Men

Never do flowers weave,

The language of love,

Or faith that men greave.

Silent lie the graves of men,

In death or life sullen,

Never in life did blossoms sway,

Over them, the fallen.

For them who sleep,

Does the hell care,

And passerbys pass,

But none dare!

My mind

Mental state is a difficult phenomenon to describe.But nevertheless engineering graduates are prone to a specific mindset, conveniently described as sleepy oblivion to all else that wakes.


Some memories are bought dear,
Some cheap persist,
The few one tries to forgo,
Are stubborn in the least.
In past that haunts,
And present that wavers,
Thin lines of mist rise,
Man despairs,hearts falter.
But the insipid land,
Was not to be drenched in tears,
Nor does it blood want,
But for the flowers that grow,
In smiles now scant.
Why are graves marked,
When perchance a stranger may come,
Shed a few tears ,and remember,
A different man and a different place
some call home!

one

If i could a flower find,
One that withers not,
With age or slime,
Of love begotten,
And faith sublime:
Happy i would be.
But flowers wither,
of age and slime
for love i gather,
Is not all bliss;
and faith is they say,
Is blink and you miss.
Off heaven ws white made,
In heaven it stays,
And all mortals who faith search,
In graves it lays.