As poetry is from the heart,
With time, it does become an art;
The bard must always do his part;
The best comes when the going's worst!
...
God made us human beings, out of love;
He made us in His image specially;
He wants our souls pure, back to Him above
In after-life with Him, eternally.
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The Doctor's super human soul …
With hand that heals by tender touch
With mouth that utters soothing words
With mind that learns to cure ailments
...
S(he) is an angel almost upon earth!
But angels dwell in heaven, serving God;
Are human beings angels at their birth?
Still angels come to earth as per God's nod.
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No man can climb the lofty hills of life
And mountain-sides so steep, all on his own;
God's help is needed when he faces strife;
His grace ensures he never ev'r falls down.
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I am a beast of burden but
I toil for pittance fee;
My skin is thick and shabby too,
I am not much pretty.
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This day has come to tell the world
That poetry will stay;
And poets world-over, young, old
Will read their stuff, this day.
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I thought I'd saved him from pneumonia;
But other lung got infected bit late;
And antibiotics had ceased to work;
My father lay gasping for breath for days.
...
Those were the days, when drugs had not been found;
Those were the days when TB killed and maimed;
Those were the days when TB consumed most;
The Phthisis bacillus wasn't discovered.
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Love is an urge that takes on all;
Love is a thought that grows quite tall;
Love is a haze that blinds the heart;
Love is a maze that's won by art.
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