Her body, tired.
Her limbs, overworked.
Her baby, forever wailing.

Laying bricks around,
That's who she is.
The little lady,
Who puts houses together
But couldn't build her own life.
That's who she is,
Forced to survive,
Forced to be something
That she was never born to become.

She goes to sleep after washing off the dust,
That she knows will collect in the same places tomorrow
And the day after that,
And the day after that,
And the lifetime after that.

Laying down the concrete,
That's who she is.
The old young lady,
Who mixes cement for a living
But couldn't glue her life back together.

Anger, one of the worst rival of human.
Anger, one of the best motivating force.
Both sides leads to destruction,
One single moment and end of the healthy reputation.
So, self control is the best companion.

Every time, the state I feel like,
I've lost something,
really precious,
really valueable,
and that meant something
in my life,
which had some value,
I get lost in myself,
with the activation of my brain,
I ask with my soul,
Is this the end?
and the answer I get,
really cheers me up!!

Handing out sandwiches in the poorest part of town. Giving words of comfort over the phone. Helping to find a place for someone who has lost everything. These are the building blocks of hope. When a life is destroyed and torn apart. These things are what will put a foundation back under someones feet. To know kindness still exist and to see unconditional love removes suffering and pain. Despite all appearances, even the smallest thing can light a candle in a dark room When the spark of mercy is ignited, the light will dispel the darkness. This leads to healing, which is the way to begin mending a broken life.

He sits all alone
Watching people walk by
Into the buildings that came from his mind
No one knows
And they wouldn't understand
Why he sits all alone now by the trash cans
He'll work all day for no pay at all
With no place to go home to
And no place to shower
He'll walk the rail rode tracks at the midnight hour
When the stars start to dim and there's a glimpse of mornings first light
He'll rest his aching feet and ponder his life
A routine now becoming one of comfort
He works all day
and wonders all night
Unable to silence his longing inside
This has become his life

Impure is my mind,
The gnawing desires,
Unfulfilled, weakening neurally
My being, second by second.
Not millions of them
A dozen, may be.
Whom can I disclose,
Gripped with fear,
Of getting trapped
For lives?