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Peace was declared, but not all of us were drunk with joy or stricken blind.

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Not All Truths Are Sweet

to sweet truths we toast
we clink the glasses
of clarity for they are
those that make us so alive
and those that make us fly
like blithe spirits
in the vast blue skies

but not all truths are sweet
those that are bitter
are also placed on our tables
and we too shall drink
them

but how?

shall i like you die
in an instant? without
bidding goodbye
to our loved ones?

no. I must take these
bitter truths
like i am a man
responsible
to a world of
compromises,

i too, i know, must
drink the bitter potion,
but slowly and gently
enough to
immunize me from
the venoms of stupor
& eventual death

gentle to myself
these bitter truths
cannot kill me
but must make
me stronger

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The Dog Guard: An Australian Story

There are lonesome places upon the earth
That have never re-echoed a sound of mirth,
Where the spirits abide that feast and quaff
On the shuddering soul of a murdered laugh,
And take grim delight in the fearful start,
As their unseen fingers clutch the heart,
And the blood flies out from the griping pain,
To carry the chill through every vein;
And the staring eyes and the whitened faces
Are a joy to these ghosts of the lonesome places.

But of all the spots on this earthly sphere
Where these dismal spirits are strong and near,
There is one more dreary than all the rest,—
'Tis the barren island of Rottenest.
On Australia's western coast, you may—
On a seaman's chart of Fremantle Bay—
Find a tiny speck, some ten miles from shore:
If the chart be good, there is something more,—
For a shoal runs in on the landward side,
With five fathoms marked for the highest tide.
You have nought but my word for all the rest,
But that speck is the island of Rottenest.

'Tis a white sand-heap, about two miles long,
And say half as wide; but the deeds of wrong
Between man and his brother that there took place
Are sufficient to sully a continent's face.
Ah, cruel tales! were they told as a whole,
They would scare your polished humanity's soul;
They would blanch the cheeks in your carpeted room,
With a terrible thought of the merited doom
For the crimes committed, still unredrest,
On that white sand-heap called Rottenest.

Of late years the island is not so bare
As it was when I saw it first; for there
On the outer headland some buildings stand,
And a flag, red-crossed, says the patch of sand
Is a recognized part of the wide domain
That is blessed with the peace of Victoria's reign.
But behind the lighthouse the land's the same,
And it bears grim proof of the white man's shame;
For the miniature vales that the island owns
Have a horrible harvest of human bones!

And how did they come there? that's the word;
And I'll answer it now with a tale I heard
From the lips of a man who was there, and saw
The bad end of man's greed and of colony law.
Many years ago, when the white man first
Set his foot on the coast, and was hated and cursed
By the native, who had not yet learned to fear
The dark wrath of the stranger, but drove his spear
With a freeman's force and a bushman's yell
At the white invader, it then befell
That so many were killed and cooked and eaten,
There was risk of the whites in the end being beaten;
So a plan was proposed,—'twas deemed safest and best
To imprison the natives in Rottenest.

And so every time there was white blood spilled,
There were black men captured; and those not killed
In the rage of vengeance were sent away
To this bleak sand isle in Fremantle Bay;
And it soon came round that a thousand men
Were together there, like wild beasts in a pen.
There was not a shrub or grass-blade in the sand,
Nor a piece of timber as large as your hand;
But a government boat went out each day
To fling meat ashore—and then sailed away.

For a year or so was this course pursued,
Till 'twas noticed that fewer came down for food
When the boat appeared; then a guard lay round
The island one night, and the white men found
That the savages swam at the lowest tide
To the shoal that lay on the landward side,—
'Twas a mile from the beach,—and then waded ashore;
So the settlers met in grave council once more.

That a guard was needed was plain to all;
But nobody answered the Governor's call
For a volunteer watch. They were only a few,
And their wild young farms gave plenty to do;
And the council of settlers was breaking up,
With a dread of the sorrow they'd have to sup
When the savage, unawed, and for vengeance wild
Lay await in the wood for the mother and child.

And with doleful countenance each to his neighbor
Told a dreary tale of the world of labor
He had, and said, ' Let him watch who can,
I can't;' when there stepped to the front a man
With a hard brown face and a burglar's brow,
Who had learned the secret he uttered now
When he served in the chain-gang in New South Wales.
And he said to them: ' Friends, as all else fails,
These 'ere natives are safe as if locked and barred,
If you'll line that shoal with a mastiff guard!'

And the settlers looked at each other awhile,
Till the wonder toned to a well-pleased smile
When the brown ex-burglar said he knew,
And would show the whole of 'em what to do.

Some three weeks after, the guard was set;
And a native who swam to the shoal was met
By two half-starved dogs, when a mile from shore,—
And, somehow, that native was never seen more.
All the settlers were pleased with the capital plan,
And they voted their thanks to the hard-faced man.

For a year, each day did the government boat
Take the meat to the isle and its guard afloat.
In a line, on the face of the shoal, the dogs
Had a dry house each, on some anchored logs;
And the neck-chain from each stretched just half way
To the next dog's house; right across the Bay
Ran a line that was hideous with horrid sounds
From the hungry throats of two hundred hounds.

So one more year passed, and the brutes on the logs
Had grown more like devils than common dogs.
There was such a hell-chorus by day and night
That the settlers ashore were chilled with fright
When they thought—if that legion should break away,
And come in with the tide some fatal day!

But they ' scapod that chance; for a man came in
From the Bush, one day, with a 'possum's skin
To the throat filled up with large pearls he'd found
To the north, on the shore of the Shark's Bay Sound.
And the settlement blazed with a wild commotion
At sight of the gems from the wealthy ocean.

Then the settlers all began to pack
Their tools and tents, and to ask the track
That the bushman followed to strike the spot,—
While the dogs and natives were all forgot.
In two days, from that camp on the River Swan,
To the Shark's Bay Sound had the settlers gone;
And no merciful feeling did one retard
For the helpless men and their terrible guard.

It were vain to try, in my quiet room,
To write down the truth of the awful doom
That befell those savages prisoned there,
When the pangs of hunger and wild despair
Had nigh made them mad as the fiends outside:
'Tis enough that one night, through the low ebb tide,
Swam nine hundred savages, armed with stones
And with weapons made from their dead friends' bones.
Without ripple or sound, when the moon was gone,
Through the inky water they glided on;
Swimming deep, and scarce daring to draw a breath,
While the guards, if they saw, were as dumb as death.
'Twas a terrible picture! O God! that the night
Were so black as to cover the horrid sight
From the eyes of the Angel that notes man's ways
In the book that will ope on the Day of Days!

There were screams when they met,—shrill screams of pain!
For each animal swam at the length of his chain,
And with parching throat and in furious mood
Lay awaiting, not men, but his coming food.
There were short, sharp cries, and a line of fleck
As the long fangs sank in the swimmer's neck;
There were gurgling growls mixed with human groans,
For the savages drave the sharpened bones
Through their enemies' ribs, and the bodies sank,
Each dog holding fast with a bone through his flank.

Then those of the natives who 'scaped swam back;
But too late! for scores of the savage pack,
Driven mad by the yells and the sounds of fight,
Had broke loose and followed. On that dread night
Let the curtain fall: when the red sun rose
From the placid ocean, the joys and woes
Of a thousand men he had last eve seen
Were as things or thoughts that had never been.

When the settlers returned,—in a month or two,—
They bethought of the dogs and the prisoned crew.
And a boat went out on a tardy quest
Of whatever was living on Rottenest.
They searched all the isle, and sailed back again
With some specimen bones of the dogs and men.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Blind Girl Of Castel-Cuille. (From The Gascon of Jasmin)

At the foot of the mountain height
Where is perched Castel Cuille,
When the apple, the plum, and the almond tree
In the plain below were growing white,
This is the song one might perceive
On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's Eve:

'The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home!
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!'

This old Te Deum, rustic rites attending,
Seemed from the clouds descending;
When lo! a merry company
Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye,
Each one with her attendant swain,
Came to the cliff, all singing the same strain;
Resembling there, so near unto the sky,
Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven has sent
For their delight and our encouragement.
Together blending,
And soon descending
The narrow sweep
Of the hillside steep,
They wind aslant
Towards Saint Amant,
Through leafy alleys
Of verdurous valleys
With merry sallies
Singing their chant:

'The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home!
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!

It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden,
With garlands for the bridal laden!

The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom,
The sun of March was shining brightly,
And to the air the freshening wind gave lightly
Its breathings of perfume.

