The Whitman’s Sampler ..
Our existence is a result of ‘The Whitman’s Sampler’ of choices ,
Though for the same , we have to bear a lot of vexating noices..
The noises we hear around and the ones screaming loud in our heads ,
But the ones in the head can make each of our sad and happy thought to shed .
Whenever we make the choices , it’s with our confidence so high ,
With surity that in the choice we are gonna make , our whole fortune lies.
Even when we say we have no choice other than this ,
We generally make the wrong one and then many chances we miss.
Inspite , when we feel as such , we should weep to sleep ,
And when we wake up, we have a whole new Whitman’s Sampler of choices so deep !
Weep to let the forlorness out of the brain,
Sleep to forget the things, for a while , that cause the unbearable pain !
Choices are never an easy gamble to play ,
After making one, many things leave and many are made to stay.
In this world around us so mean ,
Nothing else but our choices are what tend to define us and nothing else is seen .
If some choices are right, some can be wrong ,
Out of our fragility, we name them mistakes and try to be strong .
What a great portrayal of acceptance is the above !
But inside we strongly believe that it was not the choice but the ‘time’ that drifted us
from the way that’s ought to take us to the loved !
Everyday, every moment presents us with choices to make ,
The right ones heal but the wrong ones add to our lake of aches .
In the end , we too begin to see ourselves as a mirror of our irreversible decisions ,
That may have sewn or contributed to the widening of some unexpected incisions .
The more we tend to make favourable choice for the incision to heal ,
The less we are able to put on it a seal .
A seal which won’t get ripped of in any possible term ,
The one which will keep away ever possible emotional germ.
Ultimately , we are here with the Whitman’s Sampler of lives ,
Waiting for us to choose some and make them a consideration for a lively hive !!
Lower Roop Nagar, Jammu
She Walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty like the night
of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
meets in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
had half impair’d the nameless grace
which waves in every raven tress,
or softly lightens o’er her face –
where thoughts serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their dwelling – place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
so soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
the smiles that win, the tints that glow,
but tells in days of goodness spent,
a mind at peace with all below,
a heart whose love is innocent.