The farmer thought out his plan
How he would prepare his land
He knew the seasons to come
And how to prepare for each
For his son he began to teach
How all thing sprout from this seed
And to protect it from this weed
For, if the weeds hover around
It blocks the sunlight for it to grow
Therefore, can not produce or show
Not knowing which way to go
But if you take away its weeds
It grows toward the sunlight
Standing strong and producing many
He says now son
We will give them water
For they shall absorb and stand firm
Growing above others for all to see
We shall plant them in
the most nourished soil
Providing a solid foundation
Not to blow over
As the storms come
Looking after their every need
For their shall be many for us to feed
The boy walks past the old man on the bench
Frail and a face of many tales
Young man to old in the cold
Do they see each other as so different
A man that has faced his fears and a man who has his to come
Baby to boy
They played the same
Trains and planes
They laughed they cried
They had a there first love affair
A loving kiss and a love
One has been married for eternity
One has to find his partner of life
Is there really such a differences
What will they do when its there last breath
There last moments will be the same
No differences will be made
Once again the boy becomes man
His first son is born
The man looks down and holds his son dear
A new story to be told as life now unfolds
The boy is now a man with a boy of his own
So the boy is now the man on the bench
His look on his face tells a thousand tales
His weakness shows through his paleness
But still he was a boy to a man ....
He watches as a boy walks past
He smiles and remembers
That man on the same bench
Where did that time go .....
Looking back,
i should have listened to what they said
to the advice they gave but i did not
and look at me now
Two children later,
my daughter deceased, a son of two
and inside i am still a baby myself
made to grow up
Act your age,
thats what they said but how can I do that now
I am nineteen but have soembody other than me
to consider
I will always be here,
is what most of them said
two years later where are you all
there not friends
Decisions, decisions
my options were open, i chose the wrong one
and now i must deal with it for the sake of my son
I have done too much, too young
Changing Identities
I was born as a son to my mother and
Grew as brother to my sisters
I gained knowledge as a student and
I moved with my dears as a friend
I rushed behind the money as a worker and
married a girl as her husband
I had sons and daughters as a father and
Chased many businesses as a topper
I had son and daughter in laws as an In law and
followed the words of nobles as a follower
I prayed my lords as a devotee and
hold a stick, wore a glass as an oldman
I was taken as a procession in bed as a body and
burnt in to ashes as a Hasthi
I am now in the air as air
Who am I? My Lord !in this world
Created me with a lot of changing identities
Hasthi is the ash of human body come after funeral it will be mixed with in the
Holy rivers to fulfill the life of a human soul
Changing Identities
I was born as a son to my mother and
Grew as brother to my sisters
I gained knowledge as a student and
I moved with my dears as a friend
I rushed behind the money as a worker and
married a girl as her husband
I had sons and daughters as a father and
Chased many businesses as a topper
I had son and daughter in laws as an In law and
followed the words of nobles as a follower
I prayed my lords as a devotee and
hold a stick, wore a glass as an oldman
I was taken as a procession in bed as a body and
burnt in to ashes as a Hasthi
I am now in the air as air
Who am I? My Lord !in this world
Created me with a lot of changing identities
Hasthi is the ash of human body come after funeral it will be mixed with in the
Holy rivers to fulfill the life of a human soul
Try walking a mile in my shoes,
Before you decide to judge me.
Try doing the things that I do,
You will then find that doing my job is not easy.
Sick or well I manage to drag myself from out of bed,
Often times with sleep still in my eyes.
I see to my son getting dressed and being fed,
I see that he catches the bus on time.
The dishes need to be washed, rinsed, dried, and then put away,
And I need to answer the phone.
Carpets are in need of vacuming, floors in need of mopping,
Lunch needs to be prepared and on the table.
Even though these tasks are in need of accomplishing,
I must face the fact that I am just not able.
I barely have time to take a minute for myself,
There is just so much that needs to be done!
Oh, how I wish someone would come in and lend me some help,
Then all my tasks would be done.
At the end of the day I am exhausted and out on my feet,
But I cannot rest just yet, I must help my son with his homework.
I will be so glad once I am in bed and I am able to get some sleep,
And wake up the next morning and continue my work.
My affirmation deceitfully severed
forever robbed by selfishness
Left to tackle life alone
Tumbling in the wake of my dad's mess
He left when I was three
The crevasse has increased for 33 years
Traded his life with us
For another woman and a couple of beers
He wasn't there to pick me up
When I fell off of my bike
To teach me how to fish
Or enjoy a nature hike
Now I'm a father to my son
Hoping not to make the same mistake
Living day to day on this lake of life
My son in tow through my own wake
It's been nine years and we're going strong
Six more years with my son
That's more with him than I had with mine
My son I guard in a web I've spun
A web of love, discipline, and nurture
Full of "I love you's" and "see ya in the morning"
A kiss before school and one before bed
Lots of playing, talking, reading, and singing
My son doesn't know the pain I feel
To not know my dad in intimate ways
No hands to comfort me or words to heal
No dad in sight for 12,045 days.............................(and counting)
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My son and I have a great relationship and for this I am thankful......
He says we must take up our cross
to follow him and that his yoke is easy.
One must hole back the rushing river
made from desire melting at the peak.
Standing, awaiting, the wall of water.
To hold it back. To keep it from allowing to grow
terrible and evil things in the fertile soul.
Yet every moment, the weight increases.
The Son melts the cold, hardened ice
to give the soul liberty from its threshold.
Eventually, at long last, it lessens.
The soiled water begins to evaporate
as the Son continues to work.
It heats the water asunder into ether.
The fist burden is through,
but what water passed through your grip
has begun to cultivate evil below.
Evil that grows in the soul
is tougher to destroy than
that of the infertile peak.
Alas, another trial awaits.