The Dedication is to the Graciousness of the Almighty Creator who blessed us with so many blesses like the Eternal Maternity and the Souls sharing and caring for the salvation of all the beings
Ethica (a child family member of us) left us, on 30.06.2011, suffering with meningitis. Ma was injured on 19.03.2009 (12:30-1:30 pm), with something blunt, on her face (as the spots can be located in the photo, located at http://shuvogrontho.blog.com , even after 10 days of her miraculous recovery from that fatal injury) ‘through faltering while shopping’ at Kallyanpur Natun Bazar, Dhaka (she lived at house no. 74/1/B - second Floor, Block - D , Road -6, Kallyanpur notun Bazar, Dhaka) ; and consequentially, becoming weaker, left us on 11.07.2011
THIS BLOG IS POSTED TO COMMEMORATE THEM AND MANY OTHERS LEAVING THIS EARTH IN AN UNNATURAL/UNEXPECTED/UNTIMELY MANNER.
Other parts, including the illustrative Mandala-art-works and literature for children, may be found at http://shuvogrontho.blog.com AND at http://shuvogronthona.blog.com
Prelude of the presenter and copyright owner
He came and gave some of the art-works for preserving and serving to the extent possible. He spoke, as simple like anyone, about some of the inclinations about those art-labours, and about the dedication line. Close to those inclinations the preparations were done to serve them in a frame before you. (He is S.A.K.M. Shamsul Hauque, the author of the following literary-art works). And the way all these grew, you knew too, as that’s nothing new to be known by few.
May this bilingual presentation bridge the positive souls and minds, of different landscapes of the very same earth, that find anywhere in the life-flow the promises and ties to grow and let others grow.
The Parabola and The Mundane Songs were inclined to be spread through the book like parts of the main canvas. and The Monadics, Uni-Meditation, to be in booklet form. He revived some of the Drvidian drawings of collective-meditation or Mandala-chitra (contained in Uni-Meditation) and requested all to search for the others, samples of that collection were also inclined to be presented in booklets. There are episodes or parts in Bangla (Bengali) which were kept as it were for the sake of serving and preserving the art-works in their original form. All the art works of this Art-collection have been served in the original communicative languages of their formation and none of them are translated or transformed from themselves or from any other art-works so far it is known to the original Art-labourer/writer and to the presenter of this collection. So, to taste all the art-works of this book, the readers have to possess adequate fluency in both Bangla (Bengali) and English or may require to take assistance of authentic literary-translators, until the writer himself has translated them. Concerning aesthetic value of these art-labours, we like to quote from one of the statements of the Art-labourer/writer of this book– “Art-works are but the spectrum of the reality of the distinguish time-space-force playing through the prism of the Art-labourer/writer. So Art-labourer/writer deserves very minimum of the appreciations or criticisms for the art-work, though the labour and/or care for the art-labour or creativity is not beyond appreciations or criticisms. In fact it’s merely a way of sharing, like that of a farmer sharing his/her labour of producing grains for others as well.” All the literary and other types of art-labours came from one person whose intended name-sign letters are printed as Shv. He thinks that names are but merely the way of indication of a being, so he preferred the art-labours to be known in that way. His fingerprints are printed in the book for the sake of preventing the art-labours from any type of illegal or misrepresented claim or use. Having a copy of this collection, you gain only the right to collect and taste the art-labours as they are. This gives you no right of reproduction of any kind other than for academic and humanitarian purposes. Persons interested for any other types of use or reproduction are requested to strictly comply with the Copyrights Laws and are advised to contact with the copyright-holder at the specified contact.
In relation to the lots of spelling and grammatical errors, more specifically in The Parabolas, we apologize and assure you that very soon there will be a comparatively error-free version for your collection. And here we like to recall the theorems “In this world full of errors nothing but the Creator alone is above the limitations of errors” and that, “NIHIL SIMUL INVENTUM EST ET PERFECTUM”.
Anyway, this collection is presented for the consideration, of the minds who remind and keep in mind, that the alternative to reading and writing is to read and write. O yes, one more personal message for all concerned – probably one international law requiring any film or document or drawing, concerning the persons or beliefs of reverence to any community, to be approved by the proper authority of that community, would suffice to close the door of hell that is causing many losses through conflicts arising out of religious or other types of beliefs.
The contents of this blog were printed in February, 2008 and has been placed online since then. Those earlier versions can be found at http://shuvogrontho.informe.com
As to any sort of interest including those of re-publication or for the purpose of collecting the Bangla (Bengali) parts or for collecting the drawings on joint-meditation, you are cordially requested to please contact at -
THE BOOK STARTS WITH
THIS VERSE FROM THE HOLY Al-Qur’an
“Say: Allah is the One and Only everywhere; Allah, the Eternal, the Absolute; ………” Al-Qur’an, 112.001-2 [Al-Ikhlas (Sincerity)]
Parabola- 1. The sun sets to set away – it’s the way days give way to the nights, it’s the way always all through the ways that the darks mingle up with the lights. The lonely kite on its end-day flight is searching for – a search for something to grip either-or. See the trees, see the clouds, sees the sky and sees the boy without toy and whose eyes rise like ever high. Sees the boy, and he sees the trees and the clouds, the flights of the kites and the sky that takes so high to wash off the pains of gains of a lonely sigh of the fatherless child growing up with his mother’s care, though he himself is not much shared by others, but by his mother, he learns to share. Running here and there the child went not wild though he went to wilds that harness the harshness of life into a light so soft and mild. From the wild, the tiny child learns too how to wash off the mundane pains and the lonely sighs. The tiny child’s mind and eyes browse through the colours of life and through the skies, the trees and clouds and the colours of the sun do the things that otherwise would have been never done. The trees and clouds, sun-rays and the skies tell him an endless tale of life free from the undue mundane lies. The green leaves, hasty clouds and the playing sunrays all over the sky, binds up the tiny mind and mother-earth with the unseen forever-tie. The tiny mind gets the best ways to find the life as life in a time and space that seems to him not so kind. The sun sets away far a way to bear in mind – the tiny boy and the praising calmness of his sight that the sun leaves behind. The mundane charm of the warmth of a calm working Mom at the end of the day when the sunrays begin to blur, comes to her the time to pray for some from an endless sum of the eternal some. Mom, O! Mom, tired of works, but ever so calm, Mom, O! Mom, singing to her kids the holy verses and some of the psalms. Mom! a Mom, likened by the kids like the moonlit nights and the stars that blur off with the firsts of daylights. Mom, the Mom, the heavenly grace that the kids brought with them from the heaven, the grace without which the life could not be thought. Mom, a Mom, who sums up some and many of the some of life-sums. Mom, the Mom, tired of works but even then too calm. Mom, the Mom, who breeds the creed, feeds and leads them to the holy some. Mom, the Mom, breeds the kids – so need to feed them up – so works so long. Mom, the Mom, lead the creeds, seed them up, to sing the life’s lovely song. Mom, the Mom, the working Mom, the warmth of love and the kids’ innocence-charms at the end of the day give her the power to forgive and to give the best mundane things to pray to have in the life all the ways. Mom, the Mom, the working Mom, tired but calm at the end of a workful day, does not sway anyway to lead her kids in the moves through the life’s days of the busy ways.
