Lens Artist Challenge # 72 ~ Waiting ~ For Amy ~ Waiting is Another Name for Patience ~

We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.
Joseph Campbell

              Waiting for the Driver of this beautiful Buggy at Serena Hotel Islamabad Pakistan

Patience is not simply the ability to wait - it's how we behave while we're waiting.
Joyce Meyer

         Roadside Guava Seller -Waiting for customers while talking on the mobile phone

Nothing's going to come to you by sitting around and waiting for it.
Zoe Kazan

Another common roadside selling style- Tri-wheeled Carts
Also waiting for prospective buyers .

Patience is not simply the ability to wait - it's how we behave while we're waiting.
Joyce Meyer

Waiting for Food to be Served  

Opportunities are like sunrises. If you wait too long, you miss them.
William Arthur Ward

For POETS UNITED ~ Moonlight Musings: the Interactive Edition, #3 ~ We Planted New Trees

Come in the shade 

Remember the dead tree gives no shelter'.

Teaching English Literature to a class of Business Studies students was a great challenge. Both boys and girls found it without purpose. ‘What do we business studies students have to do with Literature, was a frequent question.’ This change in the syllabus was  difficult for students  to accept. For me it was like planting a new tree in a barren area. Love of literature and understanding it as a reflection of life, with all sorts of negative and positive aspects was my foundation of learning. 

The Literature course outline preparation was the responsibility of the Faculty member concerned and to fully convince the students to study Literature along with Business Studies.

 I began to reflect, put all my literature cards on the table, and looked for the right direction. ‘Pray, sacrifice something to the Gods’ ‘Aeolus Blow and Transform’ and Lo Aeolus blew hard, a paper landed right on my desk. 18th C~‘A Literary Research Paper and a Book Presentation’ will do the magic 

Announcing the syllabus I could see students smiling. The first reaction was satisfactory. ‘Charles Dickens 18th Century Novel ‘Hard Times’ study will reflect the state of labor laws, industrial growth and economic conditions, a novel of your choice will be presented and you may conduct research on any aspect of Literature, that is an open choice’ More smiles around  told me that the ice had broken. Literature gave free space for individual decisions

‘Who Moved My Cheese’ the book by Spencer Johnson brought the final applause. One student presenting it said, “Every two or three years we had to change cities due to my father’s job. Packing and unpacking exhausted me completely and I began to dislike the frequent change. I would cry at the moving time till one day father gifted this book to me. Reading it helped me to understand and accept the concept and necessity of ‘change’ in life and this changed my life too.

I never cried again. The cheese was all eaten and new pieces had to be placed.’  

This presentation was the pinnacle of success when  ‘change and addition in the syllabus was finally accepted and enjoyed

For ~ Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Honey / Bee ~ The Ant The Spider and The Bee

 The ant the spider and the bee 

I wonder which is best of the three

If I see the qualities of  insects three, 

all are unique company
each created superb in structure 

form color shape and ability

All three have the sting, a 

security weapon against the enemy
the ant has a hill the spider a web,
and hive is for the bee
all three industrious, restless,
focused, productive in unity

a pleasure to observe, a treasure to know,

a gift to enjoy nature creates miracles for
the benefit of mankind, a pity, if spiders ants

 and bees are killed, no honey, a cause to cry;

I wonder if I were an ant what a tiny
creature I would be even if I were a spider, 

even then very frail and  thin I would be
Ah but if I were a bee, then I would be 

the strongest of the three -

Then perhaps I choose to be not a spider, ant, but rather a bee'

For ~ Carpe Diem #1751 Lough Derg, Donegal (Ireland) ~ Eternal Purity By An Act of Devotion ~

                                 

                                                                            A  Haiku

Do Lough Derg let go

find peace refuge, heal life

eternal purity

Lens Artist Challenge #64 for Amy

For Lens-Artist Weekly Photo Challenge # 64 ~ By Amy ~ Countryside North West of Pakistan

Road to The North West

 On Way to   Khyber Pakhtoon Khwa Countryside

                              Spread out golden grain fields for miles bordered by

                                                      Murree Mountain Ranges

More green country side fields

Goats and sheep grazing on the hill sides

Buffaloes are common  and  precious source of dairy products

Green is the prime color of the world,

and that from which its loveliness arises.


