Good human
I was woken up by force
I opened up eyes with remorse
I was still half awake
They were pulling me with something at stake
They were looking unfamiliar
Not visited me so far or earlier
"Here is person of non gratitude" I heard them saying
‘‘Show him our correct attitude" I was coolly laying
You know today was your great festival
You did not celebrate it with well
Did not donate or made charity to the poor and needy?
You are ungrateful and greedy
I was still under the intoxication
Sleep had taken me over with no relaxation
They were pulling me with the hair
I was angry at them and felt it as unfair
Forget about being true human
You are not even religious man
You were to perform some rites today
Why are you unaware of it and sleeping in a day?
I thought once again who these people might be?
Why were they unreasonable and unsteady?
Why should they bother about my sound sleep?
Why do they want me in their custody or keep?
I pulled my hand from their clutches
And ran as fast as possible beyond their reach
Suddenly I touched stone on toe and felled down
I was found on the ground with the face so much sullen
It was dream but of different kind
I could guess it was message for me not to be blind
With all these comforts at my disposal
I was supposed to offer charity for poor' proposal
I could not laugh or scoff
It was better to think and not put off
All such activities those were not genuine
I was to act from now as good human
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Related quotes
The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
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Happy eid
Eid Mubarak, Eid Mubarak
Rashid was first to see me with love spark
Very much enthusiastic and pious person
He was so much excited with holy reasons
He had observed fasts for whole of times
Complete observance of rules in time
Prayers in time for seeking peace
Love for all and life to be at ease
We are nice friends since childhood
He was the only Muslim friend from neighborhood
We may share greetings on each occasion
As it had remained our obsession
He is nice at heart and loving man
Above it all, he is lovely human
He may donate enough from his income
Celebrate Eid* with simple manner and welcome
"Allah is liberal enough to grace"
Bring glory and happiness on face
One needs no pomp and show
Only pray sincerely and bow
I may not dwell more about him
But may certainly speak about them
Most of the people celebrate with religious fervor
This festival is for whole of mankind to act as server
Donate maximum to the needy and poor
Shut the bad company and never help wrong doers
Islam stands for purity and much thrust is on principles
It is duty of sensible followers to act as true disciples
He has everything to grace without asking
For Him there is no difference between poor and kings
"Rehmat"* is bestowed on all who believe in and profess
They may never suffer in whatever situation or case
I take this opportunity to convey my greetings to all
Followers all over globe with honest and sincere call
"Let peace be showered on them wherever they are "
Almighty is for all and for them even if they are staying far
*Eid Mubarak…….Eid greetings…*Rehmat…mercy, grace
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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There was one I met upon the road
There was one I met upon the road
Who looked at me with kind eyes.
He said, "Show me of your wares."
And this I did,
Holding forth one.
He said, "It is a sin."
Then held I forth another;
He said, "It is a sin."
Then held I forth another;
He said, "It is a sin."
And so to the end;
Always he said, "It is a sin."
And, finally, I cried out,
"But I have none other."
Then did he look at me
With kinder eyes.
"Poor soul!" he said.
poem by Stephen Crane
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A Strange Wild Song
He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
"At length I realize," he said,
"The bitterness of life!"
He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
"Unless you leave this house," he said,
"I'll send for the police!"
he thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
"The one thing I regret," he said,
"Is that it cannot speak!"
He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
"If this should stay to dine," he said,
"There won't be much for us!"
He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a Coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
"Were I to swallow this," he said,
"I should be very ill!"
He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!"
poem by Lewis Carroll
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Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 12
An unjust king asked a devotee what kind of worship is best? He replied: "For thee the best is to sleep one half of the day so as not to injure the people for a while."
I saw a tyrant sleeping half the day.
I said: "This confusion, if sleep removes it, so much the better;
But he whose sleep is better than his wakefulness
Is better dead than leading such a bad life."
You're right—
234
You're right—"the way is narrow"—
And "difficult the Gate"—
And "few there be"—Correct again—
That "enter in—thereat"—
'Tis Costly—So are purples!
