Inspirational moods

Posts Tagged ‘Poems

I long to speak the deepest words I have to say to you;
but I dare not, for fear you should laugh.
That is why I laugh at myself and shatter my secret in jest.
I make light of my pain, afraid you should do so.
I long to tell you the truest words I have to say to you;
but I dare not, being afraid that you would not believe them.
That is why I disguise them in untruth, saying the contrary of what I mean.
I make my pain appear absurd, afraid that you should do so.
I long to use the most precious words I have for you;
but I dare not, fearing I should not be paid with like value.
That is why I gave you hard names and boast of my callous strength.
I hurt you, for fear you should never know any pain.
I long to sit silent by you; but I dare not lest my heart come
out at my lips.
That is why I prattle and chatter lightly and hide my heart
behind words.
I rudely handle my pain, for fear you should do so.
I long to go away from your side;
but I dare not, for fear my cowardice should become known to you.
That is why I hold my head high and carelessly come into your presence.
Constant thrusts from your eyes keep my pain fresh for ever.


Rabindranath Tagore

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Solitude

Posted on: May 6, 2011

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
        Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it’s mirth,
        But has trouble enough of it’s own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
        Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
        But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
        Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
        But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
        Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
        But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
        Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
        But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
        For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
        Through the narrow aisles of pain.


Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Our secret

Posted on: May 1, 2011



I won’t be telling people about you.
I won’t tell them whether you were just
an acquaintance of mine, or a dear friend;
nor what kind, nor whether at all
in our dreams and longings
these days left a trace.

I won’t tell them whether out of loneliness,
thirst, tiredness, nor whether ever
any of us loved the other;
nor whether our heart
over us
or over others
sometimes ached.

I won’t tell them about the harmony
that often joined our eyes
into a yearning constellation;
nor whether I or you were willing
for it to happen –
or it was all the same to us.

I won’t tell them whether life
or fear of death
brought our hands together;
nor whether we preferred
the sound of laughter to
murmur of tears.

I won’t even sound a single syllable,
what could’ve, nor whether something could’ve
entangled and united
our souls throughout the entire century;
nor whether this that came about
is a poison or cure
for what used to be.

I won’t tell a soul about
the song that’s, because of you,
eternally playing inside me:
whether it heartily intoxicates
like our forests in the Spring;
or, quiet and sad
it’s eloquently silent within me.
Oh, I won’t tell a soul
whether a merry or a hurting
song is playing inside me.

I’d prefer her and me to
leave unspoken
to the place where with the same light
dawn and night and day shine;
where both happiness and excruciating pain
are equally warm;
where both man and his dream
are made of the same eternal tissue.


D.  Maksimovic

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Where are you, my beloved? Are you in that little
Paradise, watering the flowers who look upon you
As infants look upon the breast of their mothers? 

Or are you in your chamber where the shrine of
Virtue has been placed in your honor, and upon
Which you offer my heart and soul as sacrifice?

Or amongst the books, seeking human knowledge,
While you are replete with heavenly wisdom?

Oh companion of my soul, where are you? Are you
Praying in the temple? Or calling Nature in the
Field, haven of your dreams?

Are you in the huts of the poor, consoling the
Broken-hearted with the sweetness of your soul, and
Filling their hands with your bounty?

You are God’s spirit everywhere;
You are stronger than the ages.

Do you have memory of the day we met, when the halo of
You spirit surrounded us, and the Angels of Love
Floated about, singing the praise of the soul’s deed?

Do you recollect our sitting in the shade of the
Branches, sheltering ourselves from Humanity, as the ribs
Protect the divine secret of the heart from injury?

Remember you the trails and forest we walked, with hands
Joined, and our heads leaning against each other, as if
We were hiding ourselves within ourselves?

Recall you the hour I bade you farewell,
And the Maritime kiss you placed on my lips?
That kiss taught me that joining of lips in Love
Reveals heavenly secrets which the tongue cannot utter!

