Tuesday, December 25, 2018

New Year Poems:The New Year by Tagore/New Year’s Eve by A. E. Housman

NNALE EN JEEVAN Cover -Rajesh Cherthala

The New Year

LIKE FRUIT, shaken free by an impatient wind
from the veils of its mother flower,
thou comest, New Year, whirling in a frantic dance
amid the stampede of the wind-lashed clouds
and infuriate showers,
while trampled by thy turbulence
are scattered away the faded and the frail
in an eddying agony of death.

Thou art no dreamer afloat on a languorous breeze,
lingering among the hesitant whisper and hum
of an uncertain season.

Thine is a majestic march, o terrible Stranger,
thundering forth an ominous incantation,
driving the days on to the perils of a pathless dark,
where thou carriest a dumb signal in thy banner,
a decree of destiny undeciphered.

New Year’s Eve
A. E. Housman

The end of the year fell chilly
Between a moon and a moon;
Thorough the twilight shrilly
The bells rang, ringing no tune.

The windows stained with story,
The walls with miracle scored,
Were hidden for gloom and glory
Filling the house of the Lord.

Arch and aisle and rafter
And roof-tree dizzily high
Were full of weeping and laughter
And song and saying good-bye.

There stood in the holy places
A multitude none could name,
Ranks of dreadful faces
Flaming, transfigured in flame.

Crown and tiar and mitre
Were starry with gold and gem;
Christmas never was whiter
Than fear on the face of them.

In aisles that emperors vaulted
For a faith the world confessed,
Abasing the Host exalted,
They worshipped towards the west.

They brought with laughter oblation;
They prayed, not bowing the head;
They made without tear lamentation,
And rendered me answer and said:

‘O thou that seest our sorrow,
It fares with us even thus:
To-day we are gods, to-morrow
Hell have mercy on us.

‘Lo, morning over our border
From out of the west comes cold;
Down ruins the ancient order
And empire builded of old.

‘Our house at even is queenly
With psalm and censers alight:
Look thou never so keenly
Thou shalt not find us to-night.

‘We are come to the end appointed
With sands not many to run:
Divinities disanointed
And kings whose kingdom is done.

‘The peoples knelt down at our portal,
All kindreds under the sky;
We were gods and implored and immortal
Once; and to-day we die.’

They turned them again to their praying,
They worshipped and took no rest
Singing old tunes and saying
‘We have seen his star in the west,’

Old tunes of the sacred psalters,
Set to wild farewells;
And I left them there at their altars
Ringing their own dead knells.

Saturday, December 22, 2018

Among the water-lilies by Khalil Gibran

Ahebak - Hussain Al Jassmi - Violin Cover by Andre Soueid

Among the water-lilies
From"Jesus,The son Of man"
Khalil Gibran

Upon a day my beloved and I
were rowing upon the lake of sweet waters.
And the hills of Lebanon were about us.

We moved beside the weeping willows, and the reflections
of the willows were deep around us.

And while I steered the boat with an oar, my beloved took
her lute and sang thus:

What flower save the lotus knows the waters and the sun?
What heart save the lotus heart shall know both earth and sky?

Behold my love, the golden flower that floats 'twixt deep and high
Even as you and I float betwixt a love that has for ever been
And shall for ever be.

Dip your oar, my love,
And let me touch my strings.
Let us follow the willows, and let us leave not the water-lilies.

In Nazareth there lives a Poet, and His heart is like the lotus.
He has visited the soul of woman,
He knows her thirst is growing out of the waters,
And her hunger for the sun, though all her lips are fed.

They say He walks in Galilee.
I say He is rowing with us.
Can you not see His face, my love?
Can you not see, where the willow bough and its reflection meet,
He is moving as we move?

Beloved, it is good to know the youth of life.
It is good to know its singing joy.
Would that you might always have the oar,
And I my stringed lute,
Where the lotus laughs in the sun,
And the willow is dipping to the waters,
And His voice is upon my strings.

Dip your oar, my beloved,
And let me touch my strings.
There is a Poet in Nazareth
Who knows and loves us both.
Dip your oar, my lover,
And let me touch my strings.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Love Song :Best Rainer Maria rilke Poems On Love

2CELLOS - Love Story

You who never arrived
Rainer Maria Rilke

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...”

