COLLECTION OF MY FAVOURITE POEMS-part 1

LUCY

OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray:

And, when I crossed the wild,

I chanced to see at break of day

The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;

She dwelt on a wide moor,

--The sweetest thing that ever grew

Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,

The hare upon the green;

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray

Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night--

You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, Child, to light

Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do:

'Tis scarcely afternoon--

The minster-clock has just struck two,

And yonder is the moon!"

At this the Father raised his hook,

And snapped a faggot-band;

He plied his work;--and Lucy took

The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:

With many a wanton stroke

Her feet disperse the powdery snow,

That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:

She wandered up and down;

And many a hill did Lucy climb:

But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night

Went shouting far and wide;

But there was neither sound nor sight

To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood

That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood,

A furlong from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,

"In heaven we all shall meet;"

--When in the snow the mother spied

The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge

They tracked the footmarks small;

And through the broken hawthorn hedge,

And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:

The marks were still the same;

They tracked them on, nor ever lost;

And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank

Those footmarks, one by one,

Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none!

--Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.

O' er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

*****WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

THE SAILOR'S MOTHER

One morning (raw it was and wet,

A foggy day in winter time)

A Woman in the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime:

Majestic in her person, tall and straight;

And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient Spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there;

Proud was I that my country bred

Such strength, a dignity so fair:

She begg'd an alms, like one in poor estate;

I look'd at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke,

With the first word I had to spare

I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak

What's that which on your arm you bear?"

She answer'd soon as she the question heard,

"A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird."

And, thus continuing, she said,

"I had a Son, who many a day

Sail'd on the seas; but he is dead;

In Denmark he was cast away;

And I have been as far as Hull, to see

What clothes he might have left, or other property."

"The Bird and Cage they both were his;

'Twas my Son's Bird; and neat and trim

He kept it: many voyages

This Singing-bird hath gone with him;

When last he sail'd he left the Bird behind;

As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind."

"He to a Fellow-lodger's care

Had left it, to be watch'd and fed,

Till he came back again; and there

I found it when my Son was dead;

And now, God help me for my little wit!

I trail it with me, Sir! he took so much delight in it."

*****WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in a never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:-
A poet cannot but be gay,
In such a jocund company
I gazed- and gazed- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

******William Wordsworth

HOME THEY BROUGHT THE WARRIOR DEAD

Home they brought the warrior dead
She nor swooned, nor uttered a cry
All her maidens, watching, said,
‘She must weep or she will die’.

Then they praised him; soft and low
Call’d him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe,
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior slept,
Took the face- cloth from the face,
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee
Like summer tempest came her tears
‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’

*****anonymous

THE BIGGEST EMBARASSMENT OF MY LIFE.

Never in my life (which is approximately 14 yrs) did I imagine that I would face so much embarrassment in front of so many people. The story goes this way…………….
13th May, the day of my birth, also the day when my father finds his wallet more pitiable than that of a beggar’s tin of alms. This was my thirteenth birthday, when I would enter the magical years of teenage (my thoughts when I was 12yrs old after which they have changed drastically). The preparations were at a high, the terrace above my house being the venue of the celebration. Though my mother was the whole and sole organizer (my father only sees himself as an ATM on such occasions), I knew quite a lot of things that were going to take place. First of all, this birthday bash was supposed to be a surprise for me (ha! what do they take me for?????). Secondly, I had come to know that at least 50 people had been invited. I also knew that the cake was about a foot long, with an icing of vanilla over a thick layer of chocolate. What I did not know was that the stage mom had set up (the stage on which I would stand and cut the cake) was faulty and could break quite easily on application of force.
I had spent the entire day pretending to be all innocent and happy. I also beamed when I received a beautiful dress from my mother (and here there wasn’t any pretending, it was truly beautiful). All the while I was thinking ,’oh come on! Spit it out!!!!!’ The afternoon came and still there was no mention of the impending birthday party. The time passed and along with it also my peace of mind. Was my mother going to blurt it out at the last minute??????? Didn’t she understand that I required some time to prepare and look nice???????? Life is but a cruel joke.
But my problems soon left me after my mum revealed about my supposedly secret bash at 5.30 (thank God! An hour before zero hour). I made all the right noises of surprise and delight (oh! how I wish there was an award for the Best Child Artist at the Oscars!!) after which I went to my room and started dressing up.
The guests started arriving and I, with my confident smile and fluent talk (if I may say so myself)did not fail to impress them. Finally, the time for cutting the cake arrived and I with all the panache I could muster, hoisted myself gracefully up the stage. At that time, I felt a faint vibration under my feet but I did not pay any attention to it for I was feeling blissfully happy with my life. I could sense Mrs. Patel thinking, ‘Oh! What a beautiful dress she is wearing!’ and I could also sense Mr. Khanna thinking, ‘she is indeed confident and intelligent for her age.’ And with such warm thoughts buzzing in my head, I stood at the centre of the stage (where the cake was kept), gave a cough (of the false variety) to catch everyone’s attention.
And I did catch it…
CRACK!!!!!!!!.............and the world around me dissolved into a series of colours out of which brown seemed to be the primary one. In that constricted position under the stage, with my body parts threatening to separate from each other, I was able to think clearly and ascertain that the stage had given out under my weight and that now I was going to be the biggest joke of the year.
I started praying that my life would end right there so that I wont have to face the cruel world ever again. But after some time when deliverance did not come and when I had had enough of being uncomfortable to the extreme, I ventured to pull myself out of the hole. This action of mine was accompanied by loads of screams and anguished cries for God which seemed to come from all around. The sensible thing for me to do in such a situation would have been to announce that everything was all right and that there wasn’t any need to worry. But sense (a word found in the dictionaries but nowhere else) avoided me and I decided that my uncomfortable position under the stage was better than this din and so went down again.
My father later told me that when I had disappeared under the stage the first time everyone had thought that it was a bad joke on my part. One person even went so far as to tell my dad that teenage is always like this and that he will have to be prepared to experience more of such things in the future. And when a vanilla and chocolate covered lump (my head) appeared out of the hole in the stage, the thin line between sanity and insanity was crossed and screams had resounded from everywhere.
After going down again, a loud cackle of laughter was heard amidst all the screaming. It was my dad. Trust him to laugh in a situation like this. He had realized what had happened. Still laughing, he came over and pulled me out. By this time my brain had given up thinking. Apparently even the guest’s brains had done so for there was a total silence as I emerged out of the ruins. Dad escorted me back to my room and instructed me to wash up, change and then come up again. Then my dad went upstairs. I heard him explain to the guests about what had actually happened. Everyone started laughing.
I cleaned myself, changed into something different and then locked my door. I planned to never emerge out of that room again.
-the hobbit