Pedro Calderon de la Barca

For Sue Vincent's Thursday # WritePhoto Prompt ~ Murmur ~ Glory of the Invisible Quinquereme ~

Strange are the nights with visions

of gleaming fleams, piercing vapours

and sweet soft humming murmurs

merging gold blue crimson and black,

golden globe sinks,succumbs to darkness

no more cool and nestled are clusters or

sunbeam and moonbeam, in space, remember?

No,blaspheme, no ship silhouettes on skyline-

one cannot swim upstream but sink by degrees

 over  a period of unknown years  but then there

 is the divine return  like the brave  Odysseus who 

lost his ship in drunken state  without fears-

timeless oblivion easily persuaded in pleasure sunk

stay, stay,  keep the ship straight, but where is the ship ?

tightly grip the oar, be in  septime firm, on the floor-

on the seas,  there is no wall  no  door -

pay tribute to the controlling breeze

with love in the heart that is light and free,

sail on   - on ample aquamarine liquid space

beware  the ship may drown in River  Tarim

sail on, sail on  ready is the harvest  of  Berseem

remember The Resurrection Light will shine again

And  dream , the eternal glory of  invisible Quinquereme

FOR ~ IGRT ~ Wordy Monday with Wild Woman: Castle Ruins, Lowering Skies........Tell us a Story!

               

                 

The Moors, the lowering skies, the ruins of a castle, the ghosts of times long past, the phantom tinkling of a piano, and the long lingering moaning hound of the unseen feared animal, heard often in the dark damp foggy atmosphere, sent a shiver down his spine, North Yorkshire, known as the notorious place of strange encounters welcomed him with an eerie sensation that evening.
“At last I am here to see for myself, to experience the horrific thrill and perhaps meet a ghost too’, S. Redstar the keen historian thought about the story he had read in the newspaper a few days ago, which made him plan and take this daring trip.
“Disappeared without a trace,” the heading read. Disappearances were common. The belief was that people were suffering from a strange phenomena, which kept them normal during the day but made them react oddly during the night. Not the Count Dracula type nor like Frankenstein either, making it difficult to judge who the real patient was.

    S. Redstar stood by the side of the narrow road, in the distance he could make out the castle ruins, he was so engrossed when suddenly a large bird flew out from the ruins, screaming wildly and vanished in the dark sky. Something or someone had disturbed the bird.
A low moan alerted him and then he saw …a crowd of human forms huddling together, heads hooded, cloaked to the feet, appeared from the mist, moving slowly they disappeared in the ruins of the castle.
O Lord, who are these people? What ails them? I must find out I must achieve my purpose.
He flashed his torch sending the prearranged signal, soon four  guards were beside him. Cautiously they stepped up to the ruins.
Their search was fruitless, but a message writ large stunned them.
‘ Dungeon to Heaven – Welcome.' it said

Mystery solved  ?