You, You Only, Exist
Rainer Maria Rilke

You, you only, exist.
We pass away, till at last,
our passing is so immense
that you arise: beautiful moment,
in all your suddenness,
arising in love, or enchanted
in the contraction of work.

To you I belong, however time may
wear me away. From you to you
I go commanded. In between
the garland is hanging in chance; but if you
take it up and up and up: look:
all becomes festival!

Love song
Rainer Maria Rilke

How can I keep my soul in me, so that
it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise
it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote
lost objects, in some dark and silent place
that doesn't resonate when your depths resound.

Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin's bow,
which draws *one* voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song.

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Du im Voraus verlorne Geliebte/ Ein Liebesgedicht Von Rainer maria Rilke

Du im Voraus verlorne Geliebte
Rainer Maria Rilke

Du im Voraus
verlorne Geliebte, Nimmergekommene,
nicht weiß ich, welche Töne dir lieb sind.
Nicht mehr versuch ich, dich, wenn das Kommende wogt,
zu erkennen. Alle die großen
Bilder in mir, im Fernen erfahrene Landschaft,
Städte und Türme und Brücken und un-
vermutete Wendung der Wege
und das Gewaltige jener von Göttern
einst durchwachsenen Länder:
steigt zur Bedeutung in mir
deiner, Entgehende, an.

Ach, die Gärten bist du,
ach, ich sah sie mit solcher
Hoffnung. Ein offenes Fenster
im Landhaus —, und du tratest beinahe
mir nachdenklich heran. Gassen fand ich, —
du warst sie gerade gegangen,
und die Spiegel manchmal der Läden der Händler
waren noch schwindlich von dir und gaben erschrocken
mein zu plötzliches Bild. — Wer weiß, ob derselbe
Vogel nicht hinklang durch uns
gestern, einzeln, im Abend?

Saturday, September 8, 2018

Nothing that's important is lost by Moguel Sousa tavares

"And once again I believe that nothing that's important really becomes lost.
We just delude ourselves, thinking that we own the things, the moments and
the others. Still with me are all the dead persons who I loved, all the friends
who turned away, all the happy days that faded.

I lost nothing but the illusion that everything could be mine forever."
Miguel Sousa Tavares

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

Serenity by Ralph Waldo emerson

But real action is in silent moments.
The epochs of our life are not in the visible facts of our choice
of a calling, our marriage, our acquisition of an office, and the like,
but in a silent thought by the wayside as we walk; in a thought which
revises our entire manner of life and says,—
"Thus hast thou done, but it were better thus".
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Monday, September 3, 2018

How weak Our Mind is by Guy De maupassant

How weak our mind is; how quickly it is terrified and unbalanced
as soon as we are confronted with a small, incomprehensible fact.
Instead of dismissing the problem with: "We do not understand
because we cannot find the cause," we immediately imagine terrible
mysteries and supernatural powers.
Guy de Maupassant

Thursday, August 30, 2018

A DIALOGUE by Ella Wehller Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Let us be friends. My life is sad and lonely,
While yours with love is beautiful and bright.
Be kind to me: I ask your friendship only.
No Star is robbed by lending darkness light.

I give you friendship as I understand it,
A sentiment I feel for all mankind.

Oh, give me more; may not one friend command it?

Look in the skies, ’tis there the star you’ll find;
It casts its beams on all with equal favour.

I would have more than what all men may claim.

Then your ideas of friendship strongly savour
Of sentiments which wear another name.

May not one friend receive more than another?

Not man from woman and still remain a friend.
Life holds but three for her, a father, brother,
Lover—against the rest she must contend.

Against the universe I would protect you,
With my life even, nor hold the price too dear.

But not against yourself, should fate select you
As Lancelot for foolish Guinevere.

You would not tempt me?

That is undisputed.
We put the question back upon the shelf.
My point remains unanswered, unrefuted
No man protects a woman from himself.

I am immune: for once I loved with passion,
And all the fires within me burned to dust.
I think of woman but in friendly fashion:
In me she finds a comrade safe to trust.

So said Mount Peelée to the listening ocean:
Behold what followed! Let the good be wise.
Though human hearts proclaim extinct emotion,
Beware how high the tides of friendship rise.

The voice of love by George Eliot

SHOULD I long that dark were fair?
Say, O song,
Lacks my love aught, that I should long?

Dark the night, with breath all flow’rs,
And tender broken voice that fills
With ravishment the listening hours:
Whisperings, wooings,
Liquid ripples and soft ring-dove cooings
In low-ton’d rhythm that love’s aching stills.

Dark the night,
Yet is she bright,
For in her dark she brings the mystic star,
Trembling yet strong, as is the voice of love,
From some unknown afar.
O radiant Dark! O darkly-fostered ray!
Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow Day.
George Eliot
Songs from “The Spanish Gypsy.” I. The Dark

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Into quiet & tender joy by Fyodor Dostoevsk

But it is possible, it is possible: the old grief, by a great mystery
of human life, gradually passes into quiet, tender joy;
instead of young, ebullient blood comes a mild, serene old age:

I bless the sun's rising each day and my heart sings to
it as before, but now I love its setting even more, its long
slanting rays, and with them quiet, mild, tender memories,
dear images from the whole of a long and blessed life--and
over all is God's truth, moving, reconciling, all-forgiving!
Fyodor Dostoevsky

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

Music :Rythmes of love and spirit/I WISH I COULD SPEAK LIKE MUSIC/

Gabriel's Oboe(Ennio Morricone)-André Rieu

Is it any weakness, pray, to be wrought on by exquisite music?
to feel its wondrous harmonies searching the subtlest windings
of your soul, the delicate fibres of life where no memory can
penetrate, and binding together your whole being, past and present,
in one unspeakable vibration; melting you in one moment with all

the tenderness, all the love, that has been scattered through
the toilsome years, concentrating in one emotion of heroic
courage or resignation all the hard-learned lessons of
self-renouncing sympathy, blending your present joy
with past sorrow, and your present sorrow with all your past joy?

John Vance Cheney

Take of the maiden's and the mother's sigh,
Of childhood's dream, and hope that age doth bless,
Of roses and the south wind's tenderness,
Of fir-tree's shadow, tint of sunset sky,
Of moon on meadow where the stream runs by,
Of lover's kiss, his diffident caress,
Of blue eyes' yellow, brown eyes' darker, tress,

Of echoes from the morning bird on high,
Of passion of all pulses of the Spring,
Of prayer from every death-bed of the Fall,
Of joy and woe that sleep and waking bring,
Of tremor of each blood-beat great and small;
Now, pour into the empty soul each thing,
And let His finger touch that moveth all.

Where Everything Is Music

Don’t worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn’t matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world’s harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!

They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we can’t see.

Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirit fly in and out.


I wish I could speak like music.

I wish I could put the swaying splendor
Of the fields into words

So that you could hold Truth
Against your body
And dance.

I am trying the best I can
With this crude brush, the tongue,

To cover you with light.

I wish I could speak like divine music.

I want to give you the sublime rhythms
Of this earth and the sky’s limbs

As they joyously spin and surrender,
Against God’s luminous breath.

Hafiz wants you to hold me
Against your precious

And dance,

Friday, July 27, 2018

State of innocence by Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

John Atkinson Grimshaw Art

We often have need of a profound philosophy to restore to our feelings
their original state of innocence, to find our way out of the rubble
of things alien to us, to begin to feel for ourselves and to speak
ourselves, and I might almost say to exist ourselves.
Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

Strong Woman May be your only Army by Nizar Qabani

Don't be afraid of having a relationship with a strong woman.
There might come a day when she will be your only army.
Nizar Qabani

Walk with grief like a good friend by Rumi

Walk with grief like a good friend.
Listen to what he says.
Sometimes the cold and dark of a cave
give the opening we most want.

Saturday, July 14, 2018

Flow,not fix by Thomas Wolfe

The essence of belief is doubt,
the essence of reality is questioning.

The essence of Time is Flow, not Fix.
The essence of faith is the knowledge that all flows
and that everything must change.

The growing man is Man Alive, and his "philosophy"
must grow, must flow, with him.

The man too fixed today, unfixed tomorrow - and his body
of beliefs is nothing but a series of fixations.
Thomas Wolfe

Friday, July 13, 2018

Moment Of bliss by Fyodor Dostoevsky

May you be for ever blessed
for that moment of bliss and happiness
which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart.

