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At times it is so
Nay, it has ever been so..

We want to see them smile
But they start making their guffaws

We ask for a glass of water
But they serve us venom in a large bottle

We ask for a slice of bread
But they show us a pile of flesh and blood

We ask for a sweet flower
But they offer us a wreathe

We ask for fire
But they ready our pyre

At times it is so
Yes, it will ever be so

One day we have to stop asking
Perchance then will dawn a new Sun for us.

Submitted: Sunday, September 29, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 30, 2013

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Comments about this poem (A LITTLE TEACHER by M.D Dinesh Nair )

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  • Kanniappan Kanniappan (10/7/2013 9:59:00 PM)

    Most of the time, it is so! People have something in mind, they speak something else.

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  • Valerie Dohren (10/3/2013 1:04:00 PM)

    The way of the world I guess Dinesh, very well put.

  • Heather Wilkins (10/3/2013 11:40:00 AM)

    life as it is. hope for tomorrow

  • Dinesh Nair (10/1/2013 6:46:00 AM)

    Thank you all for your sweet or authentic comments. Madam Hazel, sorry to miss you for some time as you are planning to take a break for now. I wish you all the best for your poetry course to be done in the meantime.

  • Jr Cuyam (10/1/2013 6:44:00 AM)

    We experience this...nice Dinesh I appreciate your work

  • Abhishek Mishra (10/1/2013 4:02:00 AM)

    A true poem on life which is written with exceptional beauty...: -)

  • Yasmeen Khan (9/30/2013 1:34:00 PM)

    A poem about bitter facts of life may be the conclusion prove a successful solution.

  • Tirupathi Chandrupatla (9/30/2013 11:39:00 AM)

    Things go on whether we ask or not. If we ask the opposite, they do it anyway. Beautiful poem. Thank you.

  • Valsa George (9/30/2013 10:54:00 AM)

    The irony of life is beautifully brought out! We are pained when our plea for help is callously turned down. But indirectly such rudeness from the world strengthens us and we learn to stand on our own feet and depend wholly on ourselves!

  • Anthony Di''anno (9/30/2013 10:33:00 AM)

    It reminds me of being small and holding out my hand until having become tired it is withdrawn empty. Over time the hand is held out less and less. Eventually it no longer reaches out at all. Probably for the best.

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