"undertake" 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!
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
Do you cut your birthday cake?
Do you know your birthday is fake?
Don't continue to make the mistake
It's time for you to now awake!
Ask your mother when you were born
You were kicking weeks before and this went on and on
You were alive long back, she knows
And even science has pictures as the embryo grows
Nine months before your so-called date of birth
That is when you actually came to earth
Then you didn't have blood, bone, and skin
You were just a Power, the spark within
But because you believed in the birthday lie
You believed that there were ghosts and fairies in the sky!
Every year you continue to cut your birthday cake
You don't realize the truth, just believe what is fake!
When will you, to the truth, awake?
When will you stop baking your birthday cake?
When you realize that nine months earlier you were born
Then to stop cutting the cake, will you undertake?
Although you know that it is not your date of birth
You came forty weeks before as the zygote on earth
But you just choose to follow the herd
You don't investigate, don't fly like a bird
You don't ask the question, 'Who am I?'
If the body came later, then, 'I am the body,' is a lie
I was that Energy Spark that first came to earth
Not on my so-called birthday is my real birth
In what way will this news make us awake?
Why this big fuss about the birthday cake?
When we realize we are not the body or the mind
Then, Self-Realization we will find
If you are not the body that developed on earth
You realize you are that spark, that's your real worth!
That spark is Energy, that spark is the Soul
To realize this is our life’s ultimate goal
After the spark, starts as a little zygote
Our body is created, be it man or goat
We are not the bodies that we seem to wear
The bodies will live and die and tear
One day, every ‘body’ must die
The one who was alive will depart into the sky
The body that is made of skin and bone
Returns to ashes, as people mourn
We are not that body that died, were we?
People say, 'He passed away', and we are free
They are so sure in the body we no more live
To the flames or to the coffin, our body they give!
If we are not the body that will one day surely die
If we were not born on our birthday, that is a lie!
If we are that spark conceived nine months before birth
Then who is it that on death leaves the earth?
The Soul, the Divine Spirit, the Atman is that spark
To give us life from birth to death is its task
It arrives at conception and departs at death
We are that Power that gives us breath
When you do a simple thing like stop cutting a cake
When you investigate and realize that your birthday is fake
You realize you are the Soul, you are no more vague
To the ultimate truth, you will awake
This Realization is the real beginning of the journey called life
It will liberate us from all misery and strife
When we realize we are not body, ego, and mind
Eternal Happiness and Peace, we will find
Just because we were taught many things that were lies
We believe that God lives in the skies
The birthday cake will make us realize
We will live as the Soul, we will be wise
So, from now don't cut your birthday cake
Don't continue to be ignorant for God's sake
Realize that your birthday is fake
You are the Divine Soul, to this truth awake
Sep 16, 2022
Sep 16, 2022 at 4:25 AM UTC
A letter of intent, so clear, addressing me
written in exquisite feminine form,
in the script of love, her eyes encrypted;
only I'll be entitled to read it, none else,
and undertake the next delicate move.
It comes gliding towards me, isn't it magic?
Nothing unexpected this , in fact two pair of eyes
for a cool one week,did negotiations in intense silence
pregnant with desire, culminating in love,
the scent of love
elates, it's in the morning air, binds us together, wafts!
Yes, you are the wild flower, the honeybee is here.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
I know lots of girls who cut
and ask them how they do it,
for it's such a brave feat to undertake
but they say there's nothing to it.
They're not afraid of blood loss,
or ripping apart their skin,
to have this be your only escape
what predicament could they be in?
So simply think of a time when you were bad
and about the pain you deserve,
and with each precise, thin, clean cut
your guilt goes away, unheard.
And then when ****** gaps close up
and the healing's coming far,
then you'll have some company to keep
for it's now and your scars.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
Help Lord, for godly men have took their flight,
And left the earth to be the wicked's den:
Not one that standeth fast to Truth and Right,
But fears, or seeks to please, the eyes of men.
When one with other fall's to take apart,
Their meaning goeth not with their words in proof;
But fair they flatter, with a cloven heart,
By pleasing words, to work their own behoof.
But God cut off the lips, that are all set,
To trap the harmless soul, that peace hath vow'd;
And pierce the tongues, that seek to counterfeit
The confidence of truth, by lying loud:
Yet so they think to reign, and work their will,
By subtle speech, which enters every where:
And say, our tongues are ours, to help us still,
What need we any higher power to fear?
Now for the bitter sighing of the poor,
The lord hath said, I will no more forbear,
The wicked's kingdom to invade and scour,
And set at large the men restrain'd in fear.
