Sonnet 29

"Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

~ Sonnet 29

In times of utter hopelessness and despair, remember your loved ones who will not fail to be there when you need them. After all, just the thought of them makes your day worth living for.

My Mother

'My Mother' is a poem written by an Omani poet called Fauzia Ali Khalifa Al-Maskary who happens to be a relative of my friend and we did an analysis of her poem today at class. The fact that an Omani wrote something worth teaching in Lit class makes me feel proud beyond belief.

My Mother

Among those I hold most dear
You, mother, are just in all spheres
First with love unstinted and clear
First with joy and lots of cheers
The cheers, although familiar
Nevertheless, very sincere.

You are the sweet scent from heaven
A spring in the middle of the desert
You are a star that brightens my dark nights
A lovely tree that gives all good
You are a gift from God
A paradise without a limit
Your heart is the vessel of love and consolation
You are the warmth in a cold winter night.

Among the angels God has created
You are the one to us most suited
A well of joy, a no fancy ploy
Straight clean heart giving the best
Mother, dear mother, your love is always the finest.

I feel your tender eyes
Cast on me when I used to cry
To me then they were a pair of pearls
And I was happy they were mine
Mother, it was simply divine.

I remember too the warmth of your lips
As you bent down to kiss me goodnight
It felt like all the pains of the day
Just vanished out of sight
I reach to touch the same spot
And I can swear I still feel the same comfort
Mother, you are truly a magnificent sort.

What about those fingers
Gently stroking my hair
Giving me peace beyond compare
Lifting my spirit from all despair
My soul was floating in the air
Filled with ecstasy of love so rare
Mother, so much you gave me
So much I took from thee
Such love, I believe
No one could ever give.

As I go through the path of life
Mother, you are always there
To shelter me from my inner fears
To shower me with love I hold so dear
Mother, I declare you are the most sincere.

Firm at time times you may have been
You taught me all and more still
Striving to lift me above difficult hills
To a life of joy, happiness and goodwill
With your live my heart fills.

Mother, how can I ever find words of praise
To fit all your beautiful traits
Perhaps I should simple say with mighty grace
Thank you all for the days.

I found it poignant and deep in meaning yet I admire the simple words used. Metaphors were used frequently to give it a special vibe in order to describe the poet's mother or any mom, in fact.

I Sit & Look Out

One of my favourite poets of all times is Walt Whitman and besides the beautiful poems in Leaves of Grass, I absolutely adore this one;

I Sit and Look Out

I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with
themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,
neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband--I see the treacherous seducer
of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be
hid--I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny--I see martyrs and
prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea--I observe the sailors casting lots who
shall be kill'd, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these--All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look
out upon,
See, hear, and am silent.

The fact that this poem applies to this day is actually what attracted me in the first place, also, I find its simplicity and straight-forwardness makes it what it is.

[Poem] Once Again

The crouching murmur fills the air,

An echo hisses within the walls,
A lady weeps underneath the blanket of darkness.
Protected by its secretiveness,
The crying continues.

Hours and seconds,
Misery corrupts the wave,
And an absolute stillness takes control.

She stops,
Notices the indifference
The scene then is a blend of both,
Crying and silence,
Once again

Note: You've probably noticed how short and simple this poem is (if it can be described as one) After all, this is my second attempt in poetry after Isolated Soul.