placebo

Well, it can’t wait no longer. God knows I’ve been doing my best to get away from it. Been putting it off, dodging them all – the voices in the head, the dancing snow flakes in the air, the bitter cold rain, the occasional sunlight, the morning window and the whispers at nights, all of it. Somehow managed to get by and put myself to sleep and get away but never really got away in the end. It’s a disease of sort. Don’t know why I got it but I know that there is no cure.

This is a thing that I wont ever loose, won’t ever get over, won’t ever be rid off. It will always find me, every time a little bit more off guarded, a little more unprepared, a little less in control. And won’t ever fully learn to live with it. Can’t ever master it; it’ll master me instead. And it will keep coming. I got no choice but to obey (Shoulda been the other way round. Eh?). So there, no use trying to put them on a leash so I will just let them run free.

First there the man. The sickly, worm eaten, hollow shell of a man. Then that all changes, the man changes, he becomes, evolves into something better, stronger, more perfect. A shadow keeps turning up around the bends…that’s him, that is more than him and that will never be him and it all starts to come together. He is becoming…

Then somewhere a dam breaks and theres a flood of moonlight, night wind, daylight, poison gas, alcohol, smoke, memories, memoirs, obituaries, poems, stories, street signs, highways, landscapes, pictures, dreams…words…words…

The girl is the orange dress with big beautiful eyes…. Her face lit up with the light of a thousand stars… Her lips slightly partnet…eager…anticipating…waiting…Her body slowly melts…

A young man standing on a village path, looking in wonder and amazement, - there is beauty everywhere…all around…and then the night sets in

The boy wakes up and sees it raining outside the window,…raindrops humming on the CI sheet roof, the smell of wet earth and smell of freshly baked bread…he goes back to sleep…

one of those nights…

You know, its amazing how you can make a mistake and kick yourself about it and then you tell yourself that you cann’t really make that mistake ever again in your life and then when the time comes, you just go ahead and do it all over again. It doesn’t really end there, you continue to go on that way for the rest of your miserable life. Oh heck, I’ll just tell you the whole story.

Lately, I’ve been hitting the books real hard, finishing one assignment after the other. I’ve been a good boy you see, not indulging myself with little pleasures, watching my money, going to bed in time…yep! Its all true. But how long can you actually carry that act on anyway? So after two weeks of hardship, I decided that its time for a little time out. So, I got a hand in due – FUCK that I’m going to that party and I’m gonna get myself good and drunk.

So I kept my end. I went, I drank and I was feeling fucking good. Met some new people too, like V – the Italian girl (a hottie no less) then that Swedish girl and the two guys going after her. And then there was the Lebanese guy at the hot dog counter. We had a very brief talk about Kahlil Gibran. It was a pretty good night. By the time we missed the last train, I had downed god knows how many and at the top of my game.

Now heres the real part. On our way back, in the bus, I was talking crap with the Raphael and Guillaume as usual. Raph had a small crush on a Chinese chick and we were sort of making a 3rd rated soap outta it. Anyhow, none of us really noticed when this Swedish chick came over and sat next to me. I said something to Raphael and that somehow made her laugh. (I’d laugh too if I was sober and heard a guy shitting on like that). So then I look at her and ..wooow! She says she is sorry, she shouldn’t have listened in and so on. I tell her not to worry, she is more than welcome if she wants to join in the soap opera and then God knows how, it was just the two of us talking away about all sorts of crap there is, she could tell it was red wine and I could tell that she is 23 and then we were singing crystal ship and feast of friends and what not, together. A Jim Morrison fan as it turns out. She told me how she found his biography on a park bench a few days back and how she misses the sun in the winter and I asked her about her cute little nose ring (honest to god, this is the first time I liked those on someone). And just like that the time went by and then she grew restless. She kept on telling me that she needs to get off soon. She said that about 3 times before it got through to this peanut brain of mine. I asked for her number in the last moment and heck! My phone isn’t working. She is going like “come on! Hurry up!” and I don’t have a clue. Guillaume, got his cell out and gave it to her. She typed her number in just in time before she got out.

So its all good. Eh? NOT REALLY! It turns out in the hurry, she left out a digit or something! Messages don’t go through!

She was pretty, and neat, and kind and when she talked, you could tell there is a brain behind those pretty little eyes.

And by the way, I don’t remember her name. I remember the Italian chick’s name, but I don’t remember the important one. Beshhhh…

Guillaume seemed actually more devastated than me. He was trying to console me all the way through the ice and cold and extreme bladder pressure…I didn’t know what to feel really, there was the red wine in the system, the snowy road, her voice in my head…just too many things to process.

One of these days…one of these nights…sigh…

Strong Mercy

My desires are many and my cry is pitiful,
but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals;
and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life through and through.

Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple,
great gifts that thou gavest to me unasked---this sky and the light, this body and the
life and the mind---saving me from perils of overmuch desire.

There are times when I languidly linger
and times when I awaken and hurry in search of my goal;
but cruelly thou hidest thyself from before me.

Day by day thou art making me worthy of thy full acceptance by
refusing me ever and anon, saving me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.

[from Gitanjali (Song Offersings) by Rabindranath Tagore]

Bittersweet

(for the real “homicidal nanny”)

I have forgotten you, everything about you

That adorable li’l face,- picture perfect innocence,
hiding all trace
of the bitter cruelty within.
Those beautiful sad eyes, gazing at distant skies,
would never fail to disguise
the madness lurking behind.
And those pink perfect lips, (ones I still miss
and God! Could they kiss!)
Would never show the serpent tongue.

I’ve forgotten them all.

And its been a while as well
In this cold, cold hell
Been enough and more - anybody’d tell
So then the mention of your name
Should not ring a bell.

Then why show up now?
Why? All these years later, here, now?
And why should I even allow
You
(to waltz) back into my life
With your fangs and your claws
and your claws and your knife
and slow poison my mind
and then stab me from behind
again!
Why You!
who’d start off with the kisses
then fill my world with hisses
then cut me up in pieces
(and feed ‘em to the fishes)
for the joke of it
again!

And you think I’d let you?
Let you do all that? All over again? Really??
Am I that crazy? Really??
Well actually…

Autumn night

Autumn night. Light drizzle, so light that you barely notice it without the light at the door, light meeting the droplets for just a fraction of a second before they come down and rest on the gravels laid out on the path way, much like the way people come in touch with people in busses, trains, poker tables and dinner parties as they go about their day to day comings and goings. Up ahead you see the line of the forest and the thick shadow they cast on the field and then you see the thin strip of moonlight making a clearing in the dark and then you see the barely visible outline of a man, on the moonlit path, obscured by the drizzle and the moonlight and the forest shadow – an outline, clearly out of place, yet strangely befitting with the surreal backdrop. And you get to thinking if you know it from some place, if you’ve just casually passed it by on your way, or seen it standing outside your window, in a dream, or found it walking alongside you on your way back home.

And you get to thinking what it is doing here, on this particular autumn night, on this night with soft moonlight and light drizzle. Then again, where would it if not here?

Think about all the things that were done right and came to nothing. Think about all the wrongs that got you here, now, nowhere at all. Think about the night walks through the city streets, village paths and lonely beeches. Think about the hands shaken, loves made, promises broken and faces forgotten. And then think how little is actually ever forgotten. Think about all the lines, filling up the pages, crowding the mind and clouding the memories. And then think how much of it was actually remembered.

You were not supposed to be here tonight but then again, where would you be? There were so many doors open and so many paths waiting and so many voices calling but then again, were there ever any? There is but one way you could have taken. There is but one place you could have been, tonight.

So that’s what you are, a faint shadow of a man, on a moonlit autumn night, caught between the dark gloom of the forest up ahead and the door closed behind. And you are right where you were supposed to be.

yellow flowers

1st day of the weekend – My 1st ever Laundry Day! Went out the night before, had a few beers and woke up late, - just like back home. Anyhow, so I put the cloths into the machine and I had nothing to do for the rest of the day so decided to go for a walk.

Within a few minutes I saw it. A solitary yellow flower by the path way, prominent againts the green all around, standing and moving slightly with the gentle breeze, standing and looking at me. It was nothing fancy really, just your regular variety yellow flower that grows everywhere on their own and live without a care in the world. Nothing fancy about it at all and I am not into flowers anyway. But I dunno, there was something about it that made me take notice...there was something about it that made me smile.

Like I said I'm no flower guy but I stopped and stayed a while, and the craziest thing, it felt as if it was saying things to me. I mean, not in words it was not but I was getting! I cann't say what it was but I was getting it all right and I followed on. I moved up the path and surely enough, I found more of them, as I knew I would, and they led me to a wooden staircase leading down to an openning in the woods. I have been wanting to explore the woods since I arrived but never got around to doing it and now the flowers have taken me here. I took the path and went in and it was amazing! Its autumn and the leaves have just started to yellow and moss grew around the old trees and on the stones that came out in places and it was mysterious and slilent and beatiful all at once. Doesnt sound like much but it was something for me. I've seen this wood many times. I have imagined and dreamt about it over and over again for I don't know how long and now there it was. I followed the yellow flowers and surely enough they kept me on the better paths, - ones that weren't littered with plastic bottles, old cds, paper napkins and what not. They made sure the garbage don't come in and spoil my dream.

Later in the Autumn, the leaves will turn red and there will be red and yellow and orange all over. I'll go back to the woods and live, yet another dream.

moving on

Be careful about what you wish for cause you just might get it. Am I regretting it? Not really. After all, this is what I wanted, this is what I knew it'd be. After so many years of whining and nagging and bitching about every little things around me, I am finally out. So there.

They all came to see me off – everybody was there and all of them meant it. Its a blessing to have a family like this. I miss them all terribly now.

BD said good bye the best way it could. It was raining mad – it started to rain the minute I got on the car, it rained all the way, up till the moment the plane took off. And it was just right. The smell of it, the sound of it, the feel of it on your skin is just right. It rains in Sweden as well but its just not the same. Its not as tender.

The journey lasted for ever, - about 19 hours in total. Had a tough time keeping the tears in check during the last bit of it, the flight from Heathrow to Arlanda. No matter how hard I tried to not think about the people back home, they just wont leave me alone. Everytime I thought about Ma the lump in my throad felt heavier. Never thought I'd miss the old lady so much!

Things looked bad at the hostle. Was already pretty down with the long journey, homesickness and the very expensive taxi ride. On top of it all I ended up in a very dirty room with paper bags stashed here and there, full of rotten things and spilling smelly liquids. The thought of taking the next available flight back to home came to mind more than once.

It wasnt that bad though. In fact, I was actually very lucky. The guy I asked for directions turned out to be a good hearted fellow from BD who greeted me in Bangla. He helped me with the bags and introduced me to the rest of the people at the hostle. As for the filthy room, it was a blessing that the people who left it like that (a couple of students from India no less) had already moved out.

The next day, Mashuk, the friendly BD guy, went out of his way to help me get a bus pass. I went to the university and got enrolled. Slowly I started to get used to the clean (way too clean) streets, pretty buildings, tall white people, timely busses and clockwork trains. My new room mate turned out to be a good natured man from Ethiopia who made the room tidy in no time. I also began to realize that living in the hostle has its perks – I got to meet a lot of people from different parts of the world whom I would never come across if I wasn't living there. And what'd you know! There are like hundreds of deers and rabbits living in the woods around the place. Not too bad. Eh?

Its still doesn't come close to home. I still miss everyone and things are still very expensive and I am stil an awful cook (can't even cook instant soup man!). But now I know a bit of the town, can make ham sandwiches, know a few faces, and have got tea.

Think Little dog is gonna be all right.

Blake

"To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour."
~ William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

"There was no doubt that this poor man was mad, but there is something in the madness of this man which interests me more than the sanity of Lord Byron and Walter Scott."
~ William Wordsworth

William Blake: What paintings of visions come
All Poems of William Blake

Poets of the Fall - Carnival of Rust

Paper Croft

What do you think she is made of? Yep, thats right!

The papercraft blog (http://paperkraft.blogspot.com) has a lot more like these.

Here is another one I really liked -

only way to leave

Pranab's site...never fails to amaze me. Bring back something everytime...

Daredevil

I wonder how many superheroes we actually meet everyday and pass by everyday without even knowing it.

The other day the company car was giving us a ride home after work. The traffic is really bad at those times and the car was getting stuck every now and then. During one of those spells I saw this man with a cane rushing towards my window. It took me while to realize that he was blind as he moved like a flash. I thought he was going to beg for money and my hand had already reached for my wallet. I was wrong. He just came and felt the car with his cane, stopped and quickly turned to the side and went around the back. He went around one more lane of cars the same way and got into a bus on the last lane. And no shitting, the whole thing took just one minute.

