One Day

Oneday

No one of us is working where we all met, one day, 

We all left one by one, to find a better pasture, one day, 

We occasionally, kept in Touch also, one day, 

We inquired about someone else as well, one days,

Then came a revolutions of whatsapp, one day,

We all got again connected somehow, one day,

We cherished those first connection moment, one day,

We again disagreed and fought on silly issues, one day,

As we also follow the trails...for forgotten ways, 

Let’s add loving memories and happy moments, all balance day. 

(c)UK

Prologues : This a poem, I wrote for my office colleagues, whom I meet after 20 yrs, through a whatsapp group, and guess what, before I joined, the group was Silent but after I joined it renewed with lots of sharing. Then the nightmare started, some loose minded colleagues started the forwarded messages in group, religious shaming and political nonsense... so I wrote to them these below poem...  

 

What Is Ours to Do?

When I compare myself to others, I have an immense sense of failure, of inadequacy because I see only their strengths which seldom are my strengths. 

But when I forget comparisons and look only to what needs to be done, what can be done, I am at peace in the knowledge that I have something to give, something to offer. 

If I give of myself, it will make a difference, even though someone else could have given more, could have loved more perfectly, could have succeeded where I failed. 

If only everyone realized that the gift she or he can give is unique and does make a difference! 

What pain of self-pity he or she would be spared! 

We can never be the people we admire. 

We can only be ourselves, and that alone is admirable.

—from the book Song of the Sparrow: New Poems and Meditations by Murray Bodo, OFM

Think about this

 

“Think about this”

 

For each one of us, eventually,

Whether we are ready or not,

Someday it will come to end.

 

There will be no more sun rises,

No more minutes, hours or days,

 

All the things that you collected,

Whether treasured or forgotten,

Will be passed to someone else.

 

Your wealth, fame and temporal power,

will shrivel to irrelevance.

 

It won’t matter, whether you are,

Beautiful or brilliant,

Rich or poor,

Famous or anonymous,

or thought to be those things.

 

It won't matter,

where you came from,

or what side of the tracks you supported.

 

The wins and losses,

that once seemed so important,

will fade away.

 

What will matter is,

Not what we got, but what we Gave

Not what we bought, but what we build,

for those whom you loved.

 

And if there is love,

there is a reason to hope.

And If you can hope,

pray well not only for you own family,

but for your neighbors as well.

 

And who is your neighbor? Everybody except you.

Spread Love, peace, Joy, kindness, humble, patience, goodness.

Little Faces at the Window by E P. Favor

 Little Faces at the Window.

Copyright, 1997. by Albert M. Mansfield.
Words and Music by E P. Favor.

While coming from my work one summer's eve,
I happened to glance over 'cross the way,
There in a cottage neat sat a mother looking sweet.,
While by her side the children were at play.
When to the window suddenly they go,
For soon it's time for papa, they all know.
With faces near the pane, they watch him down the lane.
While to me comes this very sweet refrain:

Refrain.
Little faces at the window, watching there each night,
Little faces at the window, always there so bright.
When Papa at first they spy, quickly to him they both fly,
Little faces at the window, watching there each night.

As slowly I turned to go away.
I could not help but think of days gone by.
How when I was a lad, what a pleasure it gave dad,
As each night we would quickly to him fly,
How happy he would always seem to be,
When we d meet him light-hearted and so free.
As mem'ry to me clings, tears to my eyes it brings,
As watching them I could not help but sing:-Refrain.

SAINT AND SINNERS by Fred Britton

SAINT AND SINNERS.
Copyright, 1898, by A. M Mansfield.
Word! by Fred Britton. Music by Albert M. Mansfield.

To a grand and stately church I sauntered Sunday morn at ten,.
While the bells above were chiming out their welcome to all men,
When a poor, degraded, wretched-looking man, quite ill and worn,
Knelt beside me in that scene of luxury.
Down the aisle came straight an usher, pompous, dignified and stern,
To that poor old man whose head was rowed in prayer,
And he whispered harshly, "Go! this church is not for such as you,"
And this thought came to me as I lingered there:

Chorus.
Which was the sinner, and which was the saint?
What would your answer be?
The picture is one no beginner can paint,
But an artist with fancy free.
Is dame fortune whose smile places velvet on one,
Whose frown turns the other to tears,
Makes a saint of the sinner in splendor arrayed,
But the other's sad tale seldom hears.

Just outside the church I met the old man standing quite alone,
And I spoke a word of friendly cheer in sympathetic tone,
Then the story that he told now makes my indignation burn,
'Twas the old one of a friend's duplicity.
For in years gone by in business he'd been known successfully,
But a scheming partner won his wealth away.
Though he's under fortune's ban, his old partner was that man,
Who from church that morning ordered him away.-Chorus.

WHEN WE ARE MARRIED by Hugh Morton

 WHEN WE ARE MARRIED.

Copyright, 1897, by T. B. Harms & Co.
Words by Hugh Morton. Music by Ousters Kerker.

Fifi.-When we are married Harry.-Why. what will you do?

Fifi.-I'll be as sweet as I can to you,
I will be tender and I will be true
When I am married, sweetheart, to you!

Harry.-Love Is not all, dear, that poets may say.
Often it lasts but a year and a day;
Often the day, love, without any year,
Love Is not all it's crack'd up to be. dear!

Fifi.-I only know, love, what our love will be;
I will love you, love, and you will love me,
Not for a year, love, and not for a day;
I will love you, love, forever and aye!

Harry.-When we are married, why what will you do?

Fifi.-I'll be as sweet as I can be to you!
I will be tender and I will be true,
When I am married, sweetheart, to you.

God Knows

Where I come from

Nobody Knows

And where I am going

Everything goes

The wind blows

The sea flows

Only God knows* 

By Robert Nanthan

*modified from original poem

When I am dead

When I am dead

You can cry a little while,

But I hope to see, only your beautiful smile

You could hate me, why I left by

But I hope to hear, your precious prayer all

You dare visit, my grave at all

But hope you whisper by name quietly, as day pass by

You may curse me, why I left you all alone standby

But I hope you relish, those millions love-hours together byNBy

You dire, the idea to stay alone,

That’s why, I gave you all my love to stay alive

I wish, I stayed little longer with you after all,

But I need to make a place there, before all,

Oh, the Joy of us, together in his midst,

No more but’s and hope’s at all,

In deep love, we will live, with Lord’s of all

All along

All along

All night long, I gaze out the window

Waiting for the sun to come up

Because I can see him when the morning comes

Thank you for holding my hands

Thank you for gazing into my eyes

Thank you, prince of my dreams

For coming to me like this

All day long, I look upon the sky

Waiting for the moon to come up

Because I can talk to him when the night falls

Don’t forget our promises

Don’t forget our secrets

Don’t forget how your eyes

Made my heart pound

Source : from Korean movie - The Black Wolf