Isn't such a moment sufficient
for the whole of one's life?
Fyodor Dostoevsky

Thursday, July 5, 2018

When Love Touches Pain by stephen Levine

When your fear touches someone’s pain,
it becomes pity,
when your love touches someone’s pain,
it become compassion.
Stephen Levine

Dreams are in all Of Us by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

There are dreams of love, life, and adventure in all of us.
But we are also sadly filled with reasons why we shouldn’t try.
These reasons seem to protect us, but in truth they imprison us.
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

The light of love by Lord byron

The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,
And, oh! the eye was in itself a Soul!
Lord Byron, Bride of Abydos

Monday, June 25, 2018

Nostalgia By Eugène Ionesco

In the history of humanity there are no civilizations or cultures
which fail to manifest, in one or a thousand ways, this need for
an absolute that is called heaven, freedom, a miracle, a lost
paradise to be regained, peace, the going beyond History...

There is no religion in which everyday life is not considered
a prison; there is no philosophy or ideology that does not think
that we live in alienation....

Humanity has always had a nostalgia for the freedom
that is only beauty,that is only real; life, plenitude, light.
Eugène Ionesco

Friday, June 22, 2018

Listen my love by Rumi

Listen my love, illumination is eternal.
Now is always evolving.

As there are billions of stars,
there are billions of steps.

As there are billions of souls,
there are billions of ways to grow.

Saturday, May 12, 2018

You would not be without friends by harlotte Bronte

If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked,
while your own conscience approved you, and absolved
you from guilt, you would not be without friends.
Charlotte Bronte,Jane Eyre

Love of Nature in me by John ruskin,

My entire delight was in observing without being myself noticed,—
if I could have been invisible, all the better. I was absolutely
interested in men and their ways, as I was interested in marmots
and chamois, in tomtits and trout.

If only they would stay still and let me look at them, and not get
into their holes and up their heights! The living inhabitation of
the world — the grazing and nesting in it, — the spiritual power
of the air, the rocks, the waters, to be in the midst of it, and
rejoice and wonder at it,and help it if I could, — happier if
it needed no help of mine, —

this was the essential love of Nature in me, this the root of all
that I have usefully become, and the light of all that I have rightly learned.
John ruskin,Praeterita

Friday, May 11, 2018

Why poetry and philosophy are nothing but dead-letter nowadays? by André Gide

Do you know the reason why poetry and philosophy
are nothing but dead-letter nowadays?

It is because they have severed themselves from life.
In Greece, ideas went hand-in-hand with life; so that the artist's
life was already a poetic realisation, the philosopher's life
a putting into action of his philosophy; in this way, as both philosophy
and poetry took part in life, instead of remaining unacquainted with each other,
philosophy provided food for poetry, and poetry gave expression to philosophy
- and the result was admirably persuasive.

Nowadays beauty no longer acts;
action no longer desires to be beautiful;
and wisdom works in a sphere apart.
André Gide

Thursday, May 10, 2018

Feeling Different by André Gide

The part in each of us that we feel is different from other people
is just the part that is rare, the part that makes our special value -
and that is the very thing people try to suppress.
They go on imitating. And yet they think they love life.
André Gide, The Immoralist

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Hope springs eternal by Alexander Pope

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blessed:
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Alexander Pope

That's the way life is by Eugène Ionesco

That's not it at all. You always have a tendency to add.
But one must be able to subtract too. It's not enough to
integrate, you must also disintegrate. That's the way life is.
That's philosophy. That's science. That's progress, civilization.
Eugène Ionesco

Thursday, April 26, 2018

The Life of Love BY Khalil Gibran

HAUSER - Oblivion (Piazzolla)

The Life of Love
Khalil Gibran


Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
Inspiration high above the cool green plains.

Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
the Night of Kedre.

The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.

Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.

Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.


Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
Are ripening the grain.

Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.

Let us fill our bins with the products of
Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.

Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
Upon pillows of soft hay.

Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
To the provoking murmur of the brook.


Let us go and gather grapes in the vineyard
For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
Ages in eternal vessels.

Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
Have made pilgrimage to warmth and lest the chilled
Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
And myrtle have no more tears.

Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
Are drained of their copious weeping; and
Their cautious old hills have stored away
Their colorful garments.

Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
With quiet and contented melody.


Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter.

Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door.
Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.

Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.

Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
Reward in harvest.

Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.

You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
And how recent was the dawn!

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