Tuesday, 10 April 2012

From His hospice

We are but His creations,
Simple human beings,
Pushed out to the world,
Soft and crying.

Surrounding nurtures,
As we twaddle and babble.
Some grow faster,
Yet some tardier.
Some darling of teachers,
Yet some not so brighter.

Grown in,
Become so and so,
Bigger by position,
And power.
Some love their moustaches,
As if they will be black
For ever.


Some are humble,
Living with nature,
Praising the invisible strands,
Smiling always
Inwardly or outwardly,
Loving always
With limited wants.

Let your power,
Not become a weapon
To devastate and crush
Smile and peace.
Remember we’re but
From His thought
And divine hospice.

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