Mom, the Mom, now old and aged and caged in two tiny rooms, waits for the breeze to bridge the memories’ chime that faded with time. Faded ? Or graded with the waves that pave the phases of faces in mundane graces ? The Mom’s stone-faced face graces the traces of mundane graces. “Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The eternal face, Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The Creator’s best mundane grace. Mom, O! Mom, O! the Mom! Closing the eyes, the face I can see. Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! Creator’s best gift only for me.” The children-rhyme with the best chime of time that belongs to none but all who can feel and still can hear the childhood call. The children’s rhymes with sublime-chimes’ wave through times -“Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The eternal face, Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! The Creator’s best mundane grace. Mom, O! Mom, O! the Mom! Closing the eyes, the face can see all. Mom, O! Mom, O! my Mom! Creator’s best gift for us all.”
The sun sets to set away – it’s the way days give way to the nights, it’s the way always all through the ways that the darks mingle up with the lights. The lonely kite on its end-day flight is searching for – a search for something to grip either-or. See the trees, see the clouds, sees the sky and sees the boy whose eyes rise and live ever high. Rise the eyes through the skies to see beyond and within – the shall, will, are, is, am and been.
“……..Fear Allah, and hearken not to the unbelievers and the hypocrites; verily Allah is full of knowledge and wisdom. But follow that which comes to you by inspiration from your Creator: because Allah is well-acquainted with all that you do…..” Sura Al Ahzab or The Confedarates , The Holy Al-Qur’an
Sky, O Sky , O holy Sky , tell to all the root-cause of all the pains and sighs that comes but was not seen by the eyes of the child who was mild with the love of the mother-soul of the eternal goal to breed the seed of the creed to a holy goal of sharing and caring for all as a whole, in spite of the brutal facts and acts she had to face through out the life and the toll she had to pay in many ways of the nights and days of the darks that spark to jerk and shake not to remake but to break the real-form and to deform the real values and norms of the creed to proceed to the positive goal which confirms that the creed as a whole is but one to breed the seeds bound by the needs crust that must be broken for the seed to be free and to become the tree of blooming-spree to grow and flow the flowers of growers who are the pure souls of the best of the mundane-goals that don’t want to fight but work for light of the souls to work through the creative goals and to partake in the life that the Holy Soul wanted to make where nobody take more than that they may make out of work which don’t spark or jerk the pure souls neither shake to deform the pure souls’ real form to turn into an evil or a sear soul deviated from the goal that was implanted by the Holy Soul within the pure souls to reach the goals of the fusion of the creation that never ends but may bend to mend the wounds of the rounds of bounds of the negative force that try to endorse the evil trends by the bends of the sparks and jerks to shake not to remake but to break the real-form and to deform the real values and norms of the creed to proceed to the positive goal that was implanted within the pure souls.
Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell to all the root-cause of all the pains and sighs that comes out of the causes that see not the eyes of the child who was mild with the love of the mother-soul of the eternal goal to breed the seed of the creed to a holy goal of sharing and caring for all as a whole. Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell the pure souls of goals not to sigh or cry but to unite through out the sites of seen and unseen lights and to try to locate and placate the broken souls to not allow any more sear-souls to derail from the real humane-mundane-goals. Sky, O Sky, O holy Sky, tell the pure souls of goals not to sigh or cry but to unite through out the sights and sites and to try to ignite the holy lights of the holy days and nights within the evil souls derailed from the real mundane- humane-goals.
“I hear this morning making a call - We salute the dignified way to be united to rise, to preserve and to be just like the truth that never fall. Like ever, the nation is one and together, WE ALL.”
- Princess Justicia and her countrymen.
The calmness of the palms of the Mother who sought them into being and brought them up in the rings of things and beings to grow and let others grow as human beings working to trace the grace for the race of the races and thereby to place the lights of the sights that were endowed by the One who has ordained to bow before none but only before that One who has created and seated the things into being and had formed the rings of the things and beings that together forms the universe being and becoming through and by the things and beings waiting for the finest of the parabola rings that might free the things and beings from the pains of the chains that give not the gains to the forms nor develop the norms of the forms to a higher phase of the cosmic nights and days mingled with the rays of the darks and lights that may or may not be seen by all the sights of the lights and darks to receive and perceive the lights and darks that spark through and to the darkest sparks of the darks when they can not be regained to do the due that they were ordained to be done by the holiest One who is the none someone and the One who is many in One who created everyone and every one of the things forming the rings of the things and beings being and becoming now and then every when since the eve of the time when was formed the first of the chimes of the sublimes of the existence and non-existence that were destined for the earliest forms of the norms that could make the storms of the things and beings form the non-being to the rings of the things and beings and then may turn again to the chain of norms that deform the forms to reform or not to form in those forms following the same norms that were normed within the earliest norm of the forms to reform or to deform those unable to reform them out of the darkest sparks they are carrying in and thereby carrying in the sparks into the rings of the beings and things.
