Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.~Robert Frost

Sunday, July 02, 2006

funeral blues

hey guys....
seems like this blog is forgotten!!!.....c'mon guys...wake up...!
anyways i'm here to post another poem...though not my own....i read it on my trip to germany n found it simply beautiful!!!!!!!!!!
it has a melancholic, depressing note to it...but is beautiful all the same...
hope u all like it...
n hope u post more stuff too!!!

FUNERAL BLUES

stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
silence the pianos n with muffled drum
bring out the coffins, let the mourners come.

let the aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead
scribbling on the sky, the message - "he is dead"
put the crepe bows round the white necks of public doves
let the traffic policeman wear black cotton gloves

he was my north, my south, my east , my west
my working week and my sunday rest
my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song
i thought my love would last forever-
I WAS WRONG

the stars are not wanted, put out every one.
pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood
for nothing now can ever come to any good.

- W S H Auden