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"costliest" poems
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself... If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure? While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building. He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all. ° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed. ° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule. ° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal. But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death. But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
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May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
Taj Mahal - An Epitome Of Love?
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself... If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure? While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building. He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all. ° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed. ° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule. ° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal. But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death. But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
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In the darkness of constricting depression I begged the Lord to give me joy even if it killed me, and He promised me it most assuredly would, for this is joy’s mantra: “Death to self!” It is simply not possible to know the deepest kind of joy until we have experienced the anguish of death to self with a cruel stake of affliction though our hearts. For it is there on the altar of sacrifice when we have finally surrendered what is most dear to us, when we have willingly brought our costliest gifts to lay humbly at the feet of the King, that we are raised up to know firsthand His resurrection joy through the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings. No one who has ever truly learned that “to live is Christ and to die is gain” has ever escaped this path. Find me even one. There is nothing quite like rejection to teach us about God’s love, nothing quite like loss to teach us of His joy, nothing like storms to teach peace, nothing like ruined plans to teach patience, nothing like loneliness to teach kindness, nothing like failure to teach us of His goodness, nothing like betrayal to teach faithfulness, nothing like being completely misunderstood to teach gentleness and nothing like humiliation to teach us self-control. Why is this? Because there is nothing like pain to chase us to Jesus and to teach us to rely so helplessly on His Spirit’s filling. And when we have His filling, we will know His fruit.
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Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
~ Joy's Mantra ~
for Lori, Riley and Kendrick the questioning words jump off the page, into two hands transforming, words shape shifting into multicolored ink stained fingers, now, all a chokehold on my brain, my throaty gasps rasping from a simplistic convolution - single questioning deserving an answer what are you made of? the obvious answers left in the slow lane, bone, tissue, rivers and arteries of blue bloods, just oil and fuel of a containership, but the cargo carried, that’s the real stuff you have insight inside that cannot be seen, self-survival instincts that morph into morals, our shared air affects you differently, a sense of defending, caring, costless  and costliest simultaneously, spaghetti strands strong sinewed intertwining, into a better human than most to call you hero is wrongly insufficient, but the thesaurus lends me no substitute, weep, I do, as the spring and summer blushing green will not be seen by you at all, and by me, seen now so differently, when thinking of soil-born courage instinctual that has no name, but grows only in nature what are you made of? we know now, but knew not well, that thing that makes you leap first, was all you, the entirety of the best, that exists, existed, as reminders to us, to mine it, wear it, medal it upon our fabric *you three, breathe it back, exhale it from where ever you are, that trace chemical odor in our atmosphere, of life-giving sweetness, a rebirthing chlorophyll freedom that we humans all desperately need, even just to know it exists, and inform us* what we need to be made of
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May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 5:43 PM UTC
for three who saved: what are you made of?
for Lori, Riley and Kendrick the questioning words jump off the page, into two hands transforming, words shape shifting into multicolored ink stained fingers, now, all a chokehold on my brain, my throaty gasps rasping from a simplistic convolution - single questioning deserving an answer what are you made of? the obvious answers left in the slow lane, bone, tissue, rivers and arteries of blue bloods, just oil and fuel of a containership, but the cargo carried, that’s the real stuff you have insight inside that cannot be seen, self-survival instincts that morph into morals, our shared air affects you differently, a sense of defending, caring, costless  and costliest simultaneously, spaghetti strands strong sinewed intertwining, into a better human than most to call you hero is wrongly insufficient, but the thesaurus lends me no substitute, weep, I do, as the spring and summer blushing green will not be seen by you at all, and by me, seen now so differently, when thinking of soil-born courage instinctual that has no name, but grows only in nature what are you made of? we know now, but knew not well, that thing that makes you leap first, was all you, the entirety of the best, that exists, existed, as reminders to us, to mine it, wear it, medal it upon our fabric *you three, breathe it back, exhale it from where ever you are, that trace chemical odor in our atmosphere, of life-giving sweetness, a rebirthing chlorophyll freedom that we humans all desperately need, even just to know it exists, and inform us* what we need to be made of
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1. Should'st thou, in grip of dread disease, Foresee the day when thou must die, With no more hope of life or ease, But only, lingering, to lie While torturing hours go slowly by; Thy brain awake, thy nerves alive To thine extremest agony, And all in vain to rave or strive: — O my beloved, if this should be, Call me — and I will set thee free. 2. ****** And thou to judgment hurled — Cut off from some few days of grace — Thus will it be to that hard world Which fits one law to every case, And dooms all rebels to disgrace. But to us twain, who stand above Conventioned rules, unbound, unclassed, A solemn sacrament of love, More true than kisses in the past — Love's costliest tribute, and the last. 3. Thy grateful hand, unclenched, shall seek The hand that gave thee thy release; Thy darkening eyes shall dumbly speak Of scorching pangs that sink and cease — Of anguish drowned in rest and peace. And I that terrible farewell, Despairing but content, shall take, Knowing that I have served thee well — I, that would dare the rack and stake, The flames of hell, for thy dear sake. 4. The law may hang me for my crime, Just or unjust, I'll not complain. 'Twere better than to live my time Bereaved and broken, and to wane, Slow inch by inch, in useless pain; Alone, unhelped, uncomforted, In mine own last extremity; No faithful lover by my bed To do what thou would'st do for me. And I shall want to die with thee.
