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Sophie Rebeca Thomas Chen Ma's life

Chen Ma's life

Juvenile Fiction
English
1 Words
No Age Recommendation
912
1

Once there was an elderly widow, Chen Ma, who lived with her only son inside a forest in the Shanxi Province. Her son was one of the tiger hunters licensed by the local magistrate, following the same profession of his father and grandfather before him. His share of the profits from the sale of tiger skins, meat and bones was sufficient to keep the small mud hut well provisioned for himself and his old mother. All was well until a particularly bitter winter. During a snowstorm, Chen Ma's son was separated from his fellow hunters and became food for a hungry tigress. After her initial shock and grief subsided, Chen Ma took stock of her own utterly desperate situation -- an old woman left all alone. She went and implored the magistrate to provide her with compensation for the loss of her son, who was her only source of support. The magistrate decreed that henceforth, she would have a small share of profits from the kill of each tiger by the hunters. Needless to say, his decision was not taken well by the hunters, who had plenty of mouths of their own to feed -- both old and young. So, when the hunters succeeded in killing the tigress that ate Chen Ma's son, they decided not to give her a share of the profits. Instead, they brought her the tigress' newborn cub. He was a small quivery ball of golden fur with wobbly legs and toothless gums. The rope they tied around his neck was so tight that it was practically choking him. Instantly, Chen Ma's heart went out to this helpless creature, whose jade-green eyes were glistening with tears. After the hunters left, the tiger cub wobbled to where Chen Ma sat and lay at her feet. She bent down to rub his ears and he licked her shoes with his soft tongue. The elderly widow looked at the tiger baby and sighed. "They told me to butcher you, to salt and smoke your flesh for my meat supply. Your skin would make warm boots for my feet; your bones are good for making Tiger Bone Wine to ease the pain in my joints. But oh, how can I bear to kill you? You are so young and vital, while I am so old and frail." And so, Chen Ma untied the rope from the little tiger's neck and fed him a paste of cooked roots with her fingers. Her son had a good supply of grains and roots in the attached shed and she planned to stretch the food out to last the winter. When the store of the firewood was running low, Chen Ma was unable to keep her bedroll on top of the kang warm (a kang is a bed base built of bricks with space for a small fire). So she slept curling against the baby tiger, whose soft fur was cozy and warm. Once ever so often, women from nearby villages would bring sewing for Chen Ma to do. She was very handy with a needle. They paid her for her labor with dried venison and small sacks of grain. At first they did not find the little tiger's presence alarming; he was no bigger than a piglet. However, when spring came, he had grown into the size of a calf, showing a full set of teeth and claws. The women told their hunter husbands and the men came to kill the young tiger. Chen Ma armed herself with her son's hunting spear and threatened to gut anyone who dared to harm her beloved pet. "I've lost both husband and son. This tiger is the only companion I have now. I shall go to the magistrate and request to adopt him as my son." The hunters thought the old woman had become mad and jeered at her. But since she was so determined, they dared not kill her tiger without the magistrate's permission. So they followed Chen Ma and her tiger all the way to the official's judgment hall. "Venerable Mother," said the magistrate. "Your request is most unusual. Are you not afraid that some day the tiger might revert to his wild nature and devour you?" "Honorable sir," replied the old widow with tears in her eyes. "What is there to fear? I have lived too long. The only worry I have now is being left utterly alone. Please let me adopt this young tiger, for he has become like a son in my affections." The kindly magistrate did not have the heart to refuse such an ancient woman's pleading. So he had his assistant draw up a document for the tiger's adoption. In order to protect the tiger from the hunters' arrows and spears, the magistrate ordered a large copper pendent made to hang around the beast's neck. The words "Fu Chee" were engraved on the pendent meaning Tiger Son. To show her deep gratitude, Chen Ma knelt down in front of the magistrate and knocked her forehead three times. Then she led Fu Chee back to their home in the forest. By next winter, Fu Chee had grown into his maximum size. Chen Ma's hut was in danger of collapsing whenever the tiger became playful. Reluctantly, she allowed Fu Chee to make his home inside a cave nearby. However, the affectionate tiger came back to visit his adopted mother often, always bearing a gift in his mouth -- a dead deer or a large piece of tree branch. Also, he still liked to lick her shoes and to have his ears rubbed. Chen Ma's needs were being cared for just as if her natural son was still alive! After Chen Ma died at the ripe old age past one hundred, the hunters noticed Fu Chee guarded her tomb nightly. They left him unmolested as he had never attacked any humans or domestic animals. This went on for a number of years and then one day the tiger was seen no more. Out of deep respect and admiration for the filial tiger son, the hunters erected a small stone monument at Chen Ma's tomb with Fu Chee's story engraved on it. Henceforth, Fu Chee became a household legend in that part of Shanxi Province. ~ ~ The End ~ ~ [more]

