M poem

                                      Kamala Dad    Driving from my parents's home to Cochin    last Friday morning, I saw my mother,   beside me,      doze, open mouthed, her face ashen like    that    of a corpse and realised with pain    that she thought away, and looked but soon   put that thought away, and looked out at    young    trees sprinting, the merry children spilling    out of their homes, but after the airport's   security check, standing a few yards away,   I looked again at her, was, pale    as a late winter's moon and felt that old    familiar ache, my childhood's fear,   but all  I said was, see you soon,    Amma,   all I did was smile and smile and smile...... 

                                    -Pablo Neruda    Now we will count to twelve    and we will all keep still.    For once on the face of the Earth    let's not speak in any language,    let's stop for one second,    and not move our arms so much.    It would be an exotic moment    Without rush, without engine,    We would all be strangeness.    Fisherman in the cold sea   would not harm whales    and the man gathering salt    would look at his hurt hands.    Those who prepare green wars,    wars with gas,  wars with fire,    victory with no survivors,    would put on clean clothes    and walk about with their    brothers   in the shade,  doing nothing.   What I want should not be confused  ...

                                   -Ted Hughes  The Laburnum top is silent, quite still  In the afternoon yellow September sunlight,   A few leaves yellowing , all its seeds fallen.       https://www.pexels.com/search/the%20labu     rnum%20tree/  Till the goldfinch comes,  with a twitching chirrup  A suddenness, a starlement, at a branch end.  Then sleek as a lizard, and alert, and abrupt,   She enters the thickness, and a machine starts up  Of chitterlings, and a tremor of wings, and trillings-  The whole tree trembles and thrills.   It is the engine of her family.   She stokes it full, then flirts out to a branch-end  Showing her barred face identity mask  Then with eerie delicate whistle-chirrup whisperings  She launches away, towards the infinite   And the ...

    How do you like to go up in a swing,      Up in the air so blue.                        Oh! I think, it is the pleasantest thing,           Ever a child can do!      Up in the air and over the wall,      Till I can see so wide.             Rivers, trees, cattel and all,             Over the countryside .         Till look down to the garden ,       Down on the roof so brown.                        Up in the air I go flying again,                 Up in the air and down.                                    -Robert Louis Stevenson...

  Deep in the night;    When all is still,    A moonbeam climbs the window-sill.   Over your bed;    It softly flies,    To see if sleep has closed your eyes.      A pinch of gold;    Some fairy land,    Is clasped within that moonbeam's hand.    And if by chance;    Your are not asleep,    It comes tip-toe on gentle feet.    To touch your eyes;   With golden beam,    And take you to the land of dreams . 

Enjoy this poem      My house is red - a little house     A happy child am I .     I laugh and play the whole day long.      I hardly ever cry.            I have a tree, a green, green tree,      To shade me from the sun;      And under it I often sit,      When all my play is done. 

   Opening Day!        Up with the sun       I'm on my way,            Rushing to my school,        It's the opening day !                Holidays are over        But I'm not at all sad.        Would you like to know         What makes me so glad ?         New shoes,  new bag,         My uniform is new;          New books, new class,          A new class-teacher too!          So everything is new          And that is really fine.          Yet, What's old, and goods as gold          Are the good old friends of mine!   

                                                 Never let a thought shrivel and die          For want of a way to say it          For English is a wonderful game          And all of you can play it.               All that you do is match the words           To the brightest thoughts in your head            So that they come out clear and true           And handsomely groomed and fed -          For many of the loveliest things           Have never yet been said.         Words are the food and dress of thought          They give it its body and swing  ...

     Never give up in life, Man!     Never give up in life.     Life is the greatest gift    No one here is misfit.     We need to know our goal      And nicely play our role.     Why to fear with dark     When there are millions stars.               Why to sink in despair,       when hope resides everywhere .      what a path without a turn,        what a flower without a thorn.        What a joy without sadness.        What a goal without weariness.         Everything is for a reason,         like we need every season.         Face the hurdles with a smile.          Never give up in this life. 

         Love....             There are moments                   when            behind  your       smile, there &  pain...       There  are  days           when  behind               your   joy,           there  are  tears.              I  just  want  you  to                  Know  that                behind  you,           will  always  be  me.                          I'll   take...

       I readied myself to        write and  closed         my eyes looking           for inspiration               " and my heart                 dicated            three  words         "  I miss  you. "         I miss your gaze              telling  me          " I love  you. "                 The softnrss             Of you            caresses ,          your  hands..         I miss your voice,                   your ...

               I love you for                everything  that you                give me and for                everything  you are.                        There are no words                  to express everything                  that I feel for you.                                   There is no song                       as beautiful                     as the music                    o...

                                                                - by.   Walt Whitman  And who are thou? Said I to soft-falling  shower,  Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer,  as here translated: I am the poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,  Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,   Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely  from 'd,  altogether changed, and yet the same, I descend to lave the droughts,  atomies, dust-layers of the globe,  And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;                                    And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin, ...

                                                 -  Adrienne  Rich The trees inside are moving out into the forest,  the forest that was empty all these days  Where no bird could sit no insect hide no sun bury its feet in shadow  the forest that was empty all these nights  will be full of trees by morning.  All night the roots work  to disengage themselves from the cracks in the veranda floor.  The leaves strain toward the glass small twigs stiff with exertion  long -cramped boughs stuffing under the roof like newly discharged patients half-dazed, moving to the clinic doors.                      I sit inside,  doors open to the veranda  writing long letters in which I scarcely mention the departure o...

                                  Elizabeth Jennings I do not understand this child Though we have lived together now In the same house for years. I know Nothing of him, so try to build Up a relationship from how  He was when small.  Yet have I liked The seed I spent or sown or it where The land is his and none of mine?  We speak like strangers, there's no sign  Of understanding in the air.  This child is built to my design  Yet what he loves I cannot share.                Silence surrounds us. I would have  Him prodigal, returning to His father's house, the home he knew,  Rather than see him make and move His world. I would forgive him too,  Shaping from sorrow a new love.  Father and son, we both must live  On the same globe and the same land,...

                                                 By-Robert Frost   Some say the world will end in fire   Some say in ice.   From what I' ve tasted of desire   I hold with those who favour fire.                   But if it had to perish twice,   I think I know enough of hate   To say that for destruction ice   Is also great   And would suffice.  

                        Poem of the day.                                                    by-  Leslie Norris                       He stalks in his vivid stripes      The few steps of his cage,        On pads of velvet quite,         In his quite rage,             He should be lurking in shadow,      Sliding through long grass      Near the water hole       Where plump deer pass.       He should be snarling around houses      At the jungle's edge,       Baring his white fangs, his claws,    ...

                    When did my childhood go?            Was it the day I ceased to be eleven,             Was it the time I realised that Hell and Heaven,              Could not be found in Geography,               And therefore could not be,               Was that the day!                   When did my childhood go?        Was it the time I realised that adults were not all they seemed to be,  They talked of love and preached of love,  But did not act so lovingly,     Was that the day!                 When did my childhood  go?  Was it when I found my mind was really ...