AS I CONTINUE ON THIS TREACHEROUS ROAD, IT'S LIKE WALKING ALONE IN THE WOODS AT NIGHT WITH NO COMPASS AND NO LIGHT.
MOVING FORWARD ON THIS UNTRODDEN PATH, I CAN BARELY SEE, WITH THE MIST AND DARKNESS BLENDING TOGETHER.
THE FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN AND THE UNEXPECTED HOLDS ME CAPTIVE, KEEPING ME A PRISONER WITHIN MY OWN MIND. THE ONLY COMPANY I HAVE IS MY SHADOW, AND EVEN HE LEAVES ME AT DAWN.
WHERE DOES MY FINAL DESTINATION LIE? PAST THE HORIZON, THROUGH THE FIELDS AND VALLEYS, CROOKED ROADS AND DARK CAVES, OR IS IT PAST THE MOUNTAINS, ALONG A SMALL, NARROW PATH THAT LEADS TO A DEAD END?
MY DESTINATION IS YET TO BE KNOWN. THERE IS FAR TOO MUCH GROUND TO COVER AND NEVER ENOUGH TIME. TOO MUCH TO LEARN, TOO MUCH TO EXPLORE, TOO MUCH LIFE LEFT TO LIVE.
THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED IS ALWAYS THE ROUGHEST TO TAKE. AS A SOLITARY SOUL, I LOOK FORWARD TO FACING NEW CHALLENGES, CULTIVATING LOVE WHERE PAIN RESIDES, AND OFFERING FORGIVENESS WHERE SCARS AND WOUNDS ARE STILL HEALING.
"Fall seven times and stand up eight," the old proverb sings,
A lantern lit for weary hearts with weather-broken wings.
Each stumble shapes a steadier stride, each tear a clearer view;
The strongest trees are those that learn to dance with storms anew.
I cannot choose the winds that blow nor every hill I climb,
But hope can turn the roughest road into a path through time.
When doubt declares the night too deep, I answer with one spark,
For faith remembers dawn before it brightens all the dark.
So I will rise with grateful hands, though yesterday was long;
The scars become a quiet proof that brokenness grows strong.
"When hope takes the first brave step,
tomorrow finds the courage to follow."
O Tallie, little light of mine
with gentle paws and curious eyes
you walked into my roughest days
and made them soft, warm, and bright.
you were more than just a cat to me
you were my comfort in a quiet room
a tiny heartbeat gently near my own
a friend who took away gloom
I still remember how I loved you
not loudly, but fully
in the way my heart made space for you
your purr was a mercy in my eyes
your fur a place where tired hands could rest
when the world was heavy around me
you made my sadness just a little less
and though you are no longer here
some love will never disappear
Haemorrhoids hurt they are not fun
They have a cream to make them numb
From the finest lady to the roughest sailor
They will pop out without failure
They are quite literally a pain in the bum.
A young girl,
An old lady,
A mother of two,
A passionate dancer—
All were friends of mine.
Across the decades,
Through Chennai floods
And Hindi classes,
They stood with courage and quiet dedication.
Their words—scattered notes of inspiration,
Their choices—prompt, firm, and full of grace.
They stood as ideals—
In studies, in marriage,
In hobbies and in ageing gracefully.
Friends from every age group—
A potpourri of ideas, actions, and lived experiences.
Jolly days and radiant faces,
Deep talks and shared silences—
All in pursuit of a life
Guided by values,
Uplifted by love.
Friends, friends, friends—
Let’s carry on.
Celebrate with furry companions,
Wipe away tears,
Stand shoulder to shoulder, always.
In life’s long sail,
We brave the roughest tides,
And reach the distant coast—
Of course, with friends.
Friends are the spark,
The rhythm, the fire.
They are the heartbeat of joy,
The shower that soaks us
In all that makes life truly happy.
Winter Withers
…… its way into the woods
and waits….and wonders….and watches
until…. No-one is looking.
Boorishly, an ally introduces itself,
an iced-sliced wind to quiver-shiver
the woods’ most tender saplings;
to shudder the aged evergreens
with sharpened, encrusted crystals
sandpapering the toughest, roughest bark.
Weather warning complete,
Winter then crunches forward,
cold shouldering its way through the night
to finally rest against a solitary cabin.
Inside that logged shelter, Man awakens
allowing his thoughts freedom
from the waiting room of his mind.
Man has learned how to listen,
but much more importantly,
this man has listened how to learn!
What he now sharply tells himself is…
Winter has arrived; survival demands action.
Man has lived for a year with Mother Nature
after his severance with city life;
he now feels a yearning for the three R’s:
reconnecting, refiguring and relocating.
Man can’t allow Winter’s weathered wings
to embrace him with glacial isolation
nor allow its benumbed playmate… Loneliness
to knock, again, on that fragile, front door.
Ian Souter
Somehow, the deluge of cloudburst
unwraps my flesh pallid, as if to spill
holy water--maybe thickened dew—just
to give a name to lapses of my unheard cries,
while an insolent breeze fails to listen
as I howl in utter despair of life's requiem:
The thistle of wet soil chains my feet
anchored unto the swell of memories' bend;
remaining distant in an unknown,
vacant cemetery nourishing a loneliness
only vagrants like me could bear:
A scream of rain compels a thirst
to feed on abrasions of ghastly pang...alone,
isolated from new moonlight's lodging
my solitude, my invisible frame starts to sigh
behind the roughest of rain's marbled stone---
How can fresh mornings be so darn bleak?
May you be blessed to live your life like the ocean”
You hope your days will be calm…
still some days huge waves wash over you
but even in the roughest times…
like the ocean…
may the beauty you possess shine through.
Xanadu! Heaven in a desert! Rest of the restless!
Where the Almighty reveals a gleam of his gorgeous glimpse
Where nature reaches out her healing hands to the helpless
Where the sprig sources and freshwater fountains have their whims
Isn't Oasis a constant component of my mind?
Doesn't it flow, flood, and form a fertile soil for the soul?
Isn't it—in thoughts, words, and deeds—compassionate and kind?
Doesn't it mould my existence and give me a grand goal?
As I tread on trails of terrain, Mountains, plateaus, and plains
As a saint, sage, nomad, or gipsy seeking psychic truth
It's the oasis of hope that soothes my fatigue and pains
Strengthening each of my steps; making the roughest roads smooth
We need not walk miles, dear friends; Oasis is in our midst.
In daily virtues and values, like blood in flesh, it's mixed.
I'm trying to be okay
Even on the roughest days
It's hard but I've come so far
I just got to survive this life
I just got to thrive
Now Laying In Boot Hill Under Frozen Ground
Tony was a wicked dude carried a thirty-eight
Always raced his fast cars always cheated Fate
Carried a straight razor in his left shoe
Things that would be daring, he was ready to do
Afraid he would cut his own throat, wore a beard
But damn sure was nothing else, man never was skeered
Fought in the roughest bars that were around
Beat living hell out of every bully he ever found
Yes, he was still alive at age thirty nine
And ready to tackle any that crossed the line
Do not ask about his last fighting night aiive
Shot by a ten year old kid, took his last dive.
Yes sir, he was easily toughest dude around.
Now laying in boot hill under frozen ground.
Robert J. Lindley, April 2nd, 1970
Note. ----- Age 16, no edits.
Starting a new plan a project or a new business is very similar to taking a flight.
Once your plane gets off the ground, its smooth sailing through boundless skies graceful as a kite.
When preparing a plan for a flight, the captain always requests that we put on a seat belt for the beginning of the takeoff is the roughest part.
That is the roughest part where most of the jolts and bumps are felt.
In preflight inspection the pilot tests the sails and rudder of his vessel making sure that he has total control.
He throttles up with brakes engaged making sure that once he stops that he will not roll.
As an arrow drawn back aimed at a target, engine at full capacity, he releases the brakes.
With God’s grace on silver wings, gravity is defied over great mountains, valleys, oceans and lakes.
Horrific attributes
Calamities all around
Skid row broken dreams
Roughest atmosphere
A distorted ambiance
Hear the jeers of morbid souls
The Goddess of Death (completely made up! for contest)
in the new of days
when man was
but a first of
the new things
for the gods
to play with
a male child was
to be born
and many gods
look and gave
gifts to the unborn
children to be born
of man
were loved
as any new toy
is first loved
but this was the first
for Apollo
Apollo, the god of light,
gave the child
three gifts
one golden string
of light
to change his hair
to the color of shining gold
so that the top
of his head
could be always
seen by the heavens
two drops of
Heavens blue waters
dropped in each of his eyes
to calm even the
roughest of seas
three small whisper
placed on his hart
and his feet and last
in his ear
so that if he listens
he could hear
and win all that
he faced
as man grow
life was easy
until
his love grew old
he made a plan
and to set a trap
to keep
his love near
and trapped
the lovely dark goddess
with his very own whispers
and did just as they commanded
now that she was trapped
he could make a deal
it is said no
two love
may ever
walk hand
in hand to the gates of
heaven
again
for this very reason
On a football pitch a frosty foul,
Spared by The Referee his booking howl
But not The Goalie’s condemning growl …
Just badly kicked was his jowl
By the scorer now wearing a scowl!
“The Luckiest-Red-Card-Excused Owl!”
Irrepressibly rise would one’s hackles,
After The Roughest of play tackles.
Whoever does not spleen vent in shackles,
As even a hen wronged by half cackles …
Now, what is clearly at stake
Is something of his he must take:
“The ball leaving to dive at legs
And keep hitting them as owner begs!”
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