whiff of fresh air

A good one I came across recently.

Guy In The Glass

        -Dale Wimbrow (1934)

When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.

For it isn’t your Father or Mother or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He’s the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear up to the end,
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and “chisel” a plum,
And think you’re a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you’re only a bum
If you can’t look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you’ve cheated the guy in the glass.

One more of my favourite poems:-)

Rudyard Kipling’s inspirational poem ‘IF’ first appeared in his collection ‘Rewards and Fairies’ in 1909. The poem ‘If’ is inspirational, motivational, and a set of rules for ‘grown-up’ living. Kipling’s ‘If’ contains mottos and maxims for life, and the poem is also a blueprint for personal integrity, behaviour and self-development. ‘If’ is perhaps even more relevant today than when Kipling wrote it, as an ethos and a personal philosophy. Lines from Kipling’s ‘If’ appear over the player’s entrance to Wimbledon’s Centre Court - a poignant reflection of the poem’s timeless and inspiring quality. (Courtesy - Internet)

IF

-Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And - which is more - you’ll be a Man, my son!

I dedicate this poem from my collection (I am unsure who the poet is) to my hubby dear, with whom I shared and still share my love for poems. I love you!

When the shadow of the Gulmohar reconciles with its torso at midnoon you are the tree, I love you.

When the violence of the Norwester avenges itself in ur absence you are the wind, I love you.

When the flame of the forest sieges in its secret hideout in your tresses you are the fire, I love you.

When the river lies upon itself in the languid geometry of your spring you are the water, I love you.

When I lone fugitive from love walk the storm swept highway in your eyes you are my vagrant, I love you.

When mysterious legends of night whirl in the voiceless rooms of my grief you are my sorrow, I love you.

When ashamed in this windless rain you darken in the harvest of shadow you are my loving, I love you.

When the time for unloving returns again all the clouds are on their voyage home You are the rain, I love you.

When on the other shore of never grows you sealine and the sky you are forever, I love you.

When phantom wings of sunset hustle the river in your eyes you are the winter, I love you.

When the summers have gone by and every dream grows in the darkness of noon you are my goodbye, I love you.

When the café's bend low with the weight of the drizzle you are so distant, I love you.

When awkward in sleep I wake to the wind and find you kissing my unshaved chin you are the twilight, I love you.

When we travel with the whirlwind towards the harbours of our loving You are the sea, I love you.

Picture courtesy :Internet

Sometimes ..

- Pritish Nandy

Sometimes when everyone is farway

And I have taken all the masks off my face

I feel the evening closing in.

All the fires burn in the sky

All the fevers of the heart are still

All my griefs have set asail

All I remember then, is just you .

What hurts are the simple loves we shared

What hurts are the gentle fears we knew

What hurts is the way we said goodbye

What hurts is knowing you are not there.

All the fires burn in the sky

All the fevers of the heart are still

All my griefs have set asail

All I remember then is just you .

Everything else remains just as it was

Nothing changes nothing's gone

Only the void within the heart grows

Only the void within the heart grows.

PS

From my old collection (1980).

Picture courtesy : Internet

I simply remember my favorite things……

A nice song from the movie “The Sound of Music”

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Cream coloured ponies and crisp apple strudel,
Door bells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in white dresses and blue satin sashes,
Snow-flakes that stay on my nose and eye-lashes,
Silver-white winters that melt into spring,
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog bites,
When the bee stings,
When I’m feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don’t feel, so bad.

A beautiful poem of Rabrindranath Tagore………..

“Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?”

the baby asked its mother.

She answered half crying, half laughing,

and clasping the baby to her breast,

“You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.

You were in the dolls of my childhood’s games;

and when with clay I made the image of my god

every morning, I made and unmade you then.

You were enshrined with our household deity,

in his worship I worshipped you.

In all my hopes and my loves, in my life,

in the life of my mother you have lived.

In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home

you have been nursed for ages.

When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals,

you hovered as a fragrance about it.

Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs,

like a glow in the sky before the sunrise.

Heaven’s first darling, twin-born with the morning light,

you have floated down the stream of the world’s life,

and at last you have stranded on my heart.

As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me;

you who belong to all have become mine.

For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast.

What magic has snared the world’s treasure

in these slender arms of mine?”

CRY IF YOU NEED TO……………….

A beautiful poem written by Mitsuo Aida, a Japanese poet and calligrapher.

Because it has lived its life intensely
the parched grass still attracts the gaze of passers-by.

The flowers merely flower,

And they do this as well as they can.

The white lily, blooming unseen in the valley,

Does not need to explain itself to anyone;
It lives merely for beauty.

Men, however, cannot accept that 'merely'.

If tomatoes wanted to be melons,
they would look completely ridiculous.
I am always amazed
that so many people are concerned
with wanting to be what they are not;
what's the point of making yourself look ridiculous?

You don't always have to pretend to be strong,
there's no need to prove all the time that everything is going well,
you shouldn't be concerned about what other people are thinking,
cry if you need to,
it's good to cry out all your tears
(because only then will you be able to smile again).

A beautiful poem by Joyce Kilmer

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

This poem by Thrity E Bharucha appeared in the "Eve's Weekly" (January 1980 issue)  A favourite of mine ! A beautiful poem ……………

A Champa Garland

 I often see you sit beside the Champa tree

I planted

Thirty summers ago.

You never thrilled the way I did

When the first bud burst in flower.

 But now u caress its soft green leaves

 Do they remind you of what is past?

Of the hands that tended it many years ago?

I read your thoughts

 I sense your pain

 I never never thought you cared.

Your eyes are pensive now as you weave

A champa garland. 

White hairs fall across your face

You push it off with impatience

I never thought it mattered

You twine the flowers one after the other

 In solitary file.

I always though you were indifferent

To love

When my soul did burst in flame,

Your complacence shattered my spirit

 O, how I ached for a gesture

 To show that you did care.

 I did not know love could be

Contained quietly in one's heart.

That love was not all gesture

Till now.

I watch your grief

As you reminisce

If only you had woven me

This garland when I was

Instead of decking now my grave with it

As I watch you grieving now,

I weep in solitude

If I could but wipe your pain away

If I could but give my heart once more .

But I can't I can't .

I'm no more.

A beautiful poem, one of my favourites……………………………

The Scent of the Roses
-Thomas More

Farewell but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night song of mirth in your bower,
Then thin of the friend who once welcomed it too
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain.
But he ne’er will forget the short vision which threw
Its enchantment around him, while lingering with you.

And still on that evening when pleasure fills up
To the highest top spark to each heart and each cup.
Where e’er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright
My soul, happy friends shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports and your wiles
And return to me beaming all o’er with your smiles.
Too blest if it tells me that mid the gay wheer
Some kind voice had murmured: “I wish he were here.”

Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy;
That come back in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled,
As the vase in which roses have once been distilled.
You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang around still.