For Sue Vincent ~ Thursday Photo Prompt: Open # writephoto ~ Claustrophobia ~

‘Claustrophobia’ she heard the doctor’s voice, ‘yes, claustrophobia it is, common in young girls and women. Can be treated with love and care , a program of outdoor picnics and lots of story telling.’
‘Story telling?’ a harsh manly voice almost blurted out the words, ‘she is no kid to be told stories, uhh and I can’t share my work secrets, if that is what she wants of me. I.I  don’t like this story business. Staying inside the house where everything is open, so what’s the problem? My work hours cannot be reduced nor my leave days increased, sorry. She has to make more effort’
Remi’s drowsy state hardly enabled her to make sense of what was being said. All she saw was the double door of the room, half opened, then someone passed through it, it was a shadow to her. All day long this door had to be kept shut. ‘Remember to bolt it from the inside, don’t be careless’. At this moment she hardly cared whether the door remained open or that she had to close it.
‘where am I ? it was a question to herself. Oh, I think we were having dinner when something struck my head, something came through that door, let me try to look’ She turned her head slightly ‘what’s that? The door is open and there is a long corridor all the way straight ahead, there seem to be more doors but they are not closed, I wonder if it is the same door?’ which door am I supposed to keep bolted and why? Am I  a captive in prison with my two young children.?” The man who lives with us is not the same who brought us here, she was having strong doubts about him. His eyes are redder something stops me from looking at them. He doesn’t blink I have noticed and his smile too does not appear. How can I check if he is wearing a mask? This must be a dream…where am I ? If I am in a prison then I am not supposed to open and close the doors, eh?’.
But no one was listening. 
‘What place is this? what great doors do I see ?   door of the night faery and the elf ? is it the forbidden door of  Sleeping Beauty’s castle where all the spindles were hidden ?  maybe it is  Ali Baba's door, no it cannot be because  Ali’s door was closed and needed a password. It could be the opening of the one eyed giant Cyclop’s cave, oh no, no, that is a different story in another far away land.’’Remi you read too many stories and in every story there is a door, she said to herself and see now you have developed a disease. What was that strange word the doctor was saying? Did you hear that? No ? I think it was ..er..claustro…phobia’ I don’t know what that is neither do I want to know, I just want the door to remain open, but everyone keeps telling me to close it’
‘Remi Remi are you feeling better?’  Remi heard a voice then the same harsh loud voice said, ‘let her sleep, it’s better for her’.
Now she was alone. 

Remi saw the open door again ‘it is a bit dark inside I wonder where the passage leads to? Oh that is strange, there is some light but no shadows. It seems a shadow less  passage, wait, some shade is there on the floor but I wonder where the light is coming from ? why houses have so many doors  is the question, then they have to be checked and closed and checked again and then opened then bolted and locked again’. Remi felt exhausted ‘I have to find an answer’ She decided to investigate. ‘Get up Remi, she said to herself, for the past year or so she had started talking to herself.
‘no more no more, my feet are heavy my spirit walks as if in snow, it is so cold, what do I hold in the deep recesses of the chamber with doors, four? Oh my poor heart  I know not how much and for  how many more days  you will miss the love?
‘how many more doors you will face and how many more  keys you will need  to clean the dark mess, but wait, this passage is so clean, there is nothing on the floor, ‘no 'eat me' 'drink me' is required here, yet it is no wonderland either’, hmm what lies behind these walls? 
People captives or slaves  forced inside feeling heavy with the weight of sin known and unknown, and all  doors are  shut to drown  the din of painful lament, cries of repentance woes misery despair, of ungrateful stance? clutching fainting holding on to a handful of smiles a morsel of love which  may save-   
Remi kept walking through the passage, neither narrow nor wide enough to be comfortable for walking. Oh ‘ a green door ‘ now that’s a discovery, it is small and I am too tall, O dear hope O mercy  I have dragged myself  and reached this place, please open this door, I believe it will reveal the answers and release me from my fears’ 
In silence the door slowly creaked open she saw a vision of a Greater Open Door a door without a shadow, engulfed in pure white light Remi just stepped through, she saw no cuts or borders, a boundless smoothness as far as the eye could see,’this is the world of peace and love, no doors over the sky or the sea, or the forest or the desert, if there is love and care no doors will dare to block your way’ This is your answer a voice seemed to say. Hearing that Remi succumbed into the soft wings of merciful flight,  far below she saw the open  door, ‘keep the door open to let love and  peace flow in  freely then close it to keep that precious treasure safe inside’ how simple was the answer how easy life could be, with a heart of love and a spirit free ….
‘I will leave my claustrophobia here in the skies’ and will try to be the holder of the keys that open all rusty closed doors and let people breathe with comfort, without fear’
The good voice spoke again, ‘a wise thought and remember that if love is pure and strong it will create a new door that lead to  open gardens even in closed caskets in the grave’
A grave has no door.
She woke up to find herself in her room. Her children were soon close to her, She did not hear the loud harsh voice anymore. 