For Free

Dr. Sonnet Mondal. Fusion Sonnets of 21st Century

21 Lines

Poetry
English
1 Words
No Age Recommendation
493
2

Sonnet 1 The white clouds, in black theme; Hidden daylight on the Eastern earth, For Great Poets a dreadful dearth, For the poetic vegetation to take birth ; The spotted moon shining upon its seam- Without vitality, fragile against the agile clouds, Heading towards it to spread the shroud, No star in the scenery, no men to cry aloud; Where’s the smile, where’s the gleam? Where’s the hope where’s the dream? The billows will fall as water vapours Upon the wish of the Lord! If not poetry will form itself in the dark- Fighting to shape its form. The white clouds in the black theme ; Perhaps the fault of the painter… Colors spreading toward the subject tower; A new shade to be brushed To save it from being crushed; Or a few drops upon the face with a pull on the edges will form- The spotted moon, shining upon its seam. Sonnet 2 Oh, Old, Bold, kingly building… You stand here for the fifteen decades of transition- So many changes in thoughts travelling through sensation- Of wars and treaties, cries and cremations; Oodles of the century in your stoic ceiling!!! Your eroded body with weathered paint- Must be turning you faint, Without a space to launch a complain, all constrained. Are you not bored standing here, then why are you smiling? I know you have whims; still why aren’t you appealing? The day isn’t far when the circulating air in your galleries- Will break open the blockage of the ministerial ears, And will force them to dress up with new color perhaps white- Then the parties and dances will kiss off your boredom. Oh, Old, Bold, kingly building… Are you not jaded with the age old architecture? No more does it winch your structure. The people residing have pinned loads of pegs in your skin – Haven’t your soul ever wanted to move out of this sin? Still from where do you gather the power to bear- Oodles of the century in your stoic ceiling!!! Sonnet 3 Hours of waste heaped beside your shores; Nature started you with the touch of purity perhaps from the hands of a priest, With glaciers creating you and flakes creating mist, Boulders standing on the way showing you fist; Still you flow, form and find inspite of the infected core. People say you to be life and still treat you as dustbin, Curtailing the ability of the moving fins- To move about, live or swim, Above is it layer of smoke and over you, the oil pores? When would men realize, actions will cause sores? The sores would rise above the skin to expose themselves; The children would scream in pain- Perhaps then the guys would realize And clear your feet and drop flower on you. Hours of waste heaped beside your shores; The human blood overburdened with sorrows, Showing the step of the fellows, Anxiety, grief abound in veins- Layering it the hidden pains… Scores of ups and downs in the course- Still you flow, form and find inspite of the infected core. Sonnet 4 The mother sat with hanging tongue, brooding over conscience; The puppies in their own world of Natural toys; above the cawing ravens, Bits of stones comprise their castle, their heaven… Stolen splendor, innocent appeal, thoughtless vitality – all woven; The platonic smell in mystic hairs within immortal science. The new-borns were lessened by one in number, The very next date, after the time of human supper, The mother seemed fresh, her stomach looked fatter; Was it her who did it in some shallow mines? You were the cause of production, then what led you break the charming rhymes? Must be to reduce an extra burden of – Or to cure someone off the circle of existence; Perhaps the soul will go to merge into the supreme soul- Or the hunger would never return again. The mother sat with hanging tongue, brooding over conscience; The burning heat had vaporized the saliva of the mother, The hanging skin of her belly had arose a blood hunger, That supplemented her crooked eyebrows towards a female child- And lured her towards becoming savage and wild. Perhaps crops and economy would improve and prepare you to conceive- The platonic smell in mystic hairs within immortal science. Sonnet 5 The steel cages rusted, rotted yet strong and bold, Inside them lies a separate world of wild limbs limping- And turned inert with torture and malfunctioning, Their bloody flesh exposed a slapdash attitude with distressed feeling. Excitement in eyes, pleasure in heart, wonder in minds from sufferings untold. The fierce paws perhaps waiting for the head, One chance will kiss alive the daring dead! They are here cogently none of them are well fed. What makes them stay here for hours in heat and cold? What if God decides to move them to eternity from these nuts and bolts? The crowd is increasing with the number of days in earth’s calendar, Perchance some eyes would feel the ensuing death- And scream in protest, close the doors- To provide zeal to work and vigor to our pulse. The steel cages rusted, rotted yet strong and bold, The values disgraced and degraded in an ever-sinking trough- The well born meant to rule and the ill born destined to plough! The hunger forces them to spread their hands and bow their heads- Possibly one lord would see the angry eyes desiring to weave wreaths- And would start heaping red soil in the gulf of separation to change the world of- Excitement in eyes, pleasure in heart, wonder in minds from sufferings untold. Sonnet 6 The signs of the past signaling them though the walls of the museum- Ancestral figures sleeping inside glasses; A nostalgic journey embedded inside multifaces; Moving in and out, the sorrowfully happy masses. The bridge which leads to our much coveted past’s stadium. The plaster over the stony bones undergoing depreciation, Unnoticed or willfully derelict till the boss comes for inspection. Most of the doors have been closed under the poster of renovation! When will the gates containing history open in open fluid medium? Is it also ordained to face the delaying court of law, in this millennium? Beside the central entrance, bamboos have been erected, The floor is dusty but to support the roof; The work has started, the contractors engaged, the workforce is on- Perhaps that could smell breathe into the sleeping statues. The signs of the past signaling them though the walls of the museum- Fated to be silent in reaction of the course of detrimental activities, Carried out by those still figures with cavities- They didn’t care to save their past- Then we are far better in saving them in any caste. We will still care without anger and act to preserve, The bridge which leads to our much coveted past’s stadium. Sonnet 7 The two sparrows fluttering feathers in the mud water- The summer heat outside raging over the northern tropic; The folded leaves, dozing crowns, piercing sunlight caught in the camera’s click. The shot captured the lifted tails, squashy feathers, twinkling eyes and the insect in the beaks. While the thirsty earth begs for some juice, nature seems to be interested only in its care. The camera turned to jail more of such scenery- The dusty structures all around surrounded by ironical greenery; No where a second such beauty; what a slavery! Have all other sparrows left the bower? Why didn’t the scene act as an inspirational shelter? Some rays have acted worse than the scorching sunlight! They must end soon, for more lovely views to be viewed; Or they will turn to iron falcons To take up the reign of survival. The two sparrows fluttering feathers in the mud water- Want of water all over the thirsty city, Still fumes are up over the trees; what a pity! The realization yet to be dawned and distributed- Or the living brains would turn to boiler heads; The water pumps of actions are being cleared to prevent the rule of insects- While the thirsty earth begs for some juice, nature seems to be interested only in its care. Sonnet 8 The shirts and pants hanging from the ropes crisscrossing the room- Perhaps they were washed today; the last drops still appear on the floor; They are yet not dry, held together by something in the core, One of them appears red, indicative drops, apart from those dropping from pores. Below the roof a new world has bloomed. Sleepy eyes, sinking figure, loose fingers upon different brands of wine and fusion, Hallucinations cutting towards flattering illusion, The smoke rising and curling up to create a new creation of destruction. Are they heading towards perfection in passion or ultimate doom? Have the labeled bottles perforated their body or they find happiness in gloom? Addiction will vanish in another six months- Vital forces of the drunk, will end in water- The dying whim of employment would turn them loyal; The compulsion to perform will certainly speak in favor of betterment. The shirts and pants hanging from the ropes crisscrossing the room- The yes failed to see those burning veins- Whither no blood but alcohol drains! Neither parents nor teachers interested for their survival- The sensed out bodies with the red color tearing through eyes-What a carnival? They will spin to ashes and then the renunciation will make the scholars utter as if- Below the roof a new world has bloomed. Sonnet 9 Peace all over the pitch black abode of the sleeping souls- A faint weep could be heard, mysterious yet sad- A half burnt man sat on his grave, over his head a tattered hat A symbol of his success that turned his enemies mad. Triumph or collapse both being part of life, harmony was packed into holes. His lament was for what he failed to complete- His annoyance was that he was competent to compete, Yet was shot dead before his works could reach the country fleet. Why did they tell then that ‘you aren’t applying for big goals’? And when he did why did they stole his discoveries and tear his brain’s poles? A figure rose from behind, awakened by his daily sobs- That world is a punishment, the graveyard is serene; You have worked a lot and now the Lord wants you to wait, Till those assassins finish their span and come here with no bed to sleep. Peace all over the pitch black abode of the sleeping souls- The moans of the dead specify his failure to satisfy himself- Even with huge money and innovations in his shelf, Still he didn’t wait but tried to run with wrong associations- That led to his untimely fall, and post death frustrations. Now, it’s the hour to realize the world’s way- Triumph or collapse both being part of life, harmony was packed into holes. Sonnet 10 The time has vanished when I used to rely upon my branches- I am now, just like a tree whose lithe boughs have congealed, Enduringly bent and rotten without the sap inside that have been sealed Somewhere else, for someone else’s to be filled. The provider of shade is now herself craving for calm benches. The yearning in psyche is still strong yet has lost poise, My opinion doesn’t matter anymore owing to my faint voice; I fear placing my words to prevent creating noise. Shall the doctors be able to cure me to early stages? Or shall I be forced to be like this for the rest of my ages? I will stay in this form, but will not groan in pain- When my children are enduring me, shall I not endure them? Let my branches fall and let me turn cripple, Till I have the verve in the nerves of my eyes, I must see them idyllic. The time has vanished when I used to rely upon my branches- Perhaps I have disused the forming element of my cadaver- This had left me like a brittle glass upon the soft bed cover; I have no clout to enjoy but smirk occasionally- When I see them laughing in joy, those who care me blissfully; Let this be my life now, contended with all I had over the years and forget that- The provider of shade is now herself craving for calm benches. Sonnet 11 Outside the lights are up, the grand fiesta of lights has stepped inside halls- But they have botched to skulk within me. My eyes are wide open to seize the brightness and feel the glee, Yet times and over it is murkiness and tedium, what it could see! The large bursts crashed against my ears, crackers burned in my eyeballs… Over two decades ago, it was the similar night, same as today Two kids at the doorsteps, behind them their father was about to join the play- I had evil commitment and my spiteful arm shot him to taste the clay… Is it my turn now to cart the heavy death’s shawl? Or should I wait for heavenly calls? The peccadillo I had adhered to blinks each moment, Let me spread my hands to be taken away by the handless, Let my only dwelling be temple! Let me wait before I sleep. Outside the lights are up, the grand fiesta of lights has stepped inside halls- I was a sincere murderer; I was bound by profession; The ferocious sounds have provided a base of my frustration; The reason may be my wobbly fingers and meager eyesight, That pulls me back, say me no and deter me from having my fight. Can those children without senses, with slaughtered father be my now…? The large bursts crashed against my ears, crackers burned in my eyeballs… Sonnet 12 Tension crawled and prevailed over the creepers in the mangrove and vineyard- The other day witnessed the death of the grasses; The army with spades and machines moving in masses, To trample upon herbs, chop down the mangrove without any traces. Nature is silent perhaps dumb to see the greenery turning to a grey graveyard! The land that swelled amongst leaves now presented waterless soil, As if the human race choked in a python coil; The huge figures were cut into pieces, loaded in trucks and the wastes were boiled. Was there none to choose barren yards? Now who will provide fruits of life and shelter to birds? The last one was left but covered by worms of hundred types- Their only home was left- not an inch without a group of them; The green hue emitted the color of industries- The spades dropped from the hands, now looked at the seeds, the basis of creation. Tension crawled and prevailed over the creepers in the mangrove and vineyard- Unwanted, undesirable minds moved their arms without perceiving thoughts- Depending upon the sales of those destroyed and the deceiving papers they got. The mute worms made them look into themselves and kindled thinking power- What if there’s neither rain nor the life sustaining showers! They will now take up their tools and dig the ground to cremate the notes, still Nature is silent perhaps dumb to see the greenery turning to a grey graveyard! Sonnet 13 The deformed woman, in her eightieth revolution round the sun, Like thin black rotten skin pasted upon a skeleton frame; She came out of the crowd and called out to blame, For the dirt were uncared by the juvenile bloods-a terrible shame! The gaze through the spectacles looked spectacular with the stick, as if preparing to run. With a broom in her hands she brushed the floor, Fifty men and women all standing without thinking to adore, No one humble enough to share with her before she pushes the dust out of the door. What she thinks of such person avoiding their turn? Or does she take it as her old-age fun? She is not worn out but looked most carefree still in her senescence – The servant suddenly arrived to fall to her feet and take the charge- Of cleaning, staring with surprise at the crowd who never knew- Who was combing the ground was a landlady. The deformed women, in her eightieth revolution round the sun, Sunburns and distortions in form were a result of her long service- For days to serve the people gathering at her office; This was years ago, but still now God has kept her strong- While travelling and cleaning places all along- The natives were dormant but now buoyant to take up charge of reformations while- The gaze through the spectacles looked spectacular with the stick, as if preparing to run. Sonnet 14 Falling heavily, the rains barred us from moving out- My thoughts boarded upon the boat of chimera and rowed to my land, Crossing the oceans to reach the shore where stands my dwelling of sand; My nostalgia played a mischief upon my beliefs with a magic wand. Waiting beside to see the waves pull down the structure setting laws of timeout. O Ocean Fluid you are perpetual flowing with the same pace, Then why are you so fervent to crack away my heart’s case? I endure the groaning pain which for the mankind absorb no place. Will it persist drizzling and create unanswerable doubts? Out should I move, prepare myself for a bout? By the time the showers will stop, may be all of a sudden, But the colorists will get some time to complete their work- To paint my home, and all along to paint my gloom; They must be working hard; the nature has lent his hand. Falling heavily, the rains barred us from moving out- Grueling me for my actions through its own measures, I was wrong to make someone cry for my own pleasure- To leave address and set up a new, But destiny desired failure for me amongst my crew. I hope Mother Nature indubitably will exonerate me or I will be- Waiting beside to see the waves pull down the structure setting laws of timeout. Sonnet 15 The girls came to me, each with the opinion of being diverse in their own tales- The first one with the policy of ‘to be for one is to be forever’; The second one with the principle ‘to love I belong never’; The third one with the words ‘to head towards love is a daring endeavor’; Confusion prevailed over my musing wits with those terse lines from the females. Spending a night with each will increase my awareness and compel, All of them were to be my lovers to compete swell, to lift me up from the baffling well, The second one came, she lost; the first one with a pre-relation, she too failed; The third one tried to be safe; wasn’t all swept in just a gale? Was this their commitment to lips or was there more for fake sales? The will power of women didn’t lie in words but they are like volatile chemicals, Touch and vanish without informing, sometimes leaving a trace- To fall into them is like digging deep in a well, Still I would experiment, if not the purity of words then the purity of pelt. The girls came to me, each with the opinion of being diverse in their own tales- Experimenting was just a filthy cause, lust lasted in heap, Unsatisfied with one that led to two and three and seep- The beauty beneath the blood; the feeling of ship in a storm, Perhaps I chose those girls changing their norms; I fell in love through yearn, but they seemed to scorn… Confusion prevailed over my musing wits with those terse lines from the females. Sonnet 15 The girls came to me, each with the opinion of being diverse in their own tales- The first one with the policy of ‘to be for one is to be forever’; The second one with the principle ‘to love I belong never’; The third one with the words ‘to head towards love is a daring endeavor’; Confusion prevailed over my musing wits with those terse lines from the females. Spending a night with each will increase my awareness and compel, All of them were to be my lovers to compete swell, to lift me up from the baffling well, The second one came, she lost; the first one with a pre-relation, she too failed; The third one tried to be safe; wasn’t all swept in just a gale? Was this their commitment to lips or was there more for fake sales? The will power of women didn’t lie in words but they are like volatile chemicals, Touch and vanish without informing, sometimes leaving a trace- To fall into them is like digging deep in a well, Still I would experiment, if not the purity of words then the purity of pelt. The girls came to me, each with the opinion of being diverse in their own tales- Experimenting was just a filthy cause, lust lasted in heap, Unsatisfied with one that led to two and three and seep- The beauty beneath the blood; the feeling of ship in a storm, Perhaps I chose those girls changing their norms; I fell in love through yearn, but they seemed to scorn… Confusion prevailed over my musing wits with those terse lines from the females. Sonnet 16 It was the autumn festivity, liberated joy marked by a day of desires- Desire for good shirts, good food, good friends, good journey- Amongst the sea of wishes, there’s some, infact too many – Glance at the season not as their means to toil but to earn money. The alluring ladies enjoying the victuals, while server is in frayed attire. Standing with his small child washing the crockery, the man behind the counter- Occasionally he looks at his son, wipes off his sweat and tries to work faster, While his son look at the merry-go-rounds; a vain dreamer. To one it’s everything, to another it’s nothing; isn’t it a satire? Will they earn enough capital to leap out from the poverty fire? They are avoiding outlay, being ambitious towards some aim, To stop the customary conditions in the rich and poor- They want brotherhood, we too- But the self-seeking people, let them value labor now. It was the autumn festivity, liberated joy marked by a day of desires- A freefalling object lightened the sky premises- The mesmerizing night had made so truthful promises; The astronauts too sighted the object and tried to track it, Who should it belong; it fell to one of the hunger stricken feet; The world has watched this through technology, no one to do injustice yet- The alluring ladies enjoying the victuals, while server is in frayed attire. Sonnet 17 Sometimes the sizzling sun, sometimes the blinding rain in the muddy plot, Thwart my lazy veins to depart for daily classes, But my poetic psyche begins its research ogling through the glasses- Not at youthful lasses but at the blissful Sun, White sky, and growing grasses. The Sun and Moon in their reverse course performing their duty to capture snapshots. So many four years have passed; I will also go by- The hazy metaphors of these days, some prominent yet among them, will surely make me cry; I will earn a lot but will these things available for me to buy? Where does the past passes and clot? Is our sorrowful mind only facet of elucidation that we have got? Lords must have fixed the sky to register and clouds as informer, Wherever we go, leaving our land, to foster peace in our life, Thinking or forgetting our times of yore to which we covet to come back some day, The chronicle will keep on working; we’ll posses the criterion to see them. Sometimes the sizzling sun, sometimes the blinding rain in the muddy plot, If I went to class I couldn’t have travelled to the billow, May be I have a different world like all others; yet I reside in a hollow- Memories and mirrors, reflect a melancholic song when viewed closely, We have our closed fingers yet outlets are many through which they escape simply; Nature like a King fixes work for its subjects and has his own cameras with which- The Sun and Moon in their reverse course performing their duty to capture snapshots. Sonnet 18 The passing days enhance my loneliness, among pen and papers; I talk to the two lizards- Who too try to hide apart- To escape from the smell of my unwashed body and dirty shirt. I long for someone of any gender, somebody of any culture. The door bell rang; she came inside my room- A fairy out of nowhere, kissed away my gloom! Time went by; she came closer, still I refused to turn myself to a bridegroom. What do I want; to be like the solitary reaper? Why my feelings wished a companion when I preferred tear? I was barmy from within who failed to know his fancy; Let me talk to the walls and books, I love that more than speaking to robots; They will listen all my words without protest. The passing days enhance my loneliness, among pen and papers; God should not have created me at least, Let me now turn to a theist, I may have challenged him- To spend my life without fulfilling whims- I now think of growing stronger, let me desire none yet, I long for someone of any gender, somebody of any culture. Sonnet 19 With the toughness in figure, sanctity in intellect, clarity acquired over the days- He stood on one leg as the a stilted log, adamant in deep meditation, Without food for a hundred days in the same condition; Below his feet, woods have been stacked; a fire-stick has been ignited under stipulation. The hermit stood upon the fire; unshaken by the blaze! The day before the sage stated himself to be sacrificed in the fire of purity, For the sake of peace and principles among degrading humanity; No administrator took a step, though all gathered from the city. Couldn’t the sage utilize his divine powers for civilizing the phase? Couldn’t those idiots stop this or they wanted more of such plays? May be some godly influence paralyzed the people and policemen, Leaving their eyes to watch, Conceivably this was to make them see the naked truth all around, To make them act, for benevolence and be strict with rules. With the toughness in figure, sanctity in intellect, clarity acquired over the days- The religious norms yet not done away, we still wear them as gowns; As the saint burnt without movement, his parts fell down. The scene should have caused a shockwave But all bowed with joined hands, fell to their knees but none dared to save. Today I realize rationality has lost in religions, which forced the bold people stand as- The hermit stood upon the fire; unshaken by the blaze! Sonnet 20 The greatest Epic of all times had so much to teach, though followers are fewer; The plight of women indicated though the pages of Mahabharata, ‘Panchali’ born in the lap of King Dhrupad; in the kingly strata; A princess for whom gold was like water; coins could be treated as excreta. She sat upon barbs, in spite of her glorious image and backing power. She longed and dreamed of Arjuna but got four of the brothers along, She didn’t complain; but which woman would act so strong- When the evil hands fell on her clothing while her husbands sat in the throng! How strong was the deal that the dignity of a woman fell lesser? Just a game of dice; does it suit to the princely ears? The squashing of a princess occurred in a time when God had incarnated, Then are we not better at present? At least the laws are… Or the epic ought to be an indication to future scenarios, Written by some wise man from his vision. The greatest Epic of all times had so much to teach, though followers are fewer; ‘Panchali’ perhaps tried to be teacher of the women cult- This made her endure so many curses and insult; Made her a women of respect but after centuries – Still how many think of these and her glories? Perhaps the wise man would take steps now, to spread the message of the lady who- She sat upon barbs, in spite of her glorious image and backing power. Sonnet 21 I called upon platonic love upon knowing you; I proposed you first then persuaded you to conceive spirituality- The night assisted with its serenity and tranquility, Of romantic breeze carrying the smell of concealed beauty. I was mad in passion or mad in illusion, upon the reflection from the dews. She spoke, perhaps the nature had dawned similar effects at her place- It seemed we were familiar from toes to face, We roamed in heaven; she blushed, my eyes glazed. What if a strong wind blew? Will I not be brought back to those dozing few? I had my wife yet she was like an obligatory being, The poetess for whom my poetry will flow, Beyond the wildest imaginings and thoughts- Inviting readers from the superficial world. I called upon platonic love upon knowing you; Nasty eyes looking at the figure formed by brain, Like a tree I fall upon your breasts; now to give pain- My carnal desire of lust you have to fulfill, Let me pour the immortal juice in you without any appeal. My hunger is satisfied now, the sun has risen- I was mad in passion or mad in illusion, upon the reflection from the dews. Sonnet 22 I thought myself to be the central spark of a diamond, a rationalist; But never realized to be centre of pastime for the hackers of heart, I was brave and bold but now I dare not act smart, For I have been deceived detrimentally mingling me with dirt. I have exchanged blows but they are too many, the modernists. Was I really suited for a scornful behavior laid upon my core? By those who call themselves intellectuals of the shore; They want us to butter them, or else burn the core. Why don’t they bear us with their list? Why do they act as the arrogant, ancient priests? Perhaps fear, the only reason of dumping the good, They know us to be better, suitable for the age- Yet enforce rules, but how long will they succeed? Time is now ripe for them to leave poetry and join politics. I thought myself to be the central spark of a diamond, a rationalist; The old fashion might not match the present period; much less to share- But the philosophy does, the style too if nurtured with care. Respect arising from foolishness will now turn to disdain them- Uncover their functional courtesy, rip of their wallet of fame. But shall I be alone again to protest? I have exchanged blows but they are too many, the modernists. Sonnet 23 The Bamboo framework was being put up for the fest; Freedom was blowing like soft breeze though the branches of a ‘Gulmohar’, While the workers worked as red ants before the ensuing winter, The sky seemed to bop and bloom with white cotton flowers; The frame made of the bare bones of a tree that couldn’t protest. Waiting hearts would be so glad to see the completion, Four days of delight, with desires to show up oneself; nothing but infatuation- Towards neglecting the dark days of decimation. Do we love to adhere to wastage of time and neglect the test? Or are we machines limited to our capability of taking rest? Perhaps some think that the population of flora has increased, And some seek to derive delight from shortcuts deserting the fact. Whatever may be, the bustle is just like crackers- After they are fatigued, we are back again on our toes. The Bamboo framework was being put up for the fest; The following day would bring new apparel, Noise from the performers and beggars would run parallel; Just a sputter of hope in a petite fraction of time, In a tasteless water sugar and lime; Cherishing them would help us, or we all will be like- The frame made of the