Death the Leveler

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuriong breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

..................................................James Shirley

Alone

Sometimes distances blur
Life Stands by,
In silent whispers
Times go by.

Coming at Crossroads
In paths serene,
Strangers we part
Friends, Foes alike.

Meals we share
At Times, we glare,
A soft glance
A slight smile.

Bright Pigeons
Lazy Monkeys,
Cold Summers
and Sweet Pain,

All in Vain.
Years turn Days,
Roads Gateways
I am Left Alone.


.........................Adil
14th April 2006

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

.............................................................Dylan Thomas

Patience

Do you feel the Anger?
The feeling of being powerless,
Incapable of doing anything.
In this world of nothing,
What can I do is my Cry.

Doing Anyhting!
Is it about the larger Interest
that you talk of,
Is it not what needs to be?

Larger Interest,
What is that,
Can I do something in my Being,
In the neighbourhood of my Living,
Is not that Possible?

My Neighbourhood
is my domain.
I can do, yes can I not!
A small change can
bring in the Tsunami of a Difference.

…………………………Adil
4th April 2006


A feeling of anger when it sets in can cause a burst of emotions. Directing them emotions positively has always been my endeavour.
Regards.

Of A Painted Sky, A Setting Sun, The Mystical Air, Barren Fields, A Lone Tree, The Railway Track, The Plastic Trail and A Station called Takli

""Of A Painted Sky, A Setting Sun,
The Mystical Air, Barren Fields,
A Lone Tree, The Railway Track,
The Plastic Trail and A Station called Takli""


In the distant,
Further than the farthest,
The Colours of Bloom,
Existing in Eternal Gloom,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

And there,
Where man can, dare?!!
The glowing Orb,
Burns to Glory,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

A freshness, far beyond
that which the Urbs know
Drifts across,
A blessing, an Ode to Life,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

The sign of Prosperity,
Of human toil and murky waters,
Of an earth and heavenly Plasters,
The music of Food and motley Souls,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

A shadow in the Skies,
A blanket of Life,
But what can I do,
When alone I stand,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

I stretch, to bring thee, close
the miles on, I sing the same Song,
I never bond my Twin,
For thy sins, I pay,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

I do not exist,
In the minds that I do,
I cannot perish,
For that which not is, is
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

Now where is Takli,
Oh! How do I care?
A passing thought, a passing flare,
The signs of Despair,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.


……………………….Adil Hussain Ali


Hi - this poem I wrote while I was on my way to Pune by Train on the 30th of March 2006; it was Evening and I was standing by the Door soaking in the Scenery.
The first four lines is the Title of the Poem and each quartet talks of a different theme in the Title, while the 5th line is a distant cry and is in addition to the quartet.
It is a poem eulogizing Natures greatness, its expanse and the human madness. It is the story of a slow decline of the Human Mind.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound is the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

....................................Robert Frost