When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom,
A rustic bridal, oh! how sweet it is!
To sounds of joyous melodies,
That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom,
A band of maidens
Gayly frolicking,
A band of youngsters
Wildly rollicking!
Kissing,
Caressing,
With fingers pressing,
Till in the veriest
Madness of mirth, as they dance,
They retreat and advance,
Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and merriest;
While the bride, with roguish eyes,
Sporting with them, now escapes and cries:
'Those who catch me
Married verily
This year shall be!'

And all pursue with eager haste,
And all attain what they pursue,
And touch her pretty apron fresh and new,
And the linen kirtle round her waist.

Meanwhile, whence comes it that among
These youthful maidens fresh and fair,
So joyous, with such laughing air,
Baptiste stands sighing, with silent tongue?
And yet the bride is fair and young!
Is it Saint Joseph would say to us all,
That love, o'er-hasty, precedeth a fall?
O no! for a maiden frail, I trow,
Never bore so lofty a brow!
What lovers! they give not a single caress!
To see them so careless and cold to-day,
These are grand people, one would say.
What ails Baptiste? what grief doth him oppress?

It is, that half-way up the hill,
In yon cottage, by whose walls
Stand the cart-house and the stalls,
Dwelleth the blind orphan still,
Daughter of a veteran old;
And you must know, one year ago,
That Margaret, the young and tender,
Was the village pride and splendor,
And Baptiste her lover bold.
Love, the deceiver, them ensnared;
For them the altar was prepared;
But alas! the summer's blight,
The dread disease that none can stay,
The pestilence that walks by night,
Took the young bride's sight away.

All at the father's stern command was changed;
Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged.
Wearied at home, erelong the lover fled;
Returned but three short days ago,
The golden chain they round him throw,
He is enticed, and onward led
To marry Angela, and yet
Is thinking ever of Margaret.

Then suddenly a maiden cried,
'Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate!
Here comes the cripple Jane!' And by a fountain's side
A woman, bent and gray with years,
Under the mulberry-trees appears,
And all towards her run, as fleet
As had they wings upon their feet.

It is that Jane, the cripple Jane,
Is a soothsayer, wary and kind.
She telleth fortunes, and none complain.
She promises one a village swain,
Another a happy wedding-day,
And the bride a lovely boy straightway.
All comes to pass as she avers;
She never deceives, she never errs.

But for this once the village seer
Wears a countenance severe,
And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white
Her two eyes flash like cannons bright
Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue,
Who, like a statue, stands in view;
Changing color as well he might,
When the beldame wrinkled and gray
Takes the young bride by the hand,
And, with the tip of her reedy wand
Making the sign of the cross, doth say:--
'Thoughtless Angela, beware!
Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom,
Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!'
And she was silent; and the maidens fair
Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear;
But on a little streamlet silver-clear,
What are two drops of turbid rain?
Saddened a moment, the bridal train
Resumed the dance and song again;
The bridegroom only was pale with fear;--
And down green alleys
Of verdurous valleys,
With merry sallies,
They sang the refrain:--

'The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home!
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!'

II.
And by suffering worn and weary,
But beautiful as some fair angel yet,
Thus lamented Margaret,
In her cottage lone and dreary;--

'He has arrived! arrived at last!
Yet Jane has named him not these three days past;
Arrived! yet keeps aloof so far!
And knows that of my night he is the star!
Knows that long months I wait alone, benighted,
And count the moments since he went away!
Come! keep the promise of that happier day,
That I may keep the faith to thee I plighted!
What joy have I without thee? what delight?
Grief wastes my life, and makes it misery;
Day for the others ever, but for me
Forever night! forever night!
When he is gone 't is dark! my soul is sad!
I suffer! O my God! come, make me glad.
When he is near, no thoughts of day intrude;
Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste has blue eyes!
Within them shines for me a heaven of love,
A heaven all happiness, like that above,
No more of grief! no more of lassitude!
Earth I forget,--and heaven, and all distresses,
When seated by my side my hand he presses;
But when alone, remember all!
Where is Baptiste? he hears not when I call!
A branch of ivy, dying on the ground,
I need some bough to twine around!
In pity come! be to my suffering kind!
True love, they say, in grief doth more abound!
What then--when one is blind?

'Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken!
Ah! woe is me! then bear me to my grave!
O God! what thoughts within me waken!
Away! he will return! I do but rave!
He will return! I need not fear!
He swore it by our Saviour dear;
He could not come at his own will;
Is weary, or perhaps is ill!
Perhaps his heart, in this disguise,
Prepares for me some sweet surprise!
But some one comes! Though blind, my heart can see!
And that deceives me not! 't is he! 't is he!'

