Classic poem of the day
I carried my curds to the Mathura fair …
How softly the heifers were lowing …
I wanted to cry, “Who will buy
These curds that are white as the clouds in the sky
When the breezes of shrawan are blowing?”
But my heart was so full of your beauty, Beloved,
They laughed as I cried without knowing:
Govinda! Govinda!
Govinda! Govinda!
How softly the river was flowing!
I carried my pots to the Mathura tide …
How gaily the......
Member poem of the day
My family and I
dodged
rocks and bottles
flung at us by a mob of hateful strangers
when I was just eight
after attending a school where my siblings and I
were the minority race.
Thought we would die --
I didn't know why it wasn't right
that ...
