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Life is a mystery,
There is no clue of its exact history.
Theory once postulated by Darwin,
May go change by some Hardin.
Dr. Nitesh A
Why We Fight
This is the thing we fight:
A cry of terror in the night;
A ship on work of mercy bentâ??
A carrier of the sick and maimedâ??
Edgar Albert Guest
You And Me
I'm part of people I have known
And they are part of me;
The seeds of thought that I have sown
In other minds I see.
Because of my cross, I find this life a misery
Like every cast in this dramatic adventure
When a man starts out with nothing,
When a man starts out with his hands
Empty, but clean,
When a man starts to build a world,
I Am Sorry
I'm sorry i could not protect you from the hands of evil that took you away from this world
And you could give so much to it
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
Joy, what could be more eperetising than the Joy of life. what is life without joy. Love it can be given and it can never be taken. What is life like without being loved.
There is a million of things that I would rather do than love another. I would count stars day to day admiring each and everyone of them. I am greedy in nature. I do nothing which is temporary. my main reason why I would spend a lifetime counting stars. No matter how many I count each day the end is never near .
The Master Speed
No speed of wind or water rushing by
But you have speed far greater. You can climb
Back up a stream of radiance to the sky,
And back through history up the stream of time.
The Last Lonely Night
She was lonely that night,
Thinking about the misery of her life.
She was most probably right
About her having the worst life
A Little Angel
Mama… Is President flying like an eagle? 1997 arrival of President Mkapa to our village
Didn’t know was just a person, that’s how our sisters
Get disappointed, with more expectations from men
Do accidents happen only at bridges and downhill slopes?
Dim, as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers,
Is reason to the soul; and as on high,
Those rolling fires discover but the sky
Value Of Literature
Value of literature is above precious ruby,
It voice higher than the dictation of God,
So timeless, with in-depth human undergo,
Worthy of deep cerebral feelings to deal
Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
As you pour yourself a scotch
Crush a roach or check your watch
As your hands adjust your tie people die
Like A Vocation
Not as that dream Napoleon, rumour's dread and centre,
Before who's riding all the crowds divide,
Who dedicates a column and withdraws,
Nor as that general favourite and breezy visitor
W. H. Auden
While History's Muse
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves,
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping,
For hers was the story that blotted the leaves.
The Temple Of Friendship
Sacred to peace, within a wood's recess,
A blest retreat, where courtiers never press,
A temple stands, where art did never try
With pompous wonders to enchant the eye;
Destiny Of Love
Journey of every love story
Has good & bitter history
Some propose & get accepted
But some were rejected.
No To Xenophobia
Michael Johnson once said " I don't fancy colors of the face, I'm always attracted to colors of the brain"
I understand we all have our differences.
But while learning about history
HOW very hard it is to be
A Christian! Hard for you and me,
â??Not the mere task of making real
That duty up to its ideal,
O Black And Unknown Bards
O black and unknown bards of long ago,
How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?
How, in your darkness, did you come to know
The power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre?
James Weldon Johnson
Observe the dying father speak:
Try, lads, can you this bundle break?
Then bids the youngest of the six
Take up a well-bound heap of sticks.
On Receipt Of My Mother’s Picture
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Balqees. . . oh princess,
You burn, caught between tribal wars,
What will I write about the departure of my queen?
Indeed, words are my scandal. . . .
FAIR OTAHEITE , fondly blest
By him who long was doom'd to brave
The fury of the Polar wave,
That fiercely mounts the frozen rock
Helen Maria Williams
A Worker Reads History
Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
The books are filled with names of kings.
Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
My country! by our fathers reared
As champion of the world's opprest;
Whose moral force the tyrant feared;
Whose flag all struggling freemen cheered;
John L. Stoddard
Ode On Venice
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
George Gordon Byron
No Greater Love
My motherland was pleading again for mercy,
the British were cruel and bloodthirsty,
they ordered to choose the road of compliance,
I selected the path of painful defiance.