Long Candle Poems
Long Candle Poems. Below are the most popular long Candle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Candle poems by poem length and keyword.
Excerpts from "Cordoba"
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Withered Roses
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
What shall I call you,
but the nightingale's desire?
The morning breeze was your nativity,
an afternoon garden, your sepulchre.
My tears welled up like dew,
till in my abandoned heart your rune grew:
this memento of love,
this spray of withered roses.
Ehad-e-Tifli (“The Age of Infancy”)
by Allama Iqbal aka Muhammad Iqbal
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The earth and the heavens remained unknown to me,
My mother's bosom was my only world.
Her embraces communicated life's joys
While I babbled meaningless sounds.
During my infancy if someone alarmed me
The clank of the door chain consoled me.
At night I observed the moon,
Following its flight through distant clouds.
By day I pondered earth’s terrain
Only to be surprised by convenient explanations.
My eyes ingested light, my lips sought speech,
I was curiosity incarnate.
Excerpt from Rumuz-e bikhudi (“The Mysteries of Selflessness”)
by Allama Iqbal aka Muhammad Iqbal
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Like a candle fending off the night,
I consumed myself, melting into tears.
I spent myself, to create more light,
More beauty and joy for my peers.
Longing
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Lord, I’ve grown tired of human assemblies!
I long to avoid conflict! My heart craves peace!
I desperately desire the silence of a small mountainside hut!
Life Advice
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This passive nature will not allow you to survive;
If you want to live, raise a storm!
Destiny
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Isn't it futile to complain about God's will,
When you are indeed your own destiny?
Keywords/Tags: Urdu, Hindi, translation, English, rose, roses, withered roses, nightingale, desire, breeze, garden, nativity, cradle, infancy, heart, tears, dew, rain, rainfall, longing, conflict, tumult, peace, life, life advice, live, nature, survive, survival, storm, destiny, God, God's will, silence, Iqbal, Urdu, Hindi, death, destiny, chain, life, love, word, God, rose, wine, prophet, music, joy, song, soul
flow of words
words flow,creating a vision in the mind
creating a flow of words
Poet's and,writers have one thing in mind
to create a visual coming from mere words
ink on paper opens the minds eye
whereby one fly without wings,
being in a palace,where as reality
a candle for light and a sponge for sleeping
create,visualize let the pen be your inner voice
that brings your dreams to your doorstep.
let your stain on paper be a visual of hope
that manifest your dreams that lies
dormant in your soul.
to be aware of your inner voice and
jump to guide your being to that
realm is where you will find your door of happiness.
draw your lines .aline yourself,
create the ultimate masterpiece,
not for worldly approval
but for contentment of one mind,
creating a world where one"s life does not fade
the ultimate prize ,knowing your world
has been seen through just the flow of words
Steal the colors of yesterday
from the song,
whimsical as the heart
who hears the sky’s indigo pain
sighing, revealing the hues
softest blues…
invite the warmth of a sapphire
twilight, breathing fire
in august as the sun sets
and the night begins to gesture
to the shadows, wild moon rising
with the gentle stars, who
quietly respond…
joy falls over the crowd
resounding colors of silence
golden tangerine and aching
rust, like the music who
subsides in the heavens,
erasing the desperation of a burning
urge to scream out…
aching from the wind
who stills the burgundy passions
pouring over the summer
evenings growing warmer
then fading into a cool that calls
on the autumn’s hues…
leaves tumbling from the sky
burnt orange and rusty
dancing in waltzes of hues
living like they’re old news
stories trembling in the breeze
softly playing, honeysuckled grace
flying like small kites
embraced by the light
creative as the summer, only this time
the wonders are silent…
all the wonderful washed away
leaving only the feathery
flakes falling, wistful
winter’s frost, clinging to the night
bittering every candle
erasing the softest thoughts
with stories of last summer
when hope was still bold
and nights were still life dreams…
amazing, how the seasons risk
their every thought
a glimpse of the richness
of our Author’s brush
His soundless touch of light
on dark, the music silent
glistening on the earth,
a story, a poem, graceful as love…
Oh, love, sweet love
has He ever stopped and heard
the music that comes from us,
His children, prayers in smiles, in voices
meant for light, for endless
glory, singing – wind reverberating
hills bringing their weary rhythm
singing to the wind, the stars
dancing like they’ve never heard
the joy found in a heart…
who hears the love – come from above
Oh, dear love, sweet precious love!
You kindle the lamps
Little earthen bowls
Holding circles of mustard oil
Wicks like snouts of desire
The sober flame radiating rosy heat
Smell of ripened wheat
I get my book
Under the leaves of the light
Words snuggling in delight
The dissolving nights recede
Your pent-up poems, all freed
You become the words
Swords disappear
Mightier pen gets prepared
The lamps in the corners
In triangles and tweets
Light on the lips of darkness
Salvador Dali
It is poetry of Diwali
Smileys hovering in the air
Scented light from your hair
You kindle the lamps
Taking light
From my candle-hand
Blushing eyes command
Compelling lamps
Invitation for Food Fight
‘Can you hear?
I am here.
Dear Mary, “Merry Christmas”!
In Deer Park, first we met.
Do you remember?’
'Yes, I remember. You are Mr. Brown.
That day, you looked so handsome in brown suit.’
‘On Christmas, we will enjoy our First Date
with date-plum cake
in shape of ship and taking meat of sheep.
Celebration on Christmas, not in mass,
only for us.
For your sake, to start with milk-shake,
Your favorite drink.
Cheese balls as appetizer, then fantastic fish sizzler, crab froth.
You nay stick on chicken drumstick.
Let prawn cutlet be on the table
Grilled capsicum! She must come.
Sweet Heart! My Honey!
Honey-roasted nut, we can’t cut.
Sweet doughnut of whole wheat with hole at center,
I love much.
I see! Icy dark chocolate!
We must eat. It is delicious.
From same glass, using two straws to drink straw- berry juice.
‘ll relish cream of love with butter scotch ice cream.
We two too will sip red wine
and won’t mind on champagne-raid.
A night for Her and Him singing hymn for food fight.
In dim candle light,’ll deem on dream of unison.
12/2/17
The candle, which sets my heart aflame
The fire, which scorches my soul with your name
One question I ask of you, the truth if you please
Why’d you reject my light, when I’ve begged on my knees
Begged for your love, pleaded for you to me
Pleaded that on your mind, my heart would be
Did not thou see, the gifts I had in store
In order to spoil thy body and spirit galore
For now, that opportune has passed, for another is mine
This unfortunate heart forever loves at the wrong time
This new found torch, so angelically sweet
She warms my soul with her soothing heat
Her hues calming, her fumes embracing
A torch not planned for replacing
Although, with that said
Visions of an old flame roam the boundaries of my head
A flame never proclaimed dead, for loving you still I do
The candle, the fire, the NeverEnding Flame that burns for you
I’m fifteen,
and I thought life was supposed to wait for me.
I thought grief was something that happened
to other people,
somewhere else.
But the phone rang one night,
and my mom said it like a secret—
your uncle… he’s sick.
and not the kind that gets better.
Pancreatic cancer.
Last stage.
No cure.
Just time—
like a candle they forgot to blow out.
Since then,
I haven’t really been here.
My body sits behind a school desk,
but my mind…
my mind’s somewhere between
a hospital room and last summer
when everything still felt normal.
The teacher writes numbers on the board,
and I try to care.
But all I see are countdowns.
All I hear is his laugh
echoing through the noise
of a world that doesn’t stop for anyone.
He still smiles when I visit.
Every week,
two hours.
He asks how school is.
I lie.
I say “it’s fine.”
Because what else do you say
to someone who’s running out of days?
And then I go home,
and I close the door,
and it’s like the air itself hurts.
Like I’m made of questions
that don’t have answers.
How long?
Why him?
Why now?
Everyone says “be strong.”