In Response To Sue Vincent's Thursday Photo Prompt ~ Choices ~ Small ~ I am Nothing ~

I am Nothing

I am but a speck of dust

my life  soul  spirit is not mine

I am but a form a sound a smile  a thought

my idea my vision my purpose

Is for the Heaven

the Pure the Holy the Forever, above

I am, but just Love.

I am Nothing

In Response to POETS UNITED Midweek Motif ~Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero: a Pantry of Prose, #4 ~ From the Point of View of Trees~ I Am Enslaved

O’ there they come, I thought I would never see them again, how I have wept, shed countless leafy tears, trembled, swayed, shook with fear, braced many  storms as they struck and thought of my Parent Gardeners. Why did they leave me, the world is cruel so cruel.

O’ my tortured trunk, limbless, disabled, dried,how will they feel. They are  sad at their friends sudden passing away. They have come for condolence.He was the only neighbor who kept the lane clean, planted a flower bush outside his house and sometimes parked his car in my shade. I let him for I knew he loved all plants. I can never forget how he took a stand against his own father to save me when the lane was being laid tiled, everyone wanted the trees uprooted but he stood in my favor.

  The same green car which stood in my  shade  for so many years,  I covered it with my flowers and onlookers said, ‘where is the groom?’ it looked so beautiful with purple flowers all over it and my kind gardeners let them stay, they never swept them away…

I remember how lovingly they planted me where my roots are firm still but I am not the same I will never be…

‘They are standing in front of me, they are sad very sad and I cannot reach out to hug them thank them for all the loving moments, days months and years, they shared with me. Some cruel people have mercilessly amputated my arms, made me disabled incapable of bearing flowers…

How lovely were the sunny days when the kids of the family came and held me lovingly touched me caressed me and held my flowers with full smiles, they made me so happy
Now, I am just a pole for a letter box, some consolation but I will not last long now

   

  

In Response To FOWC with Fandango ~ War ~ What Man is Warring In or Warring Out ~

A war within a war
A war so far a war on a star,
Detonating deafening destructing
A war on sand a war on land


War on terror, war by error?
War for the spoils war for the oils ?
War on the young, war by the young,
Hopeless, groundless, Timeless war;


A war by the armed, on the unarmed
A war by the strong, on the weak throng
A war by dress a war of stress
A war of mess by the thoughtless;


War against flood war against fire
War to spend save, a war to an end?
War against age, war by rage;
A war on a stage a war in a cage


A war of words a war with swords
What man is warring in or warring out
Laying hiding killing mines,building
crushing walls bridges, filling ditches lines


hear cries of enchained spirits ?
bodies writhing raped, murdered
NO WAR the call PEACE ‘the aim'
NO MORE destroying,no false claim;


Senseless, pointless, meaningless,
Time to end deifying war;
Time to end unjust war just for power
A War within a war, a war within a War

A war started in the heavens above
a war cold unseen a war of Faith
Of Obedience surrender or of love
Nothing survives, but Good and Death

(Originally written for POETS UNITED )  © CER 2019

In Response To dVerse Poet's Pub ~ Haibun Monday ~: Memorial ~ Air Attack on Shahdara Bagh Bridge Lahore Pakistan 1971 ~

War broke out on the Eastern Front Border of  West Pakistan as it was known as such  since its birth in 1947.East Pakistan was a thousand miles away with Indian land in between.Travelling from West to East was either by air or by sea.This gap affected the relationships on both sides and then the enemy is always ready to grab a chance.
It was  late September or early October in 1971 This was the second time the conflict escalated. The previous clash in 1965 saw me in college but this time I was a young mother with a two month old baby. Returning by road in a driver driven car our destination was the city of Lahore. Home duty and responsibility forced me to travel. With a baby in my lap accompanied by my young brother in law we bravely drove on. When we reached near the city, the main bridge on the River Ravi was under attack. I heard air raid sirens  the sound of jets and the strafing of bullets. We stopped right there on the roadside the place is known as Shahdara also famous for the tomb of the Mughal Emperor Jehangir. I looked out, sat numb,not knowing what to do, held the baby tight, I noticed that the area had lots of palm trees on the side we had stopped...my brother quickly helped me out of the vehicle and we managed to take cover against the closest of trees.Sound of firing kept coming, then a few seconds later two big blasts sounded with loud booming effects.As quickly as they came, the planes were chased away by our air defense forces. A few more minutes and the 'All Clear'' sirens blared. Slowly the traffic began moving. We continued our journey and soon reached home safely across the bridge which remained undamaged. A terrifying experience.
Many soldiers sacrificed their lives for the country.