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2.9k
A Promise
I set a paper rocket flyin', and it hurtled into space breaking off gravity - all the way to Mars orbity! Now everyone's surprised, coz a mere paper rag flew up high and reached that rarefied lile where only the costliest of junkets lounge leisurely by. They said you're stupid, you got a paper twit to beg and you've wampered even that away: how dares a hungry haggard send missives down the skies? I stand staring, starry eyed. This is an old squint, that I got learning to look the other way as my brothers starved and pottered on the streets when cotton and coal funneled to Manchester leets. But last heard, papa John's makin' paper boats to swim by them snooty stars and there's a scramble at my yards to get some ******* to the Moon.
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Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
Old squint
By: Sverre G. Holter & Digital Asylum I| I am a man. I was put on Earth to bleed from my hands. Work is my virtue. I only sleep well If I'm exhausted. Your food and shelter is my gain. My sweat is the salt on our table. II| I am a man, but also child with a paper-mache heart and sandcastle dreams, a child wishing for later tides while we play splashing in and out of the waves but the tide always comes, and castles crumble, and we we tell ourselves that there's no need for fear because we will build stronger walls tomorrow III| Today is our day though Let us work at love. Let us play with love. Let us dance until our feet Blister and we collapse Laughing into each other's arms in equal fatigue. All I want is you. All I have is you. All I've never lost is love. It is our costliest toy; Unbroken IV| Unbroken it may be for now yet the time will come, as with all good things where life and love will come to its bitter end our lives will have ran their course and in that moment, we will know and be known we will laugh our last laugh we will drink and be merry knowing we loved and were loved and as the water comes washing in we still stand behind walls of sand and we will face the tide together unafraid
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Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
Work Play Love Die
Experience is the artisan of wisdom Time is the costliest therapist. Adaptability is the highest virtue of evolution. Truth abides in the seeker. Greatness is the purposeful accumulation of the mundane. Wisdom is a basket woven from the inane. Discomfort is the seed of growth. Science is the art of quantification. Art is the science of unquantifiable expression. Time is the rations of life. Marry fear; courage and achievement are her offspring. Misfortune is a chain to the fool, but a **** to the wise.
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May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
Aphorisms
'More than my brothers are to me,'-- Let this not vex thee, noble heart! I know thee of what force thou art To hold the costliest love in fee. But thou and I are one in kind, As moulded like in Nature's mint; And hill and wood and field did print The same sweet forms in either mind. For us the same cold streamlet curl'd Thro' all his eddying coves; the same All winds that roam the twilight came In whispers of the beauteous world. At one dear knee we proffer'd vows, One lesson from one book we learn'd, Ere childhood's flaxen ringlet turn'd To black and brown on kindred brows. And so my wealth resembles thine, But he was rich where I was poor, And he supplied my want the more As his unlikeness fitted mine.
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957
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 079
**A hitchhiker, he sits in a roadside shack, with a song on his lips, a jewel, a chance find from the heap of trash, in front is in his hands, just back after chasing a rainbow, in an aircraft crossing sound barrier, he found it's made of droplets of water and hopes yet to be fulfilled, the moments invaluable she gifted to him, he'll never measure, with anything other than emotions pricier than the costliest diamond, the moments he gifted her from his repository of secrets in his heart, takes many births to make it ripe like that, he understands. He has no apologies for anyone for anything, everything happens with the mathematical precision, mind sets in motion. Each moment has something to offer, if one hesitates, the plate goes on changing hands and someone takes it. He doesn't stop smiling, sun and moon, with their rare moments of unequal beauty, are his darlings, he decides what he wants to take feels the flow on mind, soul, veins and everything moves, don't you fail to be aware, you are an endless flow, he tells himself, quantum of energy, in perceptual synchronized motion, from waves to dancing waves of the limitless cosmic ocean.**
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Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
The Dance of the Waves
The Sparrows chirping during the dawn And the light rays were falling from the sun The way a wind blew on me  I just observed I was under a tree  I felt if I was a part of nature Wealthier and wealthier than the costliest treasure I wished I could sit there forever  And stare the crow which is so much clever A squirell than came near me to sit And I gave some apricots for to eat All these things changed the day for me  And gave much pleasure to enjoy being free
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Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC
The Dawn Of Joy
Seeing Creditor on road Principal in classroom Ex-girlfriend with husband Affair exposed to wife Enemy's death Daughter want of costliest toys Credit card bill in wife hands...
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Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
Silence