Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Life, Love, The Teenage Years

OF SO CALLED LIFE


Shakespeare compared life to a stage,

Yet by deep thinking it’s like a page,

A blank it is before you are born,

Then comes the moment that you put on life’s gown,

Though you hold the pen and decide what to write,

The Almighty God fills your pen with ink,

The past is always full of things you did not do right,

But leave it as it is for you used indelible ink.

 

Think of the present and write the best you can,

Use the best handwriting till your life is done,

Work hard so as to brighten your book,

Let it be attractive to those who look,

There is always the entry of another person,

That person adds another handwriting,

It might seem cumbersome to have one page to write on,

But hold on for what is between you is binding.

 

The future always appears unexpected,

It’s not once that you find it dented,

It’s as if somebody decided to crumple your page,

Everywhere you turn you find a thorny hedge,

Take life slowly for every hedge has a rose,

Life sometimes stinks but you can always hold your nose,

Better a dull life on this ground,

Than fiery fire instead of a crown.

Crush, Life, Love, The Teenage Years

IN THE SINKING MOATS (This is the first poem I wrote at age 14 in 2002 A.D)


Don’t tell me I’m late

For this little plea

Much I’ve attempted

No way could I dispel it.

I didn’t compel it

But like a thunderbolt,

It struck me.

What am I supposed to do?

Cry; I do feel like but “No”.

Give it up?

Then I won’t be as they say.

A man of substance


Yes I did try.

But ‘twas locked in my heart.

None can tear it asunder.

To evict the love I have.

I set myself on a plinth.

Unmovable I am going to be.


They say love don’t cost a thing.

It may be a platitude.

But in all forms of etiquette,

Mine may cost something.

Then like a soaring lofty cloud

Fill my realm of fantasy

And still my heart won’t rest.

Love, The Teenage Years

THE SOLE ROSE


I traverse the woods,

In search of no other goods,

But a rose of splendid beauty,

With looks of the highest deity,

The winds blow me back,

And the snow falls on me,

And on my head forms a stack,

But I decide to let it be,

I continue on my journey,

Oblivious of my discomforts,

For in search of my honey,

I would withstand problems of all sorts,

Finally I reach the place,

And look all around,

But alas not one single rose,

Can on the ground be found.

Oh I see one,

Precious and smiling,

Despite the blistering cold,

That has sent everything into hiding.

I reach out to pluck it,

Then I hear a horse neigh,

A gallant warrior stands next to it,

And proudly stands in my way,

“Who are you?” he proudly asks,

And follows it with a sneering look,

“I’m a prince” I give the answer,

Only that I don’t appear in a book.

“Ha ha ha” he hollowly laughs,

If you are a prince then I’m a god,

I look myself in the thawing snow,

And I see nothing close to a lord.

My clothes are tattered,

My chin unshaven,

And my face looks battered,

My hair resembles a garden.

I turn around and head home,

But not before one look at her,

I’ll be back my love, I’ll be back,

Only this time we are going home together.