We are all in one, we are all to one
We are all for saving thy grace and glory
The whisperings of the angels from the far yonder land
Together we bear the burden of your days and nights
For all ages we are ageless dreams floating in ethereal splendour
Cosmic eternity gives us hope and life
Darkness evaporates from thy path of heavenly bliss

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High wind has blown away the sky
Waves of mutiny have not yet died down
Days have collapsed into the shouts of nights
Will the dark days ever be smiling on their face?
Patches of green still peeping into the silent valley
All have left home in search of life
Fires of pain ravaging in stark haplessness
All souls have fallen at the feet of Mother Nature

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Is life a rhythmic ocean?

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For your eyes only I will dream for ever, for your eyes only I will sacrifice my desire. If the black swan flies over the sky, the white feathers float like a puff of clouds. There I see your loving face with rains of innocence dropping down my body and soul. When you cry for the moon, I jump at my feet to fetch you a pale of my tears. And I disguise you in colours of my joy and sorrow.

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The sky never appears big
When you leave my love behind my back
You rest drowned as ever in your empty world
Your footsteps fumble in all corners
Your veiled wisdom never stokes fire
Shallow feelings surround your universe
As though you have shed blood in soliloquy
Not to regain the days and nights gone by
Dewdrops snatch your little world
When I retreat back to my isles of forlorn hope.

I have built a nest for you
I have sung solemnly at your withdrawing shadows
You only choose to be the empress of the lost throne
Stormy petrel never dares to blow his conch

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Is life a rhythmic ocean? Joy and sorrow speak in their colliding languages, yet they never pray to God to salvage their identity in that rhythmic ocean. Life is vibrant and cautious to strike back in times of contagious war. It wakes up to the call of shrill siren that comes from the conch hidden in the metaphors of cause and effect. It checks and rechecks embryonic vertebral science. It catches fire when rains seem to be silencing the rhythmic ocean.

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Quivering mind slaying moments of ecstasy
The heart is throbbing in whispers of silence
A burning pyre extinguishing like a surfing wave
Sweating leaves knows not where to spread wings
Shadows of specters languishing in fear of nothingness
As if there will be no blue river across the valley
As if all souls have gathered in a soliloquy.
Time has blown the conchs of warring clouds
Rains have stopped breezing past the eternal wind
Watching eyes saying nothing in haste to the yonder sky
All things juggling for space in times of eternity
The moon is swimming in pools of blood

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Quivering mind slaying moments of ecstasy
The heart is throbbing in whispers of silence
A burning pyre extinguishing like a surfing wave
Sweating leaves knows not where to spread wings
Shadows of specters languishing in fear of nothingness
As if there will be no blue river across the valley
As if all souls have gathered in a soliloquy.
Time has blown the conchs of warring clouds
Rains have stopped breezing past the eternal wind
Watching eyes saying nothing in haste to the yonder sky
All things juggling for space in times of eternity
The moon is swimming in pools of blood

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Kahlil Gibran's book of poetry The Prophet is already a widely read book. Its language is ethereal and of celestial beauty. Life is delved deep and explored in all its possibilities, life is celebrated in all its nuances. Here life is passionately in love with life so much so that the pangs of death diminish with life flourishing in all its sublime beauty.

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Is that the haunted house of the king
Where slaves were slaughtered to celebrate god's blessings?
Is that the palace where the king plotted to burn the soldiers’ houses?
All those slaves still cry in the air
All those soldiers sacrificed their lives to save the king's grace
They are the nameless and faceless mortals
Who have been written off the pages of history
History repeated history in cruel tongue banishing humanity from the soil
Has history ever told the true story of mankind?

Will history ever uphold the manifesto of the wretched?

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Eyes wide shut out
Walls of time frozen into a black chiaroscuro
Sounds listening in deeper voice from a yonder horizon
All the morrows drowned into cyclopic sorrows
Faces smaller than the squarespace orbs
All disguises torn apart rather in simultaneous orgies
Who can fathom the depth of silence?

