"turbulent" poems
Purple
storm clouds blown in
by the turbulent winds
haven’t enough rain to wash off
your pain.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Whirlpool of whirling quaint
Inequality brewing in the
Winepress of smithereens
Fragile polity.
Voices of weariness cried
Out from the wasteyard of
Waste for succour,
Pointing fingers of
Recrimination towards
The abyss of drouth ,
Entangled in conflicts
Of interest.
Winds of improvised emblem
Bearing hunchback of
Woes,
Raising hands from the
Drowning deep sea
For rescue like
A dejected beautiful
Vigaro in a
Turbulent ocean of quarrel
With her spouse.
Whereas reddish fluids of life
Runs across the same veins
And arteries of haves
And haves-not but
Cottage of interests
Hoisting avalanche of
Rainbow-coloured flags
Standing aloof on the
Pole of misrule,
Demarcating their interests.
No accommodation for wants
In the corridor of affluence.
Wants on a trade mission
With wealthy but caged in
The confinement of wealth.
Winds of inequality blew
Whirler of wants into
The marrow of the
Haves-not.
Rains of inequality passing
Through a lockage of lack
Into the improvised,
Doling-out poverty to
Gain the control of
Wealth.
Alas! Blindness sees inner
Vision of darkness from
The households of political
lamia.
Alas! Deafness hears
Discordant vague voices
Of failure from the forest
of frustration.
Alas! Dumbness speaks
Language of gnomes out
Of the vale of forgotten
treasures.
Alas! A four year tenancy
turning into decades
of challenges.
But we shall revive our hope
and raise our voices
tomorrow.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 8:19 AM UTC
Saved by the Sunflower
A very strong storm was arriving,
there were large black clouds coming from the east,
strong gusting turbulent winds threatening to snap everything,
severe down pouring of flooding rain,
as if the clouds were crying out in pain,
it did not seem there would be anyway to save the flower garden,
nothing could survive this unannounced exploding of nature,
this seemingly uncontrollable outburst,
something, maybe everything was going to be destroyed,
this day turned in to this night of hell,
the rain, the wind, the flashes of lightning,
this violent death would not be stopped this time,
then a small voice could barely be heard,
at first it was ignored, flicked away like a mosquito,
the voice did not give up though, once again it cried out,
once again it was ignored, brushed aside,
the voice continued gaining strength, it refused to be shut down,
the creator of the storm suddenly took a step back,
looking down to see where this voice was coming from,
it was emanating from this one lone sunflower,
it was the sunflower that had been given the name Perly,
Perly would not, could not be denied as she screamed out,
leave this garden oh evil storm, I will not except the outcome,
the outcome that you predict will never occur, we are fighters,
we will never give in to your senseless urges,
please wake up and hear my plea for sanity,
the storm started to weaken, slowly at first, but continued
gaining momentum loosing it's grip on this act of violence
until finally succumbing to this cry of desperation from
the little sunflower.
Gradually, the wind stopped blowing,
the rain stopped falling,
the sun began peaking thru the clouds.
Perly Sunflower had saved the lives of all the other flowers
in the garden, and the life of gardens caretaker.
A plaque is now erected on this spot proclaiming the
bravery of this little sunflower that would not give in,
would not accept, would not cower away.
The caretaker of the garden professes eternal gratitude
and love for this brave creature of Gods doing.
Thank you Perly sunflower
Gomer LePoet...
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.
You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!
It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.
Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!
In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!
I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.
Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.
Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.
There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.
Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!
How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.
Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.
And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.
This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!
Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!
From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.
You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.
Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.
The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.
Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.
Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
14.2k
One pulls me down in a sea of tenderness
safe gentle lapping waves of love and comfort
so soothing like a warm summer pond in the south
He is my anchor
The other loves me like a wild forbidden passionate rush
an all consuming type of love, making the world disappear
clinging to a life raft in a turbulent sea
He is my storm
Enticing waters with the luminous waves that can tempt the dead from their bed. My soul longs for both. I cannot drift off to peaceful sleep until the waves of desire find their sweet release. A wondrous storm of love in a turbulent sea or a steadfast anchor that has taken hold on a part of me
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
Silver winged of steel
Buckled up
Cocooned in a cabin
No phones, no emails, no Internet
Racing down the runway
Soaring high above the ground
Distant specks of life
Winged of steel climbs though the skies
Clouds below, clouds above
Seat reclines, put in my earphones, close my eyes
I lose myself, soothed by the motion of the flight
Just a seat, a window, sky, music
Suspended, moving above the earth
Windswept heights
Countries, oceans, mountains, forests
Dawn to dusk
Smooth and turbulent
Dancing through life’s path in the skies
My breath of Serenity
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
Saved by the Sunflower
A very strong storm was arriving,
there were large black clouds coming from the east,
strong gusting turbulent winds threating to snap everything,
severe down poring of flooding rain,
as if the clouds were crying out in pain,
it did not seem there would be anyway to save the flower garden,
nothing could survive this unannounced exploding of nature,
this seemingly uncontrollable outburst,
something, maybe everything was going to be destroyed,
this day turned in to this night of hell,
the rain, the wind, the flashes of lightning,
this violent death would not be stopped this time,
then a small voice could barely be heard,
at first it was ignored, flicked away like a mosquito,
the voice did not give up though, once again it cried out,
once again it was ignored, brushed aside,
the voice continued gaining strength, it refused to be shut down,
the creator of the storm suddenly took a step back,
looking down to see where this voice was coming from,
it was emanating from this one lone sunflower,
it was the sunflower that had been given the name Perly,
Perly would not, could not be denied as she screamed out,
leave this garden oh evil storm, I will not except the outcome,
the outcome that you predict will occur, we are fighters,
we will never give in to your senseless urges,
please wake up and hear my plea for sanity,
the storm started to weaken, slowly at first, but continued
gaining momentum loosing it's grip on this act of violence
until finally secumbing to this cry of desperation from
the little sunflower. Gradually, the wind stopped blowing,
the rain stopped falling, the sun began peaking thru the clouds.
Perly Sunflower had saved the lives of all the other flowers
in the garden, and the life of gardens caretaker.
A plaque is now erected on this spot proclaiming the
bravery of this little sunflower that would not give in,
would not accept, would not cower away.
The caretaker of the garden professes eternal gratitude
and love for this brave creature of Gods doing.
Thank you Perly sunflower
Gomer LePoet..
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
i asked her, does it look the same?
she gave me that funny look she gets
whenever i say or do something a little dim
it's a mirror image for a reason she said
in the mirror i see muscles, and strength
hips a little too wide and fleshy
but still muscular,
strength all the way down
but when i reflect on myself,
no mirror necessary
it is never the same
i don't feel as strong as i could
don't look as sharp and sturdy as i could
those fleshy sides, too soft
for a battle-hardened brain
and turbulent thoughts
i need angles, i need straight lines
but there's nothing straight about me
and that's half the problem
and the other half
is that i hate the softness that lingers
but everybody else loves it
and i don't want to be warm and
able to be cuddled
i want hard edges
and nimble, spindly fingers;
when i play my chords
i want my bones to tap the strings
and when sadness sheathes itself within me
i want eyes as dry
as my eczema-bitten hands
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
We've had a turbulent journey together
And as he pushed the bike, slowly did his hand release me
Riding the crashing waves I admit my struggle
And my childish naivety gave passage to worser threats
Yet still he stands there, waving me on my way
Even to this day, despite questionable confidences, I still turn
And still he stands there
A rebel I didn't mean to be, but I am cursed with escalating emotions
Or maybe he would say a blessing, to empathize and find strength
As memories haunt me at night, teaming with those of ill will
The sensitivity he passed on to me prevails, Innocently I am slowed
But my wheels continue turning, and my heart stays true
Though my eyes and ears remain obstructed, my heart makes a turn
And yes, he still stands there
His presence unpurposefully commands attention
And his knowledge, he gives without catch
I understand the wars he must encounter, and yet he stays calm
Giving peace to the tide, he offers nothing, but gives everything
I unconditionally love him
I honestly hold respect for him,
He indirectly teaches me
And fuels me with his love
In this moment, I turn back, not for fear of falling,
But to wave back to the man who let me go
He is no longer there, standing firm in his spot
No
My friend, my father, he rides by my side.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
"Wait a year, they said, wait a year and things will get better. They think one single lapse of a human’s concept of collected time can change anything. A year she waited, she listened; she had to. But the year came, and the year then went, and nothing had changed. The girl was left with nothing. There was a hole, a chasm, never to be filled and never to be touched. There was nothing left and soon she could not find words, syllables, even sound."
A year ago, this is what I expected. Funny how a character I created much darker than I, actually reflected the shadows of my soul. I never realized she was me, the darker me, the hidden me, the me I was after I lost Him.
The depression is real. Its is apart of me. The swirling vortex I'm so afraid of I have to accept. But it doesn't mean I cannot smile. The turbulent tremors of my aching heart will forever be apart of me, but they do not control me. I control me.
