(“Tell me if this is all true...”)

Again a poem from Rabindranath Tagore enjoy reading and please wait for my own poem to be publish here at secondattempt... thank you so much! Hope you'll enjoy reading all the poems here... God bless us all...

Tell me if this is all true, my lover?
tell me if it is true.
When the eyes of me flash their lightning on you,
dark clouds in your breast make stormy answer;
Is it then true that the dew
drops fall from the night when
I am seen,
and the morning light is glad
when it wraps my body?
Is it true, is it true,
that your love travelled alone
through ages and worlds in search of me?
that when you found me at last,
your age-long desire found utter peace
in my gentle speech and my eyes
and lips and flowing hair?
Is it then true that the mystery of the Infinite
is written on this little brow of mine?
Tell me, my lover, if all this is true!

“Come as you are..."

This poem is written by Rabindranath Tagore a good and one of my favorite poet... Hope you'll enjoy reading his poem...

“Come as you are..."

Come as you are, tarry not over your toilet.
If your braiding has come loose, if the parting of your hair be not straight, if the ribbons of your bodice be not fastened, do not mind.
Come as you are, tarry not over your toilet.

Come with quick steps over the grass.
If your feet are pale with the dew, if your anklets slacken, if pearls drop out of your chain, do not mind.
Come with quick steps over the grass.

Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?
Flocks of cranes fly up from the further riverbank and fitful gusts of wind rush over the heath.
The anxious cattle run to their stalls in the village.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?

In vain you light your toilet lamp; it flickers and goes out in the wind.
Surely, who would know that with lamp-black your eyelids are not touched? For your eyes are darker than rain clouds.
In vain you light your toilet lamp; it goes out.

Come as you are, tarry not over your toilet.
If the wreath is not woven, who cares? If the wrist-chain has not been tied, leave it by.
The sky is overcast with clouds; it is late.
Come as you are, tarry not over your toilet.

Mad Song

Here's a poem from William Blake, hope you like it as i do... Its a good poem. Enjoy your reading...

Mad Song

The wild winds weep

And the night is a-cold;

Come hither, Sleep,

And my griefs infold:

But lo! the morning peeps

Over the eastern steeps,

And the rustling birds of dawn

The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault

Of paved heaven,

With sorrow fraught

My notes are driven:

They strike the ear of night,

Make weep the eyes of day;

They make mad the roaring winds,

And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud,

With howling woe,

After night I do crowd,

And with night will go;

I turn my back to the east,

From whence comforts have increas'd;

For light doth seize my brain

With frantic pain.

Cancel, Repeat, ignore?

Once on a midnight dreary, fingers and bleary narrow vision,
Manuals on the stacked and the waste of paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed linen, I still sit here to work sheets.
After reaching the bottom line, I took a disk from the tray
I then called the command SAVE and expects the hard disk,
It is the only and nothing more.

Deep in the monitor peering, long I sat there wondering, fear
doubting, while the disk kept sterile, turns a little more out.
But the rest was intact, and the rest are no symbolic significance.
"Save!" I said, "You mother cursed! Save my data!"
One thing that Luminophore answer, and only in that no longer
Just, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Was it an illusion, mysterious, some Manic intrusion?
These elections are side effects, which I never had problems before.
I carefully weighed, that the election of the hard disk makes noises playful.
The cursor flashes, stubborn, to start the guy has me a little.
It is clear that I have a button to press an election and no longer,
"Cancel, Repeat, ignore?"

With the fingers pale and trembling, slowly at the keyboard, bending --
Longing for a happy end, in the hope that all would be back,
Praying for a certain guarantee, shy, I did press a button.
But on the screen, which is still the words are as before.
Épouvantable damage they disappear and taunted, have been obsessed, as my patience,
To say, "Cancel, Repeat, ignore?"

I tried the chips wanted and stressed again, but twice as strong.
I was cursed with the machine, I beg the tears from her body, and then I swore.
Now, in desperation powerful and try to make the chance of combinations,
nevertheless, it came the incantation formula, as senseless as before.
The blinking cursor, anger, winking, blinking as nonsense.
Reading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

There I sat, desperate, exhausted by my own machine accosted.
Getting Up, I turned away and the rhythm of the floor.
And then I saw a terrible sight zipper made a cut through the night.
A glimpse of the horrors about me, me to my heart.
The lightning zapped my previous data is lost, and forever.
Not once, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Until now, I do not know the location where the loss of data on the website.
As far as we are demonic world shaped bottom, where loss of data stored,
Beyond the reach of mortal souls, on the airwaves, black holes?
But make sure that the C, Pascal, Lotus, Ashton-Tate and more
You're one day be left to stray, lost to certain Plutonian shore,
Relying on "Cancel, Repeat, ignore?"

In a time of darkness

In a dark time the eye begins
I have my shadow in the deepening shadow;
I hear my echo echo in wood
A Lord of the natural wine to a tree.
I live between the heron and the roitelet,
Animals on the hills and the snakes of the cave.

What is madness, but the nobility of the soul
Across the fact? The day in flames!
I know that the purity of pure despair,
My shadow stuck against a wall to sweat.
The space between the rocks is a cave,
Or way? The edge is what I have.

A storm regular correspondence!
A night with birds, which flows, a moon in shreds,
And in large and twelve days, come again!
A man is good to know what it is --
Even death in a long night tearless,
All forms of natural light illuminating nature.

The nightfall, my light dark, dark, and my wish.
My soul, like a little heat-maddened stolen,
Allows the totals of the threshold. What I am I?
A man, I fell from my fear.
The spirit of itself, and the Spirit of God,
And one is free in the turmoil of the wind.

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The child death

He could not die, if the trees were green,
Indeed, he loved the time.
His small hands, when flowers were seen
Web cam for Bluebell,
as it was o'er Greens.

His gaze who knows little about-nosed bee;
He knew that these children spring:
When he was good and the lea
He held one of his hands to sing,
what is his heart filled with glee.

Young children, children of the source!
How can a child die
if butterflies are on the wing,
Green Grass, and such a sky?
How can it die in the spring?

He kept his hands to the white daisy,
and then blue violet,
and it all night in bed
The fact that in green areas grew,
How sweet it childhood pleasure.

And then he just closes its eyes,
and the flowers of reference;
of the esters of birds and eggs does not cause surprise,
He received no flowers;
they met with sighs plaintiffs.

When winter came and blasts have sighed,
And bald was purely and tree,
Given the ease to lie in bed,
His soul seemed with the free software,
He died too silent.