Magic of Mikhail Sholokhov..

*    The books describes about the lives and struggles of the Don Cossacks during the First World War, the Russian Revolution, and the Russian Civil War. Arguably it is the best book written about the race that has captured the imagination of readers from across the world. It's Sholokhov's masterpiece and he deservedly got the Nobel for this. 

*   Not even Leo Tolstoy, Russia's greatest writer (no offence meant to him and one of my favourite authors) could depict the lives of cossacks better in his book, 'The Cossacks'. I don't wish to spoil your mood by writing more about this classic. 

*     A must read for book lovers......

A New Year of Challenge !

*     Wishing you all a Happy and Peaceful New Year.

*      While this year brings hopes and aspirations for millions of us who live in safety of our homes, the year poses a great challenge for thousands of people living in Iraq and Syria where the Islamic State is butchering human beings. The women are being  abused, and then sold. The young boys are forced to join their ranks, and trained to kill.

*    Since the World War II, the innocent civilian population has never been so threatened. What's worrying is that the efforts of the civilized nations so far haven't been able to contain the menace of the Islamic State. 

*     People who are suffering and fighting the atrocities of these newest and cruelest terrorists, deserve our prayers.

A Stranger !

               (This poem I wrote several years ago)  
                               

                              A stranger


           Walks in crowded cities,
           Unmindful of human complexities,
           And life's eternal beauties,
           A stranger.

           Friendship often seeks,
           That meetings make,
           And partings break,
           A stranger.

           Confines in mystery,
           Looks what is not he,
           But someone else be,
           A stranger.

           Scruples that reside,
           In a human mind,
           Reason could he find,
           A stranger.

           A few moments ago,
           when asked, where you go,
           He says, 'I don't know',
           A stranger.

           His lovable countenance,
           Gives some assurance,
           Of future remembrance,
           A stranger.

                       *         *        *

Forgotten Verse of Shakespeare...

                                                (concluding part of verse)

                               5

        Gentle wind sport did find,
        Wantonly to make fly,
                       her golden tresses.
        As they shook, I did look,
        But her fair did impair
                              all my senses.
        As amazed, I gazed
        On more than a mortal 
                               complexion.
        Them that I love can prove
        Such force in beauty's 
                                   infection.

                             6

        Next her hair, forehead fair,
        Smooth and high; next doth lie,
                             without wrinkle,
        Her fair brows; under those,
        Star-like eyes win love's prize
                             when they twinkle,
        In her cheeks who seeks
        Shall find there displayed
                             beauty's banner;
        On admiring desiring 
        Breeds, as I look still upon her,

                             7 

        Thin lips red, fancy's fed,
        With all sweet when he meets,
                               and is granted,
         There to trade, and is made
         Happy, sure, to endure
                              still undaunted. 
         Pretty chin doth win
         Of all the world commendations;
         Fairest neck, no speck;
         All her parts merit high admirations.

                                 8

         A pretty bare, past compare,
         Parts those plots which besots
                                  still asunder.
         It is meet naught but sweet
         Should come near that so rare
                                  'tis a wonder.
         No mishap, no scape
         Inferior to nature's perfection;
         No blot, no spot:
         She's beauty's queen in election.

                             9

         Whilst I dreamt, I exempt
         From all care, seemed to share
                                pleasures in plenty;
         But awake, care take__
         For I find to my mind
                               pleasures scanty.
        Therefore, I will try
        To compass my heart's chief contending.
        To such a case causeth repenting.

                          ___  William Shakespeare
                 
(credit to Gary Taylor for finding this priceless poem)

Forgotten Verse of Shakespeare

*   Hi, here's a forgotten verse of Shakespeare for poetry lovers!!

Forgotten Verse

                        Shall I die? shall I fly

                        Lovers' baits and deceits,

                                             sorrow breeding?

                        Shall I fend? Shall I send?

                        Shall I shew, and not rue

                                              my proceeding?

                        In all duty her beauty

                        Binds me her servant for ever.

                        If she scorn, I mourn,

                        I retire to despair, joying never.

2

                        Yet I must vent my lust

                        And explain inward pain

                                         by my love breeding.

                        If she smiles, she exiles

                        All my moan; is she frown,

                                     all my hopes deceiving.

                        Suspicious doubt, O keep out,

                        For thou art my tormentor.

                        Fly away, pack away;

                        I will love, for hope bids me venter.

                                                3

                       "Twere abuse to accuse

                       My fail love, ere I prove

                                                 her affection.

                       Therefore try! Her reply

                       Gives thee joy-- or annoy,

                                                  or affliction.

                       Yet how'er, I will bear

                       Her pleasure with patience,

                                                   for beauty.

                       Sure will not seem to blot

                       Her deserts, wronging him

                                                doth her duty.

                                           4

                       In a dream it did seem

                       But alas, dreams do pass

                                            as do shadows.

                       I did walk, I did talk

                       with my love, with my dove

                                   through fair meadows.

                       Still we passed till at last

                       We sat to repose us for our 

                                                        pleasure.

                       Being set, lips met,

                       Arms twined, and did bind

                                       my heart's treasure.

                       (to be continued.....................)