Poem of the day-46: The Long-Distance Runner (Jimmy Avasia’s reworked poem)

The Long-Distance Runner

This is the man of the night.
When it is dark, anguish finds eloquence.
When it is day, he carries it
in his deadpan manner.
He will never display
this poetic error on a banner.

This man has always been old,
constantly aware
that no future is permanent.
He is the genesis of despair,
born as it were in an obituary column.

This man is a whirlpool
caught in revolving doors.
He is churned in a circle of self-pity.
He and his life were banished once.
He searches bliss.
If it ever comes, it will be anonymous.

This man is destitute.
He wants a dose of happiness
but they only give him truth.

This man walks to the sea
nursing his throat’s perennial lump.
But he will not jump.


(JIMMY AVASIA’s reworked poem)


எனக்குப் பிடித்த கவிதை-75:

ஒன்றே யென்னின்  ஒன்றே  யாம்

பலவென்  றுரைக்கின்  பலவே  யாம்

அன்றே  யென்னின்  அன்றே  யாம்

ஆமே  யென்னின்  ஆமே  யாம்

இன்றே  யென்னின்  இன்றே  யாம்

உளதென்  றுரைக்கின்  உளதே  யாம்

நன்றே  நம்பி குடிவாழ்க்கை 

நமக்கிங்  கென்னோ  பிழைப்பம்மா!

·         கம்பர்

Gems from Swami Vivekananda-65:

The condemnation of all weakness–this is the idea in all our teachings which I like, either in philosophy, or in religion, or in work. If you read the Vedas, you will find this word always repeated–fearlessness–fear nothing. Fear is a sign of weakness. We must go about our duties without taking notice of the sneers and the ridicule of the world.

Gems from Mata Amritanandamayi-9:

To become fit to receive grace, we must develop humility in our words and actions. 

Gems from Mother Teresa-13:

Some people come into your life as blessings and some, as lessons.

Quotes on Reading-7:

Reading is a rendezvous with your soul – Jeanette Winterson

Shakespeare’s Sonnet-15:

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo’d and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.