Fight, though losing.
To fight or to beat, which is of valour?
To fight the formidable is valour.
To beat the vulnerable is not valour.
The risk involved determines it.
25.04.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Fear of death makes us devoid both of valour and religion. For want of valour is want of religious faith.
quote by Mohandas Gandhi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beat It
They told him don't you ever come around here
Don't wanna see your face, you better disappear
The fire's in their eyes and the words are really clear
So beat it, just beat it
You better run, you better do what you can
Don't wanna see no blood, don't be a macho man
You wanna be tough, better do what you can
So beat it, but you wanna be bad
Just beat it, beat it, beat it
No one wants to be defeated
Showin' how funky and strong is your fight
It doesn't matter who's wrong or right
Just beat it, beat it
Just beat it, beat it
Just beat it, beat it
Just beat it, beat it
They're out to get you, better leave while you can
Don't wanna be a boy, you wanna be a man
You wanna stay alive, better do what you can
So beat it, just beat it
You have to show them that you're really not scared
You're playing with your life, this ain't no truth or dare
They'll kick you, then they beat you
Then they'll tell you it's fair
So beat it, but you wanna be bad
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Greek National Anthem
We knew thee of old,
Oh divinely restored,
By the light of thine eyes
And the light of thy Sword.
From the graves of our slain
Shall thy valour prevail
As we greet thee again --
Hail, Liberty! Hail!
Long time didst thou dwell
Mid the peoples that mourn,
Awaiting some voice
That should bid thee return.
Ah, slow broke that day
And no man dared call,
For the shadow of tyranny
Lay over all:
And we saw thee sad-eyed,
The tears on thy cheeks
While thy raiment was dyed
In the blood of the Greeks.
Yet, behold now thy sons
With impetuous breath
Go forth to the fight
Seeking Freedom or Death.
From the graves of our slain
Shall thy valour prevail
As we greet thee again
Hail, Liberty! Hail!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Soldiers to Sportsmen!
Fighting spirit never dies in man!
Man never sees wonder of his life;
Physical form of man is a miracle
That should be put to best use...!
This he has to remember before
Fight to the last to destroy all....!
Perhaps sports is created well
To satisfy warring talent for good!
Valour was decided by fight earlier....;
Fight was turned into sports in arena
That slowly turned into Olympic game
Starting from spear fight on horse back!
Soldiers turned into chivalrous knights,
Gladiators, national cadet corps, athletes,
Soccer, cricket and base ball players.....
Surely are far better than war soldiers!
poem by Ramesh T A
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The valour of man.
To hunt, to corner, to trap, to elope,
To cuckold, to paramour and to keep
Demands an uncommon masculine valour,
Which you and I lack but deride who’ve got.
17.04.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Loss in both ways
When I had vigour
I had no valour;
When I gathered valour
I had lost my vigour.
End is zero.
When I was eager
The means were meager;
When I grew richer
I had lost to be eager.
End is cipher.
When I was pretty
I was shy;
When I outgrew shyness
I had shed my beauty.
End is at naught.
When there was youth
No means to adorn with;
When there were means
Where is my youth?
End is the nil.
14.04.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Oh, the Shamrock
Through Erin's Isle
To sport awhile
As Love and Valour wander'd,
With Wit, the sprite,
Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squander'd;
Where'er they pass,
A triple grass
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming,
As softly green
As emeralds seen
Through purest crystal gleaming.
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!
Says Valour, "See,
They spring for me,
Those leafy gems of morning!" --
Says Love, "No, no,
For me they grow,
My fragrant path adorning."
But Wit perceives
The triple leaves,
And cries, "Oh! do not sever
A type that blends
Three godlike friends,
Love, Valour, Wit, for ever!"
Oh, the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf, etc.
So firmly fond
May last the bond
They wove that morn together,
And ne'er may fall
One drop of gall
On Wit's celestial feather.
May Love, as twine
His flowers divine,
Of thorny falsehood weed 'em:
May Valour ne'er
His standard rear
Against the cause of Freedom!
