1. Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.
2. Come back to break my heart, even if you are bitter
Come again, to leave me, Come again
ranjish hi sahi dil hi dukhane ke liye aa
aa phir se mujhe chhoD ke jaane ke liye aa
3. Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Tags: Poetry |
4. When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away on two round wheels, my own mouth rounding in surprise when you pulled ahead down the curved path of the park, I kept waiting for the thud of your crash as I sprinted to catch up, while you grew smaller, more breakable with distance, pumping, pumping for your life, screaming with laughter, the hair flapping behind you like a handkerchief waving goodbye
5. Though she no longer lives here
This will always be her home
The warm and kindest place
Her heart has ever known
6. Self Harm Poem:
An empty room, an empty girl. Sitting silent on the floor. Her sleeve rolled up, exposing skin. She drags the blade and presses in.
The pain it brings cannot compare. To the joy she knows will soon be there. It’s worth the scars that never heal. For just a moment not to feel.
Just a cut, Just a scratch. “Whats that mark?” “It was the cat.”
Just an excuse. Just a lie, “Whats with all the bracelets?” “Just fashion, why?”
Just a tear. Just a scream. “Why were you crying?” “Just a bad dream.”
But is not just a cut, Or tear, or a lie. It’s always “just one more.” Until you die.
Scars on your soul. Scars on your skin. Some on the outside. Some are within. Some have a story. Some are unwritten. Some you can see, But most are quite hidden.
Hush little baby, Don’t you cry. Don’t cut your arms. Don’t say goodbye. Put down the razor, Put down the knife. It may be hard, But you will win this fight.
From darker clouds, And blackened skies, Through deeper scars, And all your lies. She cried. She wanted to die. “I am fine” She lied.
7. Gasping between breaths, alone and scared.
My freedom awaits me, I’m already prepared.
Anxiety peaks, madness ensues,
Shame takes over, insanity looms.
8. “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
Romeo and Juliet
Act 2, Scene 1
9. “One half of me is yours, the other half is yours,
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
And so all yours.”
10. she wanted to be a poet,
but deep down
she was a poem
11. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill,
of things unknown, but longed for still,
and his tune is heard on the distant hill,
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
12. You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
13. Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
14. Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.
15. You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear through the search.
16. Painting is silent poetry.