The Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


Poem by William Butler Yeats

Being Betrayed

Fools have many a man been,

Not to a soul did I any harm mean,

Yet, like all others, I, too, was made a fool.

I am enraged; I refuse to be such a droll!


Let me declare: I shall be none to you, as you to me!

Perhaps sometime in the future I shall a better land see,

And meet some genuine human beings of kind disposition;

And much do I hope: deceiving me shan’t be their mission.


Although betrayed by your treacherous tricks,

But I still think well of you; live till you die

And wed a man who can your mind and habits fix.

Let me go, farewell; let me go, good-bye!


Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS

Broken: Heart and Spectacles!

My heart and my spectacles are the two things which break easily, very easily, more often than not; in fact, they are the easiest things to be broken on earth. I have lost the count of the times they were broken. When my heart breaks I am all gloomy, the world appears cruel. But then, I can become use to the pangs; I can live with them, hoping they will die sooner or later. And after a while all pain vanishes away into thin air.

I never thought that someday my eyes will need decoration (these eyes of mine are as stylish as those actors and actresses in the movies). Beard, being a man, I knew, I would have beards someday, but spectacles, no, never.

But what do I do when my eye glasses break, and break so easily.  I am the owner of my heart; but as for the spectacles, I have to become the owner. And when you wish to own something you have to pay for it. Nothing comes for free, you know, and how costly things are nowadays!

Those wretched women and men who claim to be my lovers and friends are the reason behind my sufferings.

How those women say they love me, how caring they pretend to be, how sweet and friendly they seem, and how they leave me when I need them the most! Those atrocious– let me say no more.

How those friends of mine, those party-animals, who think they were born to be wild, invite me on the dance floor, and fling and swing their bloody hands and break my spectacle by so doing. And what happens when you try to board a local train to commute? Should you come to Mumbai you will certainly know. You will meet eager souls, those inconsiderate morons, who tear you limb from limb while getting into the train, which, to them, seem absolutely normal. Your spectacles mean nothing to them. Time is money. Don’t block their way. Move, move, move!

Why needs my heart be so weak? Why needs my spectacles break when I pay so much?


Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS

Take, Oh Take Those Lips Away

Take, oh take those lips away

That so sweetly were forsworn,

And those eyes, like break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn,

But my kisses bring again,

Seals of love, though seal’d in vain.


Hide, oh hide those hills of snow

Which thy frozen bosom bears,

On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears,

But first set my poor heart free,

Bound in those icy chains by thee.


Poem by John Fletcher

From The Salutation by Thomas Traherne

From Dust I rise

And out of Nothing now awake;

These brighter regions which salute mine Eys

A Gift from God I take:

The Earth, the Seas, The Light, the lofty Skies,

The Sun and Stars are mine; if these I prize.


A stranger here,

Strange things doth meet, strange Glory see,

Strange Treasures lodg’d in this fair World appear

Strange all and New to me:

But that they mine should be who Nothing was,

That Strangest is of all: yet brought to pass.

Dover Beach

The sea is calm to-night.

The tide is full, the moon lies fair

Upon the straits; —on the French coast the light

Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!

Only, from the long line of spray

Where the sea meets the moon-blanch’d land,

Listen! you hear the grating roar

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,

At their return, up the high strand,

Begin, and cease, and then again begin,

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring

The eternal note of sadness in.


Sophocles long ago

Heard it on the Ægæan, and it brought

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow

Of human misery; we

Find also in the sound a thought,

Hearing it by this distant northern sea.


The Sea of Faith

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl’d.

But now I only hear

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,

Retreating, to the breath

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear

And naked shingles of the world.


Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.


Poem by Matthew Arnold


What a beautiful poem this is. I remember how the Headmaster of our school, who also happened to be our English Teacher, modulated his voice and made such ecstatic gestures while teaching and reading us this poem.

I love the final stanza of this poem more than anything else:

Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.


Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS

Mrs Nobody Writes A Letter To Mr Nobody

Dear Mr Nobody,

It feels good to know that you are having the time of your life. How I know, you might wonder. Well, the last letter you wrote to your son landed in my hand. Perhaps you have forgotten that we life together in the same house.  He is not home, goodness knows where he’s gone; like father like son. And, ah, you write to your son in such a manner as if he is not a son but an old friend of yours. Shameless, utterly shameless you are.

It is a fact well-known that you do nothing apart from complaining all the time. I do remember how you used to complain about each and everything when we were studying together in the college. Everyone was fed up with you. Your very existence seemed an agony. But presently what a great change has come upon you. How well you speak of others (I mean of that lady of quality you mentioned). Sarcasm is your cup of tea, not mine. I will, therefore, speak to you in as plain a way as possible.

Tell me, did you kiss her? Did she kiss you? I mean, really if she wants to kiss you or something, let her do it. And let her do it in your neck. I can only wish, when she kisses your neck, she takes the form of a crocodile.

You say you will be staying in London as long as you please. I hope and pray to God that you will never be displeased come what may.  Well, I have nothing more to say.

Mrs Nobody

Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS