When we look at the world with an attitude of wonder and awe, we become aware that the world is filled with spiritual life.
Spiritual poems are the expressions of souls who are striving on the upward path and looking within to find answers.
In this article, you will find our collection of spiritual poems. Use these poems to explore your feelings on spirituality.
30 Powerful Spiritual Awakening Poems
A Cry From The Soul By Charlene Valladres
causing this deep ache in the bottom of my soul.Someone else is pulling the strings,
oh to fly, oh for wings.Escape, I want to dig my self out,
filled with despair, filled with doubt.Mute not able to express,
this gnawing pain and feeling of relentless distress.
Tears that is not visible to the naked eye,
silent screams that no one can hear.
I try to speak but nothing can express,
this feeling of sadness and worthlessness.
Emotional pain, walks with me through the day,
and sleeps with me through the night,
leaving me depletes with no strength to fight.
Anger for not having the courage to turn things around,
keeping me anchored to this remorse,
not able to untie the chains and change my course.
False pride rules supreme,
always there to whisper in my ear.
Time, wasted and badly spent,
lots of hurt, lots to repent.
Solace, please come and calm my soul,
for this is what I need to make me whole.
Empathy, what I need is for someone to see,
someone to see the real me.
Love with no strings,
just giving generously amongst other things.
Words, when used as a weapon can cut like a knife,
capable of doing so much damage and take the joy out of life,
but softly spoken and softly expressed
can bring so much happiness.
All the World’s a Stage by William Shakespeare
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
A Woman’s Virtue By Tonya Woodridge-Jarvis
She’s poised, prim and proper, and always watches over her sheep.
See, a woman has the ability to get the job done, no matter the circumstance.
God equipped her that way and not by chance.A woman’s virtue is her ability to pray and cover her family without ceasing.
She knows that God’s favor on her family’s life is forever increasing.
So no matter the errands, the homework, or how she feels,
She covers them daily like their personal armored shields.A woman’s virtue is her ability to sacrifice herself and her time for her family.
Her ultimate goal in life is to see them succeed, and when that happens, her spirit is at ease.
She puts her goals and dreams on hold to make sure the family stands together boldly.
See, God made her multifaceted to meet every deadline, make the kids cupcakes, and to even plan while she’s sleeping.She can take blow after blow, yet have beautiful skin with a natural godly glow,
Like she’s been through nothing.
But she’ll be quick to tell anybody that her God is truly something.
She doesn’t look like she’s been in a fiery trial, because God truly keeps her by His side.
She knows that her pain is never wasted and it was never caused in vain.
She knows that one day a lost soul of a woman will come along for her to tame.
See, the kind of woman I’m talking about is beautiful, strong, and a weapon of mass destruction.
She knows the real meaning of spiritual warfare, as it is not just a song.
She’ll tell that devil to get under her feet and will not ever accept any kind of defeat,
Because in due season she knows that she will reap!
See, that woman of virtue is YOU.
Can you stand to be empowered, to know your self-worth?
You’re worth way more than you were ever told.
You’re worth more than silver and gold.
See, God made you blessed and highly favored.
You’re above and never beneath, you’re the head and not the tail, you’re a lender and not the borrower,
So you should stand for nothing less than what He already promised!
Now, I just stopped by to refresh your memory
And to remind you that we are all Proverbs 31 women.
Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath
One year in every ten
I manage it—–A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right footA paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?——-
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot ——
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies
These are my hands
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.
It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart—
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—-
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Reflection By Katie M. Elliott
What a timid girl, overcome by fear.
What a shell of a girl, locked up inside.
What a forgotten girl, pushed off to the side.Lord, why did You call me to do these things for You?
Do You really think this is something I could make it through?
These expectations You’ve given me, I cannot live up to
Lord, why did You ever call me to be a servant for You?Tears spring into my eyes as I stare at my reflection.
Guilt takes control and yells with expression,
“What a coward! What a waste of time! What a weak and useless failure!
How is God going to use you?! You will only ruin your future!””That. Is. My. Child,” booms a voice from above.
“That is my precious daughter, whom I deeply love.
She is an empty vessel for My power and glory.
She is a broken girl whom I will give a beautiful story.”
Jesus turns to me and takes the mirror from my hand.
“You’re looking at the wrong reflection, that’s why you can’t understand.”
He hands me a cup, full of red blood.
“This is how I see you, My child, saved by My love.”
I look into the cup, full to the brim
I look at my reflection, then back up at Him.
I shake my head. “How could You love me this much?”
“My daughter, that is grace, and it is more than enough.”
“I supply your every need.
Your help is found in Me.
I empower the fearful,
And I strengthen the weak.”
“Go and show My children they are loved by Me.
Listen for My voice, trust in My peace.
Do not worry over the future,
And never believe you are a failure.”
Then I fall on my knees and cry,
“I think I finally understand why.
Lord, here am I, send me.
Oh, thank You for helping me to see
I am precious, I am loved.
With You, I will always be enough.”
A Dream within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow–
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand–
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep–while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Spirituality By Marcia A. Newton
a connection to something greater than all.Pure song of the Spirit that brings hope to life,
and brings inner peace to the soul it enlightens.Inner strength and centering of mind and of thought,
where the heart is readied and calmness is sought.Renewing the soul in harmony and bliss,
when you quiet the mind and all worries cease.
Inspired by the Spirit of life and of love,
a journey of awareness where you see the face of God.
Tranquility, quiet, stillness and calm,
a reflection of the sacred as a song of a psalm.
Unburden oneself to be humble in heart,
to be one with the Spirit rather than apart.
Awareness in oneself, both body and in mind,
and calling into existence the light of the Divine.
Living in peace with ourselves, God, and all,
a connection with God’s creatures, both great and small.
Illumination of Spirit of heart and of mind,
seeing beyond oneself rather than blind.
Transcending oneself beyond limits of mind,
to embrace what is good and all that is kind.
Yearning so intense for the soul to be free,
and being the person God created us to be.
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
Treasures By Patricia L. Cisco
the sun that lights the cloudy days,
a rainbow from a summer shower,
a rose that blooms within an hour.
Yes, treasures come in so many ways.A baby’s staring, wandering gaze,
a dolphin’s dance on ocean waves.
Yes, treasures come in so many ways.The heart beats of two souls in love,
a beautiful white and peaceful dove.
Yes, treasures come in so many ways.A sky full of snowflakes of rarest form,
a cup of cocoa to keep us warm.
Yes, treasures come in so many ways.
A house full of family on holidays.
For these treasures we should give God praise!
Yes, treasures come in so many ways.
I could keep on counting for days and days!
Solitude by Ella Wheeler Scott
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
The Golden Flute By Sri Chinmoy
Beyond my reach I know.
In me the storm-tossed weeping night
Finds room to rage and flow.I cry aloud, but all in vain;
I helpless, the earth unkind
What soul of might can share my pain?
Death-dart alone I find.A raft am I on the sea of Time,
My oars are washed away.
How can I hope to reach the clime
Of God’s eternal Day?But hark! I hear Thy Flute,
Its notes bring the Summit down.
Now safe am I, O Absolute!
Gone death, gone night’s stark frown!
His Presence By Alora M. Knight
Just how could I believe
In someone I never saw,
Nor spoken words received.I thought, perhaps, I should explain
Just why I have no doubt
That it was God’s creativeness
That brought this world about.I only have to look around
To know that He is there.
I see and feel and hear Him.
That’s why I’m so aware.I see Him in the raindrops
That nourish trees and flowers.
I see Him in the rainbows
That sometimes follow showers.
I see Him in a mother’s love
When looking at her child.
So thankful that this miracle
Is pure and undefiled.
I see Him in the wrinkled face
That’s seen so many years,
Knowing it was faith in Him
That overcame all fears.
I hear Him when a meadowlark
Trills out its joyful song.
I hear Him when the thunder
Comes forth so loud and strong.
I see the beauty of Him
In the butterflies on wing.
The feathers of the peacock
Are the colors He can bring.
I feel Him when a playful breeze
Blows gently through my hair.
When the sun shines warmly on my face,
I know that He is there.
His strength shows in the mountains
And the ever pounding seas.
A kitten’s purred affection
Shows how gentle love can be.
It’s true I have no pictures
To hang upon my wall.
I do not need a portrait,
His presence to recall.
For those who wish to listen,
It is played throughout the land.
The symphony of life itself,
Directed by His hand.
The Absolute By Sri Chinmoy
Now ceased all will and thought;
The final end of Nature’s dance,
I am it whom I have sought.A realm of Bliss bare, ultimate;
Beyond both knower and known;
A rest immense I enjoy at last;
I face the One alone.I have crossed the secret ways of life,
I have become the Goal.
The Truth immutable is revealed;
I am the way, the God-Soul.My spirit aware of all the heights,
I am mute in the core of the Sun.
I barter nothing with time and deeds;
My cosmic play is done.
