The eyes of appreciation are gladdened daily.
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PRAY; because when you take over your spirit, you've taken over your life. Prayers gardener of your soul, pray always!!
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I want not a gentleman’s bouquet that’ll wither away with time, but a gardener’s field which shall bloom for eternity in my name.
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As every moment passes by, I feel burdened by the thought that perhaps, a lifetime is nothing. It is entirely nothing, just another breathing space created by the intertwined threads of time, and when that given time is bled dry, the space will disappear, only to become the breath of a someone that doesn't require time.
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Patience is the gardener's virtue; in time, even the smallest seed becomes the mightiest oak. - Aloo Denish Obiero
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Agni deney sey unke paap bhi upne upper ley chaley jaate hai I want to ask modi ji did I am A not a kind person.hole world knows me tell why to scared.
Aghori mhabharamnad
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Mere liye toh char khandey kafi hai Agni deney ko
Durga Kali
Ganga Devi
Kamakhya Devi
Jagdish bajantri
AAP ne tayari ki hai ram naam Satya hai
Aghori mhabharamnad
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Patience is the gardener's virtue; in time, even the smallest seed becomes the mightiest oak. -Aloo Denish Obiero
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People are often saddened of how they do not get to live their lives as per their expectations; a checklist to be precise. I however go along with what life throws at me, then write them down in my list and then tick them off. Now that is life.
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The world of dew.
T
he world is a muggy soaked place Dewey eyed green to my ingenious,innocent,inexperienced,unworldly,unsuspicious,unsuspecting self wide eyed unknowing of the bedened glistening watery mist of a world of dew.
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It seems that we are the fruits of a tree with millions of branches, but the actual seed is long gone, and whether there was a gardener vanishes in the realm of speculations.
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I too have come to the cave;
within: strange, half-glimpsed forms
and ghostly paradigms of things.
Here, nothing warms
this lightening moment of the dawn,
pale tendrils spreading east.
And I, of all who followed Him,
by far the least . . .
The women take no note of me;
I do not recognize
the men in white, the gardener,
these unfamiliar skies . . .
('The Gardener’s Roses' ?by Michael R. Burch)
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It's better to die than invoke a curse: a maddened person incites anger withouth any rationality.
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They call it the Lamentation of a drunk, I call it the intoxication of a saddened heart.
They call it words, I call it poetry
#ThePoeticMembrane
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at the foot of the ladder, a monkey fell~ six stories of rungs and she rings his bell~ he sat picking daisies off his fallen spell~ hands cupping petals of air being his quell~ poor little monkey's a shaken as hell~ his eyes run circles around the pink pastel~ as shocked onlookers stand visual at his well~ in his cage, his cousin's saddened at their shell~at the foot of the ladder, a zoo's a cell~
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The aroma of a flower is from within, a gardener is just a tool...
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