Closed Path Poem by Rabindranath Tagore
I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,- -that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.
The Quality Of Mercy Poem by William Shakespeare
The quality of mercy is not strain’d.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the heart of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice.
The Happiest Day, The Happiest Hour Poem by Edgar Allan Poe
The happiest day- the happiest hour
My sear’d and blighted heart hath known,
The highest hope of pride and power,
I feel hath flown.
Of power! said I? yes! such I ween;
But they have vanish’d long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been-
But let them pass.
And, pride, what have I now with thee?
Another brow may even inherit
The venom thou hast pour’d on me
Be still, my spirit!
The happiest day- the happiest hour
Mine eyes shall see- have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power,
I feel- have been:
But were that hope of pride and power
Now offer’d with the pain
Even then I felt- that brightest hour
I would not live again:
For on its wing was dark alloy,
And, as it flutter’d- fell
An essence- powerful to destroy
A soul that knew it well.
Anc And The Struggle Poem by Chinedu Dike
January 1912, Mzansi brought forth a child
In a harsh political climate
Destined to free her people
Bound to cruel Fate
Long Live Child Of Necessity!
His growth fraught with perils
But nurtured by sons and daughters of the soil
Deprived of dignity and birthright
Whose principal offence is not being ‘White’
Long Live Son Of The Soil!
His clarion call an impetus to the Struggle
Unifying localized forces of Freedom
Into mass-based Liberation Movement
Brought into the realm of Global Awareness
Long Live Symbolic Leader Of The Struggle!
Fighting against enormous odds
Together with hopeful but ill-equipped natives
Onto the spirit he anchored Power
Victory guaranteed on Resolve
Long Live Son Of Hope!
Braving the slammer, torture, bullet…
Massacre of his warriors the order of the day
Energized by tears and blood of compatriots
Civil Disobedience intensify with Sabotage
Long Live The Indomitable Warrior!
At long last, victory and jubilation
Forces of Liberty topple forces of Oppression
Embracing ‘no winner no loser’ notion
He calls for ‘Rainbow Nation’
Long Live Son Of Liberty!
Long Live The Symbol Of Human Dignity!
Viva The Legacies Of African National Congress!
Happy The Man Poem by John Dryden
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call today his own:
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Be fair or foul or rain or shine
The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
Cologne Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
In Köhln, a town of monks and bones,
And pavements fang’d with murderous stones
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;
I counted two and seventy stenches,
All well defined, and several stinks!
Ye Nymphs that reign o’er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne;
But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?
Absolute Power Poem by Rose Marie Juan-austin
He was selected
From among the finest
Of all men
To carry the loads
Of millions of fathers.
He got hundreds of millions of children
With multitude personalities
Some are in the right wing
Others are in the left wing
Still others are moderates.
He holds great power
Vested by the millions
He watches over
Yet, his authority is clipped
With checks and balances.
He got noble intentions
For the good of all
Majority submitted to his power
Others desperately wanted him gone.
He reached the fork in the road
And he tightened his grip
To his power
And ruled with an iron fist
Cut the tongues of his children
And broke their wings.
The absolute freedom to rule
Like a wine
He wanted more
Intoxicated by the desire
To be the first in everything
The one who has been told finest
Has turned into a beast.
Soldier’s Dream Poem by Wilfred Owen
I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears;
And caused a permanent stoppage in all bolts;
And buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts;
And rusted every bayonet with His tears.
And there were no more bombs, of ours or Theirs,
Not even an old flint-lock, not even a pikel.
But God was vexed, and gave all power to Michael;
And when I woke he’d seen to our repairs.
Apparently With No Surprise Poem by Emily Dickinson
Apparently with no surprise,
To any happy flower,
The frost beheads it at its play,
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on.
The sun proceeds unmoved,
To measure off another day,
For an approving God.
I Have No Power Poem by Nizar Qabbani
‘I have no power to change you
or explain your ways
Never believe a man can change a woman
Those men are pretenders
that they created woman
from one of their ribs
Woman does not emerge from a man’s rib’s, not ever,
it’s he who emerges from her womb
like a fish rising from depths of water
and like streams that branch away from a river
It’s he who circles the sun of her eyes
and imagines he is fixed in place
I have no power to tame you
or domesticate you
or mitigate your first instincts
This task is impossible
I’ve tested my intelligence on you
also my dumbness
Nothing worked with you, neither guidance
Stay primitive as you are
I have no power to break your habits
for thirty years you have been like this
for three hundred years
a storm trapping in a bottle
a body by nature sensing the scent of a man
assaults it by nature
triumphs over it by nature
Never believe what a man says about himself
that he is the one who makes the poems
and makes the children
It is the woman who writes the poems
and the man who signs his name to them
It is the woman who bears the children
and the man who signs at the maternity hospital
that he is the father
I have no power to change your nature
my books are of no use to you
and my convictions do not convince you
nor does my fatherly council do you any good
you are the queen of anarchy, of madness, of belonging
to no one
Stay that way
You are the tree of femininity that grows in the dark
needs no sun or water
you the sea princess who has loved all men
and loved no one
slept with all men… and slept with no one
you are the Bedouin woman who went with all the tribes
and returned a virgin
Stay that way.’