, refreshing youth
That brings us closer.
When he smiles at me,
A fascinating transpiration is then reborn,
And it is stunning.
It's like we will never die.
Nevermore, my days of beauty,
Laughter, and fascination will soon be,
For he is leaving my heart that beats a serenade
In time with his beautiful face's cry.
He is leaving for Annandale,
And he leaves me with a tear upon my face.
He will leave, taking with him
The sublimity I never can gaze upon so fondly again
After the grey of June that I so devotedly
Fear.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
senses awash with green
and green smells, fresh, invigorating
a serene balm on the vision
drinking it all in
nearly wizardly growth
every little peeping ****
shares equal space with every looming tree
basking in the sun or dancing in the rain
each act done so devotedly
to Nature’s business
of making and undoing
if only we could be as one with life as them
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
08.10.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 4:36 AM UTC
I know what it is to say blindly and devotedly that which ought to be said.
I know what it is to deal with those who open their mouths and say all that is dishonest, disingenuous. Predictably so, leaving you wondering exactly why any of us bother with any of it at all. Leaving you wonder whether our persona is what are we are told to be, rather than who we are.
Surrounding me, enveloping me, suffocating me are the actors, trampling on this world they use, unashamedly, as their stage.
How lifeless they are. How robotically, disingenuous they are. Yet, how enthusiastic they are in the delivery of their well-learnt script! Those words that come pouring out, stolen from a script they've been given, those words light as air, float above us all, without weight. Meaningless
Yet, with such energy and enthusiasm they deliver these words.
They are either uncaring or unaware that they trample all that matters in the process. On all that makes life not a repetitious slog of playing a game. No. They do not understand the destructive activity they are partaking in with such fervor.
As, the ritual ends, and the curtains close, how hungrily they grovel for appraisal, every last drop of it. Lifeless, without a soul they are, yet artful in the game of deception, they have learnt to be. Able to appear filled with energy and glee, leaving it unbeknownst to anyone that when looked inside of mechanisms and cold metal is all that will be discovered.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
Nat Lipstadt
Mar 10
Pradip
Dear Sir,
I can't keep
up with
your prolific, delighting,
creations
This must be
the third poem at least,
for and to you, I,
publicly address
the thought terrifying,
if you took a vacation,
and had really
some free time to write
I do believe man,
it's time for a unique,
reserved, deserved,
and as of yet,
unheard of
special,
Hello Pradip Section
on this site
for this is yet one more
in a streaming video poem,
of me acknowledging you,
Master of the Word,
Wright Templar,
Poet Extraordinaire,
Most Importantly,
Beloved Human,
whose vision sees the world
in ways that
I adore
S. suggests,
I
take a vaca
just to eat your words,
in the lazy, rushed fashion
they deserve
but tween us,
your secret kept,
your parrot and
street dog Hengloo
write
every other one,
cause no human could
thus excel,
without some help
of animal spirits
in between your beloved
Saturdays
Yours Devotedly,
An Exhausted and Admiring,
Nat Lipstadt
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nat Lipstadt
Sep 2, 2013
Pradip Chattopadhyay
Simple verses,
blessed be the uncomplex,
But the visions, the glimpses,
The sightings, in and out,
Are celestial of, in, and on and about
This planet shared.
I will walk with you to
Henry's Isle,
You, accompany me, on the beach,
We will together ford Crab Creek,
When the tide is low,
And afterwards,
Repair to The Poet's Nook,
Where a moss stained Adirondack chair
Awaits the Poet Prince,
Your poems carved into
It's soul, it's arms, it's back,
Giving comfort continuous.
This chai, this chair, this throne,
Reserved for the lyricist of our lives,
The shedder of light upon the special,
The seconds, that fete our senses.
I await you arrival.
Tender this serenade,
this overdue apology,
For having not thanked you properly
For your living kindness,
Yet my words, insufficient, compared to yours...
A special man, a simple homage.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
I hope she teaches you the meaning of loving someone to death.
I hope you lose sleep talking to her, and then later that night when you can't stop thinking about that one thing she said, just keep replaying it in your head until sleep washes you into its sea.
I hope she brings back the faith you lost in people.
I hope you let her mess your hair up, even though you can't even stand the wind wisping softly through the strands.
I hope you memorize her favourite lines in movies and songs.
I hope hearing her cry makes you want to go to the ends of the earth to hear her genuinely laugh again.
I hope she's the calm to your storm and the colour to the, sometimes grey, life you lead.
Most of all, I hope you love her passionately, devotedly, selflessly, and without reason or hope.
Because then you'll finally realize, that's the way I loved you.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
the night consisted of me hinting at the presence of a guy
a guy i really like, a guy whose name
like a reverie, i could not bring myself to utter
i talked about everything because i do not care
i do not care about you, your enamoured face, your
saccharine words, instead i batted them away
as if they were unwanted flies harassing a dim light
of which they are enraptured by, devotedly yet
foolishly
by the end of the night i had grown tired of entertaining
the ghost of the guy whose name i could not utter
of glimmering gutlessly at my blatant apathy
of being a subject of novelty
you were the kid, strung on by a piece of nothing
and i was the power-bearer, merciless in
faithless speeches, indulgent in frivolousness
so i halted the meet, streamed mindlessly towards
a place where i renounced my false interest
my douchebaggery, then proceeded to wipe off
the kiss you'd left on my unwitting, unwelcoming lips
i do not like you, do not want traces of you to
envelope, overwhelm the traces of him on me
but i don't think they ever will
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
Hidden beyond the clouds, beyond each lining,
looking down at the world,he heard them whining.
Whining in sorrow, in loneliness and in pain.
Praying devotedly, for joys to regain.
Unable to bear the tears of his little ones,
he bestowed upon them the warmth of a thousand suns.
He gifted them with a gift, so unique,
that never would they need to face another moment bleak.
He rewarded them with a friend, the best there was,
one that'd love them and love all their flaws.
The tears gone, happiness spread around,
the land turned into meadows, no more were barren grounds.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Dear Sir,
I can't keep
up with
your prolific, delighting,
creations
This must be
the third poem at least,
for and to you, I,
publicly address
the thought terrifying,
if you took a vacation,
and had really
some free time to write
I do believe man,
it's time for a unique,
reserved, deserved,
and as of yet,
unheard of special,
Hello Pradip Section
on this site
for this is yet one more
in a streaming video
of me acknowledging you,
Master of the Word,
Wright Templar,
Poet Extraordinaire,
Most Importantly,
Beloved Human,
whose vision sees the world
in ways that
I adore
S. suggests,
I
take a vaca
just to eat your words,
in the lazy, rushed fashion
they deserve
but tween us,
your secret kept,
your parrot and
street dog Hengloo
write
every other one,
cause no human could
thus excel,
without some help
of animal spirits
in between your beloved
Saturdays
Yours Devotedly,
An Exhausted Nat Lipstadt
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
codex painter
have your hands rusted
is this world not as vivid
as the one centuries ago
the one
that bore the same tint,
rich in intent to serve,
to devotedly work
head inclined
over the flaming light
and under the celestial stars
pictograms
are what I now reach for
from the vessels tucked behind my ears
from the smell of copper
and the tastes of adobe pots,
simmering with memories,
to the corneas anchoring my vision
because I must have a vision
the "it" becomes what we intend
and I intend "it"
give me your codices
unfold the fibers of the agave plant
and let me paint again
this world
larger
this lifetime kinder
for I have always been a scribe and
a painter
and my heart rejoices in service
to an existence expanding
to meet itself in the eyes of all
who I dare draw
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
I know what it is to be deceived.
I know what it is to say blindly and devotedly that which ought to be said.
I know what it is to deal with those who open their mouths and say all that is dishonest, disingenuous. Predictably so, leaving you wondering exactly why any of us bother with any of it at all. Leaving you wonder whether our persona is what are we are told to be, rather than who we are.
Surrounding me, enveloping me, suffocating me are the actors, trampling on this world they use, unashamedly, as their stage.
How lifeless they are. How robotically, disingenuous they are. Yet, how enthusiastic they are in the delivery of their well-learnt script! Those words that come pouring out, stolen from a script they've been given, those words light as air, float above us all, without weight. Meaningless
Yet, with such energy and enthusiasm they deliver these words.
They are either uncaring or unaware that they trample all that matters in the process. On all that makes life not a repetitious slog of playing a game. No. They do not understand the destructive activity they are partaking in with such fervor.
As, the ritual ends, and the curtains close, how hungrily they grovel for appraisal, every last drop of it. Lifeless, without a soul they are, yet artful in the game of deception, they have learnt to be. Able to appear filled with energy and glee, leaving it unbeknownst to anyone that when looked inside of mechanisms and cold metal is all that will be discovered.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
I didn't intend to do that--
I HATE it when people
sneak up on me
with evangelical intent!