Mother who shared and taught to share with all of the races of the holy creeds of the holy seed every bit of the graces for the races to preserve the seeds of the creeds passing through the chains of the needs that are but part of the norms of the forms being and becoming to and from the forms and norms that they are made of or for the norms and forms of the storms of the cosmic flow that grows and flows through and to the high and lows of the sky where nothing is high or low and neither slow but to shape their being into becoming to bring in the ever most perfect ring of the timely chime of sblime that they use to sing since the eve of the time they were into the world of the things and beings and which were ordained and were coded for the doors of the source-codes of the holiest codes to form the best of the norms to form and to reform the forms and norms whenever they may have been deformed by the darkests of the sparks that bites and hurts the other forms or norms due to their inborn defect of the norms to form themselves for reaching the goals by playing the roles that they were ordained to play since the first ray before the rounds of sounds could be found in the womb of time that made the first of its chimes to load the source-codes that are ordained by the One who is for all again for none who deforms the norms of the forms or norms that were formed and were set as the source-code of the core of mores and force before the first storm of the beings to form the rings of things and beings to bring in the seeds to breed the creed of the being with the most proper pace to grow and let others grow and flow through the stream of the things and beings that are becoming for the coming times to pass through and to reach up to the goals they are destined as forms or to be deformed by the forces of the deformed norms who force other to be deformed and to spark out their inborne forces through the courses of mal-forces that were not designed in the discourses of the source-codes of the norms to form and to reform the things and beings to develop themselves and all to a newer phase to face the newer plane of becoming to be a part of the coming time to remain together even in that plane and to proceed more to a newer time and to ensure the eternal knot of the dots and thoughts and spots of time that to be passed by them and to reach the newer plane of the sublime passing through the blooming time that is also being and becoming now and then to and from many when of the time raining the gains to get rid of the undue chains and pains that deforms the norms and forms of all the forms or norms existing in the world of the beings or non-beings that are also part of the rings of things and beings that came into being since the eve of the time and are developing to and from the newer phases of the pace of the race of the creeds to preserve to grow and flow the seeds and to breed the seeds of creeds to trace and face the needs to grow and flow through the courses of the time and to carry the source-codes’ chimes to the newer phase of sublime and forms that bring out and preserve the forms and norms to grow and flow and to follow the destined chain of the source-codes to bring in the best of the things and beings out of their forms and to preserve and bear in the norms that were ordained for their creed to breed and seed the creed and, to the newer phase, to sow and grow and flow and to contain the seeds to a newer plane of sublime and thereby to maintain the chain of being and becoming of the things to ensure that the best of the things are preserved and grown up to the next cosmic-plane to ensure the creative chain of the things of being and becoming as per the earliest of the ordained source-codes and to maintain pace as per the newer cosmic-planes to sustain and contain the gains through the pains and chains as may be found in the nature of the Mother mundane.
“Naibā stree Nā pumaneshnā choibaŷong nopunshākh
Jod Jochchhorirmadolte tēn tēn sā rakhsnyatē.” – Shetashwatar Upanishad, 5/10
[And this spirit of life is of neither sex, nor is either or other sex,
Due to the works, having distinguished figures, gains the gains and pains therewith.]
The Conch-shell rang the bell to tell the tale of millions years of tales that tell about gains of love and pains of fears. The Conch-shell spheres the spirals in and out but not to bend the spiral that rounds in many but to be one at the end. Conch-shell ! Tell the tales of the brightest way to the slightest ray to carry in the rays that rise the way that for ever been in the waves and the dots that the sights seldom slight out through the flights of lights. Conch-shell ! Tell the tale of millions mundane-years after years of love, gains and pains bound by the ropes of hopes, and torn by the fierce spears of fears and tears. Conch-shell ! spiral in and out but never bend but mend the millions rounds of bounds to be one at the end.
Conch-shell, tell the tale of the bluest sky – the sea of lights flying high, the light-sea that the eyes never see though they too fly in that sky which is azurite in spite of its own belonging-less-ness. The sky that reminds the “I” about the ways the things came into beings out of nothingness. The sky that plays the rays to play the plays of the conch-shell’s many-one ring that says the ways how the first-most things came into being. Conch-shell, tell the tales of seas, rivers and streams that stream in and out of all in their mundane streams of dreams that dream to be in the dreams of the sublime light’s streams to bright up the flights of the highest sights.
Conch-shell – the tale that’s forever to tell. Not so bright and not so dim. Nor like stream or a dream. Not so loud nor so low, but enough to flow for ever to grow on the window-panes or in the dens with the senses of the thinnest lenses of hence and thence. Not so low nor so high, but enough to fly in an endless sky of beings to bring in the rings that spiral in and out but never bend to mend many ways’ round that to be found as one at the end. Conch-shell, tell the tale that’s yet to tell – the tale that’s too old again so new, the tale that tells of the things that all do to tell the tales that are in them, us and you.
Conch-shell, tell the tale of the greenest leaves that live through the ages of beliefs that relieve none yet do live and believe in the beliefs that leave none and relieve all to relive. Tell the tales that forever tell the sweetest chimes of the times that make the times’ timeless rhymes in sublimes. Tell the tale that never fell in any mundane facts or dreams, but flows in all like a water-fall, river or stream. Tell the tale that tells the tales of the tales that wave low and high like the sea or the sky, or, like the sky or the sea pave the waves and dots of the brightest spots of the sky’s flights all through the sea that very few may see. Conch-shell, tell the tale that tells the tales of the ways we may and should do the things that are yet to do, tale that tells the tale of being and becoming of them, us and you. Tell the tales to bring the things to the beings’ rings that spiral within and without in and out but never bend or mend the many-way-round that’s to be found to be but one at an endless end to which all tends to bend.
Conch-shell, tell the tale that never fell, tell them the Conch-shell-tale that’s for all for ever to tell.
“I know, such dense is the darkness that the sun too, as if, dares not to shine.
But, this is the land you inherit to cultivate, O, Ye! Shrine-less heart of mine.”
THE MUNDANE SONGS
- He had
Mainly because of his distinctive path He had to swallow the “grapes of wrath”.
I found him walking Very very slowly up to the end But, never found him to bend.
I asked him, who, really, was he ? I asked him, who, really, is he ?
He returned a sentence only- “Alike you I am the soul I are the mind And, I is the body. Never can they bend the souls down. Though they can delay the mundane goals And may break-through or even dissect the body”.
See the palms - The wounds bleeds even now in various forms. And the chest – speared and torn. See the feet - Stricken by the nails of unjust norms. And, the head, They have ‘crowned’ with the thorns of scorn. They bear the statue engraved on the top of the altar. But can’t feel the self when in the name of the self the very throat, they slaughter. But you, who war simply because of being paid, See the palms And look deep into the eyes, Is it not the very self who prayed- Care the much you can to those who cares Share the dues to all who shares And beat the swords, right now, into ploughshares.
- his journey to Many an events on his journey through the life, And through the lives as well. Only a very few of those tales I tell you. May be many of them many or some of you already knew. And surely he knew too, As most of those seemed to him to be nothing new. So, he bathed in them and some of them and he took births anew.
The shiny dot that ended in the biggest blast, And the seeds of the creed swimming over the ovum’s crust, And the greens telling him the life’s hidden tales, And the man, who against the wind dared to open the sails, The war-orphan of not a very different past, And the peace of the graveyards that everlast. Many a flowers nipped in the bud in their infanthood, Many of the truths vigorously bright but primitively crude. Gliders of the skies and the shiny bird of a tiny wood, All spoken to him and told him the life’s endless tale the much they could. In his journey through the life he had to gain From himself the right to drink up the gains of pain. Pain or joy ? joy or pain ? pain or joy ? I can’t say unless allowed by the troy, But I can tell you some or this one tale – I found him enchained and pained at almost every steps, as he denied To leave his believe that each of the souls of goals should be dignified. I found many one of them tried to improvise a crucifixion, As in that case those ugly man-traders could gain and pain with a newer fiction. And many tried too to improvise he was who, He spoke not, as he knew who he was, And too knew that very few were there around to judge who is who. People around guessed and told, told and guessed, Some caused chains of pains to derail him, though few blessed. Did he care for the pains intended to derail him ? Or he was only on his way ? And one day felt someone within him to say – “Take care of you and them, the much you can take care, and that’s what welfare is, and it is too your purpose to be here. Be in the line of positivity the much you can. Mind that this should be the aim of your Karmo-Dhyan-Gyan. Dhyan are the mind’s pacific culminations, Gyan are the powers of the time’s expressions.” -“But, what is the positive ? how can I guess the ways that I may use to assess?” -“Positive is that which with the lowest pain helps to run smoothly the life’s ongoing chain. Sometimes you may gain some of the rightmost way, Once you gain them, forget not, and never sway. Sometimes you may unwillingly cause some pain, Seek mercy, O! ye holy soul, seek mercy then and then ! And, the primary powers you are pored with, save, Save until you get someone to share, or, dare to save up to the grave. As, that are the strengths which take part, In the event of the creation of the best art – The universe, the unique-most verse of the time, And, one fail to feel this unless in the perfect sublime. Sometimes you may reach and stay there through your mind-doors. May be you’ve already seen even the holiest gates of the Four of mores. Again you may be far a way from there, But never forget to take the highest care. Sometimes you may reach, sometimes anyone may fail, But, O ! devotees forget not to sail At least once in a day in the sublime-wave. The ship you judge to be the best will do, Though, in judging the ship, you should take the highest care too, And the ship your purest mind chose for you will do, But, sail with the utmost care through the sublime-wave. Take care as well, when you will be there, O! the wise devotee! Be cautious but brave. You may be right or wrong in choosing the ship, But, if you have sailed all through with the devotion of your purest mind, You may be one of the souls pardoned, as the Creator forgiveth the best, He who have blessed us with the soul, body and mind, He is the most Gracious Almighty – the most Kind. And, if anywhen, you feel that you are one of them who have been relieved, Pray for, O! Ye holy soul, pray for them who outlived death or relive, Pray for all to enlighten the path for those who really believe.”
Blessed are those who can Differentiate between a poem and a verse. Far more blessed are those who bless and bless only, And seek pardon on behalf, but never curse.
the Holy Tree And there was the holy tree, beneath it were the lakes The lakes wherein everyday bath the holiest souls partake The tree had been there and there were too the holy lakes And the rules made by none of them and that’s why they couldn’t break The holy tree and the holy lakes surrounded by the hill of Five Even the souls of the bodies that died could bath in the lakes to be kept alive Even the loners could go up there, but the bath they were to share And the care they took of them signified who they are The lakes and the tree abut which knew but only few And who bathed there, blessed-most they are as they were born anew The holy lakes beneath the holy tree, for only those who believed Relieved of the pains and sighs, rising up above the highs outlived The holy souls that reached that goal, read the holy verses forever read And got the chimes of sublime and the lights that never fade The holy souls reaching that goal were blessed with the eternal lights The light they carried in them to pass through the darkest nights The holy tree and the holy lakes, who could reach there read the holiest book The holiest book given to all of us but the less-blessed can not make a look The holy-tree born ever-free, the countless leaves of lights Even a single leaf can outlive and shine through the darkest nights The nights you see when sun does not shine are not nights that is told The nights are that comes with someone’s birth and lasts even after becoming old The nights come there and there come too They know, you know and we know too, There come the ones who will bring the light That ever goes over the darks’ and lights’ eternal flight The holy tree beneath which, beside the lake was the holy cave Many holy souls bathed in the lake, but the cave opened only to the holy and brave.
they tried to disprove And I saw their dissatisfaction that led them to haunt the smile glowing his mundane-face. And the more they tortured, the more was the Creator’s grace – A mild smile, always, on a satisfied face A grace of strength to win the race of race. They earned from the livelihoods that he could have earned. They tried to disprove the virtues from the eternity that he learned. And they haunted him every now and then. But there were no jungles for him nor any den. They were cowards and so he was deprived even of a trial of justice to face But they sentenced him to endless torture in all the ways they could to pull him down from the holy grace. Devils led the way, and the weaker souls swayed To stand in guard of one of the holy souls for whom they, for long, prayed. Let us don’t comment on the devils’ play as that is the way of them. But see the misery of the poor souls who use to use the Creator’s holiest name. These tiny creatures on earth pray and are preyed for long And did let others’ fall preyed by the devils and there they seldom found anything wrong. Knew not they that their confusion caused way for the evils to win Nor that causing suspicious division and mistrust were aimed to ruin. The devils caused the best and the precious-most children of the time to unwanted death. They took off the breads and roofs, liberty and dignity, bonds and ties And even tried to bar or poison the breath. And the more they tortured, the more was the Creator’s grace – A mild smile, always, on a satisfied face A grace of strength to win the race of race, Living on the soil out of toil but believing high. And that’s the main offence, he committed in fact, That caused the prolonged haunt trying to cause him to die.
We all must toil And when you can get through the given time and space, You reach the eternity contained in you, You reach the life’s highest grace.
Now see the land we love the most. Let us all sit together to have the look to the greens. Let we all altogether have a look to the sky-book, for some whiles. Many of us will again be here when we return from the exodus of thousand miles. We have to come back to this bluest sky and the greenest soil. Though we may leave now for the sake of peace, We have to return again to establish equity and justice. And, up to then, for days and nights, we shall toil, We have to toil, We all must toil. Now let us all sit together and see the land we love the most. The shiny green land that gives the most. Let we all altogether have a look to the sky-book, for some whiles And say good-bye to it until there are the most beloved smiles Seeing us victorious as we come back again From this unjust compelled-exile.
- even at the moment Where bends the sky there fly the eyes, And where ends the sky there live the I. So, even when we get apart, save yourselves And no pains, no sorrows, no sigh.
Even at the moment when I have to cross the largest mountain, Or, even when I am all alone on a tiny boat in the sea and the sea is full of stormy rain, No fear, my friends!, no sorrows, no pains, no sigh.
Even at the moment when you have to cross the largest mountain, Or, even when you are all alone on a tiny boat in the sea and the sea is full of stormy rain, No fear, my friends!, no sorrows, no pains, no sigh.
No pain, my friends!, no gain. To give some gain, you have to incur some pain. Better than being enchained is living on the soil out of toil but believing high. No fear, my friends!, no sorrows, no pains, no sigh.
Where bends the sky there fly the eyes, And where ends the sky there live the I. So, even when we get apart, save yourselves And no pains, no sorrows, no sigh.
- Say Say, “I am but an one, unlike again like anyone. I am one who strives for the goals of the souls, The goals that satisfies or adjusts essentials for exploring the body, mind and the soul, Which is blessfully bestowed by the Creator.” And say, “O! yes I do love the people of my land as they are too the part of the Humankind enchained in the pains of misery. And surely, Me too is a believer to believe in the rights and mights to and from who Creates. A believer in the perfectness of sights and lights of the One who Creates, Who Creates and let us live, leave, relieve and relive.” Say, “I believe that though shall we leave, we shall leave to relive. And, as we believe, we may live through the harshness of life that very few may. Though that’s not meant to say that others are different, though some of them may differ.” Then say, “So far I know, this rightful flight of the souls light to grow And the strength not to bow before anything mundane, Sometimes caused trillions through millions of years to unjust-undue mundane pains to chain the goal of the souls. And, those pains brings no gains for the souls of goals. So, O! men of souls, let us let our own and others’ souls’ lights to grow”.
And in your mind, you may always sing the very old mundane-song – “So long you, care for others too, what you do goes not wrong.”
[Whom they scorn ? John ! whom they torture every now and then ! Whom they blame ? Mikoyo ! for whose death they try every now and then ! Whom they try ? Abdallah ! whom they try to put with sentences ! Try them all, try them altogether as time passes !]
- See See, he survived through a long loneliness, Even then the happiness sparkling through the eyes. Walking through the millions of individuals’ dream Without having an oasis in the crowd of ‘mainstream’.
See, he walked through the roads of Nineve to Mithila Carrying the warmth of the endless human-dreams. But, only heard the passers-by screams Of unfed souls without goals. Up there above the mountain-top shines the summer-nebula Showering the cosmic thoughts on the life-mundane. And, what is that you call ‘the hell’ or ‘heaven’ ?
The sage of the time to break some of the thoughts paradigm Walked thousands of miles of space and time. Now says he, “You see, Nineve or New York cannot help you to find your souls. Dare you to detach from such shiny loop-holes ? So, you get your self , O! my friend you get yourself back to you. Think and place your soul without any rush or cue. Reaching the state when the creed-seed is ready to grow, Prepare yourself to sow them in your pre-arranged fertile meadow. Then grow and flow like the singing vows of life that never bow, As the life is nothing but the parabola bow.”
- No far are the souls No gains come without pains No gains ever and so never the pains. No pains-no gains, no gains- no pains.
The drops of the rain coming down on the solid plains See the gains of rains, see the pains of rains See, the crystal clear watery crown-drops falling down on the earth.
No far are the souls my friend! Never had they been. Though there were, are and may be too many walls. Even then, see anywhen they can break the walls The coupled souls of love dance the sublime waltz.
So chain the pains and turn them into gains my friend! As you too know that the gains too are pains. And to gain the utmost gains, breakthrough the walls of mind-chains.
- They waited for They went in the nights’ deep. They went in the lab-dips of the night. They went through the night in search of the lights of the dawn. They walked in the sky-ways of distant cosmic rays. They walked all along altogether. And waited a long polar night for all to gather. They waited for them all. And that’s why they didn’t fall.
A bravo summer night in the river-bank, A deep breath of the honey-smell from the mustard field, A long tale along the life that the sky tells to you, A few tasks to be done by millions minds.
A chill midnight in Bavarian Alps, A door behind you that you closed forever, A storm that you have to pass through the clouds, A life that you can not share.
A mind that never minds the brutes and the kinds, A song that never had its raudeavu to they or you, A life that was barred, to be shared, due to undue taboo.
- the mundane-keys Silent rains coming down on the greens that bring you a drop of the sky. Silent raindrops drops around, calming down the sky.
The kids-ancien lost the mundane-keys when they drowned in the stream, And found them nowhere in the stream up and down, down and up. The brown dreams, and only in the streams of dreams you met the kids Who played round the Patagonian plains or by the Nile, Who stopped a while, while rushing down the Bavarian Alps or the Steps, Kids, who punched their step-marks in the Mekong’s clay, Kids, who bids and play for the life to make it l’mundane. The kids-ancien lost their keys drowned in the stream, Or in Chan-hu-daro, or in the Saharan plains ? Or, they lost the keys in the dreams of the dreams full of pains ?
Silent rains coming down on the greens that brings you a drop of the sky. Silent raindrops drops around, calming down the sky.
- and then And then, none of the planes shall fly, Nor any ship shall sail offshore. The lights on the earth shall lit no more. And there shall be no stars or sky.
But even then there shall be I. And, everywhen, there shall be we.
When there shall be no man or woman to lie, When there shall be no way nor any passers-by, There shall be no arts, sciences, and even these sublime-songs. And there shall be no mights, rights or wrongs. There shall be no chains or wars nor any pains or sigh.
But, as there shall be the souls of goals, Surely there shall be I, And, everywhen, there shall be we.
