It's Not Easy To Say Goodbye .. I wanted you for life You and me…
Nature Takes No Notice ..
The nation may be burdened by a load of dreary care
But Nature takes no notice of disaster and despair.
She continues unconcerned her carnival of bloom
What is it to her, this talk of deficit and doom.
The UK Chancellor ..
The more he has, the less he spends
The more he has, the more he craves
Great God, can this poor soul be saved?
All Attempts Come To Naught ..
Happiness is an elusive thing.
Some pleasures can be bought
But no one can buy happiness.
All attempts come to naught.
Dear Lord ..
May I not become the evil I deplore.
May I not hate evil so much that I retaliate with evil
Or use my hatred to justify evil deeds.
White Witches ..
Old souls. Protectors of the Earth
Defenders of the right
Speakers of the truth
Guardians of the animals
Seekers of enlightenment
Believers in equality
Warriors against evil and darkness
Voices for victims.
Music gives a soul to the universe
Wings to the mind
Flight to the imagination
And life to everything.
At Forty ..
You have learnt what is worthwhile.
You have conquered the worst forms of foolishness.
You have reached a balanced period of life,
Knowing good from evil, what is precious, what is worthless.
Danger is past, the mind is peaceful, evil is forgiven.
The affections are strong, envy is weak.
It is the happy age.
I Sometimes Seem Thoughtless ..
That’s because my brain has no heart.
And my heart has no brain.
That’s why when I speak my mind, I may seem heartless.
And when I say what’s in my heart, I sometimes seem thoughtless.
The Weatherman ..
The weatherman, was wrong again
When he said, “Just a spot of rain”.
It rained so hard, upon my back
That it soaked each fibre, of my mac.
I hadn’t taken, my trusted brolly
It’s hard to handle, with a rusty trolley.
My bags of shopping, got totally splattered
Packets and boxes, were soggy and tattered.
The tins and bottles, did so well
As drop by drop, they did repel.
Bags left open, in the muddle
Collected drops, to make a puddle.
Like a bag of goldfish, from the Fair
The water had, to spill somewhere.
I’d hardly stepped, through the kitchen door
When the water burst, onto the floor.
It made a little, wriggling stream
I don’t know how, I didn’t scream.
I kept my cool, and called his name
To vent my anger, and lay blame.
He rose up from, his comfy chair
And seemed quite calm, and unaware.
Of all the trouble, and the strife
This weatherman, had caused his wife.
( Amal Reetpet )