You Are Never Alone By Susan C Walkinshaw-Kelly
Where I’m surrounded by colours, an amazing sight,
And a beautiful Angel holds me in her arms.
I feel safe and happy, contented and calm.”I’m so joyful to see you, now you’ve come home.
Please don’t be afraid for you’re never alone.
You are supported by angels in this heaven above,
Each one with open arms and bundles of love.Maybe you think you’ve come home too soon,
But it was in your plan, for you have lots to do.
Now you’ve returned to renew your task.
Allow me to guide you, that’s all I ask.You never need miss those you left behind,
For you are able to visit, just open your mind.
They may not hear you or see you close by,
But you will be there with every tear that they cry.
You can go where you chose; you don’t need to walk.
Just think yourself there, you’ll arrive in a thought.
You’ll never get weary, grow old or feel pain.
You can run, jump and skip, again and again!
Wander freely through fields, with animals galore,
Yes even lions, stroke their mane, they won’t roar.
Every bird that you see will come sit on your hand.
You can pet them all freely; now isn’t that grand?
You may pick all the flowers your arms can hold,
Our blooms live forever; they never grow old;
Just bend down and listen to their music so sweet.
They sing as you nudge them with your hands or your feet.
Pick fruit from the trees, enjoy as much as you like.
There’s a never-ending supply; go on, take a big bite…
Worry not that the juice drips through your fingers.
It all returns to source, no mess, nothing lingers.
Now come on, let’s go; there are friends to be found.
Just think of your loved ones and they’ll all gather round.
They’ve been waiting eagerly for you to return,
Excited to hear everything that you’ve learned.”
So it seems we’re all destined for God’s promised land,
Where angels gone before us just wait to take our hand.
With guidance and with comfort they help us on our way
So we can live in peace and love, enjoying every day.
And if you couldn’t walk or talk, or you’d sadly lost your mind,
Have no fear, it’s all restored; you leave all that behind.
The Lord repairs your body, returning it to new,
No sign of any illness, just a happy, healthy you.
I’m seeing so much beauty in this land beyond the veil,
Where you suffer no more ailments and all are looking well.
Please don’t be sad or grieve for me. I’m never on my own.
Just remember I’ll be waiting when it’s your time to come home.
I am He! By Shankaracharya
Mind, nor intellect, nor ego, feeling;
Sky nor earth nor metals am I.
I am He, I am He, Blessed spirit, I am He!
No birth, no death, no caste have I;
Father, mother, have I none.
I am He, I am He, Blessed spirit, I am He!
Beyond the flights of fancy, formless am I,
Permeating the limbs of all life;
Bondage I do not fear; I am free, ever free.
I am He, I am He, Blessed spirit, I am He!
Faith By CHRISTIAN RECINTO HUGO
When there is faith, there is hope.
When there is hope, there is chance.
When there is chance, there is success.
When there is success, there is wealth,
But when there is wealth, there is greed.
When there is greed, there is evil.
When there is evil, there is hell.
When there is hell, there is suffering.
When there is suffering, there is prayer.
When there is prayer, there is GOD.
When there is GOD, there is eternal life.
I Am Mad By Mirabai
And no one understands my plight.
Only the wounded
Understand the agonies of the wounded,
When the fire rages in the heart.
Only the jeweller knows the value of the jewel,
Not the one who lets it go.
In pain I wander from door to door,
But could not find a doctor.
Says Mira: Harken, my Master,
Mira’s pain will subside
When Shyam comes as the doctor.
My Life By Kimberly L. Mixon
But I’ve made it through.
My life hasn’t been easy,
But God said, “I’ve got you.”
My life hasn’t been all I’ve wanted,
But I have all that I need.
For God so loved the world.
That’s what puts my mind at ease.
An Empty Church by Ellen Bailey
In a small coal mining town
People had to leave their homes
Because the coal mines shut downThe church is waiting in welcome
But nobody goes there to pray
It appears to be just a skeleton
For all it’s worshippers are awayThe church waits with open doors
But prayers inside will go unsaid
People who lived and prayed there
Had to leave and earn some bread
A Country Fair By Ramprasad
What use is esoteric knowledge
Or philosophical knowledge
Transport me totally with the burning wine
Of your all-embracing love.
Mother of mystery, who imbues with mystery
The hearts of those who love you,
Immerse me irretrievably
In the stormy ocean without boundary,
Pure love, pure love, pure love.Wherever your lovers reside
Appears like a madhouse
To common perception.
Some are laughing with your freedom,
Others weep tears of your tenderness,
Still others dance, whirling with your bliss.