And sure, the word of God is pure, and fine.
And in the trial never loseth weight;
Like noble gold, which, since it left the mine,
Hath seven times passed through the fiery straight.
And now thou wilt not first thy word forsake,
Nor yet the righteous man, that leans thereto;
But will't his safe protection undertake,
In spite of all, their force and wiles can do.
And time it is, O Lord, thou didst draw nigh,
The wicked daily do enlarge their bands;
And that, which makes them follow ill a vie,
Rule is betaken to unworthy hands.
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1070
To undertake is to achieve
Be Undertaking blent
With fortitude of obstacle
And toward encouragement
That fine Suspicion, Natures must
Permitted to revere
Departed Standards and the few
Criterion Sources here
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O my mind,
Worship the lotus feet of the Indestructible One!
Whatever thou seest twixt earth and sky
Will perish.
Why undertake fasts and pilgrimages?
Why engage in philosophical discussions?
Why commit suicide in Banaras?
Take no pride in the body,
It will soon be mingling with the dust.
This life is like the sporting of sparrows,
It will end with the onset of night.
Why don the ochre robe
And leave Home as a sannyasi?
Those who adopt the external garb of a Jogi,
But do not penetrate to the secret,
Are caught again in the net of rebirth.
Mira's Lord is the courtly Giridhara.
Deign to sever, O Master.
All the knots in her heart.
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Three Nails (...)
Not so many as to denounce
A job done to make me well.
Three rudimentary spikes to nail
A man's own flesh to wood.
Three nails cannot
Seem so much to proffer;
Human efforts complementing
God's sacrificial offer.
A self-inflicted crucifixion?
Yes, I would do my part;
Would do me good, I think,
To offer up an offering to God.
So let this painful work,
Human endeavoring,
Perfection capturing,
Begin.
A simple thing, I think,
To hoist and hammer
Nails into myself,
A manly job to undertake
Impaling self
To spare my God
A little work.
The first, perhaps
Most painful...
To stop the feet
Their wandering ways,
To give me pause for just a bit
To meditate in pain
And to reflect or to project
Myself in better ways.
.
Then on to nail number two,
One hand to hold the nail
And one the hammer.
The pain intense
Impacts my good intent.
.
And yet, I've nailed number two,
And finding where the problem lies,
I have no way to nail thrice.
My living flesh begins to writhe
Its will-ward way,
E'en though in sky-ward
Agony my soul now wails.
Then I remember
Someone said,
"Your crucifixion stands
Upon a different hill,
Hangs on a different tree."
. . .
Though I can never end my flesh,
He paid my debt for me.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
Expectations of gender stereotypes invoke the psychopath that lurks in the deepest recesses of my soul.
Maternal and paternal influences reek of disconnected ambivalence.
When I think of knowledge, I am reminded of apple pie.
I may not be able to undertake mechanical and electrical tasks, but I can truly profile.
Although our instincts may be somewhat dangerous, I am compelled to make those savoury simplicities that are characterised by yeast, cheese and the pride of a mother.
Have you ever been to Balmore?
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
Of man’s creations there are many,
A well cared for mature orchard
Is certainly one.
Be it generator of fruit or nuts,
Their perfect symmetry is bless,
Row upon row, standing tall,
Branches almost touching one,
Tree unto another,
Filled out and lushly dense,
As to block out the sun,
Ever striking the earth.
The ground beneath, around the trees,
Swept and manicured clean as a
Empty Billiard Table, awaiting the harvest.
Walk among these umbrella like trees
A tranquil quite abounds,
Recalling the peaceful interior of a church,
The songs of nesting birds the heavenly chorus.
A cool and shaded location, to be alone,
Well suited to meditation,
Or even composing a Poem.
Yet, oh how sad it truly is,
When an orchard goes abandoned,
Becoming the embodiment of apathetic neglect,
A bombed out city ruin of good intentions,
**** choked and cluttered,
Rotted Harvest and blackened branches,
Littering the unkempt ground.
Gone now from tranquil perfection,
To a dead and dying blight upon the land.
With no human hands to tend it,
Its glory is gone and the end is near.
