‘CELEBRATING CHILDHOOD’ -A POEM BY ADONIS !

adonis

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“Celebrating Childhood”

Even the wind wants
to become a cart
pulled by butterflies.
I remember madness
leaning for the first time
on the mind’s pillow.
I was talking to my body then
and my body was an idea
I wrote in red.
Red is the sun’s most beautiful
throne
and all the other colors
worship on red rugs.
Night is another candle.
In every branch, an arm,
a message carried in space
echoed by the body of the wind.
The sun insists on dressing itself
in fog
when it meets me:
Am I being scolded by the light?
Oh, my past days—
they used to walk in their sleep
and I used to lean on them.
Love and dreams are two
parentheses.
Between them I place my body
and discover the world.
Many times
I saw the air fly with two grass
feet
and the road dance with feet
made of air.
My wishes are flowers
staining my days.
I was wounded early,
and early I learned
that wounds made me.
I still follow the child
who still walks inside me.
Now he stands at a staircase
made of light
searching for a corner to rest in
and to read the face of night
again.
If the moon were a house,
my feet would refuse to touch its
doorstep.
They are taken by dust
carrying me to the air of seasons.
I walk,
one hand in the air,
the other caressing tresses
that I imagine.
A star is also
a pebble in the field of space.
He alone
who is joined to the horizon
can build new roads.
A moon, an old man,
his seat is night
and light is his walking stick.
What shall I say to the body I
abandoned
in the rubble of the house
in which I was born?
No one can narrate my childhood
except those stars that flicker
above it
and that leave footprints
on the evening’s path.
My childhood is still
being born in the palms of a light
whose name I do not know
and who names me.
Out of that river he made a
mirror
and asked it about his sorrow.
He made rain out of his grief
and imitated the clouds.
Your childhood is a village.
You will never cross its
boundaries
no matter how far you go.
His days are lakes,
his memories floating bodies.
You who are descending
from the mountains of the past,
how can you climb them again,
and why?
Time is a door
I cannot open.
My magic is worn,
my chants asleep.
I was born in a village,
small and secretive like a womb.
I never left it.
I love the ocean not the shores.

ADONIS.
(Translated by Khaled Mattawa).

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‘LOVE SONG’ -A POEM BY JOSEPH BRODSKY !

joseph-brodsky31

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“LOVE SONG”

If you were drowning, I’d come
to the rescue,
wrap you in my blanket and pour
hot tea.
If I were a sheriff, I’d arrest you
and keep you in the cell under
lock and key.
If you were a bird, I ‘d cut a
record
and listen all night long to your
high-pitched trill.
If I were a sergeant, you’d be my
recruit,
and boy i can assure you you’d
love the drill.
If you were Chinese, I’d learn the
languages,
burn a lot of incense, wear funny
clothes.
If you were a mirror, I’d storm
the Ladies,
give you my red lipstick and puff
your nose.
If you loved volcanoes, I’d be lava
renlentlessly erupting from my
hidden source.
And if you were my wife, I’d be
your lover
because the church is firmly
against divorce.

JOSEPH BRODSKY.

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RAIN IN SUMMER ! (a poem)

The First Rain In Summer/
Is Visible So Loud/
One Can Almost Hold It Forever/
Unto One’s Innermost Core/
Keeping The Heat of Summer/
Spineless !/

Raindrops Falling On The Petals/
Of Flowers Lotus,Rose and All/
Magnify The Beauty,Bliss and Blessings/
So Much Inherent In Nature/
Human Soul Can’t Have Them Enough !/

The Harbinger of Music And Memory,Dance And Delight/
The Rain In Summer/
Always A Welcoming Guest/
Rekindling Hope In The Land of/
Dreariness,Desert and Despair !/

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MRITYUNJAY JHA
4F,ADARSH NAGAR
SAMASTIPUR
BIHAR
INDIA.
Postal Code : 848101
(+91) 9334411390.
http://facebook.com/MJ1982M
http://twitter.com/MJ1982M
http://google.com/+Mrityunjayjha

‘THE ROSE OF THE WORLD !’ -A POEM BY W.B.YEATS !

yeats-reading
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“THE ROSE OF THE WORLD”

WHO dreamed that beauty
passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their
mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder
may betide,
Troy passed away in one high
funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.
We and the labouring world are
passing by:
Amid men’s souls, that waver
and give place
Like the pale waters in their
wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of
the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.
Bow down, archangels, in your
dim abode:
Before you were, or any hearts
to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by
His seat;
He made the world to be a
grassy road
Before her wandering feet.

W.B.YEATS

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MRITYUNJAY JHA
4F,ADARSH NAGAR
SAMASTIPUR
BIHAR
INDIA.
Postal-Code : 848101
(+91) 9334411390.
http://facebook.com/MJ1982M
http://twitter.com/MJ1982M

A WORLD VIEW ! (a poem)

The Map of Our World Looks
Pretty/
In The Pages of Books We Read
Or Just Have A Glance/
But,The Real World That We
Reside In/
Is Scarry Every Bit/
Ravaged By
War,Diplomacy,Dogmas And
Dynamics of Power/
A Nation Implodes Or People’s
Hope Explodes Into Ashes/
Like Their Homes/
Leaving Their Native Land For
Living Alive/
Across The Border/
Erasing Identity In Search of
Food And Shelter/
Memories of Their Homeland
Their Singular Distraction/
When Life Turns Mere An Act of
Forgetting/
Living And Dying Loose Their
Distinction/
Blood Spills On The Grounds
Where Children Used To Play/
The Only Sign Schools Display Is
Those of Bullet-marks/
The Map of Our World Is Left With
Only One Thing To Notice/
The Saddest Eyes of Children!/

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I hv composed this poem today
on the occasion of World
Refugee Day !

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MRITYUNJAY JHA
4F,ADARSH NAGAR
SAMASTIPUR
BIHAR
INDIA.
Postal-Code : 848101.
(+91) 9334411390.
http://facebook.com/MJ1982M
http://twitter.com/MJ1982M