On your knee

On your knee
On your knee, in the lamplight,
dipping buttered toast in your coffee,
I hear the hush of the silent house.
The other children gone off to school,
you and I sit together
alone in the dim morning light,
full of love and trust,
chattering to one another about
simple times with unfurrowed brows.
We were so close then.
I hold that memory in my mind
like an old black and white photograph
one would carry in a wallet, worn soft
from years of riding in a back pocket,
a photo
showing the ones you love,
the most beautiful mother,
the best loved and dearest held,
the treasured one--
to be shown far from home.
  

Jun, 17 2010     625 chars (4 sms)     3015 views       English Poetry

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Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
“ The future is yours…….It belongs to you
With faith in God and in yourself too
No hills too high, no mountains too tall
With faith in the lord ……you can conquer them all.“
Majnun is drunk from love, and Layla is drunk from coyness.
The mountain existed and this madman also existed.

The eyes of beauties were drunken and murderous.
Her tongue was like sugar, and her lips the confectioner.

The suffering boy and the loving girl existed,
the tyrant father and miser mother were also there.

That teasing that breaches faith,
the arrow of coy that pierces the soul,


It was not that Mazun was targeted last night,
the arrow was there and the target was there.
Slowly you become a memory
and start to fade away
as each week that passes by
I''m starting to feel OK

i cared about you dearly
i treated you like gold
i waited for the same
but was left out in the cold

you were mean and selfish
you treated me like dirt
you dug deeper and deeper
just to get me hurt

after everything you did
your wish didn''t come true
you will always remain a memory
but never forget i actually loved you!
"October''s The Month
When The Smallest Breeze
Gives Us A Shower
Of Autumn Leaves.
Bonfires And Pumpkins,
Leaves Sailing Down -
October Is Red
And Golden And Brown."
- Can Teach Songs

"Listen! The Wind Is Rising,
And The Air Is Wild With Leaves,
We Have Had Our Summer Evenings,
Now For October Eves!"
- Humbert Wolfe
i sit in the park where i dwell,
for this girl i love so well.
she took my heart away from me,
now she wants to set me free.



i see a boy on her lap,
she says things to him she never said to me.
i ran home to cry on my bed,
not a word to mother was said.


father came home late that night,
he looked at me from left to right.
he saw me hanging from rope,
he took his knife to cut me down,
and on my dress a note was found.



dig my grave,dig it deep.
dig my grave, from head to feet.
and on the top place a dobe.
and remember this, i did for love.
and you may be sort of a loner, but that
doesn''t mean you want to be. What hurts you
is people being mean and even though you
might not get it that often, since you''re so
sensitive it still makes you deal with pain.
You''re not a leader and are usually the
person who stands alone, does what she''s
supposed to do and nothing else.
On occasion we wonder what our purpose in life is,

We don’t listen to our inner voice, ignoring his.

Something inside propels us to act,

Yet we often fail to recognize it and simply don’t react.

Perhaps we have known all along,

But we are too afraid that we could be wrong.

We must take a chance on our given talent,

Each and every one of us can be valiant.

If we veer off track,

Something inside will pull us back.

Maybe it could be we are being tested,

So when our individual purpose becomes clear, it is not ignored or rejected.
Each Person Has A Different Path To The Friend’s Neighborhood

We exchanged reason for love.
Everybody is a buyer of a different good.

The mystic’s design and mark is distinct,
A different bazaar, a different shop.

It’s a different journey, a distinct world.
It’s different from this world and the other world.

Those on the land are unaware of those in the air.
A good from Ethiopia is different from one from Central Asia.

One who is in the sea is ignorant of some one who is in the desert.
Everybody is the king of his own city.
On your knee, in the lamplight,
dipping buttered toast in your coffee,
I hear the hush of the silent house.
The other children gone off to school,
you and I sit together
alone in the dim morning light,
full of love and trust,
chattering to one another about
simple times with unfurrowed brows.
We were so close then.
I hold that memory in my mind
like an old black and white photograph
one would carry in a wallet, worn soft
from years of riding in a back pocket,
a photo
showing the ones you love,
the most beautiful mother,
the best loved and dearest held,
the treasured one--
to be shown far from home.
I didn’t decide to carry the load of sorrow,
sorrow existed, this house of sorrow also existed.

I didn’t lift the Jam-e Jam to drink wine,
wine existed, this house of wine also was there.

It is said: "He who created the house of love,
let the beloved burn and the lover burnt."

The cruelty of the red rose, and the cry of the nightingale—
the candle existed, and this moth also existed.

One’s pain is too much, another’s little,
one’s heart is afflicted, another’s smiles.
Words twist and tumble
Through my mind
But I can''t grab the right word
Or the right line
So we sit
In silence
But it’s not uncomfortable
In fact I love it
You rest your head on my chest
As we lay here
Lovers entwined
Hearts tangled
You raise your head
And look into my eyes
And I see our love
Almost as if it’s a real force
I don’t ever want to lose this moment
You lay your head on my chest once again
And now I can feel your heartbeat
And my hearts skips
And I finally find the words I’m looking for
I love you