Poem.......

[Basra-]

At dawn break on Friday,
I called in sick.
Glorious feeling followed quick,
and there lay ahead my day,
of lazy existence, roaming the net,
of ice cream and chips, cold, iced soda set,
like a nightingale in steamy sweat.
I gallop the wild wide web,
While my ears are radioed to the bright flat box,
faintly listening to a Roosevelt documentary,
and my roaming attract and cox,
the sweet like amiire, and the elite like a fox.
and myself I bequeath a joyous complimentary,
of......
a joyous,erotic noisy superfluous splash of plasma.

[Amira143]

^^^ Walahi waan qoslay.

[Basra-]

Amiira, don't u think it is eclectic and poignant?

[0sman]

Your beloved terrorist, ISIS does not approve of those leisurely things you listed though.

[Basra-]

Osman

I never liked ISIS. They are NOT MUSLIMS. They are opportunists slash Political Terrorists. Some of them don't even pray Salat. I don't support anyone who kills fellow Muslims and even Non Muslims just to get USA attention. That's unholy.

[jalaaludin5]

Lines Of Life

by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Orphan in my first years, I early learnt
To make my heart suffice itself, and seek
Support and sympathy in its own depth.

Well, read my cheek, and watch my eye,
Too strictly schooled are they
One secret of my soul to show,
One hidden thought betray.

I never knew the time my heart
Looked freely from my brow;
It once was checked by timidness,
'Tis taught by caution now.

I live among the cold, the false,
And I must seem like them;
And such I am, for I am false
As those I most condemn.

I teach my lip its sweetest smile,
My tongue its softest tone:
I borrow others' likeness, till
Almost I lose my own.

I pass through flattery's gilded sieve,
Whatever I would say;
In social life, all, like the blind,
Must learn to feel their way.

I check my thoughts like curbed steeds
That struggle with the rein;
I bid my feelings sleep, like wrecks
In the unfathomed main.

I hear them speak of love, the deep,
The true, and mock the name;
Mock at all high and early truth,
And I too do the same.

I hear them tell some touching tale,
I swallow down the tear;
I hear them name some generous deed,
And I have learnt to sneer.

I hear the spiritual, the kind,
The pure, but named in mirth;
Till all of good, ay, even hope,
Seems exiled from our earth.

And one fear, withering ridicule,
Is all that I can dread;
A sword hung by a single hair
For ever o'er the head.

We bow to a most servile faith,
In a most servile fear;
While none among us dares to say
What none will choose to hear.

And if we dream of loftier thoughts,
In weakness they are gone;
And indolence and vanity
Rivet our fetters on.

Surely I was not born for this!
I feel a loftier mood
Of generous impulse, high resolve,
Steal o'er my solitude!

I gaze upon the thousand stars
That fill the midnight sky;
And wish, so passionately wish,
A light like theirs on high.

I have such eagerness of hope
To benefit my kind;
And feel as if immortal power
Were given to my mind.

I think on that eternal fame,
The sun of earthly gloom,
Which makes the gloriousness of death
The future of the tomb --

That earthly future, the faint sign
Of a more heavenly one;
-- A step, a word, a voice, a look, --
Alas! my dream is done.

And earth, and earth's debasing stain,
Again is on my soul;
And I am but a nameless part
Of a most worthless whole.

Why write I this? because my heart
Towards the future springs,
That future where it loves to soar
On more than eagle wings.

The present, it is but a speck
In that eternal time,
In which my lost hopes find a home,
My spirit knows its clime.

O! not myself, -- for what am I?
The worthless and the weak,
Whose every thought of self should raise
A blush to burn my cheek.

But song has touched my lips with fire,
And made my heart a shrine
For what, although alloyed, debased,
Is in itself divine.

I am myself but a vile link
Amid life's weary chain;
But I have spoken hallowed words,
O do not say in vain!

My first, my last, my only wish,
Say will my charmed chords
Wake to the morning light of fame,
And breathe again my words?

Will the young maiden, when her tears
Alone in moonlight shine --
Tears for the absent and the loved --
Murmur some song of mine?

Will the pale youth by his dim lamp,
Himself a dying flame,
From many an antique scroll beside,
Choose that which bears my name?

Let music make less terrible
The silence of the dead;
I care not so my spirit last
Long after life has fled.

[jalaaludin5]

By Sir Walter Raleigh (1554?–1618)

Even such is Time, which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days:
And from which earth, and grave, and dust,
The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.

[jalaaludin5]

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns.

[jalaaludin5]

I do not love you...


I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.


I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.


I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Pablo Neruda.

[Basra-]

jalaaludin5

Mashalaah. That is a good, quality poem.


I can see WHY you would like it though. (it speaks to your love of Music and Song. Especially Somali Song)



And I can see why you posted it here for me. It spoke to me in a way I cannot share.

[jalaaludin5]

Pablo Neruda.



Tonight I Can Write...


Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write for example, "The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance."


The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.


Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her,
and sometimes she loved me too.


Through nights like this one, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.


She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.


Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her.
To feel that I have lost her.


To hear the immense night,
still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.


What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered
and she is not with me.


This is all.
In the distance someone is singing.
In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.


My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her,
and she is not with me.


The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.


I no longer love her, that's certain,
but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.


Another's. She will be another's.
Like my kisses before.
Her bright body.
Her infinite eyes.


I no longer love her, that's certain,
but maybe I love her.
Love is so short,
forgetting is so long.


Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.


Thought this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

[Basra-]

I do not love you...


I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.


I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.


I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Pablo Neruda.

I DIDNT LIKE THIS ONE. IS IT A GAY LOVE???

[jalaaludin5]

Pablo Neruda.

I crave your mouth...


I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.


I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.


I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,


and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

[Basra-]

Pablo Neruda.

I crave your mouth...


I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.


I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.


I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,


and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

a poem for a prostitute??? Male or Female?

[Julkimi]

I like Fridays at my office. We hardly do anything and we order food. And I'm going to leave early today and hit the town. Then sleep for the rest of the weekend. Allah knows my body is tired.