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Lawyers are the first refuge of the incompetent.

quote by Aaron Allston
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God Is My Refuge

We invite you God to this place.
God is my refuge,
My refuge and my strength.
I will not be shaken all of my days.
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken, no
All of my days.
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken all of my days
And I wont move from your presents of your holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
And I will move from your presence of your holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength I will not be shaken all of my days
Sing it again church
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken all of my days
And I wont move from your presence of you holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
You are great god
Oh you are great
You are great god
You are great

song performed by Lifehouse
Added by Lucian Velea
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Morning Refuge Prayer

i take refuge in the Buddha
who shows us the path.
i take refuge in the Dharma
that teaches us to walk in compassion.
i take refuge in the Sangha
the family of living beings working together for peace.

i take refuge in Jesus
in the way that He lived and died.
in the Kingdom of Heaven within us
that heals the sick and feeds the hungry.

i take refuge in the Tao
in the uncarved block.
in water flowing over rocks
finding its own way.

i take refuge in the Great Spirit
in the embrace of Mother Earth.
i take refuge in the wind and rain
in the thunder and lightning,
in the stillness of night.

i take refuge in the howl of the wolf,
in the eyes of small children.
in the truth that breaks down the wall
between living and existing, between sorrow and joy.

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Jacob Homnium’s Hoss

One sees in Viteall Yard,
Vere pleacemen do resort,
A wenerable hinstitute,
'Tis call'd the Pallis Court.
A gent as got his i on it,
I think 'twill make some sport.

The natur of this Court
My hindignation riles:
A few fat legal spiders
Here set spin their viles;
To rob the town theyr privlege is,
In a hayrea of twelve miles.

The Judge of this year Court
Is a mellitary beak,
He knows no more of Lor
Than praps he does of Greek,
And prowides hisself a deputy
Because he cannot speak.

Four counsel in this Court—
Misnamed of Justice—sits;
These lawyers owes their places to
Their money, not their wits;
And there's six attornies under them,
As here their living gits.

These lawyers, six and four,
Was a livin at their ease,
A sendin of their writs abowt,
And droring in the fees,
When their erose a cirkimstance
As is like to make a breeze.

It now is some monce since,
A gent both good and trew
Possest an ansum oss vith vich
He didn know what to do:
Peraps he did not like the oss;
Peraps he was a scru.

This gentleman his oss
At Tattersall's did lodge;
There came a wulgar oss-dealer,
This gentleman's name did fodge,
And took the oss from Tattersall's
Wasn that a artful dodge?

One day this gentleman's groom

[...] Read more

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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While Silence Is Her Refuge

He crushed her being,
spat on her education,
raked her self-confidence
burned her plans
charted in the kitchen
where her work was never done.
Violence upon violence
visited her scar-ridden body
The pain so severe
she could not even scream.
Silence was her refuge.

Her wounds ran much deeper
than sisters could imagine
But she swam alone in the
sea of her nightmares and anguish
fears covered, cries stifled
Silence was her refuge.

The crowd had a million ears
but not one for the moans
of a sister’s tortured soul
It taunted her for her questions
crucified her for her speech
Word of pain was infamy
The crowd rubbed salt on the
raw, bleeding wound
Since then, silence became her refuge

A daughter now does the work
that is never done
Her spirit protests not
numbed by her mother’s death
and her own, for like her mother
she died a hundred deaths
and will die a hundred more
because silence is her refuge.

The crowd does not know
that silence betrays
The crowd itself has run
a million times
to silence for refuge
It still does.
When will the crowd realize
that silence is a foe?
It harbors violence
and squeezes the blood
that waters and keeps alive
the tree of death

[...] Read more

poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot
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Rich Tastes

Conviction notice
duly served today?
Another cost in poverty
left we learn we pay?

Owner daughter of Salat
Oil Company owner.
Land, property, factories...
count corpulent rest.
Spent five thousand alone
on single exquisite dress.

Destitution causes no heiress distress
estates are insured articles manifest.
Broken contract agreement
rewritten by ophidian woman’s greed,
stress mental torture plague less;
if for privileged privation families’ need.

High calibre company lawyers bribe,
break shred Rental Contract.
Smooth financial fraudulent judge deal,
collateral stacked at bat.
Invade home invade personal family
privacy; oppose sanctuary pauper’s flat.

Buy sell lives, present future, manipulations
accomplished easily, bribe binding seals.
Lack of victim retaliatory finance,
deflates right of an innocent appeal.
Ground down renter, swiftly struck down, falls
under owner’s polished, BMW wheels.

Power rich typhoon connected, amasses,
in Istanbul discerning, citizens chillingly read.
Human rights violations. Collective
administratively pressed, under rampant heel.
Heard not from Penthouse Heights
justice but a pleading violated squeal.