Similar now to a spooky Cemetery,
No longer a space of serene splendor,
Or a place one might desire to undertake,
A meandering reflective stroll.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Yo its two thousand fifteen
And i still aint seen
No fuckin' progress
I wonda why i gotta keep a gat
And a vest
Fools aint playin' no more
I see the govs ready to score
They say pain is temporary
But how? When its so many in the cemetery
Loved ones and fallen ones
Im still eatin' bread crumbs
Off the floor tryna find the key to unlock the door
To my mind but im blind
Ask the Lord for sunshine
MY moms aint feelin' me
But i got my homies
N a pistol with me
I see visions at night
Im dead at least thats what my undertake said
******* homie?? Im feelin' lonely
My mind playin' tricks on meeeee
Next day i feel under the weather
Hopin' it'll get alittle better
Day dreamin' about last night
Still thinkin' its the reaper in my sight
Shake my head stand tall but i aint scared
So my family sends the preacher through
And tells me to tell him what im goin through
He said i need to go to church
But thats ********
Im havin' a spiritual fit
Cuz i just cant cope all that biblical ****
He says im wrong
I say **** him
And i grab the ****
Playin' ol gangsta *** songs
NWA ICe cube n Eazy E
Its soo sweet
Turn it up check the bass in the beat
As i fall asleep damnnb homie
My mind playin' tricks on meeee
Yo now im sleepin'
Here he comes the demon peepin'
Is it me?
Or my conscious speakin' to me?
Evil thoughts conflictin' war
All my enemies i see them in gore
Then of a sudden i ask the lord
What the **** am i hear for??
Tears running down mamas cheek
I wake up but i cant speak
Peep through the fuckin' window
Take another hit of the indo
I see myself lookin' at myself
Layin' in a casket
I drop the blunt then a flew
Try to rush and look for my crew
But they dead too
Walk througj the shadow of death
Take a deep breath
As my consciousness left
Suddenly I woke up in a scream
Touch myself n seen my cream
On the dresser i fill refresh sa
Im in a cold sweat
Called up my homies?
They right by me
And i said got **** homie
I had a bad dream
But all this time my mind
Was playin' tricks on meeeee
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
The day shook itself, sniffed the air and sprinkled sunlight on my face
I woke,washed,said grace and breakfasted on hand caught trout, which had rested in my summer house down by the lake.
I took a moment to spread my eyes and fell upon this freshly fried and salted feast I had made from scratch,as indeed I had made the thatch which kept the house cool in the middle of the noon.
Very soon, my roving mind opened up to find a trial to test and undertake,would I bake some bread for the later evening meal?
In my zeal I did not see the winter creeping up on me,before I passed two more full noons the moon had shed its happy mood and food was in a short supply.
I used to cry at this awesomeness that left me in an awful mess,
but I learnt to do and mend and tend what needed tending to and now the summer's through,my larders full of food enough to see me through the roughest stuff,that the season which is about,will throw at me.
I see an end,a beginning too,the stories we are told run through the central core,
we want ,then we must do much more
we need, and what is needing for? but to fill our fears with sand and stand alone with bellies full of stone,solid,stolid
in the thick of things that seasons change to bring we fend off everything that hurts the soul,
and in the maypole time when spring is feeling kind of fine and the larders bare,
Mother nature's there to fill it up again.
A bit more planning a bit less pain
less to lose and more to gain
the same each year as it has been
for ever.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
Loving you is like I'm falling in and out of a world where no one cares about emotions, dazed and confused about how or why these feelings come and go, there's something unexplained about this guy, He looks at me as if I were the only one around, his smile undertakes any sadness deep within my soul, his gorgeous eyes , hypnotic and sparkling .staring straight into them is like him seeing right through you , you want him to see your story but you are too afraid he might see those scars, you fought a Long Battle between yourself and, she takes a quick glimpse of him as he said. I know.. Your story. And you need to forgive and forget..those long lost battles with Yourself...
Even those scars will never fade nor be forgotten you can always say I am a warrior, I have fought. Through thick and thin, I've seen better
, I've seen worse but you , you have managed to pull through and throw away all of those meaningless, endless days of sorrow ,... We can undertake anything together.. Do You know why?? .. Because I am a warrior to.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 3:42 AM UTC
Dear R,
I hope you are doing well. I hope you are safe and happy and find all of the best things in life (i'd name them, but I haven't yet found them myself). I hope german life is treating you better than ever. I hope you make a million more friends there, though i don't really need to hope for, as you're sure to do it anyway. I hope you don't get too cold in winter. Make sure you have thick warm socks and sturdy boots. Sometimes it's best to walk on untrampled snow as it's less icy. I hope when you return here, or to Aus, you have a safe flight and get plenty of sleep. And that you don't get very jet lagged once you're home. I hope you read this. I hope you have a long happy and healthy life and you never want to die. I hope you wake up every morning smiling and go to sleep contented every night. I hope you feel full and content with everything you have in your life, and everything that is yet to come. I hope you stop feeling anxious. I hope you begin to understand how loved you are, by every person that has come in contact with your soul. I hope you realise how special you are, how unique, how kind and how loving. I hope you see how much you have to offer the world, and how happy you are able to make others. I hope every venture you undertake in life is successful. I hope i can visit your bakery one day. I hope you meet the most lovely girl, just like you, with an open heart and mind. I hope you fall deeply in love and reach a new level of happiness. I hope you spend many happy years together, perhaps marry, raise children and love them more than yourselves. I hope she is stable and has a good mind. I hope she is able to let herself be happy. I hope she doesn't doubt herself, hate anything or ever want to die. I hope you two never cry again. I hope she understands herself and her desires and her emotions. I hope she has feelings that never waver and are rational and make sense. I hope she is beautiful. I hope she never does anything to hurt or upset you, nothing silly or rash or unthoughtful. I hope she can plan a future with you that you both believe in, and that comes true. I hope she loves you unconditionally. I hope she holds your hand in public, and likes to play with your hair and that she's really good at video games. I hope you are happy. I hope she never lets you down. All my love.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
Stop the earth from spinning,
I will seek you beyond dawn.
