Skip to main content

WHET STONE

 

Good times make, fed men weak

While hard times make good men great

Wildflowers easy-bloom all around

But a flower from a rock, there stories abound

A tree standing alone gets right and rain

But a giant in the thicket conquered all that he reign

A house cat may be pampered and fed

But glory to the tiger prey-folk dread

Hot steel in the furnace, purpose awake

While cold steel simply bend to break

 

Breath is free but bread is not

Make fleeting pleasure an afterthought

Flavor your bread with the sweat of your brows

Make sure you reap what your hard work ploughs

Each number you crunch and the lyric you write

Makes your own future that much bright

 

Suffering is not a part of life, its life itself

You can either survive or start to live

To live is to stand, to smile and to start again.

 

 

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How the night and fog blinds

  I crossed the fence to my best friend's house and walked in without a purpose. His sister smiled at me, taking a break from sweeping. Her smile was gentle and warm, but those who knew her well knew she had teeth behind those lips. A long time ago, she caught me and him touching each other. I returned her smile genuinely and went in search of him in his room. I never needed permission to enter this house. Having my second breakfast with him, we went out, as we always do. But what we do always changes. Sometimes we smoke in the abandoned roofing tile factory, sometimes we play cricket with the other kids till the owner of the paddy field chases us away. One time we even walked to the nearest town on a whim, which was about 50 km away. We did everything together since we were children. Today the adventure was of a romantic nature. The new love of his life was going to the temple, and obviously, like any other "naadan lover-boy" we stalked her. He already wrote a disgusti
6 comments
Read more

In Defence of the Humble Lie

Many may distinctly remember from their childhood a scene, where they realized that their mother (and/or) father will eventually die. Many may have asked their parents if they would die. I remember asking my mother that question and she told me the truth. Seeing me cry my eyes out and suffered my first broken heart she confessed that she was playing a prank on me and that parents don’t die. I never been hastier to believe anything and I deliberately refused myself to ever ask or think that question again. But when my sister became around the same age as me, she also had the same query. And my curious and analyzing eyes scanned every feature of my mother’s face. Without missing a beat she said parents don’t ever die. And my sister resumed her play content with the answer. I needed to become a big brother to understand why lies are important. That lie may have protected me from losing my childhood more than necessary and incurring any more trauma than we all get our fair share of. Ou
2 comments
Read more

Green Dreams

Ashes for sale. Ashes for sale. Ashes of the person who You wanted to be. And ashes of the person who you came to be Ashes of your dreams You forgot to live. And ashes of your dreams You should have believed. Ashes of your children You forgot to raise. And ashes of your children You forgot to chase. Ashes of your parents You left so far behind. And ashes of your parents Whom you were assigned. Ashes of everything you could have been And everything you had lost. Ashes of everything you dreamed you had. With this sacrificial rites to your everyday ghost.
2 comments
Read more