The Incomparable

The character of Jesus has not only been the highest pattern of virtue, but the strongest incentive in its practice, and has exerted so deep an influence that it may be truly said that the simple record of three short years (actually ~ three and a half years) of active life has done more to regenerate and to soften mankind than all the disquisitions of the philosophers and all the exhortations of the moralists!

And now, even before I decide to check the infallibility of this apparently bombastic statement, I am reminded of my own once-run-down-now-found self and hence, restrain myself from wasting my time to this check!
It has been proved down the centuries and, as I write, is still being proved in someone's life that...
Jesus Saves. Jesus Transforms. Jesus Loves. Period

bless you,

TM.

Sure Design

I'm just a thread in a hand,
like a castle on a sand.
With every storm that's breaking,
It's foundations shaking.

There must be a way out,
Before this life ends with a dirge.
Bedazzled by the expectations,
Longing for some careless mirth.

Often have I wondered, if someone's up in the sky,
Watching me, leading me and loving me by and by.
With every look i've taken, back into my life,
I've seen he dots connecting and the tears being wiped dry.

If all this is not the hand of God,
What else then should I call it?
For everything is a plain design,
With no blow of luck in it!

Bless you!
TM.

"Bunty-Bubly ki Rani"

A thousand cars passed me by,
Not one looked to my side,
While I trundled through this mad rush,
Of "faithful" office-leavers in many-a-cars and many-a-bus.

Amid their shouting and their screaming,
Some abusing and some dreaming.
I saw the crowds teaming,
As the evening mooning was beaming.
I felt left behind, when my 'friend' joined them,
He too had lost his mind!

I remember the day I rode out of the unit,
Some number was punched on me, I wouldn't comprehend it.
I was thrown up on the big truck,
Wondered about my future, landed straight into the muck.

The A-mobiles* have sped, overtaken us,
While we stand counting our days, stuck in the rut.
I, for one, still hope and pray, our days would take a turn,
When people all around would chuck their cars,
And gladly make us run!

Yours Ridingly,
"Bunty-Bubly ki Rani"
A Cycle-Rickshaw.

P.S.
Bless you.
TM
*Automobiles

The Agents of Change

Why does a man turn rebellious…clenching his fists at the heavens…at everything and everybody that come his way?
What does this man feel in his heart – what tumult? What emotional recoiling ensues?
What do his eyes manifest when he does what he does? What does his life signify in those fleeting moments of defiance?
Is fear a part of his mental frame when he charts his course to change? Is Change-for-better an ingredient of the result his efforts await?

History is burdened with the examples of people, worth-a-mention, who spearheaded revolts and mutinies and movements. Few led Revolutions. Fewer still, effected change-for the better. Transformation was always on their minds.

As I write this, I’m reminded of my dear friend, who generously shared his insight on True Rebels (I’d rather label them Revolutionaries for obvious reasons.)
Here it is, verbatim, “Rebels are inherently different. Wannabe rebels aren’t, they just act differently!”

True Rebels. Revolutionaries.
Everything that they touch which is weakly established, crumbles from within – without. Such is the power of their confident touch.
Every look of theirs incinerates all that is sacrilegious. Such is the fire in their vision.
Restoration follows them as though it has found its shepherd.
Transformation springs forth from them like cool waters squirting from a fountain long suppressed, at the mercy of the agents that bring famine, death with them.

True Rebels. Revolutionaries. Leaders.
Some are dead.
Some are long forgotten by those who followed.
Some – their names, once indelible, now lie obliterated in the deep, cavernous womb of history.

True Rebels. Revolutionaries. Leaders. Shepherds.
Many lead. But when they leave, they leave behind a void. No one to replace them.
Many more lead. Because stomach is their god. If the death bugle ever sounded, they’d be the last to make up their minds and take the plunge. They’d rather, throw their hands up and bargain with the angel of death.
Few give their lives away. Because for them, their sheep is not just that. Sheep. A rabble of wool.
They know each by name. True Shepherds.


As I write, I look around to see if there’s anyone who can stand up for The Change, the world so awaits, with bated breath…without batting an eyelid… with a fearful heart.
I find none.
None who can put his own priorities and goals to rest, and bring about this Change, the poets, down the centuries, have sung about; the artists have drawn about; the authors have written about; the philosophers have dreamt about…and the world now looks roundabout...
for The Agents of Change!

TM

The Portrait of An Unknown Self

The wind blows and you look through the window
Your eyes meet a face you never seem to have seen before
A man with golden furrows, and a long flowing beard
Stooping forward beyond his age
He doesn’t seem to be someone you ever have gotten to know
He plods around as soon as you scuffle
But you are unperturbed, nothing bothers…… (for now)
Amid the crackling of the leaves, you hear a strange sound
You turn around but it is gone.
He returns, looks into your face
And his gaze is fixed on you
You watch, as his countenance fades to pale blue
A paleness even death would shudder to embrace
Slowly but certainly, a strange fear seems to have snaked in (My word)
You are dismayed, and start to see his pain
His brows sink, and form a wave as on an ocean shore
You move closer, and he seems to be fading out
You step up your pace and he seems to have disappeared!

You are crestfallen; on the ground; truth strikes,
Today was no better than yesterday.
You realize you have missed him again,
But you know this has been ever since you saw him first,
Your own self has eluded you…….

You wave goodbye…….”If this is death….it sure is familiar, than the one I never could know!”