POEM by V

The dream of a tear is simple.

It dreams to move out,

roll down the cheek and leap off the chin into oblivion.

But you won't allow it to;

you have to wipe it off at the eyes.

There will be a day when it dreams only to roll down.

There will be a day when it dreams only to move out of the eye.

There will be a day when it only dreams to occur in them.

and then a day when it will dream only to exist in you.

That will be the day whence you can only dream of joy.

POEM by e. e. cummins

i don't like
the memories
because the tears come easily,
and once again i break 
my promise
to myself for this day.
                         
                   it's a constant battle.

a war between
remembering and forgetting.

REMEMBRANCE by VLADIMIR NABOKOV

Like silent ships we two in darkness met,
And when someday the poet's careless fame, shall breathe to you a half-forgotten name - 
soul of my song, I want you to regret.
For you had love. Out of my life you tore, 
one shining page.
I want, if we must part - remembrance pale to quiver in your heart
Like moonlit foam upon a windy shore.




the yearning, and emotions in this one really tug at your heartstrings. isn't remembrance, indeed the worst things you can wish upon an ex-lover? and that's what this one is all about...

POEM by TEJU

He looks at me with those piercing eyes
and suddenly I realise I am bare, naked...
No matter how much I try and hide,
he can see every scar and bruise on me...
The mess behind the pretty face
The tantrums behind my smile
The insanity in the cultured 'me'...
That can't be a pretty sight
And I slowly realise - he knows me
the real me
the ugly, odd, maybe even eccentric me...
I wonder what is he thinking
why is he still here?
What makes him stay and still love me?
There must be someone better than me for him
I guess, he could leave if he wants to...
and I fear he might...
A few minutes we just stare at each other
And then that crooked smile appears which I know oh so well...
And I realise that he will not leave me...
I realise that he never will...
that I would die if he ever did...

my best friend Teju wrote this poem a while ago. what i love about it is how simple it is. no fancy words, no complex sentence. simplicity is beauty, indeed.

TO by P. B. SHELLEY

One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another. I can give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not,—
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?




a friend once shared the first two lines of the poem with me, and for the longest time those were the only lines I knew, until I searched the entire poem a while ago. its interesting how the meaning of the poem changes by the end - you start somewhere and end up somewhere completely different.