'Tis just the price of Breath—
With but the "Discount" of the Grave—
Termed by the Brokers—"Death"!
And after that—there's Heaven—
The Good Man's—"Dividend"—
And Bad Men—"go to Jail"—
I guess—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Us Two
Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.
Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.
"Let's go together," says Pooh.
"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.
("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."
"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,
But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what it is," said Pooh.
"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.
"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what they are," said Pooh.
"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.
"That's right," said Pooh to Me.
"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.
"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,
"I'm never afraid with you."
So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,
"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Dark Trinity
Said I to Pain: "You would not dare
Do ill to me."
Said Pain: "Poor fool! Why should I care
Whom you may be?
To clown and king alike I bring
My meed of bane;
Why should you shirk my chastening?"
Said Pain.
Said I to Grief: "No tears have I,
Go on your way."
Said Grief: "Why should I pass you by,
While others pay?
All men must know the way of woe,
From saint to thief,
And tears were meant to overflow,"
Said Grief.
Said I to Death: "From ail and fret
Grant me relief."
Said Death: "I know you are beset
By Pain and Grief.
But my good will you must await
Since human breath
To suffering is consecrate,"
Said Death.
Said I to God: "Pale Sister Grief,
Bleak Brother Pain,
Bedevil me beyond belief,
And Death's unfain . . ."
Said God: "Curse not that blessed Three,
Poor human clod!
Have faith! Believe the One with Me,"
Said God.
poem by Robert William Service
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Anesthetized Shock!
People, people, people, today,
—Don't they all, but seem,
Accustomed to the agonies—
Of sorrow and shock!
To pain and suffering. (Today…)
"Today, they're only mortal comedies—
After all—as are all subversive—horror show stories".
Just shrug your nervous shoulders—aback
And give out that tenuous frigid laugh.
To all this human cost
Spill-it-out like cold-vomit over their loss…
"Over their bankrupt, souls torment".
But—you know, I'm sure? !
There is still a shock that'll
Cut you to the quick to the core.
Just occasionally, even venomously,
If it's just outwardly, cowardly, and outwardly,
They're all still looking, deeply, anesthetized.
(But I'm one-hundred per cent I'm still sure!)
There is still a shock story that'll
Cut you to the quick to the core.
"THIS JUST IN… Some Breaking News"…
"SOME PROFOUND… BREAKING, News"…
Here's a modern day horror story
A man's face is chewed—off
By another man—whilst being shot! ! !
By an armed officer of the law—a cop!
"Now here's a question; where does this register? "
Why, you may well think? I've seen Hannibal Lector
But, just you wait until you've seen…
"You've seen the core, the face missing from the picture".
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Contrast
"Carry your suitcase, Sir?" he said.
I turned away to hide a grin,
For he was shorter by a head
Than I and pitiably thin.
I could have made a pair of him,
So with my load I stoutly legged;
But his tenacity was grim:
"Please let me help you, sir," he begged.
I could not shake the fellow off,
So let him shoulder my valise;
He tottered with a racking cough
That did not give him any peace.
He lagged so limply in my wake
I made him put the burden down,
Saying: "A taxi I will take,"
And grimly gave him half-a-crown.
Poor devil! I am sure he had
Not eaten anything that day;
His eyes so hungrily were glad,
Although his lips were ashen grey.
He vanished in the callous crowd,
Then when he was no more around,
I lugged my bag and thought aloud:
"I wish I'd given him a pound."
And strangely I felt sore ashamed,
As if somehow I had lost face;
And not only myself I blamed
But all the blasted human race;
And all this life of battle where
The poor are beaten to their knees,
And while the weak the burdens bear,
Fat fools like me can stroll at ease.
poem by Robert William Service
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What is—
215
What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—
Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—
You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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In world to claim
No one does anything without favor
Some expectation is always there
Little greed for some kind of sure return
That is realized handsomely in turn
"You are foolish and should not have done"
"He was helpless and couldn't have gone to any one"
Family members were sometimes not happy with charitable act
As inside story was not made known to them in fact
Why not we part with little of our fortune?
