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.

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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.

And the code says “Debug Me”

This is a modified funny song, specially for computer science background nerd. (to be read/ sung with tone of Let it be by Beatles) The scenario is like this, your code is written and in is in last stages, like almost about to finish and you have started getting some unexpected list of errors.

When I find my code comes in lots of errors,
Google and Stackoverflow come to me,
Giving handy tips of wisdom
“Debug me”

As the deadline approaches,
And bugs are all that I can see,
Somewhere, someone whispers
“Debug me”

Debug me, Debug me,
Debug me, oh, Debug me.
Code may become dead and buried,
Debug me

I used to write a lot of code,
  It used to work flawlessly.
  But now it all says
“Debug me”

If you’ve just spent hours
coding initially,
Soon you will be glad to
Debug me

Debug me, Debug me,
Debug me, yeah, Debug me.
Use new test cases.
Debug me

Debug me, Debug me,
Debug me, oh, Debug me.
Reviewer won’t quite accept it.
Debug me.

Debug me, Debug me,
Debug me, yeah, Debug me.
And all the code says is
Just Debug me.

Dust If You Must

A humorous poem for those messy-types, least bothered about dusting, cleaning. They will definitely feel endorsed for first time. Unfortunately, a sarcastic poem for those who spend countless hours cleaning. Go ahead, read it

Dust If You Must by Rose Miligan

Dust if you must,
but wouldn’t it be better
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?
 
Dust if you must,
but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear, and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.
Dust If You Must
Dust if you must,
but the world’s out there,
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come round again.
 
Dust if you must,
but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it’s not kind.
And when you go and go you must
You, yourself, will make more dust.