You had to be there to see it happen. It didn’t look like he was trying out a new thing. Seemed like he does it all the time. Taking on the mad Dhaka streets like that…you gotta be a true daredevil.

Chris ROCKS

Some more -
On Love and Relationships
Relationship Advice

blowing in the wind...

He zipped up his jacket and rubbed his hands together to warm himself up. Is it always this cold in February? He cant really tell. Will he be able to tell next year how cold it was this year? Who knows! He just hopes he doesn’t have to wait out here long. Its not so bad though. Good thing the playground is surrounded by all these buildings; would have been a lot colder if it wasn’t. In fact, its kinda nice being here. He doesn’t really get to come here much these days, although its just a few minutes walk from home. And there is nobody around at this hour. Everything is nice and quite. The sky is clear and there is a half moon hanging like a half eaten rice cake– not bad at all! He lit a cigarette and strolled about for a bit and it felt pretty good. He tried to remember what it was like when he was a little tyke running up and down this field chasing a ball. He wasn’t very good with it, the ball that is, but it wasn’t too bad. He remembered how the neighbourhood kids used to come down here on the eve of 21st February and built Shahid minars all over the place. There would be several and in the next morning they’d compare which one is the nicest. Guess the kids these days don’t do that anymore.

How long has it been? Guess there is another half an hour to go. He lit another smoke and inhaled deeply. He’s circled the field 3 times already. He remembered his walks up and down the field 10 years back. What was that like? Falling in love for the first time? He had just picked up smoking. He was quite the smoking gun back then. Wasn’t he? Eager to get out there and leave his mark, eager to shout out to the world that he has arrived…And then, he started feeling all those things, things that were so tender and beautiful that it felt sweet even when they hurt. He didn’t get it at first, he even tried to fight it off. And then he gave in and it was all good. He thought that was it, that she was it and there would be nobody else, could be nobody else. He remembered what it was like, the walks on those nights, with a smoke in his hands and storms in his heart, and then how it all fell apart and the sky started to look really mean. Then how in time he forgot all about it, the face, the lips, the eyes, the love, the anguish – all of it. Nothing, not the layers and layers of clouds or the countless stars above, not even the wet wind would remind him of them, and even if they did, they’d mean nothing. How they made his heart ache then! He flicked the cigarette away and lit another.

He found a space between the railings and decided to rest his legs a little. He leaned against a pillar and stretched out his legs. He made himself so comfortable that he almost fell asleep. The fact that he had nothing to do but wait didn’t seem to bother him at all. That’s right, he loved it. The chills of the night, the solitude, the silence – all of it. He felt happy; happy and content and gratified. No thought interrupted the silence, no word disrupted his peace. He came close, very close, to something he’s been trying to get at for so long, and he was completely relaxed. He was so at peace that he didn’t see it coming. Like a stealthy Ninja it crept up to him and caught him off guard. He sensed it of course but just didn’t care and it came and it was too late when it did. It blew in, or rather blew out and blew the whole thing with it. It jerked him awake; it brought him down all the from lala land and landed him on his posterior. The spell was broken by the sound of a singular….FART!!!

Sisimpur

I love this show! Its cute and witty and fun. If I were a kid I bet I would learn a lot from it (hell! I’m learning a lot from it as it is). I really wish I could be their when they make these.

While you are there, also check out the page on Sesame Street Kosovo.
“After years of violent ethnic strife between Serbs and Albanians, the show had the potential to build peace and tolerance with a new generation of children, showing them that their ethnic counterparts were just kids, too.”

Here is another link to Sisimpur - http://www.sesameworkshop.org/international/ba/eng/home.php

History is...

“History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake” ~ James Joyce

Hunt down a black man.
Peel the black skin off of his body.
Cheers and laughs all around as the black abomination screams in pain, begs for his life.
Hang his bleeding body and just to be sure, set him on fire.

http://www.liu.edu/cwis/cwp/library/african/2000/lynching.htm

I wonder, when you skin a black man or a brown man or a man with curly hair, do you find something different each time?

So, what sort of people do you find in a lynch mob? Were they all rich men? Were they all bad men? Demons with horns and fangs? Crazy psychos with a bad childhood? Poor sods who haven’t been brought up well? That’s not it.

