Short Poems

ये चंचल-सी रेत
नहीं बंधती बंधन में
भरभराकर फिसल जाती है
आती है जब-जब वही
सीमेंट की संगत में
ईंट-पत्थर तक
बाँध देती है।

As in a well of water deep,
Dive deep with Reason cleaving sharp.
With speech, mind and breath restrained,
Exploring thus mayest thou discover
The real source of ego-self.
The mind through calm in deep plunge enquiries.
That alone is real quest for the Self.

'I am making this statement as an act of wilful defiance of military authority, because I believe the war is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it.

Samson, the strongest of the children of men, I sing; how he was foiled by woman's arts, by a false wife brought to the gates of death! O Truth! that shinest with propitious beams, turning our earthly night to heavenly day, from presence of the Almighty Father, thou visitest our darkling world with blessed feet, bringing good news of Sin and Death destroyed! O whiterobed Angel, guide my timorous hand to write as on a lofty rock with iron pen the words of truth, that all who pass may read.

Lunets lystige Skalmeie,
Orglets dybe, stærke Klang,
Barnesindet — blev Dit Eie,
Og det gav Du os i Sang:
Grøndals Humor, Jakobs Smerte!
— Du har vundet heelt vort Hjerte!

Din Vaar os lod en deilig Sommer haabe,
Men paa det røde Bær laa Dødens Draabe.

Like a worn mother he attempts in vain
To still the unruly Crier of his brain:
The more he rocks the cradle of his chin
The more uproarious grows the brat within.

My land is bare of chattering folk;
The clouds are low along the ridges,
And sweet's the air with curly smoke
From all my burning bridges.

This poem was found written on a paper bag by Richard
Brautigan in a laundromat in San Francisco.  The author is unknown.

Could not once blinding me, cruel, suffice?
When first I look'd on thee, I lost mine eyes.