गीता जयन्ती पर....

DECEMBER SUN ....

                  

The December sun  feels,
Like a hand from heaven  
Wiping out the  deadly frost,
From the face of  the earth,
With its soft, warm touch.

The December Sun is, 
Like the first cool showers,

After a long spell of summer,
Reviving hope of life,
In the landscape everywhere. 

December Sun is, 
Like the offer of a good job,
To  an unemployed  youth
 Struggling to be self-dependent,

To realise his long-cherished dreams.
 

The December Sun  is, 
Like the gift of a warm blanket,
By a stranger to the homeless beggar,
Shivering  on the footpath,
 On a freezing, cold night.


           

THUS SPAKE THE ROSE

                       

     There are no roses without thorns
      We often hear this proverb,   
     Whenever you  are  facing  a challenge,  
     To gain anything worthwhile.  

     But there is another vital message,
     We would love to  share  with you,
     That can change the face of the world,
      But is seldom given thought. 

          It's  wise to respect one another, 
       While passing through life's  journey, 
      And give the world the best you can,
      While accepting your own destiny.

       We think  it is mean and unwise,
       To be selfish and intolerant,
       we are supposed to live in peace,
       To love and help one another.

         We flowers are happy to  live this way,
         Co-operating with one another,
        Never fighting or disturbing anyone,
        We spend our days joyfully. 

          And  enjoy living the way we do,
        Since  peaceful and rewarding it feels,
         Adding meaning to our existence,

          Making life a wonderful festival.

           Wonder why you understand  not,
            Such a  plain  principle of life, 
           That 'tis  much wiser to be friendly, 
           Than breed hatred and vengeance!
           






         

     

My Thoughts

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       Sometimes  my thoughts are,

        Like stray clouds,

  Blown around on a windy day,
I know not where they are headed to,
And if ever be put at rest.


But I want them to be sensible, 
   And choose the right path, 
   Not roam about aimlessly,
   Only at the mercy of the wind. 

  I want them to be like summer rain,
 Descending on the  drying  landmass,
 Reviving life and cheer and vigour, 
 All around, on the land and air.

DEAR , ADORABLE , RAMA !

I often wonder what you really were,

A common man turned superhuman,

By performing incredible feats,

All through his life's journey.

 Or, an incarnation of God Himself, 

 Born to human parents as a son,

Who went through all experiences,

 Like anyone living on the earth?

Either way, you must have been, 

A miracle among the mortals,

Who was born, lived and died, 

Just as any human ever did.

An ideal son, brother and friend,
A saviour of the weak and oppressed,

 who fought against the evil all through 

And proved it would never succeed.  

 A king most fair, an epitome of justice
 Who practised Dharma as his supreme duty
 Whose rule is known as the best so far

 Whose life is an epic of self-sacrifice!