You are on holy ground;
Take off your shoes, kneel down;
You will see God as light,
Which human eyes can’t bear.
...
The drumstick-tree I thought was dead and gone
Is fully clothed by green leaves and flowers;
The bees are active and some fruits are born;
The tree awaits August’s Monsoon showers.
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This place isn’t thrilling anymore!
There is no fun or work to do;
Most things in shambles lie for long;
There is no soul who bothers much.
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When Jesus came down from the mountain-side,
A great crowd followed Him, leper beside;
The leper paid Him homage and begged, ‘Lord,
‘If you so wish, you can make me too, clean! ’
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Look how the trees grow in the wilderness!
The Rain and Sun tend to their growing needs;
No man can put the tree’s growth in harness;
‘Tis clothed by verdure leaves, flow’rs, fruits with seeds.
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The man who heals has not a heart of stone;
From bricks and mortar, his body isn’t made;
Like you, he is as much flesh, blood and bone,
And suffers from much stress and is ill paid.
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Two thousand years ago
In Bethlehem town, Oh,
A baby boy was born
In manger-shed forlorn!
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Your days in PMC are o’er for now!
Somehow the years had passed off peacefully;
The road ahead in life has joys and woes;
But still, your future lies in your own hands.
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My Poesy is God-given a gift!
A soothing balm to mind and heart and soul;
No more my ship of life at sea’s adrift;
Bestowed on me has God a better role.
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Compassion is one thing we all expect
In life on earth, from womb to tomb endless;
In giving it, we seldom are perfect;
We live our life that is not just selfless.
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