T'was eighty two wonderful years,
Before you left me with long tears,
As you flew to a place not near,
None of my cries you again hear.
My loneliness follows the hearse,
Your long loud silence made it worse,
You now speak only in my dreams,
Since your last bath watered the streams.
You flew away in November,
Twenty eighth, I still remember,
It can't be withered by winter,
Your remembrance, time can't hinder.
As long as the stars still twinkles,
I'll bethink you with my wrinkles,
Eulogies bespoke your goodness,
'Cos you lived good life to fullness.
With God your soul will ever stay,
Your death spoke more than you could say,
To your honour I'd live my days,
May God forever guide my ways.
Blessed And Highly Favored
Miracle Man
4/26/2024
I know that I’m blessed,
and highly favored.
Because my love for Jesus,
has never wavered.
When near death,
I returned from the brink.
God gave me thoughts,
about eternity to bethink.
He took from my thoughts,
those years I had wasted.
Giving me a new vision,
of remaining years untasted.
I’ve gone through much,
yet remain feeling blessed.
I wouldn’t have my testimony,
without God giving the test.
Meghalaya! How I bethink thee
To groweth and developeth 'longside thy company;
Thy past gl'rious days we're heavily chain'd
By the f'reign'rs, putting thee in pain,
Thy wealth and happiness we're taken hence
Putting thy people in w'rries'
Years and years has't gone by,
But thee madeth sloweth developeth;
At lasteth thee gain a did bite of freedom
And yet not fully regain'd
I bethink thee did get thy full freedom:
Only aft'r thee get thy owneth state;
Till anon thou art developing
And celebrating thy 51st anniv'rsary of statehood.
What is this lodging and people strangeth
Yond walketh but never see
Looking as the screen doest changeth
Laughing with mirth and glee
And roaring beasts runneth up the roads
Like dragons with hurtling and smoke
Gigantic monsters with heavy loads
May runneth down honest folk
Just to returneth to calmer times
Would maketh mine own journey pleasant
I feeleth yond hither I'm out of rhymes
I'm nay more than a peasant
Taketh me back to times more sane
The fifteen nineties art for me
I cannot writeth, nor bethink, nor remain
In twenty twenty three
Raise an anthem to them
Who shouts Mumbai Mumbai
Those in the first flush of life
Mother Indian's pride,
With all of its ache and gain;
Of its viles and sublimes.
Bombay Bombay
Every young Indian, of you bethink,
To take the pains of height attained,
By many a man gone back a time
Tis the young Indian's dream,
The very gleams
As to reach the height of fate
Indian's call to fame, Lovers flight to flame
Beauty seen in every late night show
From the cradling arms
Of a mother's love,
The eyes though dim
Are set afoot to fly.
Against the high and stormy gale,
The young Indian set his course t'assail
Always standing tall, with every fall so low
I'm not a young Indian
But I have heard of tales,
Of so great a people,
Full of strength and avarice
To take their fate in hands;
Bite off more that they can chew;
Yet for life and Mumbai,
They'd gladly never take a bow
~ Pursuit
Quotidian
(commonplace or ordinary)
Written: by Miracle man
October 19, 2020
I say this not intending to sound like some old cliché,
but most things are quotidian that lurk in my day.
I’ve never shown much interest in the latest scuttlebutt,
my comfort zone has mostly been the bottom of a rut.
I know lots of people but socializing isn’t my thing,
I face each day and whatsoever it might bring.
I value my privacy and use my alone time to think,
some have tried convincing me of my need to bethink,
Cold and Misty
By: Miracle Man
12-15-2019
This blustery day finds me quietened inside,
Weighing my thoughts before going to ink.
Most thoughts arriving my pen has denied,
I’m carefully bound and thoughts I bethink.
I gaze outside and observe leaves blowing,
A Northwester wind, gale force, is howling.
Today’s forecast mentions sleet and snowing,
Which means today will be spent scowling.
