Litstyle

People said, "Indian children are hard to teach, Don't expect them to talk." One day Stubby Little Boy said, "Last night the moon went all the way with me, When I went out to walk." People said, "Indian children are very silent, Their only words are no and yes." But ragged Pansy confided softly, "My dress is old, but at night the moon is kind; Then I wear a beautiful moon colored dress." People said, "Indian children are dumb. They seldom make a reply." Clearly I hear Delores answer, "Yes the sunset is so good, I think God is throwing a bright shawl Across the shoulders of the sky." People said, "Indian children have no affection. They just don't care for anyone." Then I feel Ramone's hand and hear him whisper, "A wild animal races in me Since my mother sleeps under the ground. Will it always run and run?" People said, "Indian children are rude. They don't seem very bright."

Jayanta Mahapatra -poet This is a man who talks of pain As if it belonged to him alone Maybe he has invented it himself And made virtue of it Maybe he is a poet For hours he waits In the night, taoward another night he waits For that is his excuse to live The empty window in the lonely wall belongs to him For months together the window has been deceiving him Light comes in, then goes away on its own He has been trying to polish the light on his heart They all say he was a poet His eyes saw the pain in the mirror that occupied him They don't grudge him that: Such a harmless pastime never ruined anybody's sleep Analysis Why are poets so mysterious? Is that a set-up? Do they pretend to be elusive to derive sympathy and admiration from their readers and well-wishers. Or are they the real sufferers-whose pain is often misconstrued as a means to manipulate people's emotions owing to the fact that poetry with a tragic backdrop is one subject for which they receive good at

Whose woods these are I think I know.    His house is in the village though;    He will not see me stopping here    To watch his woods fill up with snow.    My little horse must think it queer    To stop without a farmhouse near    Between the woods and frozen lake    The darkest evening of the year.    He gives his harness bells a shake    To ask if there is some mistake.    The only other sound’s the sweep    Of easy wind and downy flake.    The woods are lovely, dark and deep,    But I have promises to keep,    And miles to go before I sleep,    And miles to go before I sleep. Analysis by Poonam Behura Frost in the poem 'stopping by the woods on a snowy evening' assumes the character of a rider, who once pauses between snowy woods and a frozen lake in the late evening. It is because he is arrested by the scenic beauty of the place, which seems quite an unlikely circumstance that any rider could be caught in. The writer probably knows whom the woods belong to; th

Girl lithe and tawny, the sun that forms the fruits, that plumps the grains, that curls seaweeds filled your body with joy, and your luminous eyes and your mouth that has the smile of the water. A black yearning sun is braided into the strands of your black mane, when you stretch your arms. You play with the sun as with a little brook and it leaves two dark pools in your eyes. Girl lithe and tawny, nothing draws me towards you. Everything bears me farther away, as though you were noon. You are the frenzied youth of the bee, the drunkenness of the wave, the power of the wheat-ear. My somber heart searches for you, nevertheless, and I love your joyful body, your slender and flowing voice. Dark butterfly, sweet and definitive like the wheat-field and the sun, the poppy and the water. Analysis by Poonam Behura 1st stanza 'Girl-lithe and tawny' refers to the poet's dream girl. This girl appears to have a tanned skin colour and a beautifully attractive form. The poet says t