bare bones of a tree that couldn’t protest. Sonnet 24 My first night of gig; I was presented as an elocutionist for poetry recitation; Days of hard work must turn fruits of success in fame, Of understanding verse to make others do the same. I was primed, yet it was the first instant; I didn’t realize it to be a game. I never knew if, for my voice, my image to be set into aberration. The culture of city was great sitting in its historical chair, As I stepped into the stage, the lights were off, what a fear! Lights in front were off, I finished my lexis, but no but no claps rang in the ears. Didn’t my tone overflowing with feelings create any sensation? Should I have refrained from appearing in shows; should I have been down in frustration? Look at me today, thousands fight for tickets, I shall not deprive them of their wish, for any revenge; But shall smile while I perform, those day are over, Left for stories while appearing in interviews. My first night of gig; I was presented as an elocutionist for poetry recitation; I was dire at reciting the lines, I feel at present, The lights were off perhaps to encourage this peasant, I cried outside; the feelings in it were more than the poetry I said, A memory that is still waiting to fade. Like the knife, I go sharper each time my lips shudder, but days ago- I never knew if, for my voice, my image to be set into aberration. Sonnet 25 We two brothers brought up in the same cradle of care; Separation was not meant for us; Hand in hand even in tightest mass, For we were the seeds of the same grass. The love was intended for a short time- I was left bare. I wore a coat given by my mother, A bracelet from my father, Those were the only gifts in these long twenty years. Did they prefer one than a pair? Are brothers not meant to share? I was possibly one hour older, I guess- I had to bear for the younger one, People knew me more than him, Perhaps they wanted both to be blessed equally. We two brothers brought up in the same cradle of care; My wits are confusing me in my own thoughts, For the job I have done and adore he has got; I see no tension in his eyebrows, While my forehead and figure shows, The anxiety of being adopted; no place for tears, I should be grateful though- The love was intended for a short time- I was left bare. Sonnet 26 The train moved calmly, as the slayer wheels proceeded for a crime... I was on another track, waiting for that to pass, It was amusement watching the movement, like the rounds of compass- Upon it travelling thousand people of a hundred class. The mail, a minister, with its subjects on both sides, but none upon the lines! The wailings of my mother, slapped me twice, For the joy I tried to receive from that who had cut my brother into taciturn slice, A mean of transport, inevitably strong, yet criminal in disguise- Was I paying for the butcher’s shine? He committed suicide; where lies the fault of mine? We felt sorrow, perhaps due to the loss of an essential life! Covered by magic and everyday findings, No scope for exceeding grief, or I will be the cause of another as such; He was liable for what he did in his senses; why should I shake! The train moved calmly, as the slayer wheels proceeded for a crime... A dog was barking in tremendous restlessness-index of concern, For below the massive engine, was one of his son - For a moment he was seen, the next his flesh was carried away, The mother looked at her other brood, and took them to play. A striking similarity and a possible solution upon the dubious kindness of The mail, a minister, with its subjects on both sides, but none upon the lines! Sonnet 27 The hospital looked overburdened with patients, a place to shed tears of sorrow; A little child with broken leg passed by, An old man whose veins seem to turn dry; Sleepers spreading infectious dust against the warning board which seems to be a lie. The jail teaching humanity, through the art to lend and borrow... In a place where one wants nothing but support, Though the hours of patience; as if the people bored- In a ship trembling upon life-taking waters to reach the port. If this is present, what is waiting for tomorrow? The healers breaking beliefs; will they prolong hiding in burrows? The natural medicine will enhance to accrue, And ignite the germs within; While the science of yoga establishing strong, Weaving to cure the ill-treated. The hospital looked overburdened with patients, a place to shed tears of sorrow; The young boy, like an official during day and lamp at night – Striving to cure his father- a damaged body creating fright. That made his studies a bud in a plant full of roses, Still to bloom, till his father wins over the daily doses. Oh! If we were tough before proceeding in- The jail teaching humanity, through the art to lend and borrow... Sonnet 28 I wasn’t any versifier; you were, among the few; Your philosophical ride wasn’t truthful, Taking me as a loving fool; Look, your gifted floras have twisted into plastic tools. I searched your awarded creation to have a first sincere view. What is it? My muse questioned me times and again- I had thought of penning but it has all gone into vain- The themes that were mine thrilled him with fame. Why did I share with you the story of my dead son Andrew? Why have you committed theft even from my stored dews? I am your inspiration; my sad heart feels proud, You had words to trim them; stud them with jewels. What an expert observer and listener you were! I fall to your knees, here lies your greatness. I wasn’t any versifier; you were, among the few; You were in the front greatness was behind- The cause beheaded and then reflected in your canto of typical kinds... As I bent like a bow, you appeared with a glow, To take me by a rope and pierce me with a glint of an arrow- Never did you try, but your action meant studying me; I knew as... I searched your awarded creation to have a first sincere view. Sonnet 29 The landscape that my imaginations drew upon the canvass of joy, philosophically, Made me travel as far as the chariot of my mind took me to- Feel the unfelt before being touched by the blue, Lost to find a new world, to examine if it was true! All the while reality was becoming blurred; smiling maliciously. I had no feet neither weight, Before a pond in which lilies have been drawn like plate- A man on the other shore, handless, giggling upon fate. Whose fate- mine or his, seemed deadly? Has he read or foreseen some ensuing fury heading furiously? The man must be another dreamer- Painting upon something aesthetic, unreal, unwanted! An escapist, let not be so- The warning is turning red; let me sprinkle water upon my face. The landscape that my imaginations drew upon the canvass of joy, philosophically, Was for few hours of night- The day wasn’t so bright, it demanded fight; The man must be an incarnation- Showing his hand lost to crocodiles in motion. The water lilies like traps towards the end, I have now realized- All the while reality was becoming blurred; smiling maliciously. Sonnet 30 The tapering of feet was heard as I waited below the bridge; The place hasn’t changed, but none seems to be bothered, To see the new encroachments revolutionizing their lives, providing a machine guard. I waited with bags of questions for my parents who must be still old colored. They should see me and think of covering the gravel of peach... Another hour marked no special entrance, My dad as if marked by marker; my joy enhanced- For my mother, another eye was waiting for a glance. Where’s the connection to my ridge? Was I wrong in replacing my inventory cartridge? It had been so many days that I had waited and they too, To see each other but she wasn’t there; Brimming watery observation now thought, Whether there was any need to change; perspective rules. The tapering of feet was heard as I waited below the bridge; I was born, perhaps for this day- To learn that grief lies veiled behind being gay; Stumbling into truth, I removed the curtain- My face tuned red, to see hell in certain. I fell to my father’s chest, he told- I’m still living; my heart still gave a statement- They should see me and think of covering the gravel of peach... Sonnet 31 A flower that sprinkled drops upon my cursed face; Spreading binding variety like a television program, Like trumpets of victory upon wooden drums- Love accumulating in unbreakable lumps. Let me smile, the time is ripe, of fruits and grace. I screamed for her, the tall buildings broke my echoes, I began moving my feet, the soil warned my toes; She blinked through her waving hairs, but no care did it show. Did her stem demand a stronger base? Did she think me to be a toy in her showcase? For some wayward moment, I thought her to be mine, I wasn’t wrong, she too was not, The gap betrayed us, yet left memories in the sediments, Of gone days, to make us wink remembering cries A flower that sprinkled drops upon my cursed face; She had hr her dearer for being older, I couldn’t leave impressions upon her style, I being newer; I succeeded in tying a thread connecting our life- This was cut by her sharp tongue that acted as a knife. Sadness molded by joy of forgetfulness; Let me smile, the time is ripe, of fruits and grace. Sonnet 32 The bucket flooded with the rain water dropping from the roof hole- Swelling water raged in the river; A flickering lamp quivering at the corner, While the four members shared two breads with no drinking water. The hunger was overpowered by the rising death toll. The wires of communication by the flowing devil fate; They didn’t cry to save vitality, as the water touched the gates, In no time the flooded bucket was floating beside a piece of bread in the plate. Was it due to the bending of earth’s poles? Or was the wrath, each moment going out of control? The jammed silt are now being removed, Helicopters spreading food, insufficient yet appreciable- The anger of the river will calm down soon, To provide grains with its kindness. The bucket flooded with the rain water dropping from the roof hole- The palpitating mothers beside her motionless child, Restlessness in her turning mild; Like a life containing egg, broken without protest- The people and cattle stopped their breathe, the birds without nests. The giant will feel sad now and try to make amendments for the day when, The hunger was overpowered by the rising death toll. Sonnet 33 Neglecting the arts how far do you artists intend to proceed with virtual humanity! When you are called to inspire the falling youth with ethics- You say you are incompetent showing your competence beside politics! Sometimes blaming even the new creative tricks. We grew up with your stories; hereby we respect your creativity. You were bold enough to stand up against odds, But never to nurture a pod, Of talent left for the mercy of God. Do you fear healthy competitions filled with purity? Or do you still crave for self popularity? While thinking of this I saw some policemen, I was pushed into a hypothetical place of gunshots, One of them pierced my arm, my wife coming down towards me- Was shot dead; perhaps you were right. Neglecting the arts how far do you artists intend to proceed with virtual humanity! We know you all as authors, not as social workers; When you don’t write, that makes me suffer. When we asked you for guidance in confrontation, You said the decades are now for self formation. We witnessed an execution, which confused us; if art was for service... We grew up with your stories; hereby we respect your creativity. Sonnet 34 The red radiance upon the distant tower was no more- The cold season that left a pockmark upon my face pulled me in its cart. I visualized the day when my regret knew no bounds in ceaseless flirts- Signified by vexing tears from a torn heart. Faithfulness betrayed by prettiness in a forsaken sea with no shore. Her lotus breasts and nectar crammed lips- Aroused in me the desire to take a sip, And immortalize my romanticism; long and deep. Was it necessary for my destiny to carry me to her door? What was the women attraction that I urged to adore? My physique needed satisfaction, With nearing creation in any form, But love took birth within the want- This perhaps encouraged me to choose another after her. The red radiance upon the distant tower was no more- We crept into each other like creepers, She hided her thorns-the blood suckers; Blood flowed through the saline waters wetting the eyebrows, Leaving me half baked in half baked world of sorrows. Today I stand; I have strength of another lady to save me from- Faithfulness betrayed by prettiness in a forsaken sea with no shore. Sonnet 35 The flighty Daisies winked and shook in the cold weather- Pending works to be finished, The oneness to be relished, Upon the branches brought together; revered like a fetich; They wanted to be released from being torn, to live together forever. The petals closed, then opened to look straight; The wind stopped; the stillness looked great, A sudden gale scattered the pollen, even upon the leaflets. Shall they be alone to live together? Or will they wait in some posy to share the death beauty with others? Their span is short, as hours for us- Is to help them grow and kill them, Yet that keeps their honor- Perhaps this is their pride. The flighty Daisies winked and shook in the cold weather- Like the girl and boy of same cast; Still like a handshake in the background of an atomic blast, Pulling them apart without reason, A cold war undergoing fission. They won’t curse those hearts, but will wish goodwill from them… They wanted to be released from being torn, to live together forever. Sonnet 36 I have saved a tear in my pocket, As a testimony of the injustice inflicted and imposed- Upon me, spitting upon my candor that closed, The honest reflection of which I could boast. No one in this place except a spider web with a hanging cricket. I don’t think about the food, infected by insects- But the wrongful acts and oily tongue infects Me with the plague of incurable prospects. What that puts my brain to receive shocks from the electric socket? When will I see the freedom facet? Thank you judge for releasing me from death sentence, But you should have done that- For I am free now to take guns, To save the convicts from illogical orders. I have saved a tear in my pocket, To show the physically challenged class- The blinds, deaf, lames, as they pass Me to be surprised, while they see their unrevealed cruel reflection, To be jailed in their own spotted complexion. And I will be free, though old but now… No one in this place except a spider web with a hanging cricket. Sonnet 37 The crystal gave a thousand shines as if thousand smiles- Inside the glass case, Greedy guys looking with wonder; one reflecting face Ready to entertain the cost but ‘Not for Sale’ written at the base! Unseen beside the door, the gateman thinking about his domicile. Saluting the gentlemen and ladies he stands from morning- Controlling his boldness to look at the gathering, Masses who have enough, but being deterred from buying. Is he meant to sign only the attendance files? What prevents him from being mentally agile? He must have been bored, Or he talks to the diamond while closing the gates; They must be having some secret pacts, While they laugh at night. The crystal gave a thousand shines as if thousand smiles- The real was stolen; the present substitutes the past, may be wrongfully; A human creation too attracts blissfully! The cost has been removed as it doesn’t cost much- Perhaps this magnetizes the rich crowds as such. The real cost would have scorned it; the idea possibly is from someone… Unseen beside the door- the gateman, thinking about his domicile. Sonnet 38 The dawn was greeted by me amidst heartfelt song of birds; My hairs as if brushed by invisible hands- The disturbance still to blow the sands- In this capillary of the forest land. I was walking towards the village to wake her up and take her away from the guards- Suddenly, tension in affection flared, as it prevails- Supplemented by the cries of the foxes, like sharp bells, As if biting sharks attacking sails. Should I have started the journey afterwards? Should I have run through the yards? The friends of nature wanted me to be fast, To obtain spring out of summer, To foster peace in the world of turmoil- At least in me in the forest area. The dawn was greeted by me amidst heartfelt song of birds; The dogs barked, as I passed, without cause- As it seemed to me while moving without pause; My love must be dreaming of me, I felt restlessness within- Neither policeman nor cadres, neither leader nor Maoist, I’m none in the political bin. I care not, you bark, you will you will know when I bring her; I thought while… I was walking towards the village to wake her up and take her away from the guards- Sonnet 39 Devotees fell straight upon the marble floor to call upon the Almighty, Few people knew it to be a temple, a worshiping site, That looked like a five star hotel from outside! Turning away the willing people, who are befuddled by the bright light. The gray color of religion seems to cream out here; a lost identity! The men entering with their hands up, as if to dance- To show themselves and give attendance And then stand close to the idols to have a longer glance. Do they have reverence to lie on the uneven floor, unmaintained and dirty? Does polish of the walls decide sanctity? At least the genteel floors do well for the urbane class; At least it makes them feel existence, even a bit, To thwart misery in the winter of life And while remembering crimes. Devotees fell straight upon the marble floor to call upon the Almighty, Comforts crossing limits while praying, To get God, so easy a way existing! In the very town of heat and sweat, Perchance the root is the bequest behind the gates. Whether it is honest I know not, I too cheer, but- The gray color of religion seems to cream out here; a lost identity! Sonnet 40 The three friends gossiping beside the shores of the big Ganges River, So many ships, so many businesses, so many lives upon it, Clear calm waters yet mysterious in every bit To fulfill the black and white needs. Through the blue color, a red hue could be seen at the centre. The living world floats above while the dead below the surface; Cruel intensions behind a graceful face, Lucid from the floating necklace. Are you that whom we worship for triumph in endeavors? You are vast we know, is it obligatory to depict your power? Instructed by the omniscient to kill the sinful people, To purify their souls, You must be working hard- In spite of tears over-feeding you. The three friends gossiping beside the shores of the big Ganges River, Recalling their friend’s body being pulled up, a year ago- With the same river that seems to overflow with ego; The parents blamed them, who were like their sons! While the shrill laugh sounded like firing guns. Maybe he wanted to die, he was helped… Through the blue color, a red hue could be seen at the centre. Sonnet 41 Centuries of creation instills creativity in me, to think and act along- Boldness through the saved pages of history, Mind and soul joining hands to decipher mystery- Prevailing as a result of downfall of readers in each country. Readers preferring ease in literature, as if preferring drums than lyrics in songs. Unreformed writers’ society coming up with daily workshops, Of gossips devoid of heritage and creative crops- To turn in films of fantasy; what a flop! Should I bring in the renaissance spitting on the wrong? Should I not learn to create being formally strong? Let my birth be for you, oh literature and loving men- Let me refrain from copying but receive inspiration; The heaven shower blessings upon my pen, give in ink- So that it can form the cascade of creation. Centuries of creation instills creativity in me, to think and act along- Perhaps the founders were egocentric to dedicate them to one- Yet they were meant for all underneath the Sun; As the manuscripts were like the notes of music, To be molded into any rhythm to heal even the sick. Revive, restore, recreate, and then form a formation of my name for… Readers preferring ease in literature, as if preferring drums than lyrics in songs. Sonnet 42 While standing below the tree shade- Destroyed in lightning, The grasshoppers were heard singing, The mind was out of trade, away from any dealing. The fever of sleep has gripped the forehead. My legs and arms were paralyzed, With a disease in disguise; A beggar dying for want of rice. How is this startling world made? What’s the need of creation without ensuring food and bed? I sank to the ground, A rain drop wetted my eyelids, Lifted me up to look at my utensil- Some coins have gathered there! While standing below the tree shade- Pockets were seen hanging with coins and notes; They are for make ups and coats. The disease of neglect is a cancer, The doctors seem to promote it further. Lift me up men or mature will push me into the grave- The fever of sleep has gripped the forehead. Sonnet 43 The cell vibrated twice- Like while arrival of any other message; The sender knew I was engaged, Still made up sit upon a sharp wedge. Best friend or lover, or lover turned best friend- it was dice. Confusion gave rise to dilemmatic thoughts, While nice feelings were being caught, And stored in a lot. Was my love now suitable for a tag price? Did I think pastime and passion to be nice? Save me, my turmoil is turning into fire, To burn me and give me pain; I must be direct now- To save myself for my love. The cell vibrated twice- I realized that I liked him, For my present had least concern for my whims; Yet I can’t be witch- To seep blood of care like a leech. Let me suffer, it will revive me; Still attitude makes me think- Best friend or lover, or lover turned best friend- it was dice. Sonnet 44 ‘Come on’, I said, ‘the dawn is calling’- Through the softness in breeze and coldness in atmosphere, Let us walk to the bridge very near To our house; where life can be felt through water fear. His ears being deaf in laziness, the eyes preferred sleeping. I was alone; I wondered why! The roads those shines in everyday dew has turned wry- I feel so sad; the dryness made me cry. Why the nicest part of the day is dozing? Should I wait in the woods or move to my housing? Let me walk ahead- To see the magician performing hypnotism Upon the trees and vapors, And have a try to wake it up. ‘Come on’, I said, ‘the dawn is calling’- I sighted a dead sparrow on my way- And a man beside lying dead in clay. All pedestrians were there but the bird which was still alive- Was left to leave its life- My friend was right; perhaps dreams have warned him- His ears being deaf in laziness, the eyes preferred sleeping. Sonnet 45 The smoke curled up from the ashes- Of my two brothers and sister; Innocent victims trapped in a civil war, Was now focused in the media center. The judges were either unknown or temporary in such cases. I broke my skull hitting against the stone, The house that echoed in laughs is now alone; Anger from the smoke accruing in bones. Will you now blame me countrymen for wearing Maoist dresses? Shall I not breathe revenge at all places? I will save the rest; I will take arms for the cause- To shoot out the curtains That covers the naked truth. The smoke curled up from the ashes- My beloveds were going up in a chariot,- I could see them happy leaving the earthly lots. I couldn’t cry but was taken to stillness- The sight injected an incurable illness… If I wait, more of such chariots would leave the land as- The judges were either unknown or temporary in such cases. Sonnet 46 The newspapers cornered in the room- Once lured us into them, While sipping coffee, before going for games; Sources of knowledge from companies liable for blame. News those were stories are transformed now into news yet to bloom. Money makes articles, wine impresses reporters, The scientists are neglected, the cameras upon gangsters! Even they are two teams holding political bars. Doesn’t it seem to be a gloom? Does it pronounce an ensuing doom? I still prefer old papers, But time won’t allow me. Yes a new paper is in demand- To be published with honesty; let me start it. The newspapers cornered in the room- The rulers would kill their rivals, Stopping the flow of finance at all levels. They are not prepared for greatness, But for a secured life without busyness. I can work out, there is still a willing mass; they have realized- News those were stories are transformed now into news yet to bloom. Sonnet 47 The Sun peeped through the banyan branches- At the glasshouse where the stone hearted Board of environmentalists have headed, To find out the cause as why the plants in an area have been beheaded. The director was himself peddling herbs growing in inches. He has authored books about greenery, Yet actions spoil the scenery- Of your genius and pull you to the level of primary. Don’t you feel warning pinches? Is it you or the chair- whose values have been buried in beaches? One of them looked- And placed a concept of a new plant community. What a relief that papers were signed- Which too were on our skin; we will have a family now. The Sun peeped through the banyan branches- As if the sun has come down to help the slaughtered woods! Through its reflections upon the spectacles to perform some good; To pour energy in the old bones- And make them remember their loans They had soaked for years; the interest was due too while- The director was himself peddling herbs growing in inches. Sonnet 48 The eagle swooped down- The small rabbits recently born, May be in some morn, A week before was now out in the lawn. The danger was coming down in a black gown. The jungle rules had driven the mother away- Though she must be on her away, To look at the sky, too see her son disappearing as prey. What are these rules to turn blood from red to brown? Who is maintaining these, who is wearing the crown? None but rules for survival; The food being less- The remaining kids were benefitted; A perfect balance moving in a pace. The eagle swooped down- The mother rabbit preferred one to die- For the other to live in the weather that was dry; The eaglets must be starving too – For them some food was brought into. The birth of one of the sacrificed must be meant for this; and fixed when- The danger was coming down in a black gown. Sonnet 49 Beside the costliest restaurant of the city- At about hot midday, The dusty hands working in clay, Picked up a fist of boiled rice to carry on his stay. As a human he ate once in a rotation; what a captivity! A waiter came outside and threw chicken legs; Inside, sounds were heard of glasses and pegs- An airplane flew over; he saw it but held his broken keg. Has the flame of thoughts extinguished from his body? Has his mind been plastered with cements and bricks of pity? A lotto ticket could be see beside, That shows hope; He still has ambition, Luck will guide him. Beside the costliest restaurant of the city- A car raced beside- No jolly but more dust accumulated by his side; His shirt was dirtier, So he was unmoved, still fascinated by the car. He had neglected jobs before, now- As a human, he ate once in a rotation; what a captivity! Sonnet 50 The university roads and lanes- Witnessing degrees for one and a half hundred years; It hasn’t seen one without tears, Brought by work, exam or love losing fear. The rare exception was the boy with a bag with a smile insane! Confidence bubbling out through laughs and giggles Sorrowless lives persist in no lifelong tales; They are not born but penetrate; he as if has shells. Is it deliberate that a boy taking life truly as a game? What’s his cult, what’s his name? Upon the breasts of psychology he replies- Laughing all the while Has failed to teach him what happiness is, These laughs are his sorrow… The university roads and lanes- Cursed a boy to be happy forever, In success and failures and in all endeavors. The odd one out is never favorite; to be adored, With his smile he was bored. The rest enjoyed being happy winning over the odd time- The rare exception was the boy with a bag with a smile insane! Sonnet 51 Tearing roots, which stem dares to float in the sky! Fear has grasped their hearts- The videos of the bloodshot shirts, Laid down in media pages of dead bodies carried in carts. They prefer bathing in dew than blood; they prefer smile to sigh. They have seen daring men- With farsighted and wise ken, But have sighted the same turning lame. Why is the ambition being curbed with the fear to die? What souls are these preferring fruits without cry? The invention and innovations Must be going on; though hidden; Waiting for the perfect ruler- To patronize those… Tearing roots, which stem dares to float in the sky! The creativity has become dumb- In response to overwhelming luxuries under the sun. The feet are too clean to be placed upon the floor, But the heart is uncombed even more. The sadly ended biographies may have to carry the responsibility Sonnet 52 The drunken river of Amazon, Flowing in a zig zag way, With often hunters becoming prey; Night prevailing even during the creamy day. She knows her destination, no matter hills or lawns. Away from its consciousness, It prefers bitterness- To see brutal hunts in wilderness. You will not change; is this you pawn? Do you want more bottles in your million ponds? Exceptions are no exception, She is one among the Nile, Ganges or Mississippi; The reason why the jungle has been allotted to her, May be as a punishment of her mind-set. The drunken river of Amazon, Turned greedy of blood wine, As of the deaths, without any sign. She had a bunch of slayer pets as captives, Of deadly reptiles and aquatic lives. She has being jailed among glaciers and oceans, and now- She knows her destination, no matter hills or lawns. Sonnet 53 Mother you just leave me starving with five grains of rice, I cry yet you frown, I wipe off the salty waters and bow down, For I do nothing in the town. I would like to be small to be well fed, as small as lice. To reduce my stomach, my hunger- Hunger that arises out of blunder, Not of me, but of the wicked employer. How long we will be treated as mice? When will we be given the break to rise? I will store my energy in every bit, Of the fat in my body; And wait, to see at least my children- Sitting in chair with an elite meal. Mother you just leave me starving with five grains of rice, I will have half life with these, I demand the worst grown rice not cheese. I will turn to be a robber now, Don’t blame me anyhow. The robbers sit in thrones, he happy or I would like to be small to be well fed, as small as lice. Sonnet 54 I am afraid to open your diary; Once a decade ago I did, It killed the seed Of my existence, tearing me in bits. The day I thought of hating you hating you Mary. Your son was lazy; I was active even when the world was dozy. I think this is why you were crazy. Thinking of him or me did you turn weary? Didn’t you plan for my marriage in a hurry? People are not granted of their every wish, I too was a bad wish for you. Yet I like serving you- As I am of your gender mother. I am afraid to open your diary; I do not like to be weak, With a cause that I know to be bleak. You ancestors are responsible; and you too For neglecting sandals and preferring shoes. I will be an exception; I had pledge to my conscience on The day I thought of hating you hating you Mary. Sonnet 55 Don’t you haunt me anymore! I have ran enough with the pen, Still you are not within my ken- Dulling my memory lane. I know you exist but prefer to hide in wit’s shore. Days ago I had almost caught you in the book fair, But the people I asked turned to be liars, The illiterate buyers. Do you want me to be bored? I want to see you, Have to gather some lore? I will catch you in your game, By developing the power to light the shadows- Under which you hide. My pen is moving faster, be ready. Don’t you haunt me anymore! The days left are less, To leave this mortal dress. I have left my all- house, children and wife, Now left only my life… Illusive breezes cannot befool me; I will get you, or realize you; I know you exist but prefer to hide in wit’s shore. Sonnet 56 Look you have turned your drains into dustbins; The income goes up to hundred thousands, Yet what a brand! Is this that you have developed beside you dwelling land. Oh! Sorry it wasn’t yours; you can grin. But don’t you dare to ask me to cure, When the illnesses you are in to endure- Will prove you to be impure. Why do you wait to commit sin? To invite trouble why are you all so keen? See, you are feeling asleep, As if I have the duty- I have the interest; you are perhaps true- But you will too when I am transferred. Look you have turned your drains into dustbins; I am a pig; you kick me for that, But I clear your drains while you relish my fat. You will have my flu- Not for me but for the work you favor not to do. I am better than you clearing you dirt- Oh! Sorry it wasn’t yours; you can grin. Sonnet 57 The baby was sleeping peacefully in the cradle. Unaware of the fire- Flaring to end desires- And hopes that could have been admired. A scene that pierces life with a poison touched needle. The relatives were outside; The flames got a chance to slide- To eat up and then transfer the chide. Where have the parents gone to peddle? Coming back will their hearts settle? They will perhaps come back soon, And the father will jump in- To save the little bud, Who has not yet developed dreams. The baby was sleeping peacefully in the cradle. The fire must have felt like playing above, To show its affection and love; But in course it may touch it, And end the life with other burning kit. Footsteps have been heard , it will save the situation from turning into- A scene that pierces life with a poison touched needle. Sonnet 58 Still atmosphere, with scorching rays tormenting upon us; I had no identity, Neither sense to consider it as a pity- But a uniform with uniformity. I could smell my sweat and taste it as it dropped on the grass. Eyes waiting to see something, I didn’t know what thing- When only the blank landscape or some living beings. What’s after this that will truss? Is it surprise or fuss? Whatever I care not to think, As I have commitment; To fulfill even if my life goes away- My soul will rest in peace. Still atmosphere, with scorching rays tormenting upon us; My family calls me earnestly, Their faces flash and blink continually; I gave out a breathe I felt danger- Not of me but to make me feel I am a soldier. The gun bears the weight of the Nation, let me hold it firmly. I could smell my sweat and taste it as it dropped on the grass. Sonnet 59 Cries have often blurted out roughly; One day parties and celebration Cheered the station- With music in all forms within the mansion. The gifted bangles have been broken brutally. Once so happy, is now kicked, For nameless reasons that had pricked- The husband who’s cruelty has clicked. Why does the good turn bad, unexpectedly? Is there some way of reviving them pleasantly? Perhaps the work pressure has increased, To be lowered soon. Or might be some problem that irritates him, But not for long; He will calm down. Cries have often blurted out roughly; None tells you to be man! When you hit me with the wand! I do not complain, you don’t allow, Tying me with a rope like a cow. To revive your love, I will not complain that… The gifted bangles have been broken brutally. Sonnet 60 The bulldozer ran over the bricks and plasters; Of the old-age home- Breaking the calm domes, Leaving them houseless without a place even to moan. They aged even disturbed in their time of rest; what a disaster! The rotten skin will not get pills now, They seem to be the cows- Driven away hitting them with dry boughs. Don’t these contractors respect their father and mother? Doesn’t their conscience push them to be kind hearted and better? They have taken money- The feelings have been put behind bars; Still they will set up a similar home- In their senescence, when they have means. The bulldozer ran over the bricks and plasters; Some betrayer has signed illicit piece- In grasping greed than to miss- The opening to become rich, No matter if he is termed as bitch. The goodness will crawl with repeated attacks to sense… The aged even disturbed in their time of rest; what a disaster! Sonnet 61 I am a branded man-eater; I am known for my teeth and paws, To break human laws, And kill one biweekly and eat raw. They set awards for me but not for the hunters. I had the power, the support of the jungle- I will have stronger limbs and voice to rumble- Your guns to me are like bangles. When will you turn as nature lovers? I can repose, but will you punish my family killers? I am no one to forgive you, I am just a cause; If you leave us in ourselves- We will put a pause upon the kill. I am a branded man-eater; I had a family and my younger brother- All were hunted down along with my neighbors; If I sit quiet and chase gales, Curses will seal my after life for the hell. So this is my profession now, and will bid to change but… They set awards for me but not for the hunters. Sonnet 62 The two butterfly mating while the two lizards on either side- Unaware of the peril surrounding them, They embraced each other in the passionate game- If they are killed, then what a shame! All the time they were lost within, neglecting the outside. Sex was to cheat them or their sex was to be cheated! The tube light knew not then who in the depleted- Earth would shake them before their lives are uprooted. Why had they turned blind in spite of the light? Can’t they be rescued with might? The reptiles proceeded, Then turned to their left, Went past the two beautiful creatures- It was their mating season too. The two butterfly mating while the two lizards on either side- The eyes of a boy watching the scene, He took a photo but didn’t clean, It from the flaws- Leaving it to the Natural laws. They were saved; romance was protected; it being in the lizards too but… All the time they were lost within, neglecting the outside. Sonnet 63 Crowds that I never saw in my life of ruling- Blocked the roads and lanes, Some peeping out from window panes, Same hope in all that I will do something for these men. I had papers that had false promises; my tongue will utter them without feelings. My hear empathizes with you dears supporters, The culprit is my chair, Without which I lived once, but now will be bare. What should I do with those voices ringing? Shall I thrash the chair and come down from the ceiling? I owe much to you, I will perform – Not in papers but in will, You can surely be assured. Crowds that I never saw in my life of ruling- A heavy hand of the hidden monarch was in my shoulder, With a lot more strength and power; Let me utter false today, I may be spitted upon after few days. But there must be a way to escape and then speak out, but now- I had papers that had false promises; my tongue will utter them without feelings. Sonnet 64 The old car stood by the garage parking; Cleaning was going on in the floor inside, Doors closed as they chose to hide- The new car like a new bride. What a gift after so many years of serving! The masters and mistresses, Whenever they visited any places; The dust touched the metal but not their dresses. Will the new be as efficient and attached in feelings? To serve you-Does it has a healthy bearing? He is still stronger with these plain tires- To carry the weights for hundreds of miles, And then reach safely to home; They will know once they have climbed the new stuff. The old car stood by the garage parking; Left for one month still, The servants speak of their master’s will- To sell it even in low cost The wounds in the body do no more cost! Still this wounded figure is superior and will be… What a gift after so many years of serving! Sonnet 65 A poor lyricist writing songs for none but self. One thousand songs without music, without name- Without money, without fame, Waiting to burn in flames. Thousand dollars for twelve in the shelf. They have offered him, Resting upon his weakness- him whim, To taste the glass cased cream. Did they want the titles from themselves? From the trap of greed, should I not protect myself? Let them buy, Let me earn; They will think that I can’t write more! While the best is still in my mind. A poor lyricist writing songs for none but self. I will die to see my songs being sung and settle, But will expire if I see them in other’s title. None to respect me for I don’t have birth base, Of jewels and diamonds in case. My creations will never end, never stop its flow; let me now think of… Thousand dollars for twelve in the shelf. Sonnet 66 Exchanging blames were going on in the dining table; For some subtle mistakes, When mom made- The materials for the cake. Idiotic reasons were twisting to harm faith in the blood carrying cables. I and my brother waiting to get them cool- For they were looking as fools, As they quarreled sitting upon the tools. Have they ever thought what reaction in my little brother would bubble? Will he too not learn to wrangle? I laughed to create ease, They were surprised and then ashamed- Of what they were into- Now we ate in silence. Exchanging blames were going on in the dining table; They didn’t notice, That I didn’t even had one bread piece- In my mouth and the fear of my brother- Didn’t make them bother. It will stop as it is groundless but they must realize Idiotic reasons were twisting to harm faith in the blood carrying cables. Sonnet 67 The water gurgled out- As the farmer cut the canal out of the last pool, The last source in this year’s rule- The weather at no time was rainy but dry and cool. One of the working men occasionally looks up at the sky and shouts… Last year was same, The season focused upon turning them lame, In all aspect from food to the sells erasing their name. Where is the excess water swelling out? It knows we want her-yet why she is putting us in doubt? Suddenly a storm started- All took shelter under trees; Far in the distance the sky looks – Its ripe time now to reap. The water gurgled out- Of the pond- But will it be able to maintain the bond! That these reapers have with rain- After two years staying out of brain. It’s like a friend gone away; all eagerly waiting for his return, while- One of the working men occasionally looks up at the sky and shouts… Sonnet 68 The black posters have been pasted yesterday; No one to go out were the admonition, Whether to start business or for education, Which the people seem to follow with caution. Let the war restore democracy today. The hope rings in every ears- The bullets tearing the foreheads seemed to clear, That they had overcome the administrative fear. The policemen, are they not supposed to fill up the bay? Apart from the men in power, does nobody have the right to place their say? It has become a dumping ground of inhuman activities; Yet a leader is there whom people follow sincerely; They do not utter the name- But works accordingly with zeal. The black posters have been pasted yesterday; The smell of the slaughtered bodies, Has been a cause of the jackals’ rhapsodies. The raped women sitting for marriage to be raped again- They will not nag; they have turned harlots of men. The seeping anger gives more power to their chief… Let the war restore democracy today. Sonnet 69 I didn’t want to hear this from you- At least not in my birth-month; never… You didn’t think of my fever, The relation I suppose was not forever. I wanted rain you gave me just drops, that too few… I had always wished to know your mind and figure- But the other girl knew the black spot pressing the trigger, With another fire-pellet from you that tore my tears. Was she the best in the crew? Was love now fixed with screws? I will not cry, You do not deserve it- But another relation, With the one who has proposed me last month! I didn’t want to hear this from you- I was not stone nor the lord- To think not or forgive you in accord; I get the stench of extra affairs- For your pleasure, I can’t form pair. You can go; I will be find happiness in loneliness or in some others, I wanted rain you gave me just drops, that too few… Sonnet 70 I close this book now, and close my eyelids- I have described the night enough, perhaps more; Let me now go out of the roof door, And allow it to describe itself from sky to floor. My test is over your starts now, common water the seeds- Which I have failed to farm, And charm, The readers and book worms. Will you listen or I will have to plead? After writing so much will I now have to read? I have enough wits, you can’t hide- Let the readers and lover of poetry get you- Through my future write ups, To decipher you truly. I close this book now, and close my eyelids- Let me take rest, For creating the best. Your Profoundness; that had instilled so many poets to write- But none could win in the fight. I will write you through you, you can’t say no- My test is over your starts now, common water the seeds. [more]

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Melanie Higgins Zysk Unconditional Love

The amazing story of one woman and the animals that changed her life forever

Pets
English
15 Words
No Age Recommendation
652
1

This is a true story that I wrote from the bottom of my heart. I had a wonderful childhood until my father decided to have an affair with another woman. Our entire family was in shambles…not to mention how heartbroken I was because I was a daddy’s girl. We finally had to move to the projects because that was all my mother could afford. Talk about going from riches to rags. I remember crying myself to sleep every night. I started hanging around with the wrong type of people and getting into a lot of trouble, eventually doing time in a state penitentiary. I was calling out for love, I really was not a bad person, in fact, I was always quiet and shy. Life can be a hard journey. I did not have much of a childhood, or perhaps I've blocked a lot from my memory. But by the age of fifteen I was all grown up. I had to make decisions for myself; admittedly, some were not very good. Looking back, it didn't take all that long before I came to the end of my rope, but once I got there I turned around. I grabbed on as tight as I could, and soon I was pulling myself up, one grip at a time. And I've made a lot of changes in my life since then, mostly to make it a better one. The first time that I rubbed my nose against a tiny fawn‘s nose, it changed me forever. Looking back, I wish I might have been a little smarter concerning my career choice because I would have loved to be a veterinarian. But life can throw you curves, and I've learned to make the best of every day. And the day I held that warm, soft Guinea pig in my arms made me feel happier than I'd ever been. Happy deep down inside where it matters the most. The day eight years ago when we bought our “ranch”, I realized just how much I loved animals—all kinds of animals—and how much it meant for me to have them around me. I developed a piece of raw land into a working ranch and it was a lot of hard work, pulling weeds, putting in a fence line, and building pens for the animals we purchased from a local auction. And it was worth it, because, as I said, I love all animals of every kind, each with its own special interests and personality. I can spend endless hours just relaxing and watching them run and play with one another. We have thirty-seven animals on the ranch right now, and I love each and every one with all my heart. Most of them were adopted, saved from horrible situations, and still need lots of love and attention. Eventually, living with us, they come around and forget their past lives of neglect and abuse. Our animals live their entire lives on our ranch. They live to be very old and die of natural causes—the way it’s meant to be. This heartwarming story pays tribute to my lasting love affair with animals small and large. Over the years, I have adopted abused, neglected, or unwanted animals and cared for them on my Florida ranch. I developed a set of beliefs about the human relationship with animals, and I have come to realize that each creature has a distinct personality, a warm heart, passion and even a sense of humor. I operate on the firm belief that every animal, whether an unfriendly cat, lame pig, or a blind cow, needs to love and be loved. I was a pure-bred city girl, until I discovered how animals could soothe my soul and enhance my life. Since then, I have made it my mission to provide shelter and love for animals of all kinds, including cats, dogs, pigs and even cows. I believe that every animal has a right to live—and live well. I respect their wishes and they respect mine in return. It is out of this deep respect that I say that animals are not toys; they have feelings and hearts beating inside them just the way we do. And it is from animals that we receive unconditional love. I know, because it is their love, total and unconditional, that changed my life forever. Thank you for your precious time. Category Non-fiction Title Unconditional Love Subtitle The amazing story of one woman and the animals that changed her life forever. Author Melanie Higgins Zysk Illustrations 72 Pages 205 Words 74,002 Binding Hard and Soft cover ISBN 978-0-595-43920-1 (pbk) 978-0-595-70484-2 (cloth) Reviews: info@apex reviews. net Unconditional Love Melanie Higgins Zysk ISBN: 9780595439201 Reviewed By Cary Merriman Official Apex Reviews Rating: The path of Melanie Higgins Zysk’s journey through life is the very definition of “circuitous”… After her parents divorce when she’s just a little girl, Zysk, her mother, and her brothers are thrust directly into the veritable teeth of adversity. After suffering a horrendous accident that takes her friend’s life and nearly claims hers, she decides to live life to the fullest and strikes out on her own into the dangerous, yet exciting world that surrounds her. Along the way, she becomes a teenage bride, spends time as “Miss Keystone” (a NASCAR trophy girl), and even does a 10- month bid in the Pennsylvania state pen – for a crime she didn't even realize she committed. A quick study in learning the discipline of self-reliance, though, Zysk eventually becomes quite adept at following the desires of her heart, which ultimately lead her to start a rescue ranch for animals that have been abused, abandoned, or otherwise left to fend for themselves. It is in launching the ranch that Zysk finds her true calling, one that has lingered quietly, yet fervently within her entire life: sharing the unconditional love of her selfless heart with those who truly need it. Unconditional Love is an intriguing study of a life lived on quite a far reaching arc, but what’s most endearing about Zysk’s life story is the salient way that her warm-hearted nature shines throughout. From the time that she is very young, she always wishes for the best for others and sacrifices constantly for the benefit of those around her. Of course, this selflessness is most apparent in her undying affection for and dedication to her ever-growing family of furry friends, whose lives would be devoid of considerable comfort and enrichment were it not for Zysk’s faithful devotion. Life is destined to throw obstacles in our paths, but what matters most is how we choose to negotiate them along the way. In Unconditional Love, Melanie Higgins Zysk provides the reader with the perfect example of how to turn any adverse situation on its ear by focusing on the blessings hidden deep within. FOREWORD MAGAZINE wrote: Animals & Nonfiction. UNCONDITIONAL LOVE: THE AMAZING STORY OF ONE WOMAN AND THE ANIMALS THAT CHANGED HER LIFE FOREVER by Melanie Higgins Zysk (205 pages, soft cover, photos, 978-0-595-43920-1): Florida rancher, animal rights enthusiast, and author presents this heartfelt tribute to her lifelong love affair with animals of all kinds; storylines include how inner city life and a led Zysk on a search for her life’s purpose, and ultimately to the devoted mission of saving animals; how to rescue and care for abused and neglected animals—such as pigs with backaches refusing to walk, blind cows ready to give birth, and dogs of all dispositions; and how to see life through the eyes of “unconditionally loving” animals—with humor, pragmatism, determination, and passion. Endorsement: "Drama, hope, and love, along with an unforgettable cast of characters, both human and animal, show us that with love, anything is possible." Sy Montgomery, best-selling author of The Good, Good, Pig. Please check out my web site www.melaniehigginszysk.com you will laugh at all four of my videos with my animals. I dedicate this book to my Mother, Dolores Baker; she is now resting in peace. If your parents are alive, cherish them with all your heart. My mom was a great influence in my life. I love and miss her dearly. A portion of all proceeds from the sales of this book will be donated to the Humane Society. vii Contents Foreword. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ix Chapter 1 The Beginning of My Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Chapter 2 Tim Came into My Life and We Started a Business. . . 23 Chapter 3 Happier Times . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Chapter 4 Sad Times . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Chapter 5 Selling the House . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 Chapter 6 The Business was Growing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 Chapter 7 Lil’ Abner and Lots of Excitement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Chapter 8 Building Our Dream Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Chapter 9 The Wonderful Wedding Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 Chapter 10 The Terrible Hurricanes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 Chapter 11 Sally and the Crazy Things that Happened . . . . . . . . 159 Chapter 12 Going Psychic and Here’s Foster . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 About the Author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205 Special thanks to my mother-in-law Carolyn Zysk and Sara my wonderful pig. ix Foreword Life can be a hard journey. I did not have much of a childhood, or perhaps I've blocked a lot from my memory. But by the age of fifteen I was all grown up. I had to make decisions for myself; admittedly, some were not very good ones. It wasn’t that I believed I was a bad person. I just made some bad choices about some people and some of the things that I chose to do. Looking back, it really didn't take all that long before I came to the end of my rope, but once I got there I turned around. I grabbed on as tight as I could, and soon I was pulling myself up, one grip at a time. And I've made a lot of changes in my life since then, mostly to make it a better one. The first time that I was in contact with an animal, it changed me forever. Looking back, I wish I might have been a little smarter concerning my career choice because I would have loved to be a veterinarian. But life can throw you curves, and I've learned to make the best of every day. And the day I held that warm, soft creature in my arms made me feel happier than I'd ever been. Happy deep down inside where it matters the most. The day eight years ago when we bought our “ranch”, I realized just how much I loved animals—all kinds of animals—and how much it meant for me to have them around me. We developed a piece of raw land into a working ranch and it was a lot of hard work, pulling weeds, putting in a fence line, and building pens for the animals we purchased from a local auction. And it was worth it, because, as I said, I love all animals of every kind, each with its own special interests and personality. I can spend endless hours just relaxing and watching them run and play with one another. We have thirty-seven animals on the ranch right now, and I love each and every one with all my heart. Most of them were adopted, saved from horrible situations, and still need lots of love and attention. Eventually, living with us, they come around and forget their past lives of neglect and abuse. Our animals live their entire lives on our ranch where they also get special attention from our friend and vet, Dr. Coughlan. There they live to be very old and die of natural causes—the way it’s meant to be. We believe that every animal has a right to live—and live well. We respect their wishes and they respect ours in return. It is out of this deep respect that I say that animals are not toys; they have feelings and hearts beating inside them just the way we do. And it is from animals that we receive unconditional love. I know, because it is their love, total and unconditional, that changed my life forever. [more]