Even your devoted Gautama, Moses,
Krishna, Jesus, Nanak and Muhammad
Are lost in the rapture of pure love.This poet stammers,
Overcome with longing:
‘When? When? When?
When will I be granted companionship
With her intense lovers?’
Their holy company is heavenly
A country fair for those mad with love
Where every distinction
Between master and disciple
DisappearsTheir love of love sings:
‘Mother! Mother! Mother!
Who can fathom your mystery,
Your eternal play of love with love?
You are divine madness, O goddess,
Your love the brilliant crown of madness,
Please make this poor poet madly wealthy
With the infinite treasure of your love
Teach Me, Lord By Heather Flood
What I don’t know.
Show me which way
And where to go.
Alone I stumble,
Alone I fall,
But your gentle voice
Leads through it all.
Take my hand,
Light my way,
Be my beacon
Night and day.
I am weak
And sometimes so low,
But you give me strength
And make me whole.
Teach me, Lord and Father.
Your child has become like new.
Empty me of myself
So I can live for you.
God, God, God! By Paramahansa Yogananda
As I ascend the spiral stairway of wakefulness,
God, God, God!Thou art the food and when I break my fast
Of nightly separation from Thee
I taste thee and mentally say
God, God, God!No matter where I go, the spotlight of my mind
Ever keeps turning on Thee;
And in the battle dim of activity my silent war cry
God, God, God!When boisterous storms of trials shriek
And worries howl at me,
I drown their noises, loudly chanting
God, God, God!
When my mind weaves dreams
With treads of memories,
Then on that magic cloth I do emboss;
God, God, God!
Ever night, in time of deepest sleep,
My peace dreams and calls; Joy! Joy! Joy!
And my Joy comes singing evermore;
God, God, God!
In waking, eating, working, dreaming, sleeping,
Serving, meditating, chanting, divinely loving,
My soul constantly hums, unheard by any;
God, God, God!
I could not stop for Death By Emily Dickinson
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then ’tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.
Life Beyond By Susan C Walkinshaw-Kelly
Friends and loved ones gone before, waiting here beyond the door.
With open arms they welcome me, amazement in my eyes they see.
They look so well and at their best, beauty beholds them now they rest.I walk across the grass so green, the greenest grass I’ve ever seen,
I jump and skip and bounce on air, it’s almost like there’s nothing there.
A sky of blue, not a cloud in sight, perpetual day no darkest night.
Every flower is in full bloom, undefined colours of every hue.The streams and rivers crystal clear, no rubbish or decay found here.
The sea is calm and turquoise blue, I long to test it, wouldn’t you?
The softest sand beneath my feet, at the water’s edge where they both meet.
The warmest waters gently flow, bathing me from head to toe.A city built of alabaster walls, where translucent light illuminates the halls.
Theatres of music and concerts too, magnificent galleries for all to view.
Amazing sights for me to see, I just wander in, there’s no entrance fee.
Libraries stacked with books galore, history, science and many more.
The celestial sun does forever shine, it’s a perfect temperature all the time.
Orchards here overflow with fruit, a taste in itself that is quite exquisite.
I’m told it will help my soul to restore, pick what I like, there is plenty more.
This ethereal plain is a pure delight, it’s my new home, my God given right.
There is nothing here to cause me fear, the Lord protects within his sphere.
An infinity of perfect peace, from the toils of earth I am now released.
I have landed on a higher realm, in perfect harmony to forever dwell.
So believe when I tell you my dear friends, you cannot die, life never ends.
Fireflies By Rabindranath Tagore
as the hill touches the far-away sea
with its waterfall.The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.Let my love, like sunlight, surround you
and give you illumined freedom.Love remains a secret even when spoken,
for only a lover truly knows that he is loved.
Emancipation from the bondage of the soil
is no freedom for the tree.
In love I pay my endless debt to thee
for what thou art.
Crow’s Fall by Ted Hughes
He decided it glared much too whitely.
He decided to attack it and defeat it.He got his strength up flush and in full glitter.
He clawed and fluffed his rage up.
He aimed his beak direct at the sun’s centre.He laughed himself to the centre of himself
And attacked.At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old,
But the sun brightened –
It brightened, and Crow returned charred black.
He opened his mouth but what came out was charred black.
“Up there,” he managed,
“Where white is black and black is white, I won.”
Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night by Dylan Thomas
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
If by Rudyard Kipling
milky wayAre losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
Walking Around by Pablo Neruda
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.
I don’t want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.
I don’t want so much misery.
I don’t want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.
That’s why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.
There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.