121 Classic Poems

Driving from my parent’s Home to Cochin last Friday Morning, I saw my mother, Beside me, Doze, open mouthed, her face Ashen like that Of a corpse and realized with pain That she thought away, and Looked but soon Put that thought away, and Looked out at young Trees sprinting, the merry children spilling Out […]

If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight —let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours. As my days pass in the crowded market of

It was taken some time ago. At first it seems to be a smeared print: blurred lines and grey flecks blended with the paper; then, as you scan it, you see in the left-hand corner a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree (balsam or spruce) emerging and, to the right, halfway

All the world’s a stage And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning

I went down to the river, I sat down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, so I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered! I came up twice and cried! If that water hadn’t a-been so cold, I might’ve sunk and died. But it was Cold in the water!

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broken up Into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches in arms towards perfection; Where the clear stream of reason has not

Freedom from fear is the freedom I claim for you, my motherland! Freedom from the burden of ages, bending your head Breaking your back, blinding your eyes to the beckoning call of the future Freedom from the shackles of slumber wherewith You fasten yourself in night stillness, Mistrusting the star that speaks of truth’s adventurous

I cannot remember my mother Only sometimes in the midst of my play A tune seems to hover over my playthings, The tune of some song that she used to Hum while rocking my cradle. I cannot remember my mother But when in the early autumn morning The smell of shiuli flowers floats in the

I’m a lean dog, a keen dog, A wild dog and lone; I’m a rough dog, Hunting on my own; I’m a bad dog, a mad dog, Teasing silly sheep; I love to sit and bay the moon To keep fat souls from sleep. I’ll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet, A sleek

Lightly, 0 lightly we bear her along, She always like a flower in the wind of our song; She skims like a bird on the foam of a stream, She floats like a laugh from the lips of a dream. Gaily, 0 gaily we glide and we sing, We bear her along like a pearl

Going by my passport They call me Indian abroad But in my own land I don’t know who I am. In South Africa I’m coloured In the USA I’m minus red To the English I am a wog I still don’t know who I am. If I am to be known by language Or worse

Father studied theology through mail And this was exam time. Mother knitted. I sat quietly with a book Full of pictures. Night fell. My hands grew cold touching the faces Of dead kings and queens. There was a black raincoat In the upstairs bedroom Swaying from the ceiling, But what was it doing there? Mother’s

That night the moon drifted over the pond, Turning the water to milk, and under The boughs of the trees, the blue trees, A young woman walked, and for an instant The future came to her: Rain falling on her husband’s grave, rain falling On the lawns on her children, her own mouth Filling with

The laburnum top is silent, quite still In the afternoon yellow September sunlight, A few leaves yellowing, all its seeds fallen. Till the goldfinch comes, with a twitching chirrup A suddenness, a startlement, at a branch and Then sleek as a lizard, and alert, and abrupt, She enters the thickness, and a machine starts up

Fallen from heaven, lies across The lap of his mother, broken by world. But water will go on. Issuing from heaven In dumbness uttering spirit brightness Through its broken mouth. Scattered in a million pieces and buried Its dry tombs will split, at a sign in the sky. At a rending of veils. It will