And the door ajar is set,
And poor, confiding Margaret
Rises, with outstretched arms, but sightless eyes;
'T is only Paul, her brother, who thus cries:--
'Angela the bride has passed!
I saw the wedding guests go by;
Tell me, my sister, why were we not asked?
For all are there but you and I!'

'Angela married! and not send
To tell her secret unto me!
O, speak! who may the bridegroom be?'
'My sister, 't is Baptiste, thy friend!'

A cry the blind girl gave, but nothing said;
A milky whiteness spreads upon her cheeks;
An icy hand, as heavy as lead,
Descending, as her brother speaks,
Upon her heart, that has ceased to beat,
Suspends awhile its life and heat.
She stands beside the boy, now sore distressed,
A wax Madonna as a peasant dressed.

At length, the bridal song again
Brings her back to her sorrow and pain.

'Hark! the joyous airs are ringing!
Sister, dost thou hear them singing?
How merrily they laugh and jest!
Would we were bidden with the rest!
I would don my hose of homespun gray,
And my doublet of linen striped and gay;
Perhaps they will come; for they do not wed
Till to-morrow at seven o'clock, it is said!'

'I know it!' answered Margaret;
Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet,
Mastered again; and its hand of ice
Held her heart crushed, as in a vice!
'Paul, be not sad! 'T is a holiday;
To-morrow put on thy doublet gay!
But leave me now for a while alone.'
Away, with a hop and a jump, went Paul,
And, as he whistled along the hall,
Entered Jane, the crippled crone.

'Holy Virgin! what dreadful heat!
I am faint, and weary, and out of breath!
But thou art cold,--art chill as death;
My little friend! what ails thee, sweet?'
'Nothing! I heard them singing home the bride;
And, as I listened to the song,
I thought my turn would come erelong,
Thou knowest it is at Whitsuntide.
Thy cards forsooth can never lie,
To me such joy they prophesy,
Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide
When they behold him at my side.
And poor Baptiste, what sayest thou?
It must seem long to him;--methinks I see him now!'
Jane, shuddering, her hand doth press:
'Thy love I cannot all approve;
We must not trust too much to happiness;--
Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love him less!'
'The more I pray, the more I love!
It is no sin, for God is on my side!'
It was enough; and Jane no more replied.

Now to all hope her heart is barred and cold;
But to deceive the beldame old
She takes a sweet, contented air;
Speak of foul weather or of fair,
At every word the maiden smiles!
Thus the beguiler she beguiles;
So that, departing at the evening's close,
She says, 'She may be saved! she nothing knows!'

Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress!
Now that thou wouldst, thou art no prophetess!
This morning, in the fulness of thy heart,
Thou wast so, far beyond thine art!

III.
Now rings the bell, nine times reverberating,
And the white daybreak, stealing up the sky,
Sees in two cottages two maidens waiting,
How differently!

Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed,
The one puts on her cross and crown,
Decks with a huge bouquet her breast,
And flaunting, fluttering up and down,
Looks at herself, and cannot rest,
The other, blind, within her little room,
Has neither crown nor flower's perfume;
But in their stead for something gropes apart,
That in a drawer's recess doth lie,
And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye,
Convulsive clasps it to her heart.

The one, fantastic, light as air,
'Mid kisses ringing,
And joyous singing,
Forgets to say her morning prayer!

The other, with cold drops upon her brow,
Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the floor,
And whispers, as her brother opes the door,
'O God! forgive me now!'

And then the orphan, young and blind,
Conducted by her brother's hand,
Towards the church, through paths unscanned,
With tranquil air, her way doth wind.
Odors of laurel, making her faint and pale,
Round her at times exhale,
And in the sky as yet no sunny ray,
But brumal vapors gray.

Near that castle, fair to see,
Crowded with sculptures old, in every part,
Marvels of nature and of art,
And proud of its name of high degree,
A little chapel, almost bare
At the base of the rock, is builded there;
All glorious that it lifts aloof,
Above each jealous cottage roof,
Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales,
And its blackened steeple high in air,
Round which the osprey screams and sails.

'Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!'
Thus Margaret said. 'Where are we? we ascend!'
'Yes; seest thou not our journey's end?
Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry?
The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, we know!
Dost thou remember when our father said,
The night we watched beside his bed,
'O daughter, I am weak and low;
Take care of Paul; I feel that I am dying!'
And thou, and he, and I, all fell to crying?
Then on the roof the osprey screamed aloud;
And here they brought our father in his shroud.
There is his grave; there stands the cross we set;
Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Margaret?
Come in! The bride will be here soon:
Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art going to swoon!'

She could no more,--the blind girl, weak and weary!
A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary,
'What wouldst thou do, my daughter?'--and she started,
And quick recoiled, aghast, faint-hearted;
But Paul, impatient, urges evermore
Her steps towards the open door;
And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid
Crushes the laurel near the house immortal,
And with her head, as Paul talks on again,
Touches the crown of filigrane
Suspended from the low-arched portal,
No more restrained, no more afraid,
She walks, as for a feast arrayed,
And in the ancient chapel's sombre night
They both are lost to sight.

At length the bell,
With booming sound,
Sends forth, resounding round.
Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell.
It is broad day, with sunshine and with rain;
And yet the guests delay not long,
For soon arrives the bridal train,
And with it brings the village throng.

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay,
For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant day,
Mute as an idiot, sad as yester-morning,
Thinks only of the beldame's words of warning.

And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis;
To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper
Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper,
'How beautiful! how beautiful she is!'.

But she must calm that giddy head,
For already the Mass is said;
At the holy table stands the priest;
The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste receives it;
Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it,
He must pronounce one word at least!
'T is spoken; and sudden at the grooms-man's side
''T is he!' a well-known voice has cried.
And while the wedding guests all hold their breath,
Opes the confessional, and the blind girl, see!
'Baptiste,' she said, 'since thou hast wished my death,
As holy water be my blood for thee!'
And calmly in the air a knife suspended!
Doubtless her guardian angel near attended,
For anguish did its work so well,
That, ere the fatal stroke descended,
Lifeless she fell!

At eve instead of bridal verse,
The De Profundis filled the air;
Decked with flowers a simple hearse
To the churchyard forth they bear;
Village girls in robes of snow
Follow, weeping as they go;
Nowhere was a smile that day,
No, ah no! for each one seemed to say:--

'The road should mourn and be veiled in gloom,
So fair a corpse shall leave its home!
Should mourn and should weep, ah, well-away!
So fair a corpse shall pass to-day!'

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All said but not done

Well all said but not done
You said all when I had already gone
You uttered no word and I was desperate
Nothing else was left for me to relate

I was dumb founded and nearly broken
You had no tome to love as token
I had no place to go and try
I was choked and wanted to cry

It was not a wild goose chase
I had terrible and bad phase
I was damned from all the sides
I had no one to rest on and confide

It is one of the crucial tests
It all depends and rests
Upon the good will of yours
You did not care me but theirs

I know you inclined much
I too had feeling as such
I am nearly broke
Life has nearly gone to smoke

I am not sure of my come back
I am unsure of path or track
I won’t stop until I reach
The destiny with goals each

The world is not hostile
They have remained same meanwhile
We got to understand the trend and flow
Else it may any time deliver the blow

You may go into pieces
If you have no good wishes
You need support and blessings
Else it will be troubled water fishing

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The Dark Night Comes, Not For Me Alone, But For All Of Us

Well, I see this moon
And I am sad
My thoughts are sadder still
The dark night comes
Not just for me
Alone, I know
but for all
of us..

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Sara Teasdale

But Not To Me

The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be;
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
But not to me.

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That Was Then But This Is Now

Why make the past your sacred cow?
I guess youve changed, youve changed and how
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Fruits grown rotten on the bough
Reap what you sow, with a counterfeit plough
Yeah, yeah, yeah
That was then but this is now
That was then but this is now
More sacrifices than an aztec priest
Standing here straining at that leash
All fall down
Cant complain, musnt grumble
Help yourself to another peace of apple crumble
And consequently:
Hearts of oak are charged and blistered
Russians should be baby-sitted
Americans enlisted
That was then but this is now
That was then but this is now
That was then but this is now

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Failure Is Not An Option, But It Is A Necessity Sometimes

no matter how you plan
there is always that possibility of a failure,
no one has control about
this necessity,

it is not an option to flunk,
you all worked hard for all those years
to earn the title and gain the trust
but not all will make it
some will have to take the bottom
of things
the failure of an endeavor
success cannot exist
without it
one cannot see God
without the
appearance of Evil
one cannot be strong
unless he had been
weak once
i cannot be divine
unless i start
from the bottom line
of my humanity,

if i can see clearly now
it was because i was blind for all those years.

move on, let not that failure
make you fail.

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But Not For Me

George and ira gershwin
Theyre writing songs of love, but not for me.
A lucky stars above, but not for me.
With love to lead the way
Ive found more clouds of grey
Than any russain play could guarantee.
I was a fool to fall and get that way;
Heigh-ho! alas! and also, lack-a-day!
Although I cant dismiss the memry of his kiss, I guess hes mot for me.
Hes knocking on a door, but not for me.
Hell plan a two by four, but not for me.
I know that loves a game;
Im puzzled, just the same,
Was I the moth or flame?
Im all at sea.
It all began so well, but what an end!
This is the time a feller needs a friend,
When evry happy plot ends with the marriage knot,
And theres no knot for me.

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If The Intention For Peace Was Reached

The madness that is there,
And some have declared...
Is for them in the sharing of it!
Is there for them to declare,
Ruin upon humanity.

If it is recognized for what it is,
And attempts are made to prevent...
An existence of it,
Is a legitimate undertaking.

Only,
And if...
It is not presented,
As a natural occurrence.

It isn't!

There is nothing natural,
About the spreading of a disease.
Prevention would not be mentioned,
If the intention for peace was reached.

Conflicts, chaos and division....
Have been made neccessities of life,
By those wishing to inflict,
A desperate attachment they have...
To self destruct!
And those validating a destruction,
To maintain a peace...
Worship the wicked ways of demons.

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But Not For Me

Old Man Sunshine, listen, you,
Never tell me dreams come true,
Just try it, and I'll start a riot,
Oprah Winfrey don't you dare,
Ever tell me she will care,
I'm certain, it's the final curtain.
I never want to hear from any cheerful Pollyannas,
Who tell you fate supplies a mate, it's all bananas.
They're writing songs of love
But not for me
A lucky star's above
But not for me
With love to lead the way
I've found more clouds of gray
Than any Russian play
Could guarantee
I was a fool to fall
And get that way
Hi ho! Alas!
And also, lackaday!
Although I can't dismiss
The memory of her kiss
I guess
She's not for me
It all began so well
But what an end
This is the time
A fellow needs a friend
The climax of the plot
Should be a marriage knot
But there's
No knot for me
Although I can't dismiss
The memory of her kiss
I guess
She's not for me

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But not alone

You are single but not alone
You have stood firm but not gone
Not wild but rose pink flower
The ran dropp only take care and shower

He did not think before sending you
You have extra ordinarily proved true
He did not find suitable alternative
Your were not choosey or selective

He put everything in one art form
You were hastily planned and born
His highness of big kingdom was his mind
He assigned the job for Hasmukh to find

He forgot to convey message to this earthly man
Jihan meanwhile grew to the full status of woman
Her charm spread all over the globe
Frantic search was on and needed no probe

Let God remain busy but has made me on run
Jihan is there for all endorsement with fun
She is like fire ball in the after noon
And very cool when silver rays fall from moon

Hasmukh you run for it if can not find any
But see that it is not disheartening many
She is meant for to be a rising star
You are ordinary, not worthy and staying far

*Hasmukh is my name… Jihan is character

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That's Not All They Do

People do not listen to others.
In fact,
If they are not directly affected...
They could care less.
Not all people.
But enough of them to make this noticed.

'My dog,
Who had been my best and closest friend...
Since a puppy.
Was hit by a bus this morning.
And this makes me sick to my stomach.'

~You?
Many of them have no respect.
Cussing?
You should hear those kids that live near me.
That's not all they do,
When they get on public buses.
It's enough to make me want to throw up too.~

'No. No.
You're not paying me any attention at all.
It was my puppy.'

~You've got a puppy that cusses?
And your a passenger like me on a public bus?
If I were you,
I'd look into having my own reality show.
I have never heard of that before.
That would be an instant hit.~

'What a friend you are! '

~Hey...
What can I say?
You want me to make a few calls for you?
I know I can get you an appointment,
To see somebody.
Male or female? ~

'What are you talking about? '

~You puppy's gender.
Or preference?
A dog that smart can be what it wants.~

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Forgotten But Not Gone

Shes been good to me
Shes been as kind as a girl can be
But I get the feeling
She thinks that certain something is gone
Its the little things
Like the words to the songs she sings
Are a little different
And I can tell that Im not the one
Its just a matter of time
Forgotten but not gone
Im the invisible guy
Forgotten but not gone
It was my mistake
cause I gave less than I could take
And I never noticed
She wanted something I didnt have
And my roving eye
Drove her off to another guy
Now she doesnt see that
To keep from crying Ive got to laugh
And its so hard to believe
When I call her she turns away
Like she dont see me at all
And its so hard to believe
All that water under the bridge
Dont count for nothing at all
Its the same old line
Out of sight and youre out of mind
But I never thought that
Id see the day when she didnt care
But the jokes on me
I came home yesterday to see
Them in bed together
And making love like I wasnt there
It was a matter of time
Forgotten but not gone
I could have rolled up an died
Forgotten but not gone
Im the invisible guy
Forgotten but not gone

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Not all may be

Not all may be feeling same
But for that He is not to be blamed
Many God fathers have taken his place
For deprived people not to make chase

If any one was to feel high
Nobody would have been left and dry
Innocents are killed in day light
Who says men fear from Almighty's might?

All said and not done
It is momentary burst of bubbles
That remains for a while and gone
Everybody is aware that we are on heap of rubbles

We go to churches, mosques or temples
"That to show how religious we are' as samples
We pray only to come out from fishy affair
Only God may know what will be fair?

I blame no one as I am one of the same
Same origin and thoughts from where they came
We try to cheat almighty with unclear conscience
How can we then put on him for fair reliance?

I spend sleepless night when cry in bed
All those years were ruthlessly led
That cry from innocent people makes me restless
So far I have lived with double face

Can't we think in simple manner?
We have to go to him later or sooner
With what face we may reply to our sins?
Will then it be our biggest achievement or win?

It is open to all people who owe their existence out of clay
No matter how long they rule or hold the sway
Nothing can prevent them from being taken away
This is what He has carved out a simple way

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Your my blessing but not my gift

         YOUR  a blessing, but not
mY GiFT! ! ! ! ! !  

She called him a blessing because she didn't think she could conceive, and when he came forth she made it about her baby, her baby, her baby boy! ! ! ! ! Now at the proper age of  43 her blessing, her baby became her enemy! ! ! He did somethings that put tears in any mothers eyes, left her stranded at work while he took her car and her purse! ! ! ! shocked in disbelief! ! ! ' she wanted to believe that this is nightmare that's  part of tearable dream. But it was her reality her son her family. She then Tried to hide the HURT, the PAIN from her friends and family members that the person whom she  gave birth to mistreated her! ! ! ! ! ! ! Ran certain people away and told her that he's the  only person she needs in the first place, and he knows whats best for her. He didn't want to say it  to her because he knew that it will hurt........, her. And she! ! ! was left with out words just speechless. And she kept saying to her self that's  my  baby thats my blessing every day he was driving her crazy! ! ! ! !  Still left with out nothing to say, she was thinking she must be,  sick that her grown ass baby is CRAZY! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! in so many ways, She felt like she's  going crazy to think that the person whom she birth was a blessing now she look at him like he's a curse! ! ! ! ! ! ! Night in day he tried to fight her saying things like he hate her! ! !  Until one day he watched his mom fall! ! ! ! in the hall and thought it was funny.  Cleaned her bank accounts  out took all her money,  so when she called the police he always  blamed mommy for the **** he thought she did, she did! ! ! ! ! ! ! so he went on and on, and on yelling and crying, for her to bail him out. And he told her didn't you tell me I'm your baby your son your blessing! ! ! ! and she responded yes, then he responded so WHY in the **** are you taking your time to come 
And get meeeeeeee YOU ****! ! ! ! ! ! Then she responded I'm on my way. She put the phone down wiped the tears from her eyes, went to the store first
then proceed to the county jail where she dropp the charges against him. They came out together got into the car drove off, got five miles way from the house to a park. And  begin to cry then he responded. What! ! ! ! and started laughing and she said always no that I  love you, and he responded what ever, she looked at him and gave him a kiss on his face and he said I'm your blessing. And  before he could say the next thing out of his mouth, she went in her purse and SHOT him in his HEAD and said with tears in her eyes but not my GIFT! ! ! ! !  

