Pray, what use vouching witless words so vain?
For men to tread only two tracks seem sane:
Youthful beauty’s well-bestowed a bosom,
Retire or else to woods, make ho nor hum.
_________________________
Translation(quatrain) | 21.08.2025 | men, romance, women, forest
Note: Here is a verse from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance) in this case in Maalinee meter. It says, let us cut down all words of wisdom so vain. When it comes to bare basics, there are only two ways in this world well their worth for a man to pursue, both as last resorts: a youthful beauty’s well-bestowed bosom, or retiring to forest, far from the madding crowd as they say. Note the rhyming assonance and alliteration: yauvanam va vanam va. Here is transliteration of the verse:
Kim iha bahubhih uktaih yukti-shunyaih pralaapaih
Dvayam iha purushaanaam sarvadaa sevaneeyam ||
Abhinava mada-leelaa-laalasam sundareenaam
Stana-bhara parikhinnam yauvanam vaa vanam vaa || 72 ||
Upon green hills where gentle breezes play,
A village wakes to greet the golden light.
No city horns disturb the break of day,
Just birds that sing and skies serenely bright.
The air is crisp, each breath a gift so pure,
With streams that babble secrets as they run.
Life moves in rhythms peaceful and demure,
Unhurried hours beneath the warming sun.
Fields stretch in green, and laughter fills the air,
Neighbors share stories by the fireside’s glow.
No restless race, no burdens hard to bear,
Just simple joys that only dreamers know.
Far, far away from crowds that rush and strive,
Here, hearts find peace and truly learn to thrive.
© 2025 Pastor Emmanuel Serto
Let the words of my mouth fall silent
To listen to my beating heart
Then will I be most still and content
In rhythm with nature's warm art
To still the noise which dulls reflection
Brings closer the meaning of life
And prompts the deepest meditation
Saving us all from petty strife
It is in that calm we come close to peace
Safe from the stress around us all
Our souls relax,our troubles cease
Only then do we understand our fall
Far from the madding crowd we must stray
If contentment is to come our way
‘far from the madding crowds’ and cars
this ‘green and pleasant’ land of ours
conceals behind its dry stone walls
secrets, streams and waterfalls
where stepping stones that gather moss
‘shine forth’ and tempt us both across
to distant fields of eighties’ skies
now clouded through autumnal eyes
where sheep still bleat as we both pass
along old paths of weathered grass
rekindling thoughts as each track weaves
of first love, hope and burning leaves
that once infused a simpler air
but linger still inside somewhere
to guide us on those wistful miles
through woods, past farms and over stiles
in search of where we sat and spent
time dreaming dreams of dreams we dreamt
over the hills and far away
inside a world called yesterday
and where we’d stay ‘til light turned late
in fields beyond the kissing gate
where now through gentle smiles and tears
reflecting on those forty years
it feels like time has flown so fast
since young love asked if love could last.
One winter eve, I stopped by wood
To cool that burning heart of mine
In nature's bosom , that one should
The branch of willow lean and bent
By cooling freezing hand of fog
It kissed the breeze and heaven scent
My steed was gazing far off hill
On sky was smiling guiding star
As asking don't be Stony still
Came from the mist dozen rhymes
And all I painted on the wind
Of far off far off ancient times
Trees and blooms were bathes in sleet
As meet with tearful days of yore
With hoary mystic moonlit sheet
A wonder freeze in eyes as if
Till Day of judgement it will stay
As hues of sky on Moses cliff
Came love and peace in ancient veil
Them aching heart can't recognize
With utmost grief the lips were seal
O burning flames of heart cool down
O steed of time with thee I go
To unknown lands of unseen town
In far off wood wherest thou dwell
So far and far from madding crowd
For me thou ring thy temple's bell
With wings of fairies I'll come
I vow that nowhere I'll stop
O harken me O soul Winsome
Oh misty shadow stop a while
I think thee I can recognize!
Thou float with clouds in every vale
With airy wings in airy guise
Oh love , thy lanes are desolate!
Which lesson thou, thy people taught?
From pages of an ancient yarn
From centuries which hath people fraught?
Thy victims moan in moonless nights
They roam in moonlit winter snow
From centuries numberless on earth
In search of thee they come and go
Their stories I'll write someday
Then send to you in morning sheen
Since thou art far from madding crowd
And we have centuries in between
Thou lives in hearts on heavens high
Thou not in mortal bodies dwell
Thou art the bond of soul with soul
No one had ever bought or sell
You feel thyself on seventh sky
If in thy heart this passion stay
It liveth in stars on towers high
But if you wish, you find a way
Love is stream from heavens God
To earthly shadows doth it flows
No one has tasted from it drop
All standing round in rows and rows
For once thou harken them my Lord
I feel in hearts of heart regret
While night is hovering on the woods
And sun on winding ways hath set
Mystique in that smile,
Ardency in those eyes,
Delicacy in porcelain skin,
Honesty in her voice,
Uniqueness in her spirit,
Soul in her passion,
Mystery again in gestures,
Intricacies in her flaws and perfections,
Tenderness accentuates in all of her,
And again, her madding Mystique.