well this is a totally brainless poem i wrote when i saw my mother operating microsoft word.........it follows absolutely none of the rules of poem writing..............dont even know why i put it over here.........

MY COMPUTER AND MY MOTHER

My computer and my mother,
Totally dislike each other!
Whenever she works with it
Starts a war involving every byte and bit!!!!!!!!

Firstly, clicking at all the wrong places
she mutters like all those spastic cases...............

Just look at her shudder,
After her lovingly typed letter,
Has gone into the gutter,
When instead of shift-control,
She pressed shift-enter.

Aghast, she looks on and on
she's truly going to have a seizure,
While after sending that shrill beep,
The computer sits with sadistic pleasure.

Spreads her hands in utter confusion,
Then shakes her head in total resignation............

Her pleasant round face,
Contorts into a frown,
Finally she bellows and screams,
Like one about to drown!!!!!!!!!!!!
-the hobbit.

THIN SHEETS OF RAIN

18 year old Indira stared at the blue sky from the window of her house in the small village of Gokarn, in Karnataka. The clear, cloudless sky seemed to have done nothing to lift her receding spirits. In fact it only seemed to frustrate her more. After staring at the sky for some more time, she bit her lip in resignation and resumed her work of knitting, her thoughts in turmoil...............
Indira was the eldest daughter in the family of the Murthy’s, her father being Venkatesh and her mother, Lalita. Venkatesh Murthy was a hard working, honest man who valued every penny he earned. Sadly, the land of his heritage was not big enough. Thus he was able to provide only the essentials to his family. He owed Rs. 2000/- to a moneylender and hoped to pay it off with this season’s crop. A month ago he had been quite optimistic about the output. A month ago he had also realized that Indira had come of age and that she should be married off soon. But lately, his optimism had changed to apprehension as the monsoon did not show any signs of approaching...............
‘Oh, Parmatma! Why isn’t this rain coming?’ was what Indira was thinking while fidgeting with the threads of the blouse. Although nothing had been told to her, she knew that she had come of age and should get married soon. She knew well enough how it would reflect on her family if she stayed unmarried too long. She also knew how much depended on the arrival of the rains. She could easily picture the moneylender taking away the land of her ancestors, could easily picture the humiliation her family would have to face. It was the utter helplessness of the situation that was frustrating her. She got out from the chair and went back to the window thinking, ‘if only there was something that I could do’. The problem was that everything that could be done had already been done. The fields had been ploughed with extreme care, the seeds had been watered with absolute vigilance,the soil had been given the required fertilizers. Everything possible had been done, now all was left to the rain.

**********

Two weeks had passed and there wasn’t a hint of moisture in the air. Now, Indira had taken to praying silently every second of the day.

