In dedication to a dear ol Chum !

O divine creator!
It's said Thou doth work in a mysterious way.
But where’s the justice, ask if I may,
That a child of Thine be endowed with such minimal vice.
Tarry! It can't be!
This must be an angel in disguise!

Please go slow

Slow down, slow down,
For I fear the path you're on, is wrong.
You are lying to yourself, this I know,
And so I say, "Please, go slow!"

You know where you want to go,
You know where you want to be,
But torn between your mind and heart,
I fear you have lost your path.

Lives are at stake!
You have the power, to make or break.
But where did the trust go, and the faith,
That today, we can't even be good mates.

I tried to stop you; I tried to show you,
You hear me, but you no longer listen.
And in vain, is my opinion.

One day this black cloud shall pass,
But I fear by then, you can only say, "Alas!”

I'm no fool

An enviable life has turned mundane.
It's a pity, I have no one to blame.
They call me a fool, they call me insane!
I'm addicted to poison! A poison that maims.

The poison was once something so pure;
That was filled, with innocence galore.
But suddenly overcome by shame and guilt,
So strong, that made it die and wilt.

The good times we shared, turned prosaic;
And the bad times seem to exaggerate.
They say it gets better with passing time,
It won't be long before the sun shines.

But I'm no fool, I'm not insane.
And I'm not capable of hate or blame.
Even though it seems dark around,
The fire you lit, keeps my feet on the ground.

Speak to us of Children

Here is a beautiful verse extracted from: "The Prophet" - Khalil Gibran. This is for all the over-possessive and over-controlling parents out there.

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of Children."

And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.