This may sound just as real. Maybe not exactly how you feel, But sometimes it cuts through, Your heart, and you know it’s true. Many times we are on our own. From work, via traffic back home. We struggle enough to earn our money, So that we can afford milk and honey. We do all the hard work that pays, Wake up and makeup for seven days. We face disappointment in may ways, And we don’t see the hands of grace. So we accept responsibility, And respect the natural laws. Building on strengths and not the flaws, Holding on to every single opportunity. You look at your friends circle, And history of your family cycle. So where is this thing called miracle? Or should I ask rather, Where is the god factor? Those are just the margins; The experience of that near-miss. The instances you call luck, Just for getting what you lack, Quickly and nicely than you imagine. Has a stranger helped you before? Have you ever stumbled but didn’t fall, Or panted for air and never got more? Even if you don’t beli...
It is in our hands to sow, sew or sue. Yet, we are not to fight or write a writ. Are we enabled to pursue or ensue? And can we then make everything alright? Questions are asked without reply, Queries filled with no response. So each road we daily ply, Has given us good reasons for despond. So I ask, why do we fail? Which one is noisy, the train or the railway? Who then deserves answers if we all pray? A hungry predator, or the peaceful prey? We fail because we gently desire, What we have to brutally acquire. And seek to hear lies, From those we call allies. We are asking instead of commanding, And knocking on doors already unlocked. We reap where we wouldn’t have sown. And wear garments we couldn’t have sewn. We shall fail no more, If we clean our clothes and wash our hands ashore. Let each one himself as a god, regard. And his neighbor as himself, guard. Let’s not pretend to be hungry after eating from the pot and wipe our lips with sand.