Life, a gift

Is anything worth it any more

When did the burden became so heavy

That keeping afloat became a struggle

Are we born with the egoes we cherish

And pay the price of nurturing it

In silence we suffer the lonliness

Desperate cries for help buried deep, unheard

Downward spiral of depression lurks in the shadows

Damaged, we lurch from day to day

A gripping fear pervades

And we still clutch to our ego

Ego, that’s the greatest obstacle

To build and sustain a lasting,

Loving, trusting, beautiful relationship

Why hold on to something

Neither we brought with us

Nor are we going to take along

Banish the fear, exile the shame

Open your heart

And allow the light to shine

Life is a gift not to be squandered

Life, a gift, is worth the fight

Black is Beautiful

As I survey far and wide
Sitting high on my perch
Resplendent in my
God given color
That I flaunt
With pride
Won’t give an inch
I will fight
With all my might
For my rights


This photo was taken by the author on December 25, 2018 at Desert View Point parking lot in Grand Canyon Desert View drive.  I was struck by the beauty of the bird’s jet black color and could not care less attitude.

Warriors

Warriors they call themselves, fighting for a cause
All they know is to fight, without any pause
Rattling their sabers, they march on and on
Rain or shine, for the cause they will fight on
In God they believe, human lives matter not
Orders they follow blindly, whether right or not
Righteousness is not a virtue, morally corrupt lot
Sold their souls to the devil, martyrs they are not

Warriors to be for peace and truth, never in their thoughts


Week 15 of My Fifty Two Weeks Journey with “W”

WRITE ANYTHING WEDNESDAY – MAY 11TH, 2016

WIMP

 

Disclaimer: Complete work of fiction, character in the poem does not have any resemblance to any known human being.

Wimp, you are a wimp, the bullies yell
If they would have known the hell
My entire life that I am going through
Probably they would not be yelling though

Why do I never pick up a fight
I am not afraid to stand up for my rights
Made promise to my mother that I have to keep
Please do not pick up a fight and make me weep

When all I have to do is push back and yell
Imagine my pain with what I have to deal
Mortified that I have to bear all the insults
Pray to God that I can face the results

Whimsical I am not, I am thoughtful
In my own world I remain blissful
Mad at myself, with every insult I silently weep
Please, now that you know, don’t call me a wimp


Week 13 of My Fifty Two Weeks Journey with “W”

Write Anything Wednesday 4-27-2016