But they don’t tell you
how strength feels like breaking in silence.
How you can laugh in class
and still feel like you’re disappearing.
He’s dying.
And I’m here.
Fifteen years old,
behind a desk,
pretending that fractions matter
when someone I love
is fading like the end of a song.
And the bell rings.
Everyone runs.
And I just sit there,
because I can’t tell if it’s over for the day—
or if something much bigger
is about to end.
An orange glow flew through the sky
Image going really high
Down south
Nasty weather would not shut its mouth
Spitting in a poring way
Angry clouds having lots to say
Sitting in the atmospheric stands
Threatening thundershowers being told they were fans
Meteorological temper tantrum at hand
Releasing a loud bark
Turning the area a little dark
Frustrated firing off weak electrical sparks
Two men sit in their galactic quarters
Safety depended on by questions from reporters
Challenging the power's belief
Simmering heat
Breaking out
Brightness overpowering the grey watery pouts
“Let it go”
Sunshine wanted ugliness to know
Blessing the green light for the show
To the modernization
Of human transportation
Suddenly the candle rocket flame did its thing
Sending the educated earthling
On a test flight fling
Picking up Old Glory bringing her home
After being in orbit all alone
As for the angels they quit bowling
Making a fuss roaring and rolling
Maybe it was the guttering strikes
While the sun gave human minds the floor and mikes
Today another chapter has been open
Making many hoping
There is something out there
Who really cares?
About our extra galaxy affairs
Leaving us no fear
To understand why we are here
This world can be a nice place
Respecting other wishes is a simple task to face
Learning not to invade another’s path
Since this action will only bring a furious wrath
Instead sit back and listen
Quietly reflect on other’s space mission
In the quest for what is "more," a concept vast and deep,
A universe of wanting, from which we laugh and weep.
It is the second helping, the dawn after the night,
The ever-present yearning for a more brilliant light.
It’s the whisper of ambition, the shout of endless greed,
The planting of a forest from a single, tiny seed.
"More" can be the knowledge in scrolls of parchment bloomed,
The architect's bold vision, from ancient wisdom groomed.
It is the steady building of a shelter from the storm,
A harvest’s golden bounty, to keep a family warm.
It is the tinkerer's candle, a drive to innovate,
To push beyond the boundaries and seal a better fate.
But in the brain's deep pathways, a different tale is told,
A story of desire, that's powerful and old.
With every gain and getting, a flash of golden light,
A chemical reward that burns away the night.
The mind is then conditioned, it seeks the thrill anew,
And "enough" becomes a phantom, forever out of view.
And so the ruin follows, on this relentless quest,
When "more" becomes a fever, a sickness in the breast.
The miser counts his treasure, his knuckles pale with fear,
The glutton feasts to bursting, but satisfaction's never near.
It is a hollow hunger, a chasm in the soul,
That swallows joy and contentment, and takes a heavy toll.
Vulessero Vasa, she called my name from the cleaned room.
There she asked: Vide O' Mare? no: no I answered, looking
at a painting Spira Tanti sentimento, yes she smiled
a perfection of sentiment, a glamorous rendering
or art. It's so, so he said jokingly. So, so it's worth more
than all you could ever image. Perfection is expensive isn't it?
Quite expensive indeed.looking out the window she remarked of
being happy the rain had stopped: she love the aroma of
outside after the storm. Marvelous the nights, starry eyed and
warm.Candlelite was thematic for evening
our supper we dined and danced by candle lite. By the fireplace
we sat watching and waiting, we were determined to stay woke
until the power had been restored.Romance, makes way to love
might you make love to me she asked him: then he never said a word.
We woke to the sound of chainsaw, buzzing and a barking dog from the junkyard scratching at the door.Breakfast was awkward,
after which we finished cleaning. I told her I had to leave she told me
what night shall we be again? His anwser was straight forward and bold,
he told her to speak him as hers and the days we speak shall be
tommorrows as lovers.She said when you comeback to Surreinto
stand in the door and I will invite you in as my fiancee.