Where art thou O Lord, My God
I cried in desolate prayer -
They say you're in the clouds and rains,
The mountains, plains and everywhere.
Where art thou O Divine One
I ask unto the skies,
Your creation and love is around and above
Yet you are hidden from my eyes.
A piercing wail broke into my thoughts
A cry of sheer pain -
I looked around for the source of sound
But I looked around in vain.
Then, I saw him.. the lost little one
Weeping under a tree -
I rushed to him in maternal love
And held him close to me.
The tear-stained face beamed a sunny smile
For all the world to see
And at that moment I heard a voice
Deep inside of me -
"I was there in the child's cry
And his joy on seeing you
I am forever in a mother's heart
Am in everything anew!"
High atop his branch he clings,
a fretful, fidgety fellow~
September’s here (allegedly),
but Texas still screams yellow.
He peers down at the dusty ground,
no pumpkins, no autumnal spice, nor chill;
no brisk breeze swirling through the oaks,
just heat that just sits still.
“Oh fall, wherefore art thou?” the acorn cries,
dramatic as can be~
“I’m meant to drop with dignity,
not roast upon this tree!”
He wiggles, scoots, and shimmies,
but the branch won’t let him go.
“I’m ready for my autumn arc~
this summer’s just for show.”
So there he waits, impatient,
a tiny acorn with dramatic flair,
dreaming of the day he falls
into cool, crisp autumn air.
—The Ancient Address—
All suddenly creation lost its tongue,
and streams, repudiating law, climbed high
toward hills whose ancient thirst had long been sung,
whilst astral fires came trembling from the sky
to rest within my hands; the clouds hung down,
their inverted bosoms veiling earth;
the trees relinquished green, and every crown
assumed strange hues no mortal bloom had birthed.
The oceans kindled with an inward flame,
and fishes, burning, breached the firmament,
their scales inscribing stars no chart could name,
whilst distances drew breath where none was meant;
the road remembered feet not yet made flesh—
yet thou didst come, and being knew thy breath.
—A Sonnet—
I wore my life as exiles wear the sea:
Too vast to cross, too faithless to forsake.
Each dawn broke bread with every man but me;
I ate the light and still refused to wake.
Then thou didst look—not lovingly, but true—
As though my soul had never once been lost;
The silence I had hidden life within
Stepped forth and counted neither fear nor cost.
Thou knew'st the man my mother could not name,
The face my mirrors practised, yet denied.
One touch from thee recalled me into flame;
The years stood still until I stepped inside.
Love was not born when first I came to thee.
Thou camest where eternity called me.
O, Muse divine! guide thou my soul and pen,
inspire me to divine song and rhythm,
to sing tales of Greek gods and thewy men,
now carved in ancient, history-bending prism.
Grant me Apollo's sky-searing chariot,
so like a scorching sun that sears the earth,
I may ascend to heights of poet's fame,
in Mount Parnassus's sacred, watery hearth.
But if divine impulse thou must withhold,
then may my measure's rhyme not be forsaken,
and instead may thy grace for me unfold,
so words of gold and gems be not untaken.
O Muse! Let me drink from the Pierian springs,
so thy sweet strains might move both gods and kings.
O Lord, Thou Father,
I love You more than words can say.
I love You for the life and blessings
You have bestowed upon me each day.
Thank You for the trees and the skies,
for the beauty I see before my eyes.
Thank You, my Father, for the sun and the rain.
Thank You for hearing my cries when I am in pain.
O Lord, my Father, You are so true.
Yet some walk this world as if they have no clue—
as if they have no faith,
nor feel Your presence near.
But I thank You, Heavenly Father,
for I know that You are real.
Dost thou disport thyself in thy daily pilgrimage?
What calleth 'playtime' unto thy soul?
I find my joy in the presence of ancient trees.
Where vibrant hues do spiral wild and free.
Such forests stretch beyond the sight, far and deep.
For 'tis within the winding roads of sleep.
I wander, blessed by the light that slumbered brings.
Nature doth cast a gentle, cooling breath!
To soothe my spirit, far from thoughts of depth.
O, Golden Light! Grant me lengthened rest!
For my strange, painted trees must be addressed.
With joyous heart, I fashion things of naughty.
The muse cries, "Play!" with every color squeezed,
With twinning scrolls and fancies, well appeased.
'Tis here I take my leap,
Both bold and steep,
Into a bright and variegated heap!
