Respect

Everyone has a gift...
It matters not his habitation
It matters not his origination
Remember however little, someone needs it

But it is human when they err
Hide not but aid them
Fight not but change them
Remember we all have our faults

We live to give
They live and we gain
They leave and we lose
Remember the whole world loses

So remember whoever we are, remember
Whatever we do, wherever we are …
We must remember to respect ourselves
Everyone has a gift respect it

Years gone by

It is just like years gone by
In the moonlit night
Sheep and dogs lay thinking
From a glance the smell of peace
But how can the prey feel safe amidst its pursuer?

It is just like years gone by
In the moonlit night
All seated and warmed by the tribe’s fire
Listening to stories of yesteryears
O how can we tell of our fall in the land of the enemy?

It is just like years gone by
in the moonlit night
the blind beggar held on confidently to his boy
into a ditch they all fell
o how could he knew his boy dozed off at each step

but it is just like years gone by
o in the moonlit night
but I can see two lovers in a straw thatch
who were exposed when dim light turned bright
how can their fantasy blindfold their eye of care

How many? how may?

… How many…?
How many times should I ask
before you know I need it?
How many times will say I love you
before you know I mean what I say?
How many children will carry loads and hawk
before you know that living conditions are high?

How many flooding will occur
before you know gutters are silted?
How many wars will occur
before we learn to settle our disputes?
How many times will one react in anger
before you know he cannot stand it?

How many times will I suffer pain
before you realize I am human?
How many deaths will you see
before you respect the sanctity of life?
How much disappointment is needed
before you learn to trust yourself?
How many …? How many…?

At the peak terrible times are forgotten

At the peak,
terrible times are forgotten;
on the water surface,
jagged rocks are hidden below;
in the midst of roses
thorns are found;
in the midst of friends
enemies find their hide out;
on the top of green leaves,
coloured flowers grow;
at the end emerges death and
at the end of death begins life.

tears flow from our eyes

Just a few tarred road
ahead with many dusty ones,
dirt as hot as a corn cob
in our nostrils and our throats,
like a sour and bitter feeling at once
talking about all these injustices.
Dust in our eyes, turning white
our black spot, blinding clearly
even those with thick lenses;
dirt that stains our only white linen
and never goes out if even
applied, the most powerful bleach.
Injustices like dirt fills the air
and almost seen everywhere.
Our bosom friends they pose,
a just course pretend they to uphold,
but deceit and injustice
born and bred by those
who claim to uphold these.
Tears from our eyes they pour,
more than water from a free fall
and suddenly want to swim in whatever
which came out from the poor.

The black and white birds

It is getting dark,
all was hungry,
the birds gathered under the black tree
for their last meal.
The white bird who climbed up
first ate a fruit
and tore the best of the rest
for those on the ground
until they were satisfied.

It is getting dark,
all was hungry,
the birds gathered under the black tree,
the birds to feed.
A black bird who climbed up
first, ate the best of the fruit
and dropped the rest with the worst
after a plea from those on the ground
and until he was full alone.

Time

It clicks without stopping,
all met it, all left it; It marks their
beginning, their end; It might seem too
long when we are to wait for it; It
might also seem short when we
end our enjoyment.
It has answers to our
problems: mending the broken
hearted, the poor becomes rich, the family
becomes a nation, and giving us hope
when the situation is bad.
Who is this? So powerful,
So helpful so feared yet does not
Speak nor have a body; does not move yet
one will always wonder why it is
everywhere; and for how long,
time will always tell.