A poem is never finished, only abandoned - Paul Valery

Here are some more beautiful quotes on Poetry.

Most people ignore most poetry
because
most poetry ignores most people.
~Adrian Mitchell

The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood.
~Jean Cocteau

A poet's hope: to be,
like some valley cheese,
local, but prized elsewhere.
~W. H. Auden

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
~Robert Frost

Here's my Poetry.

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Poetry

This piece is poetry written by me.

A naked woman livened on canvas,
A drop of water left on her skin
Off the tip of the ornamented brush;
Bloom of a flower out of a being
And wildness of tiger in another-
Is poetry to be read by the eyes.

Tunes awakened by impatient strokes
Shrugged off the metallic strings,
Or pulled out of the stretched membrane
By the retreat of the hand,
And music resonating the foot to taps
Is poetry to the hearing nerves.

A butterfly sucking nectar,
A drop on the flower's petal
In a gelid dewy night,
A sudden ripple towards the shore
Due to a sudden strong breeze,
Is poetry to persons in bonds of faith.

Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live. - Mark Twain

____________

Illusion

Wonder you may say to
The movement of the clouds, the blooming of flowers,
The rise of a wave and its fall.
-Be not a flower peeping out of its vesture
To behold beauty when itself stands much more beautiful.
Look at the most wonderous thing,
O teenager! Look at your beating heart;
A moment it glides with the favourite bird,
Next it beats on the lines of your best book,
It also stops at the texture of a flower,
But again and again returns
To the most lovely flower that never bloomed-
Whose eyes blink in the moonless nights,
Whose fair body lays in the blaze of afternoon sun,
Whose lips smile from within the red roses,
Whose hands tickle while a breeze blow away the locks,
And who embraces while Sleep is at work.
-She is the creation of all beauties on earth
But when you go to embrace her she's none.

What a blind person needs is not a teacher but another self. -- Helen Keller

_________________

Was It Gay or Sorrow

"Happy Birthday to you,"-the trees, the bushes, the shrubs;
The ocean, the sea, the lake; the sky, the clouds, the air-
All sang up in chorus. The river came down running,
The tree bend over me and wave-not a bit proud,
The sky made way for happiness to reach my heart,
The cloud traveled to reach my zenith; all were animated-
The leaves stared at me, the waves tried to rush to me,
The river turned towards me, yes, just to annotate.
A tortoise crawled from a basky heap, the fish jumped
Higher than the waves and mingled in it duly,
A bird flapped its wings to let pass the air, to wish me,
A monkey chattered on a bough-I loved them all truly.
Even the rays tried to pass through the leaves to reach me.
I was measuring every move of every soul, I wasn't an animist before.
I could see the birds flying, fishes swimming, tortoise crawling.
They were many before, then score, but now only four.
Now I really felt their paucity. Even the sun did make way.
The waves did sedate, the leaves though present went to sleep,
Darkness spread over the vast sky, happiness seemed to fade-
All went far away leaving me alone to lament, to weep-
The trees, the bushes, the shrubs then, but now only darkness;
The ocean, the sea, the lake then, but now only darkness;
The sky, the cloud, the air then; but now only darkness;
The fishes, the birds, the tortoise then; but now only darkness.
I could feel a weak current of air on my left, rays on my right.
I took my stick and waded away with the hope of light.

"There is a boundary to men's passions when they act from feelings; but none when they are under the influence of imagination." - Edmund Burke.

_________________

THE BOUNDARY

What feelings do I have now?
-Choked voice, repentance exploding the face muscles.
-Names explaining some events,
And events defining those names and myself.
Had I not grown, I would not have repented.

Why do I feel them now?
The stone has turned to sand.
I am driven to a threshold,
Between Saturation and normalcy-
The boundary, that emotes to me.
Sincerity would saturate the emotion,
Diplomatic faithfulness, lengthen the process.

I stop at faces;
Ponder about similar levels of saturation.
The faces catalyze my memories
As solutes of the watery flakes, of panorama.
I catch them before they dissolve;
I never caught them when they dissolved.
I can see them clearer and better,
As the flakes sublime before my eyes.
Two films characterize my eyes-
One makes me cry,
And the other is tears.

Neither can the flakes be collected,
Nor can the film be touched.
The solvent is also abstract,
But the solute is real.

I am pulled down by gravity
And I bring down the boundary.
Now I have it at the horizon
Rather behind the sky.

I never have found the perfect quote. At best I've been able to find a string of quotations which merely circle the ineffable idea I seek to express.

- Caldwell O'Keefe
_______________

Picture is one of my favorites. Its because of what it portrays. Its just not a framed picture, but represents people who dont get their dues (in relationships). It is so common that it goes unnoticed, thats why it has been portrayed through a simple thing as picture.
_______________
Picture
Framed he remains glued to the walls-
So much as he does make it, he breaks it;
A companion sweet he is to me-
A friend indeed: a friend in need.

A trophy in my hand, the face rejoices
Whispering a smile-'congratulations'.
A mischief I play on the aunt
He giggles from behind my back.

A pain in my leg, he assures his presence
And the pain is really gone.
A lack in confidence and he
Gesturing rises my spirits.

-Even when I stare complainingly
"How rude Aunt Zende had been?"
He beats into my heart to tell
That she really loves me;
-Or when, "it was his fault."
He makes me accept that I actually,
Made that silly blunder.
-And again, "I can live without her."
"No you cannot", he echoes
And stops another blunder from me.

