Explain To Me
By Frank Daub
Explain to me the heavy duty of this thought:
That your beauty grows upon this day.
For no sooner do I turn
to see
the freshness of the sunlight come to play
its golden magic on the brilliance of your face.
I wonder, then, at the music of your voice
and joy to hear the softness of it.
Explain to me the heavy duty of this truth:
That your beauty grows upon this day.
You come to me,
in the morning of your youth,
while the freshness of the sunlight plays
its golden magic on the softness of your countenance.
This beauty is my sustenance.
Explain to me the lovely meaning of your eyes.
I wonder at their softness and I joy to see
The endless feeling that in their tender beauty lies.
In all this world is no more peaceful sight to me.
The endless limits of your pureness sighs
in the sky-blue meaning of your eyes.
All candles tall and short,
Whether stout or very slim,
Do but always impart
Light, which is never ever dim.
Watch the roses grow,
They don’t mind the thorns.
Seen the lotus glow,
Ne’er the slush it scorns.
So too must we shine,
In our own little way,
For in God’s own time
Our actions will repay.
Ne’er be disheartened,
If your contributions seem small.
As burdens are lightened,
By the sincere efforts of all!
Copyright © by Crystal David John
always
a forgotten
ensemble
(Daily Magnetic Poetry Challenge)
He died on the field, to live in the heart,
Lifted are nations by heroes that fall;
Never we’ll know on which ground he took part;
But then, the truth is, he died on them all.
He held, on that day, “No evil shall pass!
No, not today, though I die at my post!”
Courage is not just a word by the crass,
But rises with flames, when duty calls most.
What shall we think of a life cut so short?
There once died a rose, that others might bloom;
What shall that death to the living report?
There once rose a call, that lives past the Tomb:
To face every danger, never to lag,
And to embody what’s meant by the flag.
He looked at me and told all, the life he lived and the times he was sad.
The times that he felt bad, the way he continued even when he knew he was sad.
Sad to have to live without love, love that made him feel well.
Some give us love, but we feel it is not there, it feels like when we eat, and we still cannot get filled.
His life was one of work and duty, always being present, but feeling lost.
Lost in a world where he felt not there, his brain and heart searched for his true love.
Love that made him feel alive, one that made him feel like smiling.
Some loves, give love, but they are not felt in the heart, they are like rain that cannot penetrate the ground.
His life was one he told me lacked, he felt something missing, and he tries now to feel complete.
Complete in his heart, in his choices, he tries to go back and fill in the gaps, like a cement job that has openings, he wants to fill in all of the cracks.
Love and life, make us feel so good, we search and try to find our one true love.
So, when you find one that makes you feel complete, hold on and love each moment you build.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
As he stands with his head high, his heart sighs,
His heavy heart weighs down his soul,
Tears fall silently, the fallen drag his weary eyes red,
A helmet worn to hide a man’s burdens,
A man stands there, but not a man at all.
Among the crowd, a woman catches his eye,
Her skin pure white, her gaze better than the stars,
His eyes meet hers, but words he dares not speak,
For she is royalty, and he, a servant meek.
Yet his eyes began to shine, forbidden light within,
He stands in shadows, sword ready to begin,
The blade thirsts, ever parched for its fight,
For his duty is clear: to guard through day and night.
Duty
People talk of Purpose, as if there’s always choice
I am somewhat different, perhaps a solitary voice
The Modern World commands the self, where each is to their own
But I was taught to share my spoil, no circumstance bemoan
So toil I do relentlessly, and selflessly I prosper
I sacrifice ambition that the Ego seeks to foster
For I've become the Carer, not child nor husband now
The one who keeps the wheels greased, the broke down cars I tow
I work until my brain and bones, cannot sustain the pressure
I gasp when I get time to spare, a guilty token gesture
For I am here not for myself, nor for the higher calling
My steadfastness I here confess is try to stop Them falling
But if you ask why do it then, why subjugate your freedom?
I open wide my mouth to speak, but find no words of wisdom
It's who I am, it's what I feel, so simple in it's beauty
I live and breathe and do bequeath my sanctum for my duty
I need a good wife,
Who's ready to be my spouse.
I'll give you my life,
And you will reign in my house.
Take me as in-law,
Parents who raised a beauty.
I come with no flaw—
Her care will be my duty.
Whether tall or short,
I care not, so long there's love.
Care her strong forte,
Her true self clear, not in glove.
Time in endless dash,
So age pleads on my behalf.
Let your true love splash
Into my heart, make me laugh.
The day was turning to evening,
Dusk primed to play a short inning,
Worried, the sun was wondering…
Darkness shall ere long shroud the Earth,
Fains should this be my empty mirth,
Who’d ferry forth my duty’s worth?
Cautious, a clay lamp comes forward,
This may sound big mouth, vain a word
To light up all of the vast world,
But I feel sure, do my small worth
And perk up a patch upon Earth--
What I’ve done ever since my birth.
….
And watching all this I felt small:
My light within-- as oft I call,
What have I done with, if at all?
I love light but scarce keen to burn
And give light, gratefulness to earn,
Keen, away from duty to run.
______________________
Musings | 24.10.2025 | lamp, light, tercet
Note: The festival of light is being celebrated in India. But the traditional clay lamps of oil are increasingly getting forgotten and gaudily flashing eye-irritating electric lights take their place, and my thoughts reach out to clay lamps which have been doing a great job ever since early civilization.
To God..Through Jesus, by the Holy Spirit
Next to 'other Christians' so the world might;
Be healed.'
Do we all hear the rumour? A funeral draws near.' A spectacle is intended I think that much
Is real clear.' There will be black gloves and the
Muffled drums, that measured tread..Somber
Theater spun.' Staged to draw compassion from those (who might come?) The cornet may sound? Majestic..But I think we all know
What's the come..'
That vic-pols funeral is marching in the shadows here thrown long.'
Under the sun, As many narratives un-ravel.. That they still try to grow.' So will the
Blinds be drawn upon them? Will the windows
Stare out blank.? And also will True Blue Victorians 'about-face?' And here I shall be quite frank! Leave
Them to realise.? What a mess they have banked.! Heaped up like those mountains.'
When (they turned on their own?) Yet I think its not Victoria.? Nuh..Thats not where their
Love; and loyaltys are sown.' May they well listen.. And deeply' to that winds lone lament and moan.'
In a broken-hearted city.' Where they once did strut.! Its recorded and shown
To posture and enact such wicked anger, to vent, Yes I see, And saw
For me it has stuck deep in my heart, and in my gut.To remain reminder forevermore.'
One day a year to mark a sacrifice profound
One day a year to visit the ground
One day a year for the bugle to sound
One day a year a nation’s memory is found
Hardly enough for the terrible cost
Hardly enough for the lives that were lost
One day a year for the flags to adorn
One day a year the fallen to mourn
One day a year that honors our fallen
One day a year the nation is all in
Hardly enough for those left behind
Hardly enough is just being kind
Each day of the year they manned the wall
Each day of the year they served through it all
Each day of the year standing brave and tall
Each day of the year until the final fall
One day of the year to remember the valor
Hardly enough when measured by the pallor
Of the faces who bled and the families who suffer
So one day a year
One day a year
One day a year
Is hardly enough for
Duty
Honor
Sacrifice
Remember it all and never forget
For one day a year is all that they get
An old man once said:
Freedom isn’t free
As a child, I grew up,
never understanding those words.
As an adult, I learned,
the tree of freedom is watered with blood.
I thought we had paid enough.
But as trees wither without water,
so does freedom without its tribute.
As such I hoped,
we could pay with sweat and duty.
But once again-we choose red...
Duty calls from valleys deep and wide,
Wide like hearts where brave resolve does bide.
Bide the storms, through fire and endless rain,
Rain of trials met with a calm refrain.
Refrain from fear when darkness clouds the sky,
Sky holds hope where eagles dare to fly.
Fly with honor carved in steel and soul,
Soul forged firm in sacrifice and role.
Role of country’s shield in battle’s fire,
Fire of freedom fed by hearts’ desire.
Desire to serve with valor, strong and true,
True to flags in red and white and blue.
Blue, the banner waving high above,
Above all stands their country, duty, and love.
To thank,
To calculate,
To obey,
Unspoken rules,
Even if no one will see
Or appreciate it,
Is a duty of
A good citizen.
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