Somewhere among the stars,
she wanders the foothills of Kilimanjaro,
an adventure of a lifetime,
she and her best bud and mate.
Camping in the open
at twelve thousand feet,
every moment is breathless,
every action requires effort.
I delight to think of what she may see
what new perspectives she will gain
from such lofty heights
far above the madding crowds.
And I wonder how she will process the world
when she returns, no longer an explorer;
just a wife, mom, doctor,
with dinner to cook and daughter to bathe.
God, show her the extraordinary,
open her heart to the impossible,
that she might encounter You there,
and tuck you snugly in her heart,
returning home to experience
all the highs and lows of daily life
while hiking the hills of Kilamanjaro with You.
I wake up feeling like I’ve been on a journey
Vivid images of strange apparitions in sight,
In exotic places, far away from earthly soil
Could it be that I’ve been on an astral flight,
That I left my body behind during the night?
And, possibly, I’ve not yet learned to navigate
Choosing the destination of my nocturnal trips
So fascinating, so filled with rapt wonderment,
With concentration and a vision on my lips
I may with self-awareness now enjoy these blips.
I am acquainted with some who astral travel
Almost nightly to distant places in the universe
Though rarely speaking of their cosmic ventures,
Some have suggested it is, thus, a madding curse
To see what they cannot describe, sometimes worse.
Submitted to "Journey Without Movement" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
Thank You God on High Above
BY Franklin Price
02/02/2022
Thank you God, on high above
For watching o'er my life
For bringing me so long ago
My best friend and my wife
For allowing us to share the years
And supplying all our need
For taking her to Heaven
Where her pain in life is freed
Barbara still is with me
As she's looking from above
I know she'll never leave me
And she's sending me her love
Thank you for all my family
For my friends are family too
They give me love and comfort
For all of this, I'm thanking you
With their many words and actions
They have been here by my side
To have them is a blessing
As I continue on the ride
All of this would not have happened
Would it not have been for you.
Help me as I carry on
In everything I say and do
When my life on earth is over
And I leave this madding crowd
Let me join her up in Heaven
I pray to You, that that's allowed
Amen
We dream of rain
in a dry season
under the setting sun
We harvest bitter grains,
Embittered flesh.
Under a tyrannical son,
we dream of rain in a harsh summer of discontent.
We watch the harsh mistress of the empirical sun.
The seeding of the plains
a White House on desert sands.
Where a figure fighting the storms stands
in a black dress in a bone-white land.
The reapers machine burns on the horizon edge
The cold hard weight of a gun.
My spirit has fled, my wound had bled
We dwell in a madding season in some American empire…
Reprise I
Sad that once I immersed myself in bitter feuds
Add them to early years consumed by madding fears,
Clad in times, as well, by lingering angry interludes
Had I not spent a profligate youth in pubs with beers.
Lest one think my whole life was lived entirely in vain
Best consider the times when good values prevailed,
Blest by sunshine, better angels conquered the pain
Rest assured, in life, one could say I have not failed.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written June 8, 2021
for "Lento - 8 Lines" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Joseph May
you really haven't grasped the meaning of believe
me myself i am deity curious
my faith lasting
till my first thought
if your out there
stop reading my thoughts
any back to just us two
so don't get me wrong
i like the look of religion
just not close to the madding crowds
i like the ifs
but my trusts are all but gone
won't bow my head
eyes unrespecting
Stories good but a little long
Bagsy the next chapter
Proving it wrong
an idiots guide to religion
for we are many
ARDINGLY ELEGY
The clock tower tolls the passing of the day
The bleating flock wends home neath darkening sky
The Judges homeward plod their weary way
And leave the world in peace at Ardingly
Beyond from the madding contests’ noble strife
Their preferences no longer put asunder on
Reworking judgements that were given life
The ghosts of jurists sit in shadowed UNDER*
Across the world the living spirits go
To lands deprived of custard on their pie
Gone from the halls up under and below
May they again return to Ardingly
The faithful Leaders' bright young teams have gone
Far from the English contest's hue and cry
When spring once more brings us a brighter dawn
May they at heart return to Ardingly
Now all the shepherds and the human flock
Time no more measured by the tolling clock
When frosty sheen still paints the cricket field
And yet the buds burst green on sylvan high
May then also returned to Ardingly.
Words bounce off the trees creating a beautiful melody,
the emptiness inside this patch of grass surrounded by a sea of trees.
A fairy dances around the fall brush creating a personal melody.
Sounds mixing create the perfect harmony, it's the soul's key.
fairies sprout from all crevices with wings pulling them around.
Like in a trace gliding from petal to petal collecting, natural resources.
Each fairy carrying separate pieces of the human soul almost bound.
Two looming shadows sneak around the forest, dark forces!
Screams and cries echo as fairies are ripped from the sky.
A faint ray of hope dashed with urgency this is an emergency.
A hero descends on madding foe’s raged unleashed they must die,
Small voices can be heard praying amongst this absurdity.
Swords clash, sparks fly outnumbered, the hero fights brilliantly.
Vanquishing evil the hero falls, his wounds start healing magically.
The fairies gather around and start shining vibrantly.
Sunrises the curtain falls I'm glad we avoided a tragedy.
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