I am a pine cone tree in the Evergreen state of Washington
My lower branches hang downward, that slap the unwary with pine needles, pine cones, and a hidden —squirrel
The mid branches stretch out for birds to congregate for their nesting
While the upper branches in its smaller gamut reach for the sun
We rally together in the face of windstorms
Albeit, we stand helpless as our forgiving aged remnants tend beneath our girth as the drying summer —heat threatens us
The beast's droppings enrich our soil
Rainwater nourishes us for the furtherance
We exalt in the sands' host of its endless pour through time
And revel in the promise of our pine cone familial forest, assuring our survival's worth
The stars of my destiny
I can see my days blessed
I can feel another new connection
I can touch my realities with peace
I can relate with my moment in happiness
I can move with a mind filled with joy
I see a new day filled with goodness
My love overflow
Cos my day has received
another life from
The Stars of my destiny
The stars of my destiny
I can feel life again
Things tuning around for my good
My spirit feeling it light again
My soul catching it fire again
My heart beating to nature again
I can feel the hands of God
Upon my destiny
So now i can live to live again
Cos my day has receive
another life from
the stars of my destiny
When I wake up, I can’t bear we’re not together,
For making a promise is hard if it’s not forever.
When I see your eyes—brighter than skies,
More beautiful than stars, where my true hope lies.
Gentle as the wings of a butterfly’s flight,
While I am just leaves, waiting to fall from height.
Yet my love stays true, carved deep in my heart,
A bond unbroken, never forgotten apart.
Time doesn’t care if you beg or you pray..
It slices the hours and steals them away.
No bargain, no mercy, no pause in the chase..
It carves out your future, erases your place.
Each second you squander is gone with a grin..
A thief with no conscience, no loss, no sin.
It won’t write apologies, won’t grant reprieve..
It takes what it’s owed when you dare to believe.
Stop whining of chances you swear will arrive..
The clock only honours the ones who survive.
Stop mapping a someday that never comes true..
The moment is dying, it’s calling for you.
Time doesn’t wait and it doesn’t forgive..
It’s now or it’s nothing, decide how you’ll live.
It circles, it waits, it will cut you in two..
Take hold of your moment, or it will take you.
Sitting on the wire she glooms and alone
‘Down forth’ all beckon,
‘Bits of bread are there
Pick up lest the other demands share’.
The lame bird flaps in the air
Rolling down from her breast a feather,
Pecking a bit with a sense
The escorts saving by defence.
A hunter hits like the lightning from the blue
None finds out yet its clue,
Concreted blood splitting and dog's spittle
Absence of delay makes her utmost brittle,
The barking dogs in the narrow city
Whose have with her no affinity,
All green leaves falling upon ground
That is for love beyond of bound,
Odium! Odium! to the merciless beings
The supreme creatures for whom so long she sings.
Free world
I tried to reach out
Some doors was close up on me
Some doors was widely open
I never forgot who I was
Not even when life hits to it peak
I remain humble and committed
To my spirit
Life thought me a lot
Same time it offer me a lot
Nature was my remedy to survive
Yet time give me no wait
So I keep giving all
Hoping willing and working
Time after time moments after moment
Yet Same things repeat in diverse ways
So I tried to reach out for my better days
I tried to keep up my lights
I knew I was on my own
I depend on no one
Yet I call on God in a so called
Free world
We come we go
What shall it profit a man
Who gains the world but lose his only soul
Am not a preacher yet I can testify
That life is nothingness’s
All will rise and fall
All will fall to rise
This circle can’t avoid it existence in life
So no matter how rich or poor you are
Just remember
We come we go
We come we go
Drop your ego
You man of power
No man lives for ever
No money is ever enough to satisfy a greedy mind
So take it slow and steady
Stop destroying the world for money
No matter how strong and powerful
You are just remember
You will be gone only but one day cos
We come we go
Ill fate I call, luck lingering on chance,
Others may call it law of seeds and sprouts,
And yet others, destiny's dappled dance,
A thing when duly happens what use doubts?
And karma clings to catch up with the life
To dish out platefuls of pickled fortune,
Or life of frustration, of sour fruits rife,
Dark rainy clouds or sunshine of mid June.
Life has to learn to live with Providence,
Which, like a river flows as is meant to—
To meet ocean— how making little sense,
For, destiny leaves blueprint nor a clue.
