everyday you pick up the hammer
you hit on the head of the nail
words surround you madly clamor
you can't make head or tail.

rarely the nail penetrates the wall
oftener it breaks by the blow
all that's hidden inside the skull
more refuse than pour out to flow.

you drive the nail's head with your might
wishing it goes all the way
miss in the wrath to hit it right
fail in what you badly need to say.

the hammer gets blunt slows your hand
you are saddened no progress is made
on the next day the same place you stand
looking at the twisted nail's head.

There are many strings to my heart
Nudge them and pull them apart
Music will always hold them
And play its ancient harp

Tiredness is okay
Don't feel bad if you are tired at the end of a long day
Lay down in your cozy bed
Let the covers drown you in laziness
If you are tired rest
Because you deserve it

What she whispers to the deity

in her daily evening prayer
from her lips' quiver
I try to hear

I try to understand
what she asks of her god
with folded hands

is it her own welfare she prays
begs from the deity
well being of her family
wealth and safety

or her prayer is not that small
she asks god for the good of all

I am not sure
but deep within feel
her prayer is pure

through years of asking
but never receiving
she has quit
praying for any specific thing

she prays as a need
as an inseparable thought
whether god heeds her
or not.