Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber’d and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die
INNOCENCE OF THE CHILD
Laying down, first moments of life, the child smiles,
Magic to their eyes as the mobile turns round and round.
Everything that is seen full of wonder and the beginning dreams,
That ride in the stroller, a voyage beyond the yard world known.
Stories told from a colorful picture book, wow! is this all real,?
Butterflies of beauty float outside our window, fly butterfly.
Cartoons are not a fantasy, they are not pretend to the child,
A shiny coin, hidden treasure, a box of crackerjacks holds a prize.
Life is forever to the innocent child, never, never land is out there,
The innocence of a child lives a short span in a world of reality.
Since winter is fast approaching in Delhi, it brought me back the memories of my first winter in Delhi. When I came to Delhi I knew nothing about the season called ‘winter’ as I belong to South India, where the climate is hot, hotter and hottest. When everybody talk about winter, I thought that they are just exaggerating the things.
One morning in the first week of December, when I woke up at around 6 a.m, I just pushed the window screen to get the outside view and also sun light as I usually do. The moment I pushed the screen, I saw a white wall. I could not believe my eyes. Even balcony of my flat was not visible. I immediately rushed to the main door of my flat and opened the door. What a beauty ! The whole area covered with heavy fog and wherever I look I could see only white, white everywhere. It looked as…
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The future will kiss
Our shadows as if it knew
The things that we had chosen
And all the things that we had forgotten,
It will stare back as if
We were a part of all to come
The things that we had seen
And everything that we had prophesied,
But we are the lost
The souls who burned on Hell’s cold fields
And left the lessons buried there,
The future will still close
It’s cold unempathetic eye
It’s vengeful ghost still chained against
The cliffs we fought so hard to tame,
The laughter rings like rain
Upon the boxes we built as defence
Which wall out the moments frozen
To stop them scratching out our eyes,
The future will still blow
It’s kisses downwind to hide its fear
And all the things that we had chosen
For we are the forgotten.
© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018
In third world countries,
Thieves sleep comfortable.
They have no worries ,
The Leaders protect them.
Politicians take bribes ,
And invest their money in the West.
Their constitutions do not help the poor.
They are mere inks on papers nothing else.
Inequality , injustice , poverty are ,
Dictators tools to enslave their people.
Nation of sheep breed wolves to rule.
Jalal Michael Sabbagh-http://mysuccessisyoursuccess.wordpress.com
My college sweetheart
Was a mute
With a warm heart
That always spoke to me
We held hands in the park
Stole kisses in the hallway
Made tender love
When my parents weren’t home
In her moments of sadness
She trembled in my arms
As she cried silent tears
That so badly needed to scream
She couldn’t whisper I love you
And by never saying it
My speechless lover taught me
Love is more than just a word
Dedicated to the girl I dated in college.
The moon was up early in the morning. I started with the moon that became to big for the picture, but I don’t care.
Månen hängde kvar på himlavalvet en tidig morgon. Jag började teckningen med den. Månen tar egentligen upp för stor plats på teckningen, men det bryr jag mig inte om.
Stenar och berg fick hamna i blickfånget nästa morgon.
Värmen slår nya rekord och så även fuktigheten.
Not my favorite weather at all. Inte mitt favoritväder alls.