If that is really blessed by almighty to large tune
Some portion may well be diverted for poor and needy
I have always felt that it was real intention of almighty
Even if you gain millions of worth and hide in cupboard
That may increase worry and the mental load
You may get tension about it being stolen
Or fear about its misuse by unknown relatives even
It is not always appreciated by people who are unfortunate
As they are not blessed by fortune and get jealous to relate
They may try to block or dishearten you for helping others
As it might take you to new heights and real cause for them to bother
Charity is considered as good act and quality
It is neither inherited not developed as capability
It is natural act and felt by inner conscience
Soul and heart act together in resonance
You need not become big donor in question
With billions of rupees to earn good name to mention
Even little gesture of kind words can earn you good name
Otherwise what else is there in world to claim?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Subalterns
I
"Poor wanderer," said the leaden sky,
"I fain would lighten thee,
But there are laws in force on high
Which say it must not be."
II
--"I would not freeze thee, shorn one," cried
The North, "knew I but how
To warm my breath, to slack my stride;
But I am ruled as thou."
III
--"To-morrow I attack thee, wight,"
Said Sickness. "Yet I swear
I bear thy little ark no spite,
But am bid enter there."
IV
--"Come hither, Son," I heard Death say;
"I did not will a grave
Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,
But I, too, am a slave!"
V
We smiled upon each other then,
And life to me had less
Of that fell look it wore ere when
They owned their passiveness.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Childhood friend
I saw childhood friend named as Ibhrahim
Very pious, devoted and near replica of Him
True Momin(follower of truth) and servant of poor
He will welcome, provide the service but never show door
"Hello, Hello I shouted and ran after
He saw me and instantly greeted each other
He was medical practitioner and had dispensary
An ordinary man in outfit and a true missionary
I saw some kind of invisible pain on his face
He was pale, concerned individual and almost chased
He was never like this before so I hunted him
I simply stared in his eyes and beamed
He opened up slowly by saying
I am dejected and heavily paying
My dispensary was about to be burnt
I was shocked to hear from his mouth when learnt
"Two more brothers suffered same fate" he just broke down
"Their houses were burnt of late" he made me known
One brother has sold out property and moving out
Another was saved miraculously and what more to talk about
I could feel the pain behind his voice
He had every reason to feel bad without any choice
"Do you know I could make out a man in crowd"?
"I had saved his wife when she was almost dead"
I silently heard him without watching his face
"If you have holy reason to burn my clinic"
"Please do so along with me as an undesired person"
The crowd heard him silently and withdrew without any reason
He looked at the roof and thanked almighty
For sparing life and showing mercy
I saw now a man now in great pain
It has almost killed him and drained
I am living my beautiful motherland
To go abroad and settle in alien land
I loved the people so much here
I don't know what will be waiting there
Now was the turn for me to think
His plight was genuine and made me to sink
He had only one solace that crowd had spared
Otherwise he was almost over and dead
*Ibhrahim… name ….Momin...follower of truth
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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What Goes Around . . .
In position and out of sight,
hiding until the time was right,
the cat crawled forward with such skill,
the bird could not escape the "kill." It happened almost every day.
The cat would never miss its prey.
So many kills against its name,
it loved to play that "pouncing" game. But then one day, the cat outside,
not chasing birds, no need to hide,
just lying in the grass to rest,
and dreaming of that new found nest. But suddenly, an angry cry,
the sound of many birds nearby.
Like bombers on a bombing run,
they started "swooping" one by one. The battle on, surprise attack,
the cat "pinned down," could not fight back.
The "message" on that battleground,
what goes around does come around.
poem by Art Milkes
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A Casualty
That boy I took in the car last night,
With the body that awfully sagged away,
And the lips blood-crisped, and the eyes flame-bright,
And the poor hands folded and cold as clay --
Oh, I've thought and I've thought of him all the day.
For the weary old doctor says to me:
"He'll only last for an hour or so.
