A somber setting of a light gone by,
As I wipe away the tears that I've cried.

A past.
A lesson,
That won't be forgotten,

I've gotten these feelings before,
But never quite like this,

I insist,
That you leave.

And let me breathe,
For a moment.

All at once, the step that I sat upon shattered and scattered my heart,
Pick up the pieces, this is only the start.

Welcome to my mind,
Where passion is fleeting, while I walk through the halls of my losses and I learn.

Stand up.
You've gotten this far,
Press forward.
Keep writing.

This is my art.

~Robert van Lingen

प्यार देखने में सबको अधूरा लगता है,
पर इसे समझने में जीवन पूरा लगता है,
सच्चा प्यार हो तो ज़िन्दगी सवर जायेंगी,
और झूठा हो तो टूट कर बिखर जायेंगी,

ये ढाई अक्षर नही,ज्ञान का भंडार है,
ये सिर्फ शब्द नही,अमरता का वरदान है,
सच्चा प्यार तो ईश्वर को भी रास आती है,
यू ही नहीं गोपियाँ कभी मीरा तो कभी राधा कहलाती है,

आँखों से शुरू होता,पर तड़पना इस दिल को पड़ता है,
कभी उनकी याद में रोता, तो कभी अकेले में आहें भरता है,
कभी अश्क़ बन आंखों से टपक जाता है,
तो कभी सिसकियाँ बन दिल मे ही दब जाता है,

कोई प्यार को चाहत ,तो कोई इसे रोग कहता है,
पर दिल बिन कुछ कहे ही सबकुछ समझ लेता है,
इस ढाई अक्षर ने किसी को कवि तो किसी को शायर बना डाला,
जिसने इसको समझा उसने जग में अपना नाम कर डाला.........


लोग कहते है प्यार न करना क्योंकि ये अधूरा होता है,
पर हम कहते है सच्चे दिल से कर के देखो जरूर पूरा होता है....

मनीष श्रीवास्तव.........✍
https://youtu.be/JxphAW9b53Y

We walk through a desert:
Bone dry and sterile,
For mile after mile.
Trudging endlessly
Through emptiness.

But then we see it!
A tiny stalk
Forcing through the claggy sand.
Life!
Nature so determined
To break through
Anything.
Giving us Hope
Of better things.
And sure enough: we find there’s more and more
Until we are surrounded
By lush green trees.

Spring is just like this.
Hardy plants pushing through the soil.
Tight buds that slowly open
As Mother Nature wakens
From her icy slumbers.
Hope gives way to warmth
As Winter is banished
At last
For another year.

Spring is such a time of promise.
Looking forward to summer days,
Lounging in the sun.
We enjoy our Easter eggs
In the knowledge
That Whitsuntide is coming,
And then the “Summer Hols”.
It’s time to smile.

Paul Butters

© PB 7\4\2018.

The stories,
The worries laid to bear,
Fade and pass,
Fade and pass.

At last I find my strength,
What am I meant to be?
We will see.

When I breathe I will move the Earth,
When I speak I will burn the fires that held me back,
I will turn cracks to canyons,
The Rockies will tremble at my march,
The cliffs of Dover will turn to sand.

So,
Here I am.

Try to stop me.

~ Robert van Lingen

People playing out time.
They work all day
Doing mundane jobs.
Passively watch the telly
And play on their mobile phones.
Week in week out:
Same routine,
With the odd break.

So what is The Purpose
Of all this?
We have our struggles and strifes,
Our glorious wins –
All forgotten once we go.
Generation follows generation,
Each an essay
At the game of Life.
So I ask again,
What is The Purpose?
I've asked this most of my life.

All I can say,
Scratching my head,
Is that we are here just
To Appreciate
The Beauty
Of our Universe,
This World we call “Earth”
And all that Mother Nature
Creates.

We must meditate on this
And make more music.
Listen to our Muses
Then sing, paint, write, sculpt
Or whatever Art
We care
To flow
From our souls.
Amen.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\4\2018.

All too often, we will title
books that won't be wrote, just idle.

Everybody wants to call it,
when it will be nothing, stalled, it
won't have pages written steady,
won't have concepts, base or heady.

It it's read, call yourself lucky,
many writers remain stuck, see
writer's block, the crafty murd'ress
takes your drive and quick submerges.

It'll stay none, it won't take form,
just grows cold, it never stays warm.

To succeed, you have to conquer
all your fears, and don't you squander
any effort on convincing
yourself that you're no good, wincing
from the pain of dreams abandoned,
are you real, or just a stand-in?

Fear will grab you, if you're lonely.
Gentle tendrils sigh "if only",
only what? You gripped the paper?
Grabbed the pen, became the maker?

If you leave your dreams to idle,
all you'll have will be the Title.

See the grandeur of our universe:
Flocks of far-flung galaxies,
Shrouded by clouds of swirling gas.

A vastness too great to comprehend,
Filled with solar systems
That defy imagination.

Yet none of this is as wondrous
As a tiny bug:
A “lickle life form”
That can look around
And say to itself
(In a language of its own):
I am here.
This is my world.
No idea what is beyond
What I can sense,
But I know I’m here.
And even the greatest galaxy
Cannot do that.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\3\2018.