who die for country
martyrs in honor, alive 
heaven's angels all 




   Photograph of Shahdara Bagh  in the Mughal Rule Era in Indo Pak Subcontinent.

                       https://defence.pk/pdf/threads/lahore-old-pictures.160223/

For ~ FOWC With Fandango ~ Chosen

                                                                  They  came to see the girl , they had to choose, and then she was chosen
all the time the boy and the boys mother,sat looking at her,she was frozen

wonder what they had in mind, what they expected, what they saw in reality,
her fair color, smoothness of skin, length of hair and body, style of femininity

the tea trolley had felt heavy as she pushed it in the living room, steps heavy
on the carpeted floor, eyelids dropping with sleep, she glimpsed  a fat belly

wondered whose was it in the family chosen for her, for future life and living
‘tea has a good taste, did you make it ? a croaky voice sounded tight n chilling

she dared not raise her eyes, she was not supposed to  typical Eastern attitude
of shyness, maturity, submissiveness, obedience, acceptance,service n servitude

she was relieved when the party left,it was a routine now, coming serving 
smiling pouring tea, waiting getting up,  saying salam and then regretting


she was now beginning to enjoy playing the game of  ‘ Being Chosen’ 
 fairy tale in home forest, trees unseen , freezing  icy, like Queen Frozen

she knew she would never be chosen, life is not a contest nor it is funny
she would make her own story, this was all done with honey and money

2019 ~ NaPoWriMo ~ Day Nine ~ Sei Shonagon-style list of “things.” ' Things Which Bring Peace' ~

Things Which Bring Peace

Reading the Holy Verses early in the morning

listening to the chirping twittering of birds 

hidden in the trees

sound of running water in a stream

watching the river meandering

eagles flying gliding high in the clear sky

music waltzes composed by Johann Strauss

watching fields full of tiny wild flowers swaying

with the breeze

hugs from my children and grand children

a loving smile 

and bowing in gratitude before the Almighty 

For POETS UNITED Midweek Motif ~ Writing POETRY ~ Nature is Poetry ~

a tiny green leaf, a tiny worm crawling up a tree
trunk, struggling slipping moving up again, life
in its minutest form is beautiful
it inspires awe strikes the eye
touches the heart and soul

 when thoughts transform into words

it becomes the poem of  poetry

see the tree form a pattern 

see the colors of the sky

see the curve of the hillside

and follow the sunlight and the shade
through the valley across the glade

how dwellings are made
gardens laid and flowers planted
fragrance  embedded fruit granted

all these bright and beautiful things

are natures poetic wings

and so I pick up my pen

sometimes my paint brush

and try to capture the truth I see

the real as it is in light and hue

if I have the words I may do good
if I have the love and the feeling

and gratitude fills my soul

I may be a writer and a poet

for  all nature is beautiful in form and scenery

water sea land or tree

All nature is majestic ,all Nature is poetry

For The POET By DAY ~ Wednesday Writing Prompt ~ Joy Beauty and Death , Some Questions ...

A Thing of Beauty Is A Joy Forever
John Keats

I

Beauty is joyful
Is Joy only in nature ?
flowers reflect love,


Love makes us joyous
True love is rare, never found
Beauty? Ever present


If you look around
Truth makes the world happier
Then hate is drowned.



II

Why time stops still
the killer finds the kill
so suddenly coming?

why sharp is the strike
cutting like a knife
leaving us bleeding?

why common places
are becoming Senlac?
why life is a racetrack?

who is fighting for what
and for what winning?
this was not said by

Our Lord so Loving

why we dig but graves to fill?
On top of the High Hill, do you
see Proud Lucifer smiling ?