That kiss was introduction to a great sigh,
Like the Almighty’s breath that turned earth into man.

That sigh led my way into the spiritual world,
Announcing the glory of my soul; and there
It shall perpetuate until again we meet.

I remember when you kissed me and kissed me,
With tears coursing your cheeks, and you said,
“Earthly bodies must often separate for earthly purpose,
And must live apart impelled by worldly intent.

“But the spirit remains joined safely in the hands of
Love, until death arrives and takes joined souls to God.

“Go, my beloved; Love has chosen you her delegate;
Over her, for she is Beauty who offers to her follower
The cup of the sweetness of life.
As for my own empty arms, your love shall remain my
Comforting groom; you memory, my Eternal wedding.”

Where are you now, my other self? Are you awake in
The silence of the night? Let the clean breeze convey
To you my heart’s every beat and affection.

Are you fondling my face in your memory? That image
Is no longer my own, for Sorrow has dropped his
Shadow on my happy countenance of the past.

Sobs have withered my eyes which reflected your beauty
And dried my lips which you sweetened with kisses.

Where are you, my beloved? Do you hear my weeping
From beyond the ocean? Do you understand my need?
Do you know the greatness of my patience?

Is there any spirit in the air capable of conveying
To you the breath of this dying youth? Is there any
Secret communication between angels that will carry to
You my complaint?

Where are you, my beautiful star? The obscurity of life
Has cast me upon its bosom; sorrow has conquered me.

Sail your smile into the air; it will reach and enliven me!
Breathe your fragrance into the air; it will sustain me!

Where are you, me beloved?
Oh, how great is Love!
And how little am I!


Khalil Gibran

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Is it true what is written in the Kalevala:
“A hand that gives is always above a hand that takes?”
Is it true what they say in Basra:
“Love is like a shadow, if you run after it you will never
catch up with it. If you turn your back on it, it will follow you.”.

Someone said somewhere, and I thank him for that:
“In order to truly love, you have to grow up to become a child”.

Therefore, smile if they tell you you’re a small man.

There’s no small happiness nor small illness. 

There’s no small theft nor small death.

There’s no small war nor small honesty.

There’s no small friend nor small secret.

There’s no small man nor small love.

Don’t ever turn your back on me so that I would love you.

I remember your first teeth. I remember your
first steps. I remember: Novi Sad
Children’s Hospital. I’m sitting on side of your bed and praying
to all forces in this world that you don’t die on me.
And you stayed alive.

Not even God believed us those days. Not even the nature.
Nor people. Only our great love believed.
Only your hand in my hand believed,
while, like a little paintbrush, it painted azure light on
my palms.

We turn upside down like a sand clock.
and trade with each other.

One day your voice will get deeper. You will start to
shave. You will get married and get a job. You will have
your own kids and tell them your own fairytales.
And I will be getting more and more childish and innocent.

You will know me by the way I naively believe
that I will live forever, infatuated with inner
speech of the ancient god Ptah,
who had first invented the entire world inside of himself, then
exhaled his incredible thoughts,

and, in that way, with his huge imagination, alone in the Nothingness,
the only one, he brought to life everything that had been uncreated.

After that, everything will come suddenly: my last teeth.
And immediately after that: my last steps.
In the end: some hospital in who knows which city.
Sit on side of my bed in an evening like this one
at least for an hour or half an hour.
It will be just enough for all the damn years.

And let my hand be in your hand. And let it, like a paintbrush,
paint the same pleasant light sign
on your palms, a sign that I’ve never,
ever turned my back on you so that you would respect me and love me.

Love is like strength: the more you use it, the more you’ll
have it.

If birds could love like this, like I do, they would have already
turned into wind. If brooks could love
like this, like I do, they would have already turned into oceans.

If spaces could love like this, like I do, they would have already
turned into infinity. If time could
love like this, like I do, we would have already turned into
eternity.

If the Earth could love like this, like I do, it would have, long ago,
become a star.


Mika Antic 


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