Moodless me lift the eyes,
Without the intention to watch
But the sensation reaching the brain,
-Passes by some frame-.

"No man is worth your tears, but once you find one that is, he won't make you cry" - Anonymous

________________
Tears

At the cost of tears
I sit down, Sanu besides me.
Not just love; a bundle of smiles-
The type I've praised of; friendship.

Friendship- the more I lose it,
The more it gains Balli.
Hence, all at the cost of tears.

Active drops of salty waters;
Active Balli mingling into
The essence of Sanu.

Dead Balli laid down-
Coarse sand not pinching him,
But active senses.
She does not come to incense my soul,
She is already mingled in the soul.
I feel her dying along with it.

Nature is just enough; but men and women must comprehend and accept her suggestions. -Antoinette Brown Blackwell

______________
Its all for them
Blame not if on some night
The sun continues to shed light
Even till the dead of the night;
Blame not if wise men do not sleep
But sit down to laugh or weep
Or talk about some mystery deep;
Blame not if a beautiful red rose
Remains still in the same pose
(Superfluity is as bad as paucity);
Blame not if on some night mid
The air fails to make the atmosphere gelid
The warmer air still being able to bid;
For who knows some fine night
True lovers or spouse may fail to meet.

The philosophy of one century is the common sense of the next.-Henry Ward Beecher

A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR to all.
__________________________

When You return from your journey,
some lingering thought shall bring you here.
This is different from the macro of the microcosm
of the knittings in your dream,
which you might have savoured of late.
I make you sit through a panorama.
Its a frame or a window;
you can know only when you touch it.
It is the best of its kind
because it is "With You".
__________________________

With You

She sat by my side
Laughing her expressions out,
Drooping over me as my
Philosophy captured her soul-
Her simpler philosophy
Capturing my essence.
She brings in her absence
Thoughts about the future,
Yet time didn?t bother
To write some history.
-The thoughts question me
Shall the future ever come?

I look into her eyes-
Dunno what she saw in me.
Aims to characterize myself
Faded long back, and she
Attempts to bring them back.
Maybe she knows more
Than I know about myself.
I fear her knowing
How frequently I change,
How quickly history gets written
To which future is unable to refer.

She opened the odour of life
That defeated the troubled senses.
-My odour of life was philosophy.
I delved deeper in definition;
She in the matter.
My beautifying objects- the stars,
The moon, their dark support,
Had vanished before her.
All that remained was silence.
-No moon attempting its beauty,
No sea rippling to the shore,
No noise vibrating the drums.
She riding on that silence,
Daggered into bloodless-me.

Her soft hands applying
The odour of life brought
To me a similar silence.

When I observed her face
No peculiarities could be drawn.

In loneliness, I remember
Her name- the index.
Friendship defines the content.
Her understanding defeats
All practical definitions.
Her frankness gives to me
A responsibility to shoulder.
Gracefully she steps up to me.
-When the enchantment dies
I see her observing me,
Dancing to the tunes of life.
Unknowingly her rhythm
Is filtered by mine.
Unknowingly she becomes
A subject of my poetry.

"God must become an activity in our consciousness." Joel S. Goldsmith

Search
After every violence-
The thoughts percussion,
I lay in spiritless ambience;
My parts seem to under go separation
Unable to balance between the yes and nos-
I shut the lids off and-
Concentrating between the brows
In darkness I do land.
I march towards a faded spot
Catch the track and towards Him
Am carried by the beck
Until am misled by the trim-
Of beauty, mundane pleasures,
Love that ruled by passions,
Asserts, monetary treasures
And of contemporary fashion-
For the spontaneity I do lack
And even the self-effacement.
Again on reminder I am back
To search for the paranormal existence.
I climb the mountain,
Cross the valley, the river,
Bear the wind, the pain
And the body's shiver-.
A doubt, a deficiency of hope,
A bit of tiredness, and
Patience unable to cope
Again in darkness I do land.
The lids open-,"Next time,"
I promise,"I'll cross the barriers
And search the prime,"
If be mitigated those barriers.
But my eager desire for objects beautiful
Will lead me to the result tire-
That is, in his search I'm unsuccessful.

Creating Poetry

A stricken body-
Dark tinged, skin drawn tight-
Lays in the lap of nature-
With leaves, with flowers,
With butterflies, with bees,
With waters and under them,
On moon and even beyond that.

The lids move;
The heart is heard beating again.
The beat, as harmonious
As the advancing waves,
Has some sweet thing to say.
The heart beats with those of flowers,
With those of waters, of waves,
With those of sky and of earth.

From beneath those opening lids
Sparkle the eyes-those precious jewels.
They have something to interpret,
They have something to say.
They have the sight to pierce the heart
That of things, matters, beings,
That of love, hatred and fear.

The lids open-
Sweet life is restored.
Accompanying it blooms the flowers,
Blows the wind, and all.
Sweat leaves the pores.
-And the result is sweet poetry.

Remembrances of friends

Cool home a pond besides it.
My head floats on the water
With thousand other known faces;
-Meet many people, let go
Expressions of formality.
It moves along with the dial,
Leaving behind frequent expressions.
A sweet breeze ripples up to me,
Tickles the software under the skin.
Dial tires, tired rays, alone in the pond,
No exercise of muscles, no wish for it-
The software waits for a breeze.
No breeze-spasms in thoughts,
Ripples in pond few heads nearby,
Beats in heart, harmony in thoughts
-Remembrances of friends,
Dead head on dead waters.