When a baby is born
When a baby came to into the world
When they came into existence in the true world
They came with joyous sound
Yes people say they cry
Thats a cry of joy
They came out singing for joy
They came out with different tones and musics
The lyrics of there songs is unexplainable
They music only defines happy moment
They sing and dont warry
They propagate and catalyses the happiness of there parents
The only true definition of the music is happiness


Oh the joy of a baby
As they are born
They dont know pain
They dont know sorrow
They dont know deciet
They dont keep malice for people
They had no enemies
They accept there parents for who they are
They dont care if they are rich or not
Tall or short
Black r white
Blind or not
Deaf or dumb
They came out with total acceptance
They are true definition of been innocent

All they know is sing for joy
All they know is smile
All they know is shout of joy
All they know is play
All they know is that the world meant happiness

They dont have any problems
But they are solution to a problem
They solve problem of barreness
They restore joy and happiness to there parents
They dont hate
Rather they love
They dont discriminate
Rather they accommodate
They dont course
Reather they bless the family

As they grow day by day
They got prettier,handsome and beautiful
As they grow
The joy of the family also grow
They sing with passion
They cry out with loud voice
They they cry out saying.....
Describing how beautiful the world is
The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever

Sometimes i wish i could turn  back the hands of time and go back being a baby
Sometimes i wish i could go back to my mothers womb and be born again
Just to enjoy the feelings of been a baby
I wish i could turn back the rotation and the revolution of the earth on its axis
Yet all this are impossible
If am given three wishes
First is to go back as a baby
Second will be going back as a baby
Third will be going back as a baby
The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever

Before you go trust  in me
follow the warm Autumn fade
watch the geese to their journeys end.
Warry words I will not speak.
I shall return and talk of love
Our story is yet to be told.

It had happened so long ago
None now there could recall
How or why the helmets and armor
Lay at the bottom of the shallow sea

Like clockwork at dusk
Such relics would wash ashore
Battered, rusted and torn
To lay on the white sand beach

The children of the nearby village
Loved to pick the prettiest pieces
And bring them back as souvenirs
To decorate their little huts

The adults of the village didn't mind
But they were warry of certain obiects
Namely the black boxes and drums
Full of pointed or rounded cylinders

Years ago thinking it to be junk
A villager threw one such box in a fire
The result sounded like a great host
Of lightning striking over and over

Some of the villagers thought
The boxes could be used to make fire
But none of them yet have deciphered
How the strange objects work

No, for the most they are content
Living in their riverside village
Happy and oblivious
That the world ended long ago

Before you go trust in me,
follow the warm Autumn fade.
Watch the geese to their journeys end.
Warry words I will not speak.
I shall return and talk of love.
Our story is yet to be told.

Jenifer Jenifer
slipped did it thru the cracks say
ouncing the warry
like a ruler exposed
the yardstick
thin inches
kind of a sign
of the age

Like a giant balloon
that cant be burst
you've rejected me again.
It starts with a click of interest
on your profile page,
pursuing is virtual
like a  voyeurs' pinhole,
vague and dissected,
yet avoiding contact,
no personal messages are sent

If they meet you
I recall a heavy burden,
of them not replenishing the hour,
coming with heavy overloads,
time warry or just plain preoccupied,
not generous with their time:
a discord of anothers hope

His mousing days gets longer
His instinctive prey is abetted
by a seeming maturity

He sits on the garage roof
warry of any stray diversion
in his dominion
He suffers no time for fools

He is his own plaything
being innocent
of giving pain

I am the rose that grew amongst the daisies.  
I always stood out from the rest.
For so many years I hated myself.
Why God?
Why make me a rose , and not a Daisy like the rest of them?
I stayed angry with God.
Why ?
I just want to know why?!
I have to have soil just so.
I have to keep the bugs at bay.
I have to be warry of the weeds.
I have to seek the sunshine.
And the daisies?
They stay looking fresher than I.
And these thorns i was given-- is that meant  to protect me ?
Or to keep them away?
Why God?
I just want to be like the daisies.
Trade my wilting crimson petals for the snow white ones.
To be like them-- to be one of them.  
And for once be admired not from a distance--
I guess what I'm saying is;  
when will a rose be wanted and not feared?