Where For Art Thou, Thy Sun That Dwells Within
when the Embers of Night Shimmer and Make Haste to the wind,
and the Sacred that resides to the Flame no more
no longer dancing with the Stars, Insignis and Cold
Blaze Forth than through the Ashes, No More, No Less
through the Clouds and Veils where Bonfires Dwell,
and the Great Light will Shine in Prominentia again
through the Dust shall come the Dawn, no more in Lament
Burn Bright Yet Again, those Feathers Ever Illumined in wrought
for where there is Hope, we shall Raise a Torch Aloft
He had the book which God wrote
To read it, his life he did devote
Based on faith, not on proof.
Pursuing what he thought was ultimate truth.
Commands and divine rules for living,
Rules of fighting and forgiving,
What man should eat, what man should wear
When a believer should not cut his hair.
He had purpose, he found worth
Divining God's goals on earth
Much time hunched over a book
The forest for the trees, this man mistook.
he looked for hidden layers of meaning, acronyms
Below the straight text, messages within
Going beyond the author's intent
Years wasted, years spent.
I've known believers, but their feet were on the ground
They were free agents, not to a whirlpool bound.
The could drink from a well, but not drown inside
Their book was not a universe, just a guide.
Yes, its interesting what folks did 3000 years ago
But lets keep track since of history's flow
Let's take the best of science and thought
Believe but perceive, don't get caught.
How thou hast shaped me, and increased my life,
O Rose! Before, I was a squall, a storm
of melancholy and dark, bitter strife:
a soul already lost like a vile worm
on a dry sidewalk on a hot, sunny day.
Without hope or joy, without faith or God,
I spiraled, and at risk of losing my way,
my hateful heart thought thoughts that none can laud.
But O, dear Rose! Reformed by thee, made whole
once more by thy bottomless love and wide-browed beauty,
I am a new being fashioned by thy sweet soul,
and now transformed through thine unwavering fealty.
Rose, my storm was broken up by thy light,
so that I'm no more a worm in God's sight.
Yam that got a permanent prick
Yam in contention with its harvest
Got it fat; removed with a flick
But diet is the concern of an agriculturalist
Consumer sees beyond
While naming its price
Got to examining its structure and bond
Which communicates enough raunchy
Yam that got a Chelsea buttock
Yam of false human attribute
A large buttock a stomach so paunchy
Rejected by no means a devise
Woman sees nothing
While peeling
Just to hurry
Not to make dinner goes well with sorry
Those yams grow in a fertile soil
With no or little toil
Such are in no time boiled
Better serve oiled
The pace setter
The home of agriculture
If i would ever be a bettor
Ibadan stands out in horticulture
Dressed in gown of white,
Gazing at the ancient lure,
In the candle’s light,
Pixies dance in her demure,
Nearby, the window’s allure.
We shall defeat the loneliness
due to our willingness to be
as one
My handsomeness and her
Beauty shall be the. Means
to justify the agreement of
those who find us attractive.
The flutes and bassoons complimentef
One another.
She planted sugarcane in a wintery
region. And fused sugarcane fermented
With dehydrated pine berries.
It's desespert need to belong among
the popular and most notable
Allowed smart folk to fuse flavors
that complimented one another to
Establish a new flavor for people
Who weren't ashamed to want and
Need it. The "slurps of respected people's"
Sorted men andales. It sorted fools
And connisuriurs to delight on flavors
and tastes!
"What smiles are men's"
Written by; De Slurping Kind"
Music created by lovers
Music created by wisher
Wishers Music in a world
Of pretty people
In first, earned knowledge none any,
Nor in second whatso money,
Name nor fame in third if brought forth,
Wonder, what will ye whilst the fourth?
___________________________
Translation | 06.11.2025 | learning/education, life, money, name for self
Note: This Subhaashhitam refers to four ashrams (stages of pursuits in life) as per Indic philosophy. The first stage is Bhrammacharya ashram of celibacy and pursuit of knowledge (foundation). The second is Grihastha (householder) ashram for the pursuit of artha, or means and money. The third, vaana-prastha ashram (getting detached), is retiring slowly from mundane and material pursuits. And the fourth, Sannyaasa ashram of total dispassion and renunciation. The transliteration of Sanskrit text is as under:
Prathame na arjitaa vidyaa dviteeye na arjitam dhanam ||
Trteeye na arjitam keertim chaturthe kim karishyati || subhaashhitam ||
I wish thou wert here by my side,
The days grow emptier without thee;
The nights seems quieter and longer -
There's not a night without thy thoughts,
Thy memories linger deep in me;
I couldn't shake them off nor cast aside.
I long for thee Sweetest love.
I breathe thee as days begin to drift -
In thee, I lost my own self,
Yet couldn't hold thee dearly near.
I miss thee now and ever more,
Yet know not if thou feel'st me too.
In my doubt, I wonder and ponder -
I wish thou wert mine, now and ever.
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