Owner’s Lawyers, foolishly tried to tell.
Flat rented as fully furnished
telephone appliances all mod cons.
Corrupted lawyers, obsequious swine liars,
striving to move fragile family out!
To gain commission, from inflated buyer!

Trying to sell us, for a sucker’s song?
Perhaps incompetent unprepared professionals?

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Keepers Of Restrictions

Everytime those incompetent,
Take the opportunity
To offend others with known capabilities,
They widen one's vision
With an obviousness more can see.

If one is capable and is disrespected,
It has not been in their hands
That a quality of life has been allowed to decrease.
It has been those holding onto the reigns historically
Proving themselves to be the creators of conflict.
With more of it on the increase.

And,
As of yet
Amongst themselves,
They have yet to find a logical solution.
Or admit that their mentalities,
Feed on insecurities they can not cease.

To do so would expose them,
As the keepers of restrictions.
And this prevents those with common sense,
Displaying an unquestionable intelligence.
From obtaining some credit that corrects,
What those incompetent can not comprehend.
Stands in the way in initiating any progess.

Those incompetent only concern themselves,
With images to address that which impresses.
With a flowing of unstoppable, symbolic and idol gestures.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Bellaires

The good Bellaires
Do not understand the conduct of this world's affairs.
In fact they understood them so badly
That they have had to cross the Channel.
Nine lawyers, four counsels, five judges and three
proctors of the King,
Together with the respective wives, husbands, sisters
and heterogeneous connections of the good Bellaires,
Met to discuss their affairs;
But the good Bellaires have so little understood their
affairs
That now there is no one at all
Who can understand any affair of theirs. Yet
Fourteen hunters still eat in the stables of
The good Squire Bellaire;
But these may not suffer attainder,
For they may not belong to the good Squire Bellaire
But to his wife.
On the contrary, if they do not belong to his wife,
He will plead
A 'freedom from attainder'
For twelve horses and also for twelve boarhounds
From Charles the Fourth;
And a further freedom for the remainder
Of horses, from Henry the Fourth.
But the judges,
Being free of mediaeval scholarship,
Will pay no attention to this,
And there will be only the more confusion,
Replevin, estoppel, espavin and what not.

Nine lawyers, four counsels, etc.,
Met to discuss their affairs,
But the sole result was bills
From lawyers to whom no one was indebted,
And even the lawyers
Were uncertain who was supposed to be indebted to
them.

Wherefore the good Squire Bellaire
Resides now at Agde and Biaucaire,
To Carcassonne, Pui, and Alais
He fareth from day to day,
Or takes the sea air
Between Marseilles
And Beziers.
And for all this I have considerable regret,
For the good Bellaires
Are very charming people.

poem by Ezra Pound
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Perverted Progress story poem which became a rant

The bards are dead and none recall
the glory days, when every hall.
Would echo to their epic tales
and hear the news they would regale

The ancient bards were men of law
They were welcomed at every door.
A peasant’s cot or chieftains hall
it made no difference at all.

They were accorded great respect
as arbiters as you’d expect.
These minstrels wise in Brehon Law
and holders of the magic lore.

All men were treated equally
and their decisions seen to be
delivered so impartially.
The way that justice ought to be.

No man could buy their loyalty
They were all that they claimed to be.
Men of prodigious memory
who could judge - impartially.

The rights and wrongs of any cause
and had the power to enforce.
Such was the power of Brehon law
which ruled the land in days of yore.

But time moves on and all things change
invaders come and re arrange.
The world to suit their foreign ways.
The bards refused to sing their praise.

So they were hunted down and killed
This left a gap which would be filled
by lawyers of a different sort.
Corrupt men who could be bought.

By those who had he greatest wealth
Well versed in lies deceit and stealth
Although professing probity.
Behind the scenes where none could see.

These lawyers aided thievery
and favoured those of high degree.
Against the poor but honest men
who had their lands and goods taken.

[...] Read more

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Therefore, be ye lamps unto yourselves, be a refuge to yourselves. Hold fast to Truth as a lamp; hold fast to the truth as a refuge. Look not for a refuge in anyone beside yourselves. And those, who shall be a lamp unto themselves, shall betake themselves to no external refuge, but holding fast to the Truth as their lamp, and holding fast to the Truth as their refuge, they shall reach the topmost height.

quote by Buddha
Added by Lucian Velea
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Refuge Of The Roads

