Poems And Quotes

No evil can befall me.
Nothing can hurt my soul.
His Heart of Love shelters me.
Ah, God is so near
To humanity’s sky
And Divinity’s Smile

Good and evil–
They belong to my mental world,
They belong to my external life,
They belong to my moral summits.

Good and evil
I see them not
Because
I am in God,
God is in me.
Father has made Son
Far beyond the domain
Of duality’s dance.

by

Sri Chinmoy

All people dream, but not equally.

Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.

But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,
For they dream their dreams with open eyes,
And make them come true.

by

D.H.Lawrence

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me–
That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.

by

Langston Hughes

Goddess supreme, Mother of Dream,
by thy ivory doors when thou standest,
Who are they then that come down unto men in thy visions that troop, group upon group, down the path of the shadows slanting?
Dream after dream, they flash and they gleam with the flame of the stars still around them;
Shadows at thy side in a darkness ride where the wild fires dance, stars glow and glance and the random meteor glistens;
There are voices that cry to their kin who reply; voices sweet, at the heart they beat and ravish the soul as it listens.

by

Sri Aurobindo

In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.

Nobody is asleep.

The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.

The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,

and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the 

            street corner

the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the

            stars.

Nobody is asleep on earth.  Nobody, nobody.

Nobody is asleep.

In a graveyard far off there is a corpse

who has moaned for three years

because of a dry countryside on his knee;

and that boy they buried this morning cried so much

it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.

Life is not a dream.  Careful!  Careful!  Careful!

We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth

or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead

            dahlias.

But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist;

flesh exists.  Kisses tie our mouths

in a thicket of new veins,

and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever

and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders.

One day 

the horses will live in the saloons

and the enraged ants

will throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in the

            eyes of cows.

Another day

we will watch the preserved butterflies rise from the dead

and still walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boats

we will watch our ring flash and roses spring from our tongue.

Careful!  Be careful!  Be careful!

The men who still have marks of the claw and the thunderstorm,

and that boy who cries because he has never heard of the invention 

            of the bridge,

or that dead man who possesses now only his head and a shoe,

we must carry them to the wall where the iguanas and the snakes

            are waiting,

where the bear's teeth are waiting,

where the mummified hand of the boy is waiting,

and the hair of the camel stands on end with a violent blue shudder.

Nobody is sleeping in the sky.  Nobody, nobody.

Nobody is sleeping.

If someone does close his eyes,

a whip, boys, a whip!

Let there be a landscape of open eyes

and bitter wounds on fire.

No one is sleeping in this world.  No one, no one.

I have said it before.

No one is sleeping.

But if someone grows too much moss on his temples during the

            night,

open the stage trapdoors so he can see in the moonlight

the lying goblets, and the poison, and the skull of the theaters.

by Federico García Lorca								
Translated by Robert Bly

You said: "I'll go to another country. go to another shore,

find another city better than this one. 

Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong 

and my heart lies buried like something dead. 

How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?

Wherever I turn, wherever I look, 

I see the black ruins of my life, here, 

where I've spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally."

You won't find a new country, won't find another shore. 

This city will always pursue you. 

You'll walk the same streets, grow old 

in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses. 

You'll always end up in this city. Don't hope for things elsewhere: 

there's no ship for you, there's no road.

Now that you've wasted your life here, in this small corner,

you've destroyed it everywhere in the world. 

by

C. P. Cavafy