'Til I find your delicate face,
Held in my loving embrace.
The journey our hearts undertake,
A lesson in dedication and sacrifice.
Whether you've given me all your heart,
Or never given me a second glance.
Know this is the truth from me,
Never leaving or failing.
I will be your reliability,
Rest easy in my arms.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
Hope and Sadness are evil twins,
Born out of the same egg.
Men undertake endeavours ,
Accompanied by the elder twin, Hope
Guiding men to explore more,
Seek more and sweat more.
Time pass by unnoticed,
And the burden of past starts hurting man's will.
To the blurry eyes goals become chimeral.
Disappearing hope leaves big scars,
To be filled by the younger twin, Sadness.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
In the third-class seat sat the journeying boy,
And the roof-lamp’s oily flame
Played down on his listless form and face,
Bewrapt past knowing to what he was going,
Or whence he came.
In the band of his hat the journeying boy
Had a ticket stuck; and a string
Around his neck bore the key of his box,
That twinkled gleams of the lamp’s sad beams
Like a living thing.
What past can be yours, O journeying boy
Towards a world uknown,
Who calmly, as if incurious quite
On all at stake, can undertake
This plunge alone?
Knows your soul a sphere, O journeying boy,
Our rude realms far above,
Whence with spacious vision you mark and mete
This region of sin that you find you in,
But are not of?
1.4k
The city bus jostles down the street
On every other seat a *** rests
As I glance around I see shoes
Instead of bare feet.
As I glance around I see pants
Instead of shorts.
When I look down
I see my gladiators, fuchsia accented
When I look down
I see my ten piggies with coral paint
I ascend up to my loosely pleated
Polka-dotted, monochrome smock
Sliced in half by the strap of my
simple, salmon, cross-body satchel
Sitting ever so obediently at my hip
I reach to eliminate a treacherous itch
Feeling my perfectly formed pleat
A pleat adorned with a moss rose
Itching without disturbing a pleat
Is always a tricky task to undertake
I find myself asking if it's in my head
If it's floating through my mind
like the smoke of the mind altering substance
That floats through my brain
I glance around the stopped bus
No one is moving, we are stopped.
So why am I still jostling in my seat
Like the bus is jostling down the street?
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
For a modest subscription -
say, £100 a month -
you can receive my weekly newsletter
outlining the manner in which I undertake
to steal your jobs,
besmirch your womenfolk
(or menfolk, if you like),
impose my religion upon you,
undermine your financial system,
eat the swans in your local park,
raise/lower house prices (as your current need dictates),
contribute to a nameless sense of dread,
dilute your cherished national identity
and produce more illiterate children than the welfare state
can reasonably support.
I will do you this service
on the understanding
that you will stop attributing blame
to your undeserving neighbours
and get on with your life
like a decent human being.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 3:28 PM UTC
Whether we like it or not,
Friendship is a contract
Which, when mutually accepted,
Binds us closely together.
In friendship, we are bound emotionally,
We have a social bond
Which entails a responsibility
To care and be cared for;
To maintain and nuture,
To preserve the boundary's,
Hold to the mould,
And endure....
Endure beyond hardship,
Social discomfort,illness
And even death.
Trust me.....
To be a true friend
You must undertake this contract
And honour it indefinately.
You enter the roller coaster of emotion
Entailed with the close mortal link
With another soul.
Friendship, if taken seriously,
Is a heavy responsibility
But it's benefits bestow the participants
With the sure knowledge
Of a close warmth of contact,
Of understanding and dependability
And a confidence of spirit
In knowing that out there....
