Time flies with unseen wings
or may be it has a chariot pulled by the horses;
horses that come from the land of hundred Suns.
where there is no difference of day and night;
or seasons and weathers, and it is impossible
to tell one hour from another. That is where
they would want to pull it away.
Away from all of us mortals
begging more and more of it,
when all we get is some sand of time
knotted, tight together –
in the glowing cloth of false hope
with a hole in it.
So, every time we try to tie it harder
to not let more of sand slip away,
we only make it slip faster
with nothing adding up for us
but knots of agony; and thus
the time flies away.
Author at Sanjeev Kumar Pandey's Blog
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The fight to be holy I have always fought
Striving daily to remain firm to the course of which I was bought
The ultimate prize paid with the highest price
My creator demands i be holy
For he is holy
But my weakness seems to get the best of me
Leaving me broken at the end of it all
Sometimes it seems am so close to being holy
But flesh never lets me be
Nothing is wrong with me
All I need is a heart like my savior
A heart so strong like the wind
Filled with love
A heart like yours is what am searching for
Lord you know my heart
And you know how i desire for you every second
I know am not all i can be
But I know i will make it
For as long as you stay by me all day
I will remain strong
And fight till my last
But I need a heart like yours Lord
I heard of this world from where i come from,
Please give me a chance to explore,
I have longed to walk on this soil,
Please let me accomplish my dream.
O my mother mine,
For you were not persecuted by thy mother,
I will be punctured,
I will be torn apart,
My new bones will be broken,
My spick-and-span flesh ripped off.
I can’t voice out my distress,
For i am dumb,
But i speak with a heavy heart,
I don’t understand any language yet,
For i am deaf,
But when i heard “ABORTION”
I understood clearly because that’s the only reason i can cry in your belly.
Originally posted on crowonthewire,com
What Is Life?
And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream.
Its length? A minute’s pause, a moment’s thought.
And Happiness? A bubble on the stream,
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.
And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn,
That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,
And robs each flow’ret of its gem -and dies;
A cobweb, hiding disappointment’s thorn,
Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.
And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound?
A long and lingering sleep the weary crave.
And Peace? Where can its happiness abound?
Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave.
Then what is Life? When stripped of its disguise,
A thing to be desired it cannot be;
Since everything that meets our foolish eyes
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.
‘Tis but a trial all must undergo,
To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man’s denied to know,
Until he’s called to claim it in the skies.
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