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf, etc.
poem by Thomas Moore
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To Battlefields, All
The rhythmic crunch of the marching feet,
Down the cobbled roads in the summer heat.
Soldiers in serge, so ready and willing,
Carriages on trains, their young bodies filling,
To battlefields, all, set in foreign soil,
Facing the enemy, their prepared plans to foil.
Never knowing if they would ever return
To the cosy firesides, that would invitingly burn.
With hope they travelled and strove to win,
To free this world from its sorrow and sin.
As they waved goodbye, their smiles were sweet,
But inside, each felt a shuddering heart beat.
So full of fear, yet called forward to fight
An opponent to crush, by day and by night.
Oh, What we owe to these men so fine,
Who fought with valour on hell’s frontline.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Warning
Virtue is Virtue, writ in ink or blood.
And Duty, Honour, Valour, are the same
Whether they cheer the thundering steps of Fame
Up echoing hills of Alma, or, more blest,
Walk with her in that band where she is least
Thro' smiling plains and cities doing good.
Yet, oh to sing them in their happier day!
Yon glebe is not the hind whose manhood mends
Its rudeness, yet it gains but while he spends,
And mulcts him rude. Even that sinless Lord
Whose feet wan Mary washed, went not His way
Uncoloured by the Galilean field;
And Honour, Duty, Valour, seldom wield
With stainless hand the immedicable sword.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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To My Lord Fairfax
Fairfax, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings,
And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise,
And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze.
And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings,
Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings
Victory home, while new Rebellions raise
Their Hydra-heads, and the false North displays
Her broken League to Imp her Serpent Wings:
O yet! a Nobler task awaits thy Hand,
For what can War, but Acts of War still breed
Till injur'd Truth from Violence be freed;
And publick Faith be rescu'd from the Brand
Of publick Fraud; in vain doth Valour bleed,
While Avarice and Rapine shares the Land.
poem by John Milton
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If all men were just, there would be no need of valour.
One Beat Away
One beat away from all I own
One beat away from where I've grown
One beat away from all the stars
One beat away from Jupiter or Mars
Let that beat stay away for awhile
So I may still see your smile.
One beat away from all my pride
One beat away from by your side
One beat away from songs I love
One beat away from the skies above
Let that beat not come around
So I may hear your breathing sound.
One beat away from quiet prayer
One beat away from all we share
One beat away from all this pain
One beat away, I can't remain.
Let my memory stay with you.
Ah! sweet love, I say adieu.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Pilgrim
Who would true Valour see
Let him come hither;
One here will Constant be,
Come Wind, come Weather.
There's no Discouragement,
Shall make him once Relent,
His first avow'd Intent,
To be a Pilgrim.
Who so beset him round,
With dismal Storys,
Do but themselves Confound;
His Strength the more is.
No Lyon can him fright,
He'l with a Gyant Fight,
But he will have a right,
To be a Pilgrim.
Hobgoblin, nor foul Fiend,
Can daunt his Spirit:
He knows, he at the end,
Shall Life Inherit.
Then Fancies fly away,
He'l fear not what men say,
He'l labour Night and Day,
To be a Pilgrim.
poem by John Bunyan
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Who would true Valour see
Who would true Valour see
Let him come hither;
One here will Constant be,
Come Wind, come Weather.
There's no Discouragement,
Shall make him once Relent,
His first avow'd Intent,
To be a Pilgrim.
Who so beset him round,
With dismal Storys,
Do but themselves Confound;
His Strength the more is.
No Lyon can him fright,
He'l with a Gyant Fight,
But he will have a right,
To be a Pilgrim.
Hobgoblin, nor foul Fiend,
Can daunt his Spirit:
He knows, he at the end,
Shall Life Inherit.
Then Fancies fly away,
He'l fear not what men say,
He'l labour Night and Day,
To be a Pilgrim.
poem by John Bunyan
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Virtue and valour rejoice in being put to the test.
Perfect valour consists in doing without witnesses that which we would be capable of doing before everyone.
quote by John F. Kennedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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