Those who habitually mistakes or misinterprets, for them say I, The I is I myself, again it is not this I.
they flamed Fearing the winds of the lights he had in himself, They flamed the burns to turn him off, They named him what they needed to name, To tame down a holy soul, And to misplace the goal he had been assigned to Didn’t he see their tricks for a long ? Didn’t the mundane song of life show him the way ? Why do they thrush, knew not him ? So did he when they praised.
Do not sway Didn’t you know whom they embrace and whom they hurt ? You have to have the finest arts to live. Live like you the much you can, as you know who you are, Fear not O! holy mind, the souls of goals shall care for you and so shall He. They may seem to be mighty, but soulless really they are, And that’s the reason that you may dare to share. You may dare to take care of their morbid souls, And you may care for them to perform their actual roles. Whoever you are to see the Creator’s kingdom close and near or still too far, Surrender not to the evil-doers, try to put an instance of stance. If they have done more than anything to you in the mean time, As you have pronounced some of the best holy rhymes of the time, Do not sway on your way. What more can they cause ? Incur.
Live like you Bear not the body only as the animals do too, Live like you, relieve like you, and relive as and when should you. The light you have within is the eternal one, The sight you are sharing is lit by the many holy One who is none. Fear and agony is the final temptation they may place before a holy soul’s harmony. Let not them to win this time and never say –”ضبكتني لما ضبكتني”
He leaves not you, neither did He leave, As that’s the bless He forever agree. They may try to tie you with their chains to inflict pains, And may try to dump you down with some mundane ‘gains’. Never let them in where the Holiest live in, Try your best and never give in. As we don’t see the air but we all do breath, Many of the holiest souls have outlived death.
So long you are rightly on the holiest way, Never bend down, nor should you sway. Bear not the body only as the animals do too, Live like you, relieve like you, and relive as and when should you.
- kinder-souls Yet not have they beaten their swords into peace-ploughshare, Though millions of kinder-souls go without care! Yet not have they found their holiest king, Though praising all his worth, they sing and sing! They failed to do all these as, Till now their minds are barred by their own-made pains and chains.
Into peace-ploughshare shall they beat their lusty minds’ swords. “But, when ?” the biggest question on the time’s blackboard.
- The life he had The life he had was a canvas-scape And the time he lived in always changed its shape.
Crowded with the cloudy thoughts and chimes, Once he heard to the rains that was singing some none-sense rhymes – “Beware of them who try to whisper you what you are not, Beware of them, who try to show a few to be a lot, Beware of them who talks in more than a way, And, beware of them who sway or cause other to sway. Beware of them who talks more than they work or think, And of them who drink not themselves but let others sink. Beware of them who take the chance to reach you and whisper – “See, O! Poor soul! How lonely and helpless you are!”.”
The life he lived was a vast canvas-scape They crowded and tried in vain to change its shape.
- nobody on his way Nobody on his way to the dead’s ground! But only the soldiers, slaves and the crowds, And some pains, wonders, shouts and the prouds Of the ‘Rabbi’s who thought that they had made ‘the fall’ Of the One who was in himself a heavenly call.
And, when came the storm, As there was too much, too too much of painful sigh, Could they see? The soul that was born in high Was taken back to the sky.
Without wings, swimming through the sky, did he go. Now they cry in his home and in Rome. Now they cry for the soul that left the earth long ago, And now may or may not take some more time to come back home.
- They say They say that they have made the moulds, And they try to limit other people’s goals. Did they mould their lusts and greeds? Did they fix up the range of their ruthless deeds?
Tortured and tormented, Dissected and fragmented by undue concussion, Truth-seekers now wait for the proper-most time of the incarnation.
- Who ? Who control the controllers? And who shape the shapers? Who guard the guards? Who judges whom? And who keep them on papers?
Who jails the sails? And, who rail the hails? Who ray the ways and who ways them? Who flames the names? Who are tamed men? Can you say who tame?
Who rains the pains and who pain the gains? Who has been put in the chains? Who enchains?
Caught up in the bounds of life, Who are to sigh up the sky? It’s nobody of a distant reach my friend! All that are the container and the contained – they, you, we and I.
- The someone Find the first drops of the rain Falling down on the emerald leaves. The first drops of the rain Coming down to the earth for the people who follows the beliefs. The first drops of the rain Falling down on the furthest ferns. The first drops of the rain Falling down on the someone with no home to return.
The first drops of the rain splashed on the wings of the lonely kites. The first drops of the rain coloured with the purple-green thunder lights. The first drops of the rain carrying with it the heavenly chimes. The first drops of the rain sing to all to help reach the deepest sublimes.
The first drops of the rain falling down on the upward face of an obsessed saint. The first drops of the rain coming down from a sky looking like a water-paint. The first drops of the rain making the moment’s silver crowns as they fall on the concrete plains. The first drops of the first rain-fall falling as heavenly grace on everyone’s face to wash all the pains. The first drops of the rain splashed on the wings of the lonely kites. The first drops of the rain coming down to kiss on the lips of the thirsty soil. The first drops of the rain falling on the leaves of a virgin forest that never spoil.
- we rise for We rise for the holiest silks stretched through the waves on the river-beds. We rise and work to reach out the lost loop-holes of the pro-life flow-threads. We rise for the holy child again to be born, Who will have on the forehead the sign of a shiny crown of thorn.
We sow the seeds of the dreams to come that the time bestow We sow the seed in the soils of mind and tell others to do so. We plough the soil of the mind the much we could and we can. As we found very few jobs better to be done other than. We break our pains and dig out the gains of the time. And we throw the chains of mind that we think to be the task-de-prime.
We rise for the sun that stretches the golden ray on the leaves. We rise for the children of the earth who believe in the blesses And bade those to others who believe. We rise for the rhymes yet un-torn Which will pave the way to the eternal light and cause to pace ahead. We rise to save the mothers and children who are crucified. We rise for the lasting peace and tranquility without any dogma prefixed.
We rise for the children of the earth who dare to share. We rise for the brave devotees who pray and take care. We rise for the sons of toils who make the sun rise. We rise for the paddy growers of the earth who feed the saint-king and wise. We rise for the dreams that the mankind bear in forever. We rise for the peaceful minds who shall turn braver. Braver than the beasts and brave enough to face the Mar’s Medusa. Braver enough to pick up the times’ Mimosa With the leaves open for a lovely touch. A touch of the time-priest who shall make the call for peace in south, north, west or east. We rise for the children of the earth who dare to share. We rise for the brave devotees who pray and take care. We rise for the sons of toils who make the sun rise. We rise for the paddy growers of the earth who feed the saint-king and wise. We rise for the dreams that the mankind bear in forever. We rise for the peaceful minds who shall turn braver.