Life traces no straight line in curvy space,
Rejoice still, no atom seems out of place.
____________________________
Sonnet | 05.11.2011 | destiny, life, luck, philosophy
Note: If something happens, how and why are matters of philosophical debate. But something happens, we see it, where are the doubts? Remember, even chaos has at its core some method in madness. One has to live in a curvy-linear world of no straight lines.
After two scores and ten, a stranger met a weary soul,
With scattered hair and a faded face, resembling a ghost.
“We have crossed paths before, I am certain,”
the stranger said in a trembling voice.
“Years of struggle have passed,
yet the standards of our nation have fallen low.
That is why a teacher like me appears this way.
Education has been handed over to businessmen
who honor no principles
and worship only money.
These wrinkles and crooked fingers
reflect the sickness of our social fabric.
We have lost our dignity
and the very purpose of our lives.
Now we labor endlessly,
chasing money in lonely silence.
The knowledge that once enlightened us
is now disregarded and disgraced.
Our goals have shifted,
our direction is lost.
Teachers are mocked, stripped of respect,
while the corrupt and notorious
are honored instead.
In a gentle but solemn voice,
the stranger declared:
“Pakistan must mend its ways
if it wishes to save the heart of education.”
With that, the stranger stepped out of the dark jungle
onto the straight path,
where light shone brightly
from the right corner of the forest.
Prevailing heavens blest with natural forces,
begs atonement by the humble wheatfield,
quizzingly warranted by eyes gone adrift,
by the chapels’ stained glassed portrayal,
crisscross subjective and the objective,
of the innate witness human challenge,
but to say it isn’t so; summons a review,
of the individual, not by what’s thought,
intrinsic behavior evolves humankind,
furthers involvement by that abstract,
dare not His name per the first of ten,
as the unsheathed bearing its sword,
coalescent heeds the many essences,
fluidity cruises its pull o’er the masses,
as the Titanic shielded its rumored ills,
a song paralyzed hope as uneventful,
ears filled with the air of pulpits' yield,
subject thyself to that nameless one,
compassion is the herald objective,
distant from the ploys of the astray.
Charmed Tides of Emotions
Charming tides of feeling wash over me,
Emotions' currents, wild and free.
With a smile that outshines the sun above,
He draws me in, I'm helplessly in thrall.
Yet as swiftly as they rise, they recede,
Love's leaves me shipwrecked in its wake.!
Beholden amidst a mute throne of home embattled acts,
channels a temporal crown amid a pontiff's defiant pose,
pall hailed thy beleaguered cross yond measured realm,
sailed centurions claim a shepherd's hold apiece parlay,
adherent to veiled verses subjects a segmented victory.
A bird is flying in the sky,
Moving toward the jungle side.
All alone, with no support,
Its only guide—a dim moonlight,
Stained by drifting clouds above.
Winter’s season is in bloom,
The trees hold no more nests—
Once a haven, now abandoned.
Snow falls without a pause,
Branches empty, heavy with flakes.
The bird flies toward an unknown fate,
Against all odds, with a lion’s heart.
A creature of flight, it shows resilience,
Until, in the quiet of the night,
It disappears from sight.
Beloved,
I write to you from the marrow of silence,
where your name still claws the walls of my ribs.
Every breath I take is borrowed from your absence,
every shadow a telegram from your ghost.
I have pressed my lips against the memory of your throat,
tasting the dust that has replaced your laughter.
Do you remember when we shared a heart like contraband,
smuggling tenderness through the checkpoints of despair?
Now I light a candle to your vanished face,
its flame stuttering like a pulse that refuses resurrection.
If you return, even as ash,
I will call it love.
What mystery binds his poesy,
what purpose is behind his art:
to pose, “To be, or not to be?”
confronts the self-reflecting heart?
What destiny has this poet,
what future prospects wait for him,
when his words pretend to know it,
but the skeptics won't explore them?
Truth's cryptic message hides in rhymes,
chameleon-like, and spreads as memes,
disguised, rewritten several times,
to fit his coded, programmed themes.
The Enigma of this poesy's rhyme,
and process, meant for the clever mind,
to search their inmost, heartfelt clime,
to peel back the puzzle's layered rind.
Specific Types of Destiny Poems
Definition | What is Destiny in Poetry?