I merely opened my heart
to hear a poem, and
God bubbled to the surface.
No, not that God,
the one claimed
by the Christian right:
(who want you
to believe that Jesus
is a Republican--)
I mean the God you knew
as a kid.
Of course there's a God!
It's so obvious when you look,
wide-eyed and innocent,
at the miracle of existence--
how cool it is
just to be alive!
But then, growing up,
you found out
that there are Religions
that each have all this STUFF
about who God is.
They make it seem so complicated!
But really it's very simple:
Just love.
Everyone.
Always.
Devotedly,
passionately.
And--
forgive EVERYone.
That's all.
No, it's NOT easy,
but it is simple.
It works in every heart
It works in every culture
It works--
with or without
religion.
Religion might help you
find your heart's door handle--
reading about
the loving kindness of
a saint,
an avatar,
a rabbi,
a mystic,
a Sufi,
a Master.
But it could be
that God is always
singing a love song
to you
through a flower,
that rainbow,
a sunset,
the voice of a friend,
or even,
my beloved,
this little poem.
Are you listening?
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
You can’t see the air around us;
It doesn’t mean you’re not breathing it.
I could lie on hot coal to show you;
If you want my wings instead, nothing else will fit.
Every note, every vibration,
Bears the fruit of your powerful mind.
If you truly wanted love and peace,
You’d be devotedly singing it out to mankind.
Honesty can be sweet, it can be brutal.
There’s nothing like facing your fear,
Afraid to discover the truth,
When like a fool, you treat trash talk so dear.
That tiny ray of light shining through,
Is for us, me and you to be reassured,
There is no pleasure, no gain, no good,
In the absence of what has to be endured.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
Today the last drops of Hope
Disappeared down the drain.
Unceremoniously.
A slow circular dance without even
A goodbye.
It had been her companion for so many months
Years even.
It nurtured her and she prayed
That her trust would not be in vain.
This pain is not new--just sharper--
and no longer tempered by Hope.
She has built a wall
That can’t be scaled.
Isolation doesn’t lessen the agony
Physical comfort is no cure.
Heartache is like the seasons
It dissolves according to its own rhythm;
A schedule that laughs at our
Attempts to start summer in May.
Love that won’t be returned
Leaves us bobbing endlessly
On the unforgiving sea.
The heart listening devoutly
Devotedly
For those faint murmurs
Which keep it beating.
She waited many seasons for him
Colored leaves to be buried in snow
Then daffodils bringing hope
But falling soon in the heat of summer,
And then lonely winds of November.
How many springs would be enough
Until she knew her love would
Never bloom?
Today is the first day without hope
Waiting no more.
Feeling naked, bruised
But unshackled by a dream,
A nightmare?
Jericho will blow his horn
The wall will come tumbling down,
Maybe not crashing, but brick by brick
Stone by stone.
Will she love again?
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
We never grow up in the usual way,
We fool around every day,
"Magic's still the same!" he tells me,
I do love him so devotedly,
Long hours spent entwining.
Our ageless love divining,
I write this verse so thoughtful,
I trust he stays forever faithful,
For people who never grow up,
On love, you never give up!
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
Tell me, then, how shall I spend t'is azure night without thee?
Without thee, querida, my soul is but solemn and vain;
just as though I've lost my brain-and my soul's bout
to drain-yes, in here where no delight-but worries,
are in me. And no shield is to protect that-
as thou, my love, art in a dream, but far-far away.
I am consoled only by t'ese fragments-and remarks,
of t'is silly infatuation-that brings thee into life;
t'is dream of my forbidden, unrequited love, for thee!
I am but without thee-my lover, my solitary prince-
wherefore can thou be? My darling-can thou hear me
wail? All day and all night, o but I long for thee,
I crave for thee only-my dear, my dear. But thou
art not here-and can't ever be here-as thou but
belong to some other's charms-how peaceful would
thou sleep in her arms-and t'is is my agony-
killing me from inside, as a lover-a lost lover from
afar. For I can only console thee by my words-a poet
as I am, and thou art a prince from a distant land-
but still I adore thee! I love thee tenderly, and most
devotedly, over the morning dews of the river, my love for
thee could not help-still it dwells, in its but serene profusion.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 6:32 AM UTC