- they shall see And they shall see the sea, the tree that never fell. They shall see them all and will tell the tale. They shall go the furthest far and far more than they are. They shall ask the dusk – “Does the sun rise? Does it set? Are we too early? Are we late?”
They shall smash and they shall wash The inborn darts of dirt of a mundane-clash. They shall leave entangled and shall go. They shall go as they won’t bow To the force that men has made. But, grace is that they shall bade. And they shall bade the songs of songs, They shall wash-off the pains of wrongs. They shall leave and shall come back soon. Sh-sh-sh! Quietly wait, soon, the hawks shall be coming down from above the moon.
But, now, they shall again see the sea And the tree that never fell. They shall see and shall tell the tale. They shall go the farthest far from the places where they are. They shall ask the dusk- “Does the sun rise? Does it set? Are we yet too early? Are we late?”
- where the sun shines There the sun shines on the shrines and the moon light kisses on the icy shades. The holy tree’s branches all around and the lakes without bounds. And the birds bringing in to sing the silent mundane-song – “So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.” There the sun shine on the shrines and the moon’s light kisses on the leaves’ silver-shades. And only some would have the charm to get in through the golden gate. There the masters of the creeds caring for the holiest of the seeds preserved best for the world’s fate. There sat the saints who denounced all the things even then grew so strong. As if tuned by the same, altogether all of them sang the pre-known mundane-song – “So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.” There the mountains are large and high but none of them were the prouds Rather shared the sights in the days and nights with the breezes and the clouds. And in the shrines the saints meditated for the world outlived by all of them. Thousands had thousands minds for the bests of mankind but they all never fall beyond the range of the agreed half-theorem – “So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.” There had been the holiest tree and there had been the holy lakes around The lakes shone bright in the days and nights with the shades of the light without bound. And at the entrance of the silver shrine there had been a golden gate A single verse was heard as one in their would hear thousands birds chimes singing the song – “So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.” Can’t you feel? Don’t you see that the time opens up its doors for you With the sweetest of the chime of sublime? Don’t you see the non-mundane thee sitting beneath the holiest tree? Can’t you feel in the layers of time of which you are but one of the billions leaves? Don’t you share the for whom you care the best of that you could earn? And, don’t you think and say that they needn’t pay anything to you in return? When you share and care for others with the best gains of you, You gain the best of anything that in your life you would ever do. And then you too share in the life’s finest layer and you too could sing the mundane song
“So long you care for others too what you do goes not wrong.”
just preserve If need, just preserve the seed of the new creed and wait for the time. When it’s the time again, breed the seed of the creed, And for them, leave the task For which there is none to ask, but the Creator Who is the Merciful to open the doors of the either-or For you, but do not leave the race of the races in the phases of the races To prove and disprove the Creator’s grace.
Leave not the race, nor the pace. Leave not the phase, face face to face And, trace the best of the Creator’s grace. And, leave not the time before the time, As that’s too a sin, if not a crime. If needed, leave the place but not the race, Leave not the pace nor time before the time, O! Holy souls! As that causes pains for all of us By causing delay to reach the goals.
lives you live Two lives you live. One you feel and one you believe. Two existences you really are, One takes of the one that you share. Two lives you live within. The material one can be touched, But the sublime remains hidden within. Two bounds you have to care, The range they put on you, and the range you incur.
And when And when he threw away some of the mind-chain, The salvation was being gained and it was the time to contain.
Then they came, The slave-priests and the s-collars who pretended To preach for the lights though themselves had not the sights of wrongs and rights. The slave-priests knew more or less more about him, And feared people’s-rise if they too could dream like him Of a newer humane-time beginning a newer and better age. So they declared him to be a ‘ghost-led’ man to be kept in cage. So rude was the s-collars as well, And they started to tell that in this land he was the prime-lunatic. He dared to say – “It’s less harmful to become lunatic than becoming a fanatic.” The slave-priests and the s-collars also tried to prove what they told about him, And to ensure success they caused him to be out of the income-stream. And very secretly, they tried to colour him as a violent terrorist. These are why, nothing to shy, he had to starve many many a times. They could dry up his flesh and blood, but could they undo his dream? Next they tried to subdue him by any means, And gathered and employed all their strengths to cause to him an endless starvation.
Ask not, O! The next generation, Ask not to anyone – “Who was he? What made him subject to such cruelty?” He ‘committed the highest sin’ of the slave-land. He dreamt and preached for a brotherly unity of the souls and for liberty. He dared to dream for the unity of universal humanity.
- The Creator blessed The Creator blessed him with a straight and simple way. And that’s the thing never tolerated they, They who worshipped pains grief, And they decided to bend his way or end his life too brief. He who walked through the roads of time, Knew very well that not himself but they are those who committed the crime, The crime that caused too many lives, The crime that are caused by the devilish Five-s. This was the question he asked himself again and again – “Should I inflict or incur pain?”
And there were the blesses of the Creator that he found, So he could look into the matters the other way round. And he was made known that- “They were the people who lost the divinity.” And he felt for them a humane-pity. O! They! Who lost the blesses of the Creator and worshipped pains As the sole-way to reach the goals, Though the path of the Creator is lightened with trillion of lights of glow, And the river full of the blessings by its side always flows. The river that is to be bathed by the holiest souls Of the children and the saints who knew the goals, And pray for them who, being misrouted on the way Walked and lead others to the pains though knew not they, Or did they knew that using the earth’s holier names, They really disguised their strives for riches, power and fame!
Most of them should not be called ‘sinners’ as they themselves were misled. But they all were like vultures feasting on the dead. Only a few of them actually knew what they do Is the evil of misrouting the believers through the ways of life. And it was nothing new. It was nothing new, as there had been people like them even earlier, Who worshipped and welcomed pains, suppression and war. And to achieve their mundane gains de-routed others. Even in the earliest dawns they killed their brothers. The way they committed their everyday jobs, Were same as the way they used to temperate the mobs To crucifix, to throw stones, or to burn in flame, The souls seeking peace and harmony on earth in Creator’s name. Be it in the north, south, west or east, They caused the holier souls’ death who spoke against the unjust feast Made by selling the corpse of someone dead And they did all these though millions children died unfed. In the deads’ name they committed the most heinous sins, They destroyed many other creatures and too the greens, And killed millions to experiment their heinous taste. Knew not they that on the crust their fates do rest. The fate of the sinners await for them, Surely the worst is the fate of them who misled others by using the holier names. They are like those apes who somehow managed to get hold Of the holy trees as the real followers were not united and bold.