Keywords: love, rescue, animals, neglect, abused, pigs, dogs, cats, cows

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Max Heindel An Elementary Treatise Upon Man's Past Evolution,Present Constitution And Future Development

Esotericism
English
161313 Words
Ages 18 and up
0
0

This book is written by Max Heindel, the founder, and Messenger of The Rosicrucian Fellowship. This is a reference book of the Fellowship students and Probationers. This book is also referred as Cosmo-Conception or Mystic Christianity. The founder of the Christian Religion stated an occult maxim when He said: “Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall not enter therein” (Mark 10:15). All occultists recognize the far-reaching importance of this teaching of Christ and endeavor to “live” it day by day. When a new philosophy is presented to the world it is met in different ways by different people. One person will grasp with avidity any new philosophical effort in an endeavor to ascertain how far it supports his own ideas. To such an one the philosophy itself is of minor importance. Its prime value will be its vindication of HIS ideas. If the work comes up to expectation in that respect, he will enthusiastically adopt it and cling to it with a most unreasoning partisanship; if not, he will probably lay the book down in disgust and disappointment, feeling as if the author had done him an injury. Another adopts an attitude of skepticism as soon as he discovers that it contains something which HE has not previously read, heard, or originated in his own thought. He would probably resent as extremely unjustified the accusation that his mental attitude is the acme of self- satisfaction and intolerance; such is nevertheless the case; and thus he shuts his mind to any truth which may possibly be hidden in that which he off-hand rejects. Both these classes stand in their own light. “Set” ideas render them impervious to rays of truth. “A little child” is the very opposite of its elders in that respect. It is not imbued with an overwhelming sense of superior knowledge, nor does it feel compelled to look wise or to hide its nescience of any subject by a smile or a sneer. It is frankly ignorant, unfettered by preconceived opinions and therefore eminently teachable. It takes everything with that beautiful attitude of trust which we have designated “child-like faith,” wherein there is not the shadow of a doubt. There the child holds the teaching it receives until proven or disproven. In all occult schools the pupil is first taught to forget all else when a new teaching is being given, to allow neither preference nor prejudice to govern, but to keep the mind in a state of calm, dignified waiting. As skepticism will blind us to truth in the most effective manner, so this calm, trustful attitude of the mind will allow the intuition, or “teaching from within,” to become aware of the truth contained in the proposition. That is the only way to cultivate an absolutely certain perception of truth. The pupil is not required to believe off-hand that a given object which he has observed to be white, is really black, when such a statement is made to him; but he must cultivate an attitude of mind which “believeth all things” as possible. That will allow him to put by for the time being even what are generally considered “established facts,” and investigate if perchance there be another viewpoint hitherto unobserved by him whence the object referred to would appear black. Indeed, he would not allow himself to look upon anything as “an established fact,” for he realizes thoroughly the importance of keeping his mind in the fluidal state of adaptability which characterizes the little child. He realizes in every fiber of his being that “now we see through a glass, darkly,” and Ajax-like he is ever on the alert, yearning for “Light, more Light.” The enormous advantage of such an attitude of mind when investigating any given subject, object or idea must be apparent. Statements which appear positively and unequivocally contradictory, which have caused an immense amount of feeling among the advocates of opposite sides, may nevertheless be capable of perfect reconciliation, as shown in one such instance mentioned in the present work. The bond of concord is only discovered by the open mind, however, and though the present work may be found to differ from others, the writer would bespeak an impartial hearing as the basis of subsequent judgment. If the book is “weighed and found wanting,” the writer will have no complaint. He only fears a hasty judgment based upon lack of knowledge of the system he advocates—a hearing wherein the judgment is “wanting” in consequence of having been denied an impartial “weighing.” He would further submit, that the only opinion worthy of the one who expresses it must be based upon knowledge. As a further reason for care in judgment we suggest that to many it is exceedingly difficult to retract a hastily expressed opinion. Therefore it is urged that the reader withhold all expressions of either praise or blame until study of the work has reasonably satisfied him of its merit or demerit. The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception is not dogmatic, neither does it appeal to any other authority than the reason of the student. It is not controversial, but is sent forth in the hope that it may help to clear some of the difficulties which have beset the minds of students of the deeper philosophies in the past. In order to avoid serious misunderstanding, it should be firmly impressed upon the mind of the student, however, that there is no infallible revelation of this complicated subject, which includes everything under the sun and above it also. An infallible exposition would predicate omniscience upon the part of the writer, and even the Elder Brothers tell us that they are sometimes at fault in their judgment, so a book which shall say the last word on the World-Mystery is out of the question, and the writer of the present work does not pretend to give aught but the most elementary teachings of the Rosicrucians. The Rosicrucian Brotherhood has the most far-reaching, the most logical conception of the World-Mystery of which the writer has gained any knowledge during the many years he has devoted exclusively to the study of this subject. So far as he has been able to investigate, their teachings have been found in accordance with facts as he knows them. Yet he is convinced that The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception is far from being the last word on the subject; that as we advance greater vistas of truth will open to us and make clear many things which we now “see through a glass, darkly.” At the same time he firmly believes that all other philosophies of the future will follow the same main lines, for they appear to be absolutely true. In view of the foregoing it will be plain that this book is not considered by the writer as the Alpha and Omega, the ultimate of occult knowledge, and even though it is entitled The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception, the writer desires to strongly emphasize that is not to be understood as a “faith once for all delivered” to the Rosicrucians by the founder of the Order or by any other individual. It is emphatically stated that this work embodies only the writer's understanding of the Rosicrucian teachings concerning the World-Mystery, strengthened by his personal investigations of the inner Worlds, the antenatal and postmortem states of man, etc. The responsibility which devolves upon one who wittingly or unwittingly leads others astray is clearly realized by the writer, and he wishes to guard himself as far as possible against that contingency, and also to guard others against the possibility of going wrong inadvertently. What is said in this work is to be accepted or rejected by the reader according to his own discretion. All diligence has been used in trying to understand the teaching; great pains have been taken to put it into words that shall be easily understood. For that reason only one term has been used throughout the work to convey each idea. The same word will have the same meaning wherever used. When any word descriptive of an idea is first used, the clearest definition possible to the writer is given. None but English terms and the simplest language have been employed. The writer has constantly endeavored to give as exact and definite descriptions of the subject under consideration as possible; to eliminate all ambiguity and to make everything clear. How far he has succeeded must be left to the student to judge; but having diligently used every possible endeavor to convey the teaching, he feels compelled to guard also against the possibility of this work being taken as an authoritative statement of the Rosicrucian teachings. Neglect of this precaution might give undue weight to this work in the minds of some students. That would not be fair to the Brotherhood nor to the reader. It would have a tendency to throw the responsibility upon the Brotherhood for the mistakes which must occur in this as in all other human works. Hence the above warning. During the four years which have elapsed since the foregoing paragraphs were written, the writer has continued his investigations of the invisible worlds, and experienced the expansion of consciousness relative to these realms of nature which comes by practice of the precepts taught in the Western Mystery School. Others also who have followed the method of soul-unfoldment herein described as particularly suited to the Western peoples, have likewise been enabled to verify for themselves many things here taught. Thus the writer's understanding of what was given by the Elder Brothers has received some corroboration and seems to have been substantially correct, therefore he feels it a duty to state this for the encouragement of those who are still unable to see for themselves. If we had said that the vital body is built of prisms instead of points, it would have been better, for it is by refraction through these minute prisms that the colorless solar fluid changes to a rosy hue as observed by other writers beside the author. Other new and important discoveries have also been made; for instance, we know now that the Silver Cord is grown anew in each life, that one part sprouts from the seed atom of the desire body in the great vortex of the liver, that the other part grows out of the seed atom of the dense body in the heart, that both parts meet in the seed atom of the vital body in the solar plexus, and that this union of the higher and lower vehicles causes the quickening. Further development of the cord between the heart and solar plexus during the first seven years has an important bearing on the mystery of childlife, likewise its fuller growth from the liver to the solar plexus, which takes place during the second septenary period, is a contributory cause of adolescence. Completion of the Silver Cord marks the end of childlife, and from that time the solar energy which enters through the spleen and is tinted by refraction through the prismatic seed atom of the vital body located in the solar plexus, commences to give a distinctive and individual coloring to the aura which we observe in adults. [more]

Keywords: rosicrucian fellowship, max heindel, cosmo

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