Incurable maladies surround us all
heavy it is to bear ones or else's fall
why then interfere's distracting faith
the fact of now places impossible case
Miracles phenomena fades in blaze
Alas soul,
remains in thy kingdoms maze
urging to believe anew relief
put aside all sadness an grief
bethink of joy an pray for glory
never doubt nor worry
an be a part for evermore
in thy greatness an call
Oh, notion of home, when did you leave me?
I distantly bethink the comfort of your refuge,
Though, wonder; was I ever free?
Was I ever yours to rescue?
Great plains of the world are you not all mine?
Is it not the will of God that we explore?
To flourish, to enjoy, the world that He has given,
If not for this, what for?
What beauties shall I never see,
If I do not live without confinement?
Oh, notion of home, you temptress!
I shall not yield to your enticement!
I am no more a child,
Such childish thoughts are these.
A home is not made of brick, or wood,
Or denied without the key.
It is to accept the world;
Every strand and every stone.
It is to accept who you are,
That is our home.
Glistening in the incandescent sun,
An exuberant faction overjoyed with triumph.
A glorious acquisition has been achieved.
Engraved for eyes of future generations,
A plinth to wield the accomplishment.
Auriferous is the main depiction,
A chalice too valuable for drinking.
Sheathed with the dust of time.
Trapped behind a false mirror.
Fewer become enticed,
By it’s sullen magnificence.
Those who get arrested into a gaze,
Are left to bethink,
Of the austerity faced by those,
To obtain this tribute.
Guess what it's about :)
Here comes the novice poet.
With [ Edna St. Vincent Millay and Elizabeth Barret Browning ]
He will remember what they say, and then will always Know it.
[ “ I will permit my memory to recall “ ][ “ How do I love Thee “]
I do believe, from here to death; You’ll never see me Frowning.
In step the “ BRONTE “ sisters; Charlotte, Emily, and Anne.
Come back from their Imaginary Land.
Speaking English; Not the language that they shared.
[“ To attack the first is not to assail the last “ ] As if they cared.
I see [ Alfred Lord Tennyson ] will he sign my copy of “ The Poet “
Over there is [ Edgar Allen Poe ] and his Raven “Nevermore”
Exhilaration ends: I wake up, no one will ever know it.
I spent the night, a LOVEFILLED night: With many a Great POET.
Now that I’ve comeback from time, I have no words I have no Rhyme.
The paper, not a drop of ink. It looks at me with a BLANK STARE.
But now I do Bethink, that I should write something THERE.
I just can’t write and think.
Mornings of mystic enchantment inspired by a jestful warden invigorates the soul,
While a distant mew over yonder at where enlightenment disperses forms into a mould.
Who can say what is lustrous white embroiders to caliginous blue?
For years of time with one intrinsic love will make into...well, perfectly you.
Relish the grains of sand partook that binds you with that covenant.
Delight in the moments that increase the love immersed deep down, around, and above of it.
Clasp in your arms one fine, stout, especial emblem which informally reserves due.
Bethink that for with every father, there is essentially...well, you.
Here comes the novice poet.
With [ Edna St. Vincent Millay and Elizabeth Barret Browning ]
He will remember what they say, and then will always Know it.
[ “ I will permit my memory to recall “ ][ “ How do I love Thee “]
I do believe, from here to death; You’ll never see me Frowning.
In step the “ BRONTE “ sisters; Charlotte, Emily, and Anne.
Come back from their Imaginary Land.
Speaking English; Not the language that they shared.
[“ To attack the first is not to assail the last “ ] As if they cared.
I see [ Alfred Lord Tennyson ] will he sign my copy of “ The Poet “
Over there is [ Edgar Allen Poe ] and his Raven “Nevermore”
Exhilaration ends: I wake up, no one will ever know it.
I spent the night, a LOVEFILLED night: With many a Great POET.
Now that I’ve comeback from time, I have no words I have no Rhyme.
The paper, not a drop of ink. It looks at me with a BLANK STARE.
But now I do Bethink, that I should write something THERE.
I just can’t write and think.