Blessed are those who can Differentiate between a poem and a verse. Far more blessed are those who bless and bless only, And seek pardon on behalf, but never curse.
- through the souls Believers are those who through the souls, Are agreed with the holiest books, about the goals. The goals on the earth and the goals of eternity, That leads to the highest harmony –peace and prosperity For themselves and for others as well. Others who could not tell – “I feel pains O! Man! I feel pains As the consequences of your material-gains.” Believers are those who dare To differentiate between fair and unfair. There may be differences as they all are men, But they will resolve them peacefully every now and then.
And I found him seeking to the Creator to show the rightmost way, The way that’s the simplest and the strongest and which knew not they. They who twisted the ways by interpretations that cause others to sway In confusions in deciding between the right and wrong way. And, thus, many get delayed, much more are entrapped On the way, by the ditches cunningly wrapped. Some they called ‘sciences’ and some ‘ideal’, And they also scrambled the false with the real. And they used most of the talents By tempting with mundane pains and material gains. But, though very few, there were too the talents Who for the welfare of humanity dared even to incur pains. Many of these holier souls’ sacrifices were not generally heard or told. But learns about them the holy souls of goals if the times unfold- “The Creator’s way is full of joy and we do share The way with those who dare to share and care.”
- of the hard-most times’ And I found him to say – “O! Creator, the holiest souls of goals have shown us the way. They have informed us about the ways And the norms and forms of it. But it’s one of the hard-most times’ that we meet. O! Creator, give us the strength of endurance So that we may reach better ways of performance. Fill us with courage, so that we can stand strong and bold Before them. And let us know the techniques yet unfold. And empower us to win before being ruined by them. And we seek all these from you, in your holiest name. And, surely we shall win over them Who wanted to make their feasts by turning others to beast. Empower us! O! The Creator, who loveth us the best, To destroy the destroyists in east or west. ”
Blessed are those who can Differentiate between a poem and a verse. Far more blessed are those who bless and bless only, And seek pardon on behalf, but never curse.
- Avigyan See, this is the time-stone, O! Ye holy soul! Here is contained the cause and effect, the means and the goal. Feel it – it pulsates. See the colours if you can. Here it comes to whisper to you its Avigyan – “Gyan is the force of times’ expressions, And it’s the container where is contained the creations. The time you are given to spend is the space for your soul’s expression. Things to you are same to all, Who in the time-game rise and fall. Whoever rises and whoever falls, Is decided through the age-old gimmick of scrambled true and false. Truth is not total but the highest reality. And it extends, you know, up to the eternal infinity. Infinity is the symbol for that which the human beings fail to contain As they are limited by their limits of brain. That limit, some try to reach, and some leave unused, Some explore strength and resources from it, though some let it to be abused Like the soil on earth and many thing, Almost like the tale of that ancient king Who crowned a land of fertile soil Where a lot of grains grew with minimum toil. By the side of the kingdom, was one island That had gold-mines, but no arable land. Once the king, by a ship, went up there And found the golds and golds without care. Then he decided to shift there the capitol. So was done, as what the king says that was all. There, they excavated the gold-mine, And made with golds, the golden palaces, temples and a gold-shrine. Few years went by and the golden houses grew too high, The royal palace seemed as if it has reached the sky. Foods were supplied from the mainland. One day, the supply stopped as the mainland was invaded by an alien-band. For saving the kingdom, so many soldiers died, But the king was lost in the war though he too tried. The king and his benevolents then fled to the island capitol. And, the attackers blocked the island and curtailed the food-supply, and that was all. Now you guess what was the king’s fate-ultimate. Could they eat the gold-minerals, golden palace or the gold-made royal gate ?
If the king would have spent the golds for the mainland with a kingly prudence. May be the kingdom would have a longer endurance.
Such is the case of the men who spend their lifetime But their selves are left yet unread. That’s the reason that they bow down before the things they themselves made. They can not find their own arable land, But get startled with the gold-island. That’s why they fail to see the graces of the Creator – the most Kind. And, they fail to see the Creator’s gifts hidden in the mind.”
- to know the real Dots of lives on time-space parabola page, A 3-D art drawn by the first sage beyond age. “Sage or boy ?” ask me not, as that One is beyond age. “One or many ? none or any ?” the formless you may guess in your ways. As the sun is one of trillions rays, Like that the same goal may have many a ways. But as the way to be reached out in a darkened night, You may reach the lights only by the eternal paths of the light.
The paths that leads you to undue bloods and deaths, Cannot be anyway the paths of the light, Though sometimes to make your way Through darkness you will be compelled to fight. Whom and when to fight and where to truce knows the saints and the wises Who knows that virtues too may, contextually, turn into vices. Virtues may be vices and vis-à-vis, Depending on the force of truth that the acts release. Truth is the pace of reality as a whole, It’s the harmony between cause and effect, means and the goal.
Thus, some are shown the rightmost way, Some lose their strength on the way, And some are misled, some starts not, and some sway.
The puzzle to be solved is to know the real, The messages he carried down to the earth, is well-known, but Gabriel ? Some says that Gabriel flied down, spreading his wings. Some guess that he brought the messages through the holier things. And it’s known to all that he came to the souls and not to the kings. Name and form, matters not, matters the messages that he brings, For the human beings in those times When the life chimed its holiest rhymes And those rhymes, with chimes, has been for long told, How much could they reign the grains and gold?
Some prayed and some preyed even in the earliest dawn Some does both and some does none And that’s the way the life goes on. Better is the way of humble toil To grow up the food-grains out of soil. When you harvest the grains that ye all have grown, Share it in the most agreeable ways that are shown. Share so that you may live up to there, And care for yours, so you should do to their.
- Do you pray ?
Do you pray ? O! Ye, the Holiest-verses Sayers, Prey the blood-thirsty swords right now, And beat them to peacetime productivity’s ploughshares. How to prey? As you did in the earliest days, Powered with the newest arts, adamant and united indeed. Forget not to be equipped with the things you need.”
- you have been Haven’t you been in those waves That paves the ways for the light to grow and flow? H