They are come from the land of all seasons
As simple as the withering leaves follow the course of light
As if no death can extinguish the ray promises of crying souls
But where are the colours to paint the timelessness?
Where is that architect to build the buoy of life?

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O, the birds of the sky
O, forest-dwelling sage of the north
Give us wisdom, give us the knowledge of the breadth of the sky
We will chase the depth of the ocean with our shadows falling back
We have never sucked the honey-comb
We have never kissed the feet of withering rays of the twilight
Give us a chance to feel the chill of death before life
Together we we will dance to the tune of satanic verses
Before praying on our last pyre.

O, the charisma of the old world
O, the saviours of the retracting sun
The light is still burning the surrounding darkness

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When you whisper in a soliloquy
I know your overcast face with breezy clouds
An eye of storm gathers rage in yonder land
A deep sigh freezes in circles of nothingness
As if the breezy clouds have lost their wings
And I know there will be no dewdrop of tears
The desert has a long season of drought
The breathless night sizzles with your passion
To chase the wisdom of ancient melancholy.

When your shadow lengthens on my long days and nights
I know the white ship has shed anchored on the dizzy isle
The wiping images of deserting times stop for a moment

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Once Socrates was walking along the Athenian market place. On the way, he came across young Xenophon who was a just a few walks ahead of him. He stopped Xenophon with his walking stick and then asked him whether he knew where good vegetables and fish were available. Xenophon showed him the way. Socrates was less than interested at that and then he asked him pointblank whether he could tell him where good men could be found. Xenophon could not help feeling ashamed at his odd query. Then Socrates told him that if he did not know, he should come with him.

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Is life an event? Just like many other events hot and happening but generally ending in themselves? Yes, an event is just an event happening in a consortium of time and eventually ends in a frame of time receding and fizzling out in the repository of memory. Events are just some fleeting memories in human diaspora. They are slices of life, but not life as a whole in existential precedence as life transcends life in a continuum of events. This flux of events constitute world wide web of life.

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Everything is light beyond darkness
Sights and sounds come alive in beautiful flights
Nothing and nobody remain prisoned in this vast expanse
Beautiful things are equally distributed in all somgs and verses
All things are equal in this world.
We are all born out of the soil and water
We are all born equally well to gather dreams
Our dreams are all equally well to foster faith and togetherness
Togetherness in our dreams is to build belongingneess to everything
All dwelling in close proximity, all is equally all to one another
Nature brings all those glory for one and all

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'Population problem' is the root of savagely deteriorated environment. The rich class of the 19th. century decried it as an ill and they also used to argue that it made the harsh environment of capitalist industrialism necessary. before 1700 the population growth of each century was about one million. Between 1700 and 1800, it was three million.

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O, drum-beater!
Beat your drum, beat your sweated chest
Our souls are crying for sounds of bereaving silence
Beat your drum in ecstatic frenzy
We are all dying for rains in cloudbursts.

The streams never sluice through our aisles
Our valley is weeping in wells of tears
Millions of stomachs stoking fire in hunger
Millions of footsteps walking along the valley
Voices have joined voices to reach God's.
We are all in one in quest of our destiny
We will conquer our hunger, we will conquer the world
Our victory will be for our life

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Today or tomorrow I will love you

And I will win your everything

Everything of yours will be mine

I will not leave anything for you

You will lose everything for nothing.

One day it will be all yours

When you will love to love me alone

You will regain your lost soul

Let the creeping fears flash

Like a burning shadow in the wind

You will tremble in wonder of fears

As if you do not know how to love.

You love me or not I will love to win you

I will win you like a war is won in serendipity

I will raise you to the seventh heaven

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Is education a one-way traffic? The teacher will gorge out something from his memory or from his notebook and the students will listen to him like some dumb dudes? If this is education practiced in one-way-traffic module, what is destined to happen is happening all over the world and most predictably the so-called educated people have been turned into dumb dudes. They have fallen a victim to 'culture of silence'. This 'culture of silence' is the way of life that the powers-that-be have intelligently instilled into the mindset of the common denominators and that is what they want.

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