The stream I tell thee the story of a stream Thou can consider it as a little child's dream She emerged from a fountain Appeared like a streak on the mountains She collected droplets on her way But her clear waters sprinkled all the rays Slowly as she travelled circuitous lengths She kept growing in her strengths Convinced even the mountains to share their soil She prepared the grounds for human toil Joined by others she became vast Reaching the plains, a river at last She could make out the land was parched Distributed her waters as she marched As she reached the final phases of her journey She became even more calm She moved forward to join the ocean Who stood with open arms. Such is the mystery of everything in life The surface may seem openly revealed But only gradually and in steps is the philosophy unveiled.
When you lit a fire to your thoughts, it petrifies ; But gets moulded up like a burning coal ; more than precious!!
Devoting yourself to something is a way to reciprocate the trust; Bending my head down to the noises of verses to notice the auspicious changes which is flowing like a stream!!
Now wake up one more time It's morning again , I have to take it today Let's go , one more night I don't know what's at the end , ayy Wooohhh.... There's no eternal night I'm stronger A spark of fire I'LL NEVER FADE AWAY...!!!
It rained yesterday The silver bucket shimmers Letting the water brimming. A small stream , has been cut opened Now the sun lit drops Flows around the green patch Lighting the tip of each leaf blades. Seeing this , the trees happily swayed By the cold breeze Making sure it rained all over Again and again...
I'd harpoon a shooting star and cross umpteen miles; If you were the Moon I'd grasp onto your seolfor crescent and swing for a while.
I'd craft a Balsa ark and hitch a stream to your slope; If you were a Cascade I'd raft through your turbulent curls and ripple into your shoal.
I'd cache ochre and tangerine hues and blend the slender folds of the prism; If you were a Canvas I'd swirl and meander along the dripping wild brush strokes and paint a memory off my pallette on your sinewy, unbleached derm.
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