Someone very special cares.
M.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
I have value.
I am valuable.
Somewhere between when we first met, and when you first kissed me, I questioned my net worth
I have value
I am valu....
Able to decipher between the lines of your pleas and needs
I want to satisfy you.
I want to be the reason that you are content.
When you talk about what makes you happy,
I want to be one of the items that comes quickly to mind.
No hesitation
No thought
My name.
Comes out of your lips
Like fluid
Lips that I’ve kissed and bit and thought about kissing and wanted to kiss
Lips malleable between mine
I have value
I am valuable.
Begging you to let me into the sinuses of your heart and mind.
Begging you to let me into the places which you seek to hide
Wanting to know you completely.
I am not God.
Wanting to know your every thought and anticipate your every want or need
I am not God.
Even as I write this, I wonder what you’ll think
I wonder if I can create the image that I see in my mind in yours
I wonder if what we have is like inception
At first you think it’s one thing, but then you’re left unsure about all you thought you were sure about
I think the reason people have had a hard time getting to know me is because
I don’t even know me.
Who is _______
What makes up my core
I don’t know.
I think I’ve just been living in a shell
Afraid to venture out
Or not feeling equipped or ready to undertake this thing called life
I don’t want to hurt you
I don’t want to disappoint you.
These are things that I should be saying to God.
Somewhere along the lines of time
I have made you a.....
I am valuable
I have value
I began this piece
Hoping to be able to express what I am feeling
The heaviness of my heart
And anxiety weighing on my mind.
I have failed.
I wanted to become immersed in my emotions so when I arose I would be ok.
I am not.
I think I want you to like me so badly.
I’ve lost my value.
I’ve lost sight* of my value
I have value
I am available
Sometimes our subconscious types the things we suppress
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC
god is tugging at my sleeve. the weight added to the fabric adds an urgency to my steps. im sweating now, grappling with the burdensome presence of a creator. he whines and demands my attention. he cries when i cant pick him up off the ground. he asks for task after task of menial, worthless labor until i am face first on the dirt with exhaustion. my aura has grown squeamish with anticipation of his next tantrum. i walk on hand sharpened eggshells i myself have placed as he ordered, i live in a fortress of solitude, shame, exasperation, and fear. i retract myself from enjoyment, fulfillment, and success at the empty promises he gives to entrap me further. since birth i have upheld this responsibility. babysat my guardians. protected them from their own mistakes. leaving feels like abandoning an infant to destroy itself from the inside out. living for myself invokes nausea and confusion. how can i function without approval from the hellbeast that gave me life only to use it for his own? growth is the only freeing process by which i can loosen his grip on the fabric of my shirt. outgrow your creator, your fractorial parent, your burden you did not choose to undertake. slowly detach from his entrapment. slowly make your life worth living again.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 1:15 AM UTC
My teacher gave me a piece
by Hindemith
when I was newly a freshman
in her studio
and she told me to study it
and play it.
I took it from her
warily
and dissected the thing
until
I thought I might die
but didn't.
Yet today
as I was weary,
I spent a long time
simply playing intervals
until they were perfect and then
playing them until they were even more perfect
and made myself breathe all of my life into them until it felt utterly natural,
and then I thought that maybe I could
actually stand to have another look at this at this awful, bizarre,
beautiful music of mourning; after all, it doesn't sound so bad these days...
That is when I understood
why my teacher, in her wisdom,
had forced me to undertake this foreign,
fragmented funeral suite in the first place. For she knew then
what I see now
when I remember
and what I hear
when I practice
and what is like the ecstacy
of laying down a finally completed task--
with a secretive knowing that you'll return to it again by choice one day--
when I perform:
At the outset,
I was not good enough
to play it,
but I was good enough
to learn it.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
Poets of old sang of a garden so beautiful
Even time stops there to stand and stare
Its crystal springs will invigorate souls
Its fruits of nectar will sensually soothe
Its shades will induce a blissful sleep
Its flowers bloom to an infinite hue
To find this elusive garden so beautiful
A treacherous trek one must undertake
On unmarked trails and crumpling bridges
With blistered soles and grumbling stomachs
Short-cuts there are, but who knows to where
For no one's come back or reached the other end
Trek past meadows, valleys, fiords and peaks
Their beauty will compel you to stand and stare
The trees will call you to their fruits and shade
Tired limbs will beg you to rest and rejuvenate
So tarry a while, to enjoy the fruits and views
But tarry too long and you'll forget the way...
To that Garden ever so beautiful
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC