portrait-of-leo-tolstoy-as-a-ploughman-on-a-field-1887When to the daily clarion call
The ploughman takes a toll no more,
Nor after the season of rainfall
Could he record its harvest’s score;

When on the terrains of his farm
He could not till his fertile soil,
Nor could he weigh gram for gram
The outcome of his ceaseless toil;

When by the famous town hill
He could not stop to see the king,
Nor could he visit his friend Jill
To watch him laugh and also sing;

When under the big juniper tree
Where he always sits to wine,
The neighbours pass by severally
And there he shows not a sign;

Then he must have laid to rest
As usual after the work of the day,
When in him death took interest
And decided to take him away.





Place him on that platform gently
Lest you tamper with his smile;
Wash him there thoroughly
Before he travels another mile:
For home he goes, sweet home he goes,
A man who no longer have woes.

Clothe him with a fine apparel
As is meet for an august occasion;
The time of his departure go tell,
And let’s begin the procession:
For home he goes, sweet home he goes,
A man who no longer have woes.

Gather them all—young and old—
To bid him their last goodbyes;
Let them his remains behold
And shed no tear from their eyes:
For home he goes, sweet home he goes,
A man who no longer have woes.

Not a single shot of gun salute,
Nor the faintest sound of jamboree;
But as silent as a voiceless mute,
The atmosphere should likewise be:
For home he goes, sweet home he goes,
A man who no longer have woes.

“And these let be of me, when to sweet home I go”




Hamas is a poor boy,
And he has no parents—
Not even a single toy
To relish these moments.
Nine years old is he,
But with hundred sorrows;
I’d rather dine with him
And fulfill Christ’s purpose!

He looked in my eyes,
And I was soon in tears;
O what a smile he has
Even when no one cares!
He sought for a friend,
But only Jesus came;
Then why should I not
Replicate this very same?

Set us a table for two—
For me and Hamas;
This my soul delights to do
On a day like Christmas.
Not with the world’s famous,
Not with earth’s richest;
If Christ were here today,
He’d dine with the poorest.




Four balloons fly in the blue sky:
Three are nature’s, and one is mine;
One of nature’s three has passed me by,
Oh such a one I wish I had nine!

The second, somewhat like the first,
Is one fine treasure I’ve got now—
That which I should dare not get lost
To no lures of a perilous bow.

The third, an inevitable friend,
Could be but the worst of my foes:
For it is unarguably the end
That befalls all that a man knows.

The first balloon is my childhood,
That which is gone from me for life;
The second is but my youthhood,
And the one with which I still strive.

The third as it should, is old age—
If time spares me such to be spent;
My only balloon at every stage,
Is the priviledge of every moment.

“But when alas the priviledge of every moment is taken from me, and I have no memory to savour of my own existence, then somebody should remind me that I NEVER HAD ANY BALLOON!




Iconic Saint,
Behold your gown;
You spot sinners’ stains,
Yet your white is brown.
You know the Lord’s day,
And you set it apart;
But far from the Lord’s will,
Are the thoughts of your heart!

A priest indeed,
So you claim to be,
But right in your reins
Hides the worst iniquity!
‘Twas just a night ago
That a poor boy still wept—
Because of your molestations
And the secrets to be kept!

O what an irony
Of its utmost kind,
That in the house of God
A monster should be found!
Indeed as it is written,
So must Judgement start:
From them who are the first
Down to the very last!

Iconic Saint,
The Devil’s incarnate;
Be it known to you,
That you’re hell’s candidate!
And unless you repent
And cry for forgiveness—
The sceptre is taken from you,
And given to someone else!

“Iconic Saint, the Devil’s incarnate: when The Judgement starts, it will surely start with you!”



___day_and_night____by_ytse80If the day was my lady
And the night my wife,
I’d have the sun for a baby
And the moon all my life.

If the day was my prayer
And the night my wish,
I’d live every day forever
On heights none could reach.

If the day was my talent
And the night my zest,
I’d never for a time repent
Of all I could do at best.

If the day was my ending
And the night my start,
I’d from the very beginning
Bear its date on my heart.



If you can speak and not make speech your lies,
Or gifted with sight, you ensnare not your eyes;
If you can hear and not by listening be corrupt,
Or being generous, you fear not to go bankrupt;
If you can rise when others choose to go down,
Or being truthful, prefer to be called a clown;
If you can learn and not make knowledge a curse,
Or being curious, make no vain pursuit your boss;
If you can try and not in trying found wanting,
Or faced with failure, you stop not to keep living;
If you can love and not for once resort to hate,
Or being betrayed, choose not to curse your fate;
If you can ask and not by getting be doomed,
Or when at lack, not given to a hopeless mood;
If you can soar higher and remain humble still,
Or terribly tempted, lose not your precious will;
If you can count for each loss, a blessing—two,—
And do same with your luck and misfortunes too;
If you can behold yourself and smile all night,
Reassuring yourself that all shall be alright;
If you can bear to hold none in mind for a foe,
Or when any is found, you let such a hurt go;
If you can rule and not misuse the throne,
But having it all, consider none as your own;
If you can love and enjoy your own company,
Or when around others, disrespect not any;
If you can err and not be too proud to repent,
But after forgiven, treasure such a moment;
If you can be quiet to hear a minor speak,
—Kind enough to listen throughout the week;
If you can go an extra mile for love’s sake,
And the road otherwise, you would not take;
If you can do something worthwhile for free,
Or being paid, you add a bonus for three;
If you can ask for little but desire to do more,
Or tho’ incapable, find something to live for;
If you can live so good you have no regret,
Or met with griefs, you quietly kneel to forget—
The world, I tell you, is yours my friend,
If like these you could live from now till the end.
Inspired by: “IF” (Rudyard Kipling)