***********

Three weeks………….A cloud of gloom had come over her house, as her family became increasingly silent while Indira, had lost hope. She had been consoling herself everyday but today her will snapped and tears flowed out of her eyes. She was unable to sit there alone so she wandered here and there in the village. As she passed an old hut, she came across a banyan tree. Her childhood days came like a flash to her ………swinging with the help of the roots of the tree, resting under the shade against the harsh sun of summer, the picnics under the tree with her friends. A lot of happy memories were attached to that tree. But today it did not look right to Indira. There were black clouds patches over it. The aerial roots looked frail and brittle. The tree looked sick. Indira went into the old hut she had passed and called out to the lady who lived there. Soon an old, bent woman came out. She recognized Indira and exclaimed, “My dear child, how beautiful you have grown up to be! Pray child, why do you lessen your beauty by looking so forlorn? Indira looked at the lady and asked, “What has happened to that dear old banyan tree?”
“Is that the source of your sadness? Well, nothing can be done for it now, because soon it is going to die. It has got this rare disease due to which it requires lots of water. I thought the rains would come and relieve it of the disease, but the black clouds aren’t signaling their arrival,” said the old woman.
Indira’s eyes shone with a new resolve and she said,’ I must do whatever I can for that tree.” She went back to her own house, took a huge bucket and drew water out of the well. Actually, the well had very little water but now she was past caring. ‘ Might as well do some good work before the family is ruined’ she thought. She watered the tree religiously for a week and the tree slowly started showing signs of recovering.

****************

A few more days had passed and Indira’s parents were having a sad conversation. “ Lalita, I shall have to give this land to the moneylender,” said Venkatesh Murthy.
“ But isn’t there anything we can do?”
“ No my dear, perhaps the Parmatma wished this to happen. But that’s not all. I have another worry.”
“ Why, what is it?”
“ Have you noticed Indira lately? In spite of all this, she is certainly not looking sad. I hope this is not any new kind of madness.” Saying so he went to the window and looked out. His eyes went wide and he gasped, “Lalita, look………”

****************

A few rooms away, Indira was also looking out of her window. The clouds had turned black. She stood over there in pleasant anticipation, when sure enough, thin sheets of rain fell from the skies and tapped at her windowpane gently. A smile played at her lips, a relieved smile as her belief that ‘ every thing you do comes back to you' strengthened.
-the hobbit

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COMPARISON BETWEEN THE LORD OF THE RINGS(LOR) AND HARRY POTTER(HP).
If i would want to explain LOR in one sentence then i would say that this story is about a bunch of people who undergo great danger to steal an unremarkable ring and then again go through great danger to destroy it. But it would be a great injustice to do so.To all the people who have not read LOR i would suggest them to read 'The Hobbit' by the same author and then read LOR.
Harry Potter ,the boy who lived is the fascinating tale of the classic all time favourite of the wronged and vulnerable hero with the classic all time favourite hated and feared villain making this story a classic all time favourite saga.
To start with, i would say that what works LOR is the thrilling,nail-biting war sequences,the old-worldish,royal language and the superbly portrayed change of Frodo (the hero) from an insecure,overwhelmed boy to a resolute and brave man. The author's imagination seems limitless as he includes the traditional dwarves,elves,goblins with his own inventions like orcs,hobbits,tree beard,nasguls etc .
What wrks for HP is the the fascinating narrative style that takes the reader through all the emotions of laughter,happiness,tension,sadness,anger,relief,fear and many more.I always have a knot in my stomach as the end nears.Its speciality is that it can be read how many ever times one wants to read.
But now for the bad.LOR has not been edited as well as HP and contains unnecessary details.HP has a lot of uncontrolled magic while the magic in LOR is within limits.One finds mistakes in HP,for eg. if veritaserum is such a great truth potion then why isnt it used in all the wizengamot sessions?If felixis felicas is a goodluck potion then why doesnt Lord Voldemort (ya,you gotta respect him) use it every time? LOR is too long for no reason.It has more poems than required and is a bit too discriptive. While Lord Voldemort is described in great detail,Sauron(the villain in LOR) feels a bit incomplete.Sam,Frodo's sidekick seems a bit too devoted while Harry's sidekicks'ron and hermoine have the necessary human elements.LOR is more exciting than HP.LOR doesnt dissapoint when reaches its climax.
So why is HP more popular tan LOR??????????? It must be because Harry's world seems more real than Frodo's.The degree of attachment to Harry is more.(i wont be able to bear it if Harry dies in the 7th book).His problems and thoughts are similar to that of millions of teenagers.
Its really difficult to say which is better (though i have a small soft corner for LOR) and i think it will be wrong to voice one's verdict until the 7th book is published.

A SMILE !!!!!!!!!!!!

An expression that lightens up the mood,
that makes people cheerful,
that spreads happiness everywhere,
just a simple smile,simply beautiful.

Frown and be a pessimist,
the world is all dry and dreary,
the problems seem to magnify,
and the road ahead seems scary.

Smile and be an optimist,
eager for every new day,
twists and turns are nothing,
simply go smiling all the way!

A smile just transforms the face!
brings in fresh hope,
breaks the chain of dark despair,
gives a man, strenght to cope.

So smile and smile whenever you can,
Precious seconds are lost in sighing,
in this world of good and bad,
a smile will keep you striving.
- the hobbit