Blessings (Poem by me)

They came to bless thee
Each claiming you for his own
When they couldn’t decide
Who is to be your guide
They split your soul in two

I give thee independence
The powers to do as you please
All your life choose your path
Wherever it takes thee

"I will Give", He countered
"A chance to be truly free!
Have no one to walk beside you
Traverse alone your journey"

I give thee health and a steady hand
In frailing times post youth
"I match it with an ingrate child
Whose heart will be stone to you"

Take from me loving friends
Who will care for you deep
"How about I give you just one foe
But place him deep with-in "

I grant you the love for life
For pleasures it can bring
The knowledge of the joys it holds
The wisdom to know the right things

"I", said He, "will ensure
You chase your dreams through out
You never rest; You never breathe
You never completely re-form"

Oh my child I give thee heart
The chance to feel
The devil smiled as He walked away
"This makes it an even deal"

Then you whisper Dear lord
This somehow doesn’t sound right
Can I have just one more thing
to make my burden light

My lord then said:

Oh my child for all the lost times
And all your darkest days
I give you ME to help you see
The folly of your ways

And here I place an eternal cure
For every ill you may endure
Deep in heart you will always find
Hope will never be far behind

Baby steps (Poem by me)

Here at the crossroads
I wonder which way to go
Should I head straight
Or turn right
Or walk back the old road
Or take left-
to a distant land , unfamiliar and unknown
I ask myself
Unsure and silent
So what I do is this
I pitch my tent
There itself
Resting searching and wonderin'

Poems and H W Longfellow

A Psalm of Life

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act to each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing
Learn to labor and to wait.

Poems and Emily D

I wish I were a poet. No, wait. I wish I were a good poet. You know the kinds that can communicate volumes in a single sentence. I like lines that carry a different meaning every time you read them. Unfortunately I haven't progressed much from the schoolish version of poem writing - where every line rhymed with the next one and had as much depth in it as what a 10 year old could comprehend. :(

Anyway Emily Dickinson is one of my fav. poets. Here is one of her piece that I just read some time back:

I measure every Grief I meet

I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes
I wonder if It weighs like Mine
Or has an Easier size.

I wonder if They bore it long
Or did it just begin
I could not tell the Date of Mine
It feels so old a pain

I wonder if it hurts to live
And if They have to try
And whether – could They choose between
It would not be – to die

I note that Some – gone patient long
At length, renew their smile
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil

I wonder if when Years have piled
Some Thousands – on the Harm
That hurt them early – such a lapse
Could give them any Balm

Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve
Enlightened to a larger Pain
In Contrast with the Love

The Grieved – are many – I am told
There is the various Cause
Death – is but one – and comes but once –
And only nails the eyes

There's Grief of Want – and grief of Cold –
A sort they call "Despair"
There's Banishment from native Eyes –
In Sight of Native Air

And though I may not guess the kind –
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary

To note the fashions – of the Cross –
And how they're mostly worn
Still fascinated to presume
That Some – are like My Own

Let Go

Let Go Let God

As children bring their broken toys with tears for us to mend,
I took my broken dreams to God because He was my friend.

Then, instead of leaving Him in peace to work alone,
I hung around and tried to help in ways that were my own.

At last I snatched them back and cried,
"How could YOU be sooo slow"

"My child, what could I do? You never did let go."

---Anonymous

All hope abandon ye who enter here.

Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.

Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd:
To rear me was the task of power divine,
Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here.

Poem

he worked by the day and toiled by the night,

he gave up play and some delight,

dry books he read new things to learn,

and forged ahead success to earn,

he plodded on with faith and pluck.....

and when he won, men called it luck