My heart with fear trembling
cannot for a moment be calm and still
hearing shattered glass and bullets shrill

Another blast another attack-
screams cries blood spilling
why death is brutal and erlking

For The POET By DAY ~ In Response To ~“LIFTING THE SKY” … A POEM FROM THE LATEST COLLECTION OF LONDON’S MYRA SCHNEIDER

'Allow your mind to open to this moment and your arms

to rise as they lift the palpable blue\

English Poet Myra Schneider 

    The sky is never engaged

in  battle,   not does it

itself cause a rattle,blue
 for visions, dark for secrets 

   The sky is never engaged

but shines in grey and gold

the angry  enraged clouds 

make it overcast and cold

 The sky is never engaged

in war nor bombs it hurls,

but sprinkles the darkness

with stars and shiny pearls.

For POETS UNITED Midweek Motif ~ Fun ~ When I am With Children ~

My way of having fun

would be with children 

playing in Winters

in the sun...

feeling joy and peace

The toys would be paper

and  color pencils

or crayons

In Summers watching

sunsets and stars

finding constellations

would be Treasure Hunt

Fun would be among the trees

or watching a flower show

each child itself like

a flower so

no shopping no buying

though chocolate cake

or brownies would be OK

guessing objects in a bag

in circle time tags

thanking asking telling

sharing helping caring

each to feel equal and

each to be good

each to have respect

each to have understood

my way of having fun

would be to be with children

all happy,all  at peace

no bombs or a gun

For POETS UNITED Midweek Motif ~ Zero Tolerance ~ No More ~

No more no more,no

hatred or jealousy, no

riding the red horse

we want freedom,rights

zero tolerance, senseless

 killing,forced living

no more no more, no

violence rape or shooting, strive

for peace, save the world.

For dVerse ~ Tribute To Poetess Mary Oliver ~ When Death Comes...

                                                                       

when death comes 

like an iceberg...

And when it comes
 I will meet the Angel and smile
and say 'you came before and lifted me quietly,

I felt the pull
I saw my self flying straight up high
it was so swift,the flight
a few seconds and I looked down
oh where are you taking me?

my children are so young
and my parents are in later age
they need me too

 see  they are alone,

And Oh Angel you were so kind

You let me go'
You had permission to do that
and I heard you say something' ?

Now if I have been good
have looked after my parents
and have guided my children
on the straight path
I hope and pray that
 my way, will be illumined
each  day of life ,scented
colorful like daisies

life will begin afresh pure, peaceful
as the Almighty  is Gracious and Merciful 

"I  am precious to The Earth',
I need not be frightened'and definitely
not as simply having visited this world'

May You  Dear Mary Oliver Rest In Peace Amen.

For dVerse ~ Poets Pub ~ Shed Some Light On This Today ~

The prompt for today: write a poem (any form; rhyming or not) that includes the word “shed” or a form of the word. I expect to see lots of diversity in the posts for today. Shed your inhibitions and let your imaginations run with it!

my spirit feels light after shedding tears
that were bringing fears, thoughts of  one
unwell and suffering,
how long can one remain in a dull damp shed,
 head down, waiting hoping praying 

Come Come Come'

the sun has shed off its covering
the clouds are sailing away

revealing the bright light

come let us shed our burdens

be grateful and be light

let freedom ring in

let people have the right

for enough blood has been shed

enough land has become red 

enough children and soldiers dead

so let the spirit be free 

and the soul be light

let darkness shed the pall

let there be pure and true light

For POETS UNITED 2019 ~ Midweek Motif ~ Starting Over ~ If Ever I Get The Chance ...

     
                                                                 

        If ever I get the chance

        to make a fresh start

        I will go all the way to Rabat-

        wearing a jambart, will keep

        and push a tea -cart, serving all

        in the street and ghat

my currency will be Thai Baht
will make many and sell, tarts
in bazars and all marts
will accept the Burmese Kyat
then love to rest under Green heart
and wish for a trip to Kalat

but before I depart I will
listen to Beethoven and Mozart
fill a large apple cart
dress up very very smart
will go slow not dart
outsmart all,this will be

my restart