I met a friend of spirit
He drank and womanized
And I sat before his sanity
I was holding back from crying
He saw my complications
And he mirrored me back simplified
And we laughed how our perfection
Would always be denied
Heart and humor and humility
He said will lighten up your heavy load
I left him for the refuge of the roads
I fell in with some drifters
Cast upon a beachtown
Winn dixie cold cuts and highway hand me downs
And I wound up fixing dinner
For them and boston jim
I well up with affection
Thinking back down the roads to then
The nets were overflowing
In the gulf of mexico
They were overflowing in the refuge of the roads
There was spring along the ditches
There were good times in the cities
Oh, radiant happiness
It was all so light and easy
Till I started analyzing
And I brought on my old ways
A thunderhead of judgment was
Gathering in my gaze
And it made most people nervous
They just didnt want to know
What I was seeing in the refuge of the roads
I pulled off into a forest
Crickets clicking in the ferns
Like a wheel of fortune
I heard my fate turn, turn turn
And I went running down a white sand road
I was running like a white-assed deer
Running to lose the blues
To the innocence in here
These are the clouds of michelangelo
Muscular with gods and sungold
Shine on your witness in the refuge of the roads
In a highway service station
Over the month of june
Was a photograph of the earth
Taken coming back from the moon
And you couldnt see a city
On that marbled bowling ball
Or a forest or a highway

[...] Read more

song performed by Joni Mitchell
Added by Lucian Velea
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Here In My Heart

(gayla borders/susan ashton)
Wondering, waiting
Restless for a sign
I thought you walked so slow
In my haste I left you behind
Caught in the pace of this madness
Searching for shelter I find
That here in my heart theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
Meaning, purpose
Got lost in pursuit of my dreams
Ive been longing, aching
In quest for a love thats supreme
I couldnt see you were reaching
But I shouldve known all along
That here in my heart theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
Theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
I couldnt see you were reaching
But I shouldve known all along
That here in my heart theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
Theres a refuge waiting
Here in my heart you just wont let me go
I could run away run away
I could run away run away
I could run away run away
But you stay here in my heart
(here in my heart) here in my heart
(here in my heart) here in my heart
(here in my heart) here in my heart
(here in my heart) here in my heart
(here in my heart)
(here in my heart)

song performed by Martina Mcbride
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ancient Banner

In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,
The bosom of his Father, and assumed
A servant's form, though he had reigned a king,
In realms of glory, ere the worlds were made,
Or the creating words, 'Let there be light'
In heaven were uttered. But though veiled in flesh,
His Deity and his Omnipotence,
Were manifest in miracles. Disease
Fled at his bidding, and the buried dead
Rose from the sepulchre, reanimate,
At his command, or, on the passing bier
Sat upright, when he touched it. But he came,
Not for this only, but to introduce
A glorious dispensation, in the place
Of types and shadows of the Jewish code.
Upon the mount, and round Jerusalem,
He taught a purer, and a holier law,—
His everlasting Gospel, which is yet
To fill the earth with gladness; for all climes
Shall feel its influence, and shall own its power.
He came to suffer, as a sacrifice
Acceptable to God. The sins of all
Were laid upon Him, when in agony
He bowed upon the cross. The temple's veil
Was rent asunder, and the mighty rocks,
Trembled, as the incarnate Deity,
By his atoning blood, opened that door,
Through which the soul, can have communion with
Its great Creator; and when purified,
From all defilements, find acceptance too,
Where it can finally partake of all
The joys of His salvation.
But the pure Church he planted,—the pure Church
Which his apostles watered,—and for which,
The blood of countless martyrs freely flowed,
In Roman Amphitheatres,—on racks,—
And in the dungeon's gloom,—this blessed Church,
Which grew in suffering, when it overspread
Surrounding nations, lost its purity.
Its truth was hidden, and its light obscured
By gross corruption, and idolatry.
As things of worship, it had images,
And even painted canvas was adored.
It had a head and bishop, but this head
Was not the Saviour, but the Pope of Rome.
Religion was a traffic. Men defiled,
Professed to pardon sin, and even sell,
The joys of heaven for money,—and to raise
Souls out of darkness to eternal light,
For paltry silver lavished upon them.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Slow Burn

I've got a name for a certain quarantine her name is slowburn she makes me feel real mean when i ask why she says i'm caught in a lie she's got a bad disguise i ask a question never got a reaction and caught a glimpse subtle distraction instinctive stomach pain i lie in bed awake again this time its my revenge i wanna be you already beaten when you are bound i'm free (dying under me) i' like to hold you so close you know i'm there (there is no refuge (rage you cant refuse) slowburn I've got a name for someone who shouldnt be in my mind when she's away it seems i can't escape i'm doing time without a place to go i'm lost inside nobody knows the rules will have to bend i wanna be you already beaten me when you are bound i'm free. (dying under me) i' like to hold you so close you know i'm there (there is no refuge (rage you cant refuse) slowburn this has been a process and i'm sorry i had to do you in like this and i cant say how good i feel about it there was so much so much that you stope you took my heart you took my soul but most of all you took my sanity now watch while i asses the situation at hand this had has turned to a fist i wanna be you already beaten when you are bound i'm free (dying under me) i' like to hold you so close you know i'm there (there is no refuge (rage you cant refuse) slowburni wanna be you already beaten when you are bound i'm free (dying under me) i' like to hold you so close you know i'm there (there is no refuge (rage you cant refuse) slowburn

song performed by 1208
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Where Could I Go But To The Lord

