No Indispensable Man

Today is 1st May, Labour’s Day – an annual holiday all over India that celebrates the achievements of workers. But with AI(Artificial Intelligence), robots and machines trending in I fear Labour is put back by machines, not completely, though.

Yes! but future talks about taking it  over completely. Some thoughts on the same and also when you are in need of introspection, this is the poem by Saxon White Kessinger

Sometime when you’re feeling important
Sometime when your ego’s in bloom
Sometime when you take it for granted,
You’re the best qualified in the room
Sometime when you feel that your going,
Would leave an unfillable hole,
Just follow these simple instructions
And see how they humble your soul.  

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in it up to the wrist
Pull it out and the hole that’s remaining,
Is a measure of how much you’ll be missed.
You can splash all you wish when you enter,
You may stir up the water galore,
But stop, and you’ll find that in no time,
It looks quite the same as before.  

The moral of this quaint example,
Is to do just the best that you can,
Be proud of yourself but remember,
There’s no indispensable man.

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The air is still free

“Out of the city and over the hill,
Into the spaces where Time stands still,
Under the tall trees, touching old wood,
Taking the way where warriors once stood;
Crossing the little bridge, losing my way,
But finding a friendly place where I can stay.
Those were the days, friend, when we were strong
And strode down the road to an old marching song
When the dew on the grass was fresh every morn,
And we woke to the call of the ring-dove at dawn.
The years have gone by, and sometimes I falter,
But still I set out for a stroll or a saunter,
For the wind is as fresh as it was in my youth,
And the peach and the pear, still the sweetest of fruit,
So cast away care and come roaming with me,
Where the grass is still green and the air is still free.”

By Ruskin Bond

Anyways, we swing

We swing our own swings
To and fro
Does it matter?
Less or more
and roar or adore
Anyways, we swing
Out of habit
Off bit 
Uncertain of how long
But certain enough
As long as our hearts beat

Composed by Vinit Desai

The wind of my soul

This is a lovely song by Cat Stevens, a British singer-songwriter. Enjoy the read

  I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul
Where I’ll end up well I think only God really knows
I’ve sat upon the setting sun
But never never never never
I never wanted water once
No never never, never

I listen to my words but they fall far below
I let my music take me where my heart wants to go
I swam upon the devil’s lake
But never never never never
I’ll never make the same mistake
No never never never…

And Still, I rise

This is a great poem by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

In spite of war

In spite of war, in spite of death,
In spite of all man’s sufferings,
Something within me laughs and sings
And I must praise with all my breath.
In spite of war, in spite of hate
Lilacs are blooming at my gate,
Tulips are tripping down the path
In spite of war, in spite of wrath.
“Courage!” the morning-glory saith;
“Rejoice!” the daisy murmurer,
And just to live is so divine
When pansies lift their eyes to mine.

The clouds are romping with the sea,
And flashing waves call back to me
That naught is real but what is fair,
That everywhere and everywhere
A glory live through despair.
Though guns may roar and cannon boom,
Roses are born and gardens bloom;
My spirit still may light its flame
At that same torch whence poppies came.
Where morning’s altar whitely burns
Lilies may lift their silver urns
In spite of war, in spite of shame.

And in my ear a whispering breath,
“Wake from the nightmare! Look and see
That life is naught but ecstasy
In spite of war, in spite of death!”

Little Of Me

This is a poem by the great Indian poet, Rabindranath Tagore

Let only that little be left of me
whereby I may name thee my all.

Let only that little be left of my will
whereby I may feel thee on every side,
and come to thee in everything,
and offer to thee my love every moment.
Let only that little be left of me
whereby I may never hide thee.

Let only that little of my fetters be left
whereby I am bound with thy will,
and thy purpose is carried out in my life—-and that is the fetter of thy love.