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Patrick White

Red Shift Soon Into The Dark, But Not Tonight

Red shift soon into the dark, but not tonight
out of these longer wavelengths of insight
into the ongoing mystery of everything I'm aware of
and what I'm not in the lifelines on the palms of my blossoms
and in the roots of these abandoned orchards of stars.
Unattainable the things of the earth that were given for free,
I long for dark abundance, bright vacancy.
Beauty meets me everywhere eye to eye
on my own terms, and we speak in metaphors
that occur all around us like fireflies and wild irises.

O evanescent river of night, unpartitioned waterclock,
keep time with my heart even as you unravel the past
like a ribbon of blood I've brought to you as a gift.
Keep it supple and fluid and let the light on your waters
mingle in the sweetness of its fruit. Let no cruel day
embitter the wine of the efoliate nerves
of the wild grapes greening their tendrils
like the treble clefs of a living music
that can only be heard with the eyes when you listen.

Off road awhile, let me wander as you do
through these labyrinths of circuitous blossoming
and lose myself in people and things and wonder
at the black and white wisdom of being here
to marvel at all, and give the stars a reason to search.
Keep my wits close to my senses and my instincts
like holy books written on the wind like the smoke
of distant fires I will sit around again
listening to stories told in the tongues
of the polyglot flames. May I always
cherish the pain of separation as my most
sincere teacher, the one who beat me the hardest
for the foolishness of trying to come up for air
while I was still in the womb. May compassion
always come on the winged heels of insight
the way pears come of their leaves
or the heart grows in the hands of its thieves.

Hard, the longing to know. Harder to know you don't.
Hard to be the dunce in the corner of your own illumination.
The persecuted voodoo doll of a witch hunt.
The shabby philosopher with a heart of gold
who took the long way round to the back of the abyss.
Or an eclipse with its thumb out trying
to hitch hike down the Milky Way like a punk rocker.
And those who live to see death in their children's eyes,
as the ferocity of their frozen tears breaks
into little plinths and roseate splinters of shattered sky.
Hard to see people uncrazed by their own creativity
like a wet book of matches frowning at solar flares,
sceptics doubting the crazy wisdom of their own stars.
To see friends who were the pillars of the wharves
you said hello and good-bye on, pull away one last time
like empty lifeboats with nothing left to save.

And the lovers who know each other like junkies
on the same drug, love potions using the same alibi
to excuse the mystic delirium of being caught
by their third eye, exalting in their passion
for whispering old-fashioned things into each other's ears
on the thresholds of enlightened taboos. Imagine
going through withdrawal from your own imagination
burning little black holes through the windows
until they look like starmaps that forgot the way back home.
And the hasty bones that were buried en masse
like yarrow sticks in an incriminating Book of Changes.
Poverty, atrocity, war, disease, and these we ignore,
and these we praise for trivializing our attention span.
Hard to be human and embody all this in your heart.

But don't stop. Keep flowing. Making your own path up
on the fly as you go, knowing it's going to get harder yet.
Let me live it like a dream I'm always waking up from
with no regret. Let me cherish the terrors
for the dark jewels they sowed like dragon's teeth
in their wake, and celebrate the fools of my doubtful virtues
like a poet in autumn dancing with the last of the flowers
as if they still had the voices they had in the spring.

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Not All Poems Are Confessions

NOT ALL POEMS ARE CONFESSIONS

Not all poems are confessions,
But mine often are-
I write to understand and justify myself
And to help myself know
What to do next-
The writing itself is often the action that helps

Not all poems are confessions
And not all poems are therapy
And not all poems are prayer
But mine often are.

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Not All The Angels Of The Lord Are On The Highest Rung

Not all the angels of the Lord are on the highest rung-
I ascended on the ladder
But have not touched the top rung
And will not -

An angel of the middle and the bottom rows
I nonetheless sing out my praises to God -
While trying to climb higher,

Yet somewhere always
no matter how high I think I come
never touching the top rung.

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But Not For Me (mono Mix)

They're writing songs of love - but not for me
A lucky star's above - but not for me
With love to lead the way I've found more clouds of gray
Than any Russian play - could guarantee
I was a fool to fall - and get that way
Hi ho alas and also lackaday
Although I can't dismiss
The memory of his kiss
I guess he's not for me
(bridge)
I was a fool to fall - and get that way
Hi ho alas and also lackaday
Although I can't dismiss
The memory of his kiss
I guess he's not for me

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