Both of his legs below the knee
Blown off by a bomb. . . . So, lad, go slow,
And please remember, he doesn't know."
So I tried to drive with never a jar;
And there was I cursing the road like mad,
When I hears a ghost of a voice from the car:
"Tell me, old chap, have I `copped it' bad?"
So I answers "No," and he says, "I'm glad."
"Glad," says he, "for at twenty-two
Life's so splendid, I hate to go.
There's so much good that a chap might do,
And I've fought from the start and I've suffered so.
'Twould be hard to get knocked out now, you know."
"Forget it," says I; then I drove awhile,
And I passed him a cheery word or two;
But he didn't answer for many a mile,
So just as the hospital hove in view,
Says I: "Is there nothing that I can do?"
Then he opens his eyes and he smiles at me;
And he takes my hand in his trembling hold;
"Thank you -- you're far too kind," says he:
"I'm awfully comfy -- stay . . . let's see:
I fancy my blanket's come unrolled --
My feet, please wrap 'em -- they're cold . . . they're cold."
poem by Robert William Service
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I cried at Pity—not at Pain
588
I cried at Pity—not at Pain—
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child"—and something in her voice
Convicted me—of me—
So long I fainted, to myself
It seemed the common way,
And Health, and Laughter, Curious things—
To look at, like a Toy—
To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy
And see the Parcel rolled—
And carried, I supposed—to Heaven,
For children, made of Gold—
But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh—
And so and so—had been to me,
Had God willed differently.
I wish I knew that Woman's name—
So when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears
For fear I hear her say
She's "sorry I am dead"—again—
Just when the Grave and I—
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,
Our only Lullaby—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Lesson
Chaos ruled OK in the classroom
as bravely the teacher walked in
the nooligans ignored him
hid voice was lost in the din
"The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
one that you'll never forget"
He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garrotted the girl behind him
(the one with grotty hair)
Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows
"First come, first severed" he declared
"fingers, feet or toes"
He threw the sword at a latecomer
it struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game
The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug's pulled out
"Please may I leave the room sir?"
a trembling vandal enquired
"Of course you may" said teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired
The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade
And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
with its hands up in the air
The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
"Now let that be a lesson" he said
poem by Roger McGough
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The Black Swan
When the swans turned my sister into a swan
I would go to the lake, at night, from milking:
The sun would look out through the reeds like a swan,
A swan's red beak; and the beak would open
And inside there was darkness, the stars and the moon.
Out on the lake, a girl would laugh.
"Sister, here is your porridge, sister,"
I would call; and the reeds would whisper,
"Go to sleep, go to sleep, little swan."
My legs were all hard and webbed, and the silky
Hairs of my wings sank away like stars
In the ripples that ran in and out of the reeds:
I heard through the lap and hiss of water
Someone's "Sister . . . sister," far away on the shore,
And then as I opened my beak to answer
I heard my harsh laugh go out to the shore
And saw - saw at last, swimming up from the green
Low mounds of the lake, the white stone swans:
The white, named swans . . . "It is all a dream,"
I whispered, and reached from the down of the pallet
To the lap and hiss of the floor.
And "Sleep, little sister," the swan all sang
From the moon and stars and frogs of the floor.
But the swan my sister called, "Sleep at last, little sister,"
And stroked all night, with a black wing, my wings.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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Swinging the Lead
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "I've got noises in me head
And a kind o' filled up feeling after every time I'm fed;
I can sleep all night on picket, but I can't sleep in my bed".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "Do you think they'll send me back?
For I really ain't adapted to be carrying a pack
Though I've humped a case of whisky half a mile upon my back".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
"And my legs have swelled up cruel, I can hardly walk at all,
Bur when the Taubes come over you should see me start to crawl;
When we're sprinting for the dugout, I can easy beat 'em all".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
So they sent him to the trenches where he landed safe and sound,
And he drew his ammunition, just about two fifty round:
"Oh Sergeant, what's this heavy stuff I've got to hump around?"
And the Sergeant said,
"That's Lead!"
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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