Control. That is something I thought I lacked, but I realize it is my strength. Without my strength, the dark wonderlands of my heart would have taken me already, to a place that would be darker than imagined.
I didn't want the world to see me, because I didn't think they'd understand. And when it came to him, I was right. He didn't understand why I couldn't just **** it up and smile, why my outlook wasn't so positive, why I was looking at the world so darkly.
Its a dark world, darling, if he knew me, he'd know its actually optimism most days. But no, all he saw was the darkness and how I could not overcome it and it broke me from him, like a rock from a shore.
I felt like a rock with him, not a season, that is until I met more people who could understand, who could see my face behind these broken eyes. It murdered my never-ending love for him, because I could finally see I could do better, I could be happier.
Bipolar 2.
That's me, but it doesn't control me.
Not anymore.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Yesterday, my psyche took a beating,
Today, I feel like a bruise
That is past its angry, blue-black peak
And throbs with a dull, distracting ache.
Like the aftermath of a storm
When the formerly purple clouds lighten
But still threaten a final, farewell wetting.
That's me, a bruise of many hues
Across a canvas of undetermined mood,
Turbulent, fierce, bleeding still,
Close to the surface, threatening to break.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
I may not do things traditionally
But I'll get them done eventually
If they're the things that are right for me
I'll be okay and set myself free.
In this life of turbulent strife
pitted and ripe with rotten tripe
a sunlight bright pains my sight
but your soothing ice cools my vice
The aid you paid is not ready made
it gives me hope I'm not just a dope
your love is more than a pity rope,
slivered and raw it gives me splinters
But luckily i'm in for a treat
more than a friend sent to mend
oh yes, you're more, my candy store
settle my sweet tooth you randy *****
unwrap the rainbow you insane *****
ride the rhythm of my *** prism
a rod shaped crystal built like a missile
cocked locked and loaded it cant miss-ya.
explodin' and remoldin' the fabric of time
an infinite blanket wraps us entwined
in a frantic romantic purely satanic
ritual of reality, the utmost sensuality.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
I am sorry for ruining all vaginas for you
I hope you can recover eventually
She said
I hate to burst your **** bubble
But I’ve slid some lies between your thighs
When howling at your moon wasn’t so much praise
As it was longing for a change of ***** scenery
People change?
How I feel right now
is like when one time I was sick
And my parents recorded a show I watched
so I could watch it later
And at the end of the show
there was a number for a contest to go to space camp
I called that number
It was disconnected
I always find out the important stuff
A little late
I cried that day
I just wanted to go to space camp
And I just wanted someone to love me like a black hole
A warm black hole to put all my love into
**** me in and fix me like there’s no turning back
I mean in the darkness of space
They all look the same
All yank at you turbulent and fiery head rush passion
I mean we all love the same
So I am sorry I overshot your Venus
To crash land in Uranus
A semi-purposeful curious passion
You coulda yelled ****
We felt like ****
When we walked away
Parts of me have always been missing
And I tried to fill the gaps with you
Problem is when you might be gay and are fighting it
Your closet is a ******
Not your fault your beard looked funny on my ****
You can’t wear a person like an accessory
I can’t slap her like masculinity till I feel straight again
Some things aren’t right
I’m not right
And you are so messed up now
Because you have this superpower to turn men gay
You can’t turn men gay
You can only remind them of the pain that lies
In lying to themselves when they know
None of this feels right
None of it will
Dear former lover
Former black hole body
Former holder of my confusion
And filler of my empty spots
I ****** up by ******* you
I ****** up
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
You were magnificent.
Everyone saw danger in
Black jeans with ink black boots
But I saw a handsome mystery.
People said that you were begging
For trouble and that you were
Going no where fast.
My friends said that you would break my heart
And lead me down a path that
Ended in a not so nice place.
You were my first love.
I remember the smell of
Cigarettes and alcohol clinging to you.
You were my first drug.
I injected myself with your presence
And gulped down your lies
Like the cheap beer we bought.
One midnight I creeped out
To meet you at that bar
Where no one in their right mind
Would go.
Smoke was heavy in the air
And *** was going on in dark corners.
Alcohol flowed freely and showed no sign of stopping.
It was there that we kissed.
Two turbulent years later
We had moved up to that section of the woods
Where people got high.
You stared at the stars but
You seemed to see through them.
It was there that I said,
"I love you."
Those little words danced on the wind
And quietly entered your ear.
