asked to live a dream
Love, Nature, poetry

If I ever asked to live a dream

Oh! If I ever asked to live a dream,

It would be adjacent to a river stream

where the topaz rays of the sun will beam.

I will build myself a wooden cabin of dream.

 

Where hues of porcelain charmed elves will dwell.

just hoping all of it is not some beautiful spell,

Golden leaves will flutter like the shrine bells

surrounding would be spouting magical fountains

cascading down from the tall mystic mountains.

 

In the azure torrents, doe-eyed maidens will swim,

singing praises to eternal love of Sheba and Solomon.

On its currents, hope and peace will forever brim

the gushes of cerulean water will drift far-far away,

to have a rendezvous with herculean oceans at a bay.

 

Unfathomable dark canals will run deep in Earth’s womb,

on whose banks again the splendid Atlantis will bloom.

Mythical civilizations resting in the sea in their tombs

will flourish golden El-dorados will resurrect to be exhumed.

 

Apostles will bow down once to a mundane dream,

kneel and  pay holy ablutions to the sacred streams

regal butterflies and dragonflies will sing blessed hymns

A humble abode of divine tranquility I will build

where no  human vision or dream ever be slained

 

All this and more If I ever asked to live a dream!

It would be adjacent to a river stream….

 

 

Advertisements
Desires
Inspiration, Literature, poetry, Self-Help

Byzantium( W.B Yeats)

The unpurged images of day recede;
The Emperor’s drunken soldiery are abed;
Night resonance recedes, night-walkers’ song
After great cathedral gong;
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is,
All mere complexities,
The fury and the mire of human veins.
Before me floats an image, man or shade,
Shade more than man, more image than a shade;
For Hades’ bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.
Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,
More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the starlit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.
At midnight on the Emperor’s pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
Astraddle on the dolphin’s mire and blood,
Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood,
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.
W. B. Yeats, “Byzantium” from The Poems of William Butler Yeats 

 

(William Butler Yeats[a] (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments, he helped to found the Abbey Theater, and in his later years served as a Senator of the Irish Free State for two terms. Yeats was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival)