Monday, December 29, 2008


One of my favorite poems...


I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

-- Alfred Joyce Kilmer

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

For Want of...

For want of knowledge, wisdom was lost

For want of wisdom, character was lost

For want of character, momentum was was lost

For want of momentum, wealth was lost

For want of wealth, the downtrodden were lost

All for want of knowledge was lost..

[Mahatma Phule's thoughts]


Friends - Elizabeth Jennings

"I fear it's very wrong of me
And yet I must admit
When someone offers friendship
I want the whole of it.

I don't want everybody else
To share my friends with me.
At least I want one special one
Who indisputably,
Likes me much more than all the rest
Who's always on my side,
Who never cares what others say
Who lets me come and hide

Within his shadow, in his house -
It doesn't matter where -
Who lets me simply be myself,
Who's always, always, there."

[from personal collection]

The Best Thing to give

to your enemy ---- forgiveness
to your opponent --- tolerance
to your child --- a good example
to a father --- deference
to a mother --- love
to yourself --- respect
yo your patient --- care that will make him proud of you.

[Read somewhere in a doctor's waiting room]


Friday, December 19, 2008


What lies behind us and what lied before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.
- R W Emerson

On Death

DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.

From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;

And soonest our best men with thee do go--
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!

Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!

-- by John Donne

What a wonderful poem!!