Thinker beggar 17/10/2013

Once I met in my street

A thinker beggar

Walking on his dirty feet

And snigger

At life with low voice –so discreet,

Asking me something for God;

And complaining against that rich bud,

But his life is difficult as red cud,

Please I want some more

To feed every needy and poor

And change my life in my tour

From that slum and dirty den

To a great house with garden

I want to make my world ideal

I have to deal with that deceivable peel

In every heart can feel

Then reveal every word may swell.

Please I want some more

To move from the cellar to the second floor

And tear the past, and then wipe its Stour

I want to learn what inside my world

And build new ideas from a great word

Then organize my private herd

To weld

With the best in my field _Please I want some more

To weigh down

My foe

And wreck every opposed crew

With that axe of power

And break down every lovely show_

Please I want some more

To learn more and more

And cross my river with one oar,

I want to invent the impossible

To be strong and capable

Of playing second fiddle

That difficult and riddle

26New life in 2014

We must understand

Life as if we were musician band

Not like an ostrich

That puts its head in hot sand

We must build new field

And yield what our hearts shield:

The land of dignity;

The way to pure prosperity;

One God for us is the superior deity.

We must peel what we feel

What we feel is a bad deal

Feeling is like sturdy wheel

Around a neck of weak whale

When he feels his face pale

And puts his mind on sale

We must argue for the right;

And purify every sinful sight,

We must work day and night

To raise our life from bottom to height

And change that corruptive diet!

We must satisfy with our life;

And wear out weariness with knife,

We must choose well the good wife,

And damage the old archive,

Moments when man strive,

We must damage our old cave,

And cope with every new wave,

To succeed and be brave-

We must not wait for nothing;

And run away from any string

Or a school of bees coming to sting

Our pure moments are like white wing.

We must defeat our inner foe

Like Didi, Gogo, and Pozzo

Those are waiting for Godot

From their birth until they grow

And for estimation to us

They take a bow-

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