Poem On Daily Life Novels & Stories

Whoever said life is not a bed of roses must have studied it critically from a broader view and successfully captured the raw factuality in a few words. Life is a chemistry set. Reactions waiting to be discovered, full of experiments and surprises. The mind must take what it is given and make best of it, never losing hope that more beauty will come.

A shrine to the people I've lost sitting right on my bed-side table. Picking up the pristine copy of my Dad’s poetry book, I fanned through the crisp pages. It had once been a ritual of mine to fan through the book during hard times. I would close my eyes and choose a poem at random. It was once a way to stay close to my Dad, but now had turned into a habit. With my eyes closed, I let my finger land on one of the many poems. In the end, the treasure of life is missed by those who

Is he gone again? I sighed. I get up to get ready for school and the first thing I do is to keep my bed in good condition. Last night, I remember as I fell asleep, he stayed. Guess I need to make myself always ready to accept that God always disappears and comes back whenever he likes to. But what if he is not coming back? I feel an ache in my chest, as if I was suffocated by its bitterness. Come now. Wake up. I said to myself, patting my cheeks. You are both in a different world. And you are just a puny human. Forget about that. Try to change the view and feel someone who is more human.

Ire silence surrounds, not a single sound could be heard, as all lay between the oasis of their dreams and deserts of their nightmares, each one living their fate, swirling to the tunes of lines in their hands, for the waves had already sailed to the shore and the winds had already floated and all that remained was the result that future beholds. As the rosy color of the dawning sky slowly moved away, the chirping and whistling of the birds can be heard, all lively and happy to the world it seemed, for all we know it isn't the tune of happiness, merely its the tune of misery, heartache and pain lost in this universe of disbelief and fake, we settle upon the beauty of fake happiness, yet litt

#Day 5 Tick tock, tick tock time goes on, but my life is stuck, my brain always going through a turmoil of emotions and storm of bitter memories, but my life has come to a stand still, you know why is that, because no matter how many storm comes, you still stand in the middle of it completely unaffected and rooted to your place, like a fucking stubborn leech, sucking my life out of me. ................................................. #Day 6 Today I looked myself in the mirror, I have wide black shadows under my eyes, I am loosing weight at the rate which will make me extinct from the face of Earth within a month or two. I am alive on sleeping pills which will put me to sleep to give way to

It was so crispy. We thought we are already having the worst things in life. We always say that we are having the most cruel life that a person could have but in fact we are also the luckiest. For me whenever I can see a people sleeping outside, kids who are begging for coins in the street. I am already lucky that I eat three times a day and can provide my father's medicine. Yesterday I don't have a lot of works to do in the office and also the other employees since Mr. Woods are not yet giving a lot of things to do. Also the reason why I am staring right now how the sun sets in the sky. Beautiful, very pretty and amazing.

He looked at the kitchen garden gate. He thought: we are what we are. The thirty-first year is the year we can say it. The being rather than the becoming. The ordinary day is the deepest thing. Being is the condition in which the ordinary day is the deepest thing. Not striving toward something else. Not the hope of something better. The ordinary day itself. An ordinary day is enough. The ordinary day is the building. The ordinary day is the beginning. ---

She lived from the heart, lived with every fiberShe hadn’t always done it, though. After her favorite people had done it, Helen too had given up life, as if it were a low-paid job. Death is a funny thing. When someone dies, the sun rises the next morning, as if nothing has happened, and punctually it sets again at night. Even though someone is dead, the train platforms are just as busy as before. Someone has died, and the people simply go on with their daily lives. They meet up with loved ones in the evening, and continue to complain about the coffee that burns their lips, the boss who won't give them a break, the partner who almost suffocates them with love.

**** Aaj hum nahi, kal Humari Yaadein hongi Jab hum na honge, Tab humari baatein hongi. Kabhi paltoge zindagi ke Ye panne, To shayad aapki aankhon se Bhi barsaatein hongi.... (Today I am here, but tomorrow There will be my memories, If I will not be here There will be the talks of mine) (If you will turn the pages Of life Then I think you will also cry Remembering me) **** Marna to sabko ek na ek din padega.

in response to the ongoing anti-extradition bill protests a day like this, or the train between us won’t stop - this life is too long, dear tourist - & you know this morning I have to pay the rent too – as you insist that demonstrations at Victoria Park crow an ashfall of a feathered controversy - scarred by heavy clouds – as poetry as a lesson in leaving seems like years – & everyday umbrella seems like months of our days, days of our months always like this sure it’s like this