At first you didn't do anything
Then you slowly moved your face
Towards mine.
The moonlight shone down and
The stars were on fire,
They were so bright.
You stared at me.
No, through me.
In that moment I realized something.
Everyone was right.
You were trouble,
On the fast track to no where,
And danger in black jeans.
My heart shattered to pieces.
I left you
And that dark path that you led me down.
Even now as I lay in bed,
Aching for your touch
I regret nothing.
You are still magnificent.
My drug in black jeans with matching boots.
My handsome,
Handsome
Mystery.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
With all the world in constant motion,
And new adventures to be embarked,
Take your time and enjoy the moment,
Breathe deep and then depart.
When the waves of emotion make you anxious,
Strong like turbulent winds among a stormy sea,
Finding safe passage to calmer waters
Sometimes takes determination, resilience and bravery.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
We were interstellar travellers,
children so interested in creating
our infinite microcosmic civilizations,
that we missed it. I saw it,
briefly, once, at night.
We jumped from rock to rock
in the grand pond of the
universe, swam between asteroid reefs
and through the turbulent vents
that were black holes. We
lived everywhere, nowhere,
all at once and for an eternity
at the fringes of galaxies,
and their centres (having burrowed
through the thick skins of dying suns).
We built, advanced, explored,
warred, and coexisted. We knew
everything. We thought.
We knew everything, we thought.
It began as a small blip,
an electromagnetic pulse at the
beginning of time which meta-
imposed itself into the rest of time:
a god, or something of
the sort, it grew and
shrank, and grew and
shrank; a heartbeat--
life. Death.
It ended as a small blip,
an electromagnetic pulse at the
end of time which meta-
imposed itself into the rest of time:
a god, or something of
the sort, it grew and
shrank, and grew and
shrank; a heartbeat--
life. Death.
From the former to the latter,
it sparked creation
and destruction
and advancement
and setback
and belief
and theory
and one
and none.
I saw it,
briefly, once, at night.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
*stars silently
enveloped
turbulent seas,
gingerly dappling
each current,
whence the tides
were stilled
'til they ebbed
'tween streams
of serene
spring waters,
rushing its
banks in
cascades of
tranquil
awed hushes
overflowing
midst
surrender's
quietude*
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
As the sun sets
and melts -
a deep orange -
into the blue vastness
yet another
weary day
dies
and a void
creeps into me
and fills
my heart.
I think of home :
I think of you
and
the sky
blushes a faint red.
The birds
are home-bound
restless to be ensconced
in the warmth
of their nests,
the turbulent sea
has come to a stand-still
with her pacified waters
resting lightly
against the
broad, brown chest of the shore.
The traffic
trudges at a
snail's pace
as hordes of vehicles
bang on to the road
with an
air of urgency
that gets
more pronounced
with the
incessant honking
as the city
rushes back home
and my dear heart
returns to the
heaviness and hope
that accompany
my wait
for you
for home....
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
I carry the clothes on my body–
a plain t-shirt and sweater leggings–
attempting to stay warm and keep cool.
I carry my backpack,
my heavy, heavy backpack,
to carry the things I can’t carry in my arms…
my books, pencils, papers, and keys.
In my arms I sometimes carry more books,
sometimes a cup of chai, and sometimes, nothing. Sometimes
I wish I carried a little bit more time;
then I could carry the things I’ve left behind.
I carry all the parts of me simultaneously, and I am full now.
I carry my eyes, for without them, my path would be blurred,
and I would be ignorant.
I carry my ears to hear music and dissonance and
I carry a heart to feel the soundwaves and make sense of them.
I carry my nose to hold the sweetness of a flower in my lungs,
and skin to caress their soft petals,
without plucking them.
When I carry nothing, I sleep,
and in my dreams, I carry the clouds and the stars beyond them.
From there I may see the things I have yet to carry.
I carry my own weight across the populated Earth.
I carry my own gravity and the light of the sun.
I carry the stars from my dreams, and from them,
I create constellations in broad daylight.
I carry my heart.
I carry the soundwaves of voices like
space nymphs, singing songs I want to remember.
I carry the sight of people coming closer and drifting further from me,
escaping and re-entering my orbit,
an arm-length or a light-year away.
I carry their images and sometimes,
I reach for their silhouettes and I try to feel their thoughts.
I carry my heart and it is full.
My heart is filled with emotion,
and my emotions are the Earth’s turbulent winds
across a golden, sun-kissed field and
the sound of a waterfall crashing into
a pool of water at the bottom of the valley, and
equally the eye of the storm in which
the world is a spinning oblivion,
but here, it is quiet.
