Fight

Fight
Fight
We have to fight
If we wanna live it right
We have to look at the sky
Invaded with the sun light
...We have to go for our dream
...Without perhaps or might
And when we reach
We have to fight
To avoid falling
From such a big height
  

Apr, 11 2011     246 chars (2 sms)     4891 views       English Poetry

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Daffodils



I wander''d lonely as a cloud

...That floats on high o''er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

...A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.



Continuous as the stars that shine

...And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch''d in never-ending line

...Along the margin of a bay;

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
One likes darkness, another is in the light.
Another drills to pile up worldly possessions.

What is, is in love, the rest is futile.
The world is nothing, its sultan and its shah all nothing.

Was there ever a sultan whose throne survived?
Is there a lover in this world whose name will fade?

May God bless my father who told my teacher:
"Teach my son love’s lesson, and nothing else."

Look at the soil and rock of the desert;
they’re mourning Majnun’s tears.

If Mazun dies as a pauper,
write on his tombstone: This is love’s abode. And nothing else
A carousel forever turning
They care not, self is paramount
All egos blazing
Hour after endless hour they continue
On
Leaving me alone
Cornered, with nowhere to run
Only one can end this
Your refusal burning deep
Branding me, scarring my psyche
I pray to sleep eternally this night
For tomorrow brings more pain
And I can face no more tomorrows
No home to succor me
Who will care, responsibility is for
Those who accept it and try to make it right
I am here, my love is real, tangible
Yours to accept
Don''t shut me out
Don''t push me from you
For then there will be no more
Tomorrows
Only eternal peace
Who Is Here? Who Is There?

In the Garden, when the autumn wind blows,
In the bird’s voice there is wailing and lamentation.

In the lovesick nightingale’s song there is a call,
with a different effect, a different mark.

Still, the nightingale is yearning for the love of the flower.
Still, the salamander is nesting in the oven.

Still, Mansur is hanging on the gallows.
He says: “I’m the Truth,” yet the secret (truth) is hidden.

Still, Zulaykha is not afraid of rebuke.
Still, Yusuf is evading Zulaykha.

Still, the Christian maiden is breaching Sheikh San’an''s faith.
Still, the Sheikh is tending her swine.
As I walk through the valley
of the shadow of LA
The footsteps that were next to me
have gone their separate ways
I''ve seen enough now
to know that beautiful things
don''t always stay that way
I''ve done enough now
to know this beautiful place
isn''t everything they say
Laugh so hard that even
sorrow smiles at u!
Live life so well that even
death loves to see u live!
Fight so hard that even
fate accepts its defeat.
If only the world could see what I feel
then, would the world, know who I am
I''ve loved, lost and feared the world
for it is sometimes too much to bare

Control, power, is what I fear
for I am weak inside and full of pain
I shout and cry, but knowing
there is nobody there to hear me
I swallow the shame and anger
that lies beneath me

I am lost to reality and living in time
Though I am struggling through life
and all that it offers, I am only human
and that is what makes me . . . Me.

Still, I wish for the happiness and pleasure
that I have earned, but realize that, I have
not yet overcome the world''s greatest challenge

Love! and how to accept it -
I am ready to face my fears
some say love it is a river,
that drowns the tender reed.
some say love it is a razor,
that leaves ur soul to bleed.
some say love it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
BUT !!
i say love it is a flower,
n u r its only seed.
One lover is roaring.
He is eager to see a shining face.

Another is distressed,
keen to see her lustrous hair.

Another desires his lover’s breasts.
Describes them as ripe pomegranates,
Hails them improperly,
Praises apples of Isfahan.

One lover says: "My beloved is going away.
My liver''s blood became my wine.
From my cry the world became deaf.
Is this friend in the grinding mill?"

Mine is above all others'' loves.
He is dear, a husband to widows.

He knows everything,
whether the meaning or the expression.

The light of his candle doesn''t vanish.
He is the beloved, I''m the lover.

He is the ocean, Mazun the fish,
How wonderful, what an endless sea he is.
THE WAY TOU MAKE ME FEEL. . .


You make me feel special,
You make me feel new,
You make me feel loved,
With everything you do.

You hold me close when I am sad.
You wipe the tears from my face.
Every time we are together,
It seems like the perfect place.

My eyes light up when you enter a room.
I smile when we are together.
No matter how bad things are,
You always make them better.

I love the way you kiss me,
The way you hold me tight.
I love the way you touch me,
I could be with you all night.

I love the way you can make me laugh
For absolutely no reason at all.
I love how no matter what I do,
You will be there to catch me when I fall.

I just want you to know,
That even though we sometimes fight,
I will always love you!
No matter what, day or night.
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.
It was an ordinary day
I was caught in my routine when
Suddenly something made me think of you.

I paused for a moment n smiled.

It was no longer an ordinary day....;->