For one thing they were church goers. And I’m sure many of them would be pretty decent company. Nope! Really don’t think people in lynch mobs were that different from us…us, seemingly regular people…walking up and down the streets, riding the bus to work, reading and writing blogs …Mobs bring out the ‘thing’ in us. In a mob, every body including the you and the me and the friendly neighborhood bumble bee can do it to ‘that’ guy just for the heck of it, just because they can. They’ll do it to some guy and pat each others backs and may be even feel they’ve done the world some good. And then they’d go home, eat dinner, tuck the kids in and fuck the wives dry.

And if the next day, they can't find a guy with different skin color, they'll settle for the same color, the same religion or the same neighborhood. They can always find a reason to kill things,...theres always a reason that makes it all okay.

destroy the barbarians…stone the Christians…burn the witches…whip the blacks…wipe the Indians…kill the Jews…hate the Muslims…

bodies torn from limb to limb…headless babies…women raped and killed…

Its okay! Its not me. It didn’t happen to me. It wont ever happen to me. Better him than me. Shit happens. They had it coming. That’s the way it is. Its all good. Its all OKAY!

Its NOT okay!

“What is laughter, what is joy, when the world is ever burning? Shrouded by darkness, would you not seek the light?” - Dhammapada 146

Homicidal Nanny

I got a death threat from a ‘Homicidal Nanny’ on yahoo mail. It was a very short note and the sender signed her name with a phone number the last digits of which are 699. Oddly enough I cant remember what the note said. Needless to say it got me thinking; so much so that the first thing I did after waking up is check my email. Nothing there. (phew) I didn’t check yahoo yet. Man! It’d be really freaky if I do find one from the Homicidal Nanny on the list.

Seriously! Who’d want to kill me?

PS: Yes. That was all a dream and this, is a BS post. :p

The Mind of Absolute Trust

[I blogged this once before but the link I gave there doesn’t work anymore. Although it is in goatman’s blog, I am copying it here. Think there’s no harm in repeating things like this.]

The Great Way isn't difficult
for those who are unattached to their preferences.
Let go of longing and aversion,
and everything will be perfectly clear.
When you cling to a hairbreadth of distinction,
heaven and earth are set apart.

If you want to realize the truth,
don't be for or against.
The struggle between good and evil
is the primal disease of the mind.
Not grasping the deeper meaning,
you just trouble your mind's serenity.

As vast as infinite space,
it is perfect and lacks nothing.
But because you select and reject,
you can't perceive its true nature.
Don't get entangled in the world;
don't lose yourself in emptiness.
Be at peace in the oneness of things,
and all errors will disappear by themselves.

If you don't live the Tao,
you fall into assertion or denial.
Asserting that the world is real,
you are blind to its deeper reality;
denying that the world is real,
you are blind to the selflessness of all things.
The more you think about these matters,
the farther you are from the truth.

Step aside from all thinking,
and there is nowhere you can't go.
Returning to the root, you find the meaning;
chasing appearances, you lose their source.
At the moment of profound insight,
you transcend both appearance and emptiness.
Don't keep searching for the truth;
just let go of your opinions.

For the mind in harmony with the Tao,
all selfishness disappears.
With not even a trace of self-doubt,
you can trust the universe completely.
All at once you are free,
with nothing left to hold on to.
All is empty, brilliant,
perfect in its own being.

In the world of things as they are,
there is no self, no non-self.
If you want to describe its essence,
the best you can say is "Not-two."
In this "Not-two" nothing is separate,
and nothing in the world is excluded.

The enlightened of all times and places
have entered into this truth.
In it there is no gain or loss;
one instant is ten thousand years.
There is no here, no there;
infinity is right before your eyes.

The tiny is as large as the vast
when objective boundaries have vanished;
the vast is as small as the tiny
when you don't have external limits.
Being is an aspect of non-being;
non-being is no different from being.
Until you understand this truth,
you won't see anything clearly.

One is all; all are one.
When you realize this,
what reason for holiness or wisdom?
The mind of absolute trust
is beyond all thought, all striving,
is perfectly at peace, for in it
there is no yesterday, no today, no tomorrow.

~Seng-Ts'an

Bitch

Life's a bitch...
...as r most living things...

Sorrow for the lost Lenore

The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

[Source]

Sorrow for the lost Lenore