My heart is the recollection of times past
in a yellowed, well-worn tome awaiting a reader and
the diary of someone whose story begs to be forgotten.
My heart beats for someone to understand its journey,
but it longs to understand what it beats for.
I carry the silence and the music alike;
I carry the Earth and all its wonders.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
A calm and cool breeze
Passes through the leaves of the trees,
Persuading the branches to sway,
Like algae in a turbulent sea.
Without a cloud in the pale blue Arizona sky,
The sun radiates down-- hot and glaring.
It reflects off the shiny paint of the cars around me,
Illuminates the brown mountains in the distance.
And magnified through the thick lenses of my glasses,
It blinds my sensitive eyes.
The surrounding sempiternal desert
Is so clear and sharp,
That no one nor nothing can hide
(With the exception of the beings who can blend,
And despite my tiring efforts,
I am not one of them.)
The nearest Creosote bush
Eminates of the smell of water,
As it passes through a hose.
I am instantly transported back home
Where sand is replaced by grass and plants
That require regular watering to survive.
When I close my eyes I can see
The illusion of a waterfall, created by the uncoiling hose
As it ejects tepid water for us to traverse.
But upon unveiling my windows,
I allow the sandy landscape to penetrate into my soul
And I am brought back to the present
Where life subsists, illogically,
Through a dearth of water, and inordinate sun.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
In a war of arrows
Her heart was found.
Flaccid were the stem attached to the pointed tips.
Soaring the height of love.
Crashing down in a turbulent ******
Flung from tight strings, bended wood.
The ground lay covered in the aftermath of thrill seeking
Underneath the shadow.
A shaman hung his head in such complex circumstances
An addiction to abuse
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
Her soft leaves tremble as
the clouds clash and collide
above, revealing their deafening
roar.
Tremors ripple through her,
beginning at her roots; the
poignant sky tears straight through
her rind.
Vicious tears fall from melancholy stars,
and she quakes under the bellow
of the outraged clouds; she is
alone.
Turbulent,
irate,
ferocious,
but she will remain.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
I
Go on, high ship, since now, upon the shore,
The snake has left its skin upon the floor.
Key West sank downward under massive clouds
And silvers and greens spread over the sea. The moon
Is at the mast-head and the past is dead.
Her mind will never speak to me again.
I am free. High above the mast the moon
Rides clear of her mind and the waves make a refrain
Of this: that the snake has shed its skin upon
The floor. Go on through the darkness. The waves. fly back
II
Her mind had bound me round. The palms were hot
As if I lived in ashen ground, as if
The leaves in which the wind kept up its sound
From my North of cold whistled in a sepulchral South,
Her South of pine and coral and coraline sea,
Her home, not mine, in the ever-freshened Keys,
Her days, her oceanic nights, calling
For music, for whisperings from the reefs.
How content I shall be in the North to which I sail
And to feel sure and to forget the bleaching sand ...
III
I hated the weathery yawl from which the pools
Disclosed the sea floor and the wilderness
Of waving weeds. I hated the vivid blooms
Curled over the shadowless hut, the rust and bones,
The trees likes bones and the leaves half sand, half sun.
To stand here on the deck in the dark and say
Farewell and to know that that land is forever gone
And that she will not follow in any word
Or look, nor ever again in thought, except
That I loved her once ... Farewell. Go on, high ship.
IV
My North is leafless and lies in a wintry slime
Both of men and clouds, a slime of men in crowds.
The men are moving as the water moves,
This darkened water cloven by sullen swells
Against your sides, then shoving and slithering,
The darkness shattered, turbulent with foam.
To be free again, to return to the violent mind
That is their mind, these men, and that will bind
Me round, carry me, misty deck, carry me
To the cold, go on, high ship, go on, plunge on.
5k
I ASKED if I should pray.
But the Brahmin said,
"pray for nothing, say
Every night in bed,
""I have been a king,
I have been a slave,
Nor is there anything.
Fool, rascal, knave,
That I have not been,
And yet upon my breast
A myriad heads have lain.'''
That he might Set at rest
A boy's turbulent days
Mohini Chatterjee
Spoke these, or words like these,
I add in commentary,
"Old lovers yet may have
All that time denied --
Grave is heaped on grave
That they be satisfied --
Over the blackened earth
The old troops parade,
Birth is heaped on Birth
That such cannonade
May thunder time away,
Birth-hour and death-hour meet,
Or, as great sages say,
Men dance on deathless feet.' 0084
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