(2011) What day is it? I’m thinking about the coming Saturday, when my kids tug me out of bed instead of a boisterous song on the radio. My alarm screams at me again. I shut…
There are countless things which can turn into pain. This time read about the same pain – which you have known till now – in my poetic narrative. Hope you will strangely like the feeling of the pain while reading through the words. . Don’t forget to put your thoughts after, in the comment section. . CLICK ON THIS AND READ THE FULL BLOG NOW! . LINK TO MY OTHER BLOGS https://oceansight.godaddysites.com/
Canada’s Watchdogs: To the government, from Canadian’s I’m sorry, Mr. Prime Minister, I can’t provide for me and/or my family; the dogs ate my country. It is some of you, who set the dogs loose-…
Life is a balance of different emotions and actions. Where all kind of situations keeps adding on either side of the pan and you have to make sure to survive the pressure and create a perfect balance. SURVIVE, Because YOU CAN – . Read my other blogs at – https://oceansight.godaddysites.com/
Thousands of things and Thousands of relations. No matter who are there at the two ends of a bond but ‘respect’ always plays an important role of being the sign of maturity to keep hold that bond and make it stronger every next moment and it never let the bond go weak even if there’re differences of any kind.
Epic poems are long and narrative poems about the adventures and extraordinary feats of people from the distant past. These are poems telling stories.
For the comfort of the known we were ready to pay the small price, which was not so distressing as at that innocent age, we were enchanted with the witch who lured everyone with her beauty.
Life is so strange throughout everything you live… And you can never change the fact. Now, let me tell you one of my memory to prove it… One day, in my second year, in a hot Autumn times, I was strolling one of my friends in the school garden at a school day. While we were strolling, I faced with a tiny bony short with short blond haired girl who visited and joined to our school from abroad as a foreign student. Those times, we were twelve years old infants by the way. Indeed, she looked quite freak and not likely with her bad tiresome appearances to me. I hadn’t liked her at all although I’d hated her who had never communicated with me without any salutation. The only reason for my reckless hatred was that she had never communicated with me in those times. Always, I was discriminating her apart from the foreigners by saying bad words behind her as I remember. “You foolish bimbo!” I murmured loudly once upon time. It was a winter time… In the early morning, now, long red jumpers appeared after the short shirts in the coldest days in October. We faced against each other again before she left the school almost a year later. But that time, I don’t know still why but my hateful emotions changed against her strangely. Her appearance changed as well, now, she had a long hairs and very nice than before and was more likely. I was more sensational and emotional against her; in short, the Holy God showed me that He is not playing soccer Who stabbed with me the sword of the justice by making me to fall in love with her and realized how racism is bad!
Are The Shrouds Counted, Are Not They?, by J. W. Cassandra, a short writing or essay.This is my newest writing. I chose the word ‘shroud’ intentionally, instead of any synonim. And I chose the Horus’ Eye, either. And I use other symbols, either. I’ll share the writing both in English and Hungarian. Illustration is from the Google.
Are The Shrouds Counted, Are Not They?, by J. W. Cassandra, a short writing or essay.This is my newest writing. I chose the word ‘shroud’ intentionally, instead of any synonim. And I chose the Horus’ Eye, either. And I use other symbols, either. I’ll share the writing both in English and Hungarian. Illustration is from the Google.
Langston Hughes in this poem emphasizes the importance of dreams in one’s life. He describes metaphorically two reasons why life is meaningless without dreams. Read the whole poem and its analysis to know more.
So much for the “Mist.” Now for the “Mystification”…
As of 9 am, today’s offerings in the “Rooms for Rent” section of free listings here included not one room for rent.
If they sink another hundred, maybe a few of us disabled, elderly homeless will actually be able to access a normal, if continuously impoverished, existence.
For only about a week, the poet lived at a house in a neighborhood in Mississippi, described elsewhere in the poem “A Summer Night in Jackson.” …