Living below in this old sinful world
Hardly a comfort can afford
Striving alone to face temptations call
Where could I go to the lord
Where could I go where could I go
Seeking a refuge for my soul
Needing a friend to help me in the end
Where could I go to the lord
Neighbors are fun I love them everyone
We get along in sweet accord
But when I pass the chilling hand of death
Where could I go to the lord
Where could I go where could I go
Seeking a refuge for my soul
Needing a friend to help me in the end
Where could I go to the lord
Life here is grand with friends I love so well
Comfort I get from gods own word
But when my soul needs manna from above
Where could I go to the lord
Where could I go where could I go
Seeking a refuge for my soul
Needing a friend to help me in the end
Where could I go to the lord
Where could I go where could I go
Seeking a refuge for my soul
Needing a friend to help me in the end
Where could I go to the lord
Where could I go to the lord

song performed by Emmylou Harris
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Canto the Fourth

I.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!

II.

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.

III.

In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!

IV.

But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.

V.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Cool Refuge

At last, a place to hide away, cool refuge from the sun...
Some solitude, a chance to stay, where nothing much gets done.
A perfect spot meant to beguile the busy beasts on Earth,
No more to worry for a while, for what is worry worth?
The sun was fierce and in his face. Too close for comfort, friend.
The tiger tried to slow the pace till he was on the mend...
And once his ears heard nothing new, he slowly closed his eyes
And lowly breathed and time just flew and caught him by surprise.
The sun had moved across the sky, now tired, in retreat.
The tiger didn't question why the sky eye lost its heat.
Enough to know his cool refuge would soon be cooler still...
His change in mood would then be huge and end this passing thrill.
The tiger tarried in repose with great tranquillity
And gently scratched his tickled nose with tingling ecstasy...
One final hour in the shade... his refuge then grew cold.
The sad decision must be made, now that the day grew old...
So up he stood, with strength renewed, recharged and vibrant now
And thankful for this interlude, vowed to return... somehow...

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Cool Refuge'.

poem by Denis Martindale
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto IV.

I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!

II.
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she rob'd, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increas'd.

III.
In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone -- but Beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade -- but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!

IV.
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away --
The keystones of the arch! though all were o'er,
For us repeopl'd were the solitary shore.

V.
The beings of the mind are not of clay;
Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in us a brighter ray
And more belov'd existence: that which Fate
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Heart-Felt Cosmic Impacts With Shiva In The Wings And Lyrical Messages

We all are children of the cosmos
And as such alway under the cosmic sway

And as a human of blood and flesh it sometimes feels good to see
This impact showing its face
In the mask of a Face itself, that one may see, almost visible,
Giggling before our own.

As to-day when I was about to send out,
As I often do early in the mornings,
Lyrical spiritual messages,
To a few worthy poetry lovers
Throughout this country where I live,
Both known and unknown to me -

One of them once sent me a souvenir thank-you from Rome, Italy -

And there had, for to-day, accrued a message
With verses from the most glorious Vedas,
To be sent, first in order, ahead of one more package of messages,
The other one of worldly theme, the following sacred hymns,
Endowed with their very own explanatory notes,
So as to render all simplest things well understood:

' Gracious to us be the trembling earth,
When struck by the fiery meteor.
Gracious be the cows yielding red milk,
Gracious be the earth receding.

Gracious be the constellations struck by the meteor,
Gracious incantations and all magic!
Gracious to us be buried charms,
The meteors and plagues that afflict us.

Gracious to us be the stars and the moon,
Gracious the sun and Raahu
(The invisible 'planetary head tail' that
Covers up other planets in times of eclipses) ,
Gracious be Death with his banner of smoke,
Graceful the powerful Rudras
(The cleansing powers of renewal of cosmos
Working on earth through shedding tears) .

Gracious be the Rudras, gracious the Vasus
(The cosmic providers for new vessels to departed souls) ,
Gracious the Adityas
(The sons of the seer Mother Aditi in whom
The gods had their respective individual angles in the One Cosmic Mind
Established on the human plane for the first time,
Who reincarnate in all mystic seers of power)

[...] Read more

poem by Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Added by Poetry Lover
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