Forsan Et Haec Olim Meminis Luvabit

Perhaps someday we will look back upon these trials with joy.
To love and death, and all their friends.

MEMOIRS OF A SOLITARY MIND

By Mahinda. D. N. Vito
I
I stay eluded, haunted by the vastness of eternity as
the night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
If life is not a journey, is it a destination?
We draw maps for fear of getting lost: but yet
still we get lost all the time, and still we can't stop drawing
Oh how we run from the things we need, just as the sun
devours the skies with bright light at every beautiful dawn.
Dressed in the last gleams of the day, the infinite horizons of a spotless
mind all flash with thin laughter
I feel now like I am delivering someone else's speech,
tormented by a sense of loss for something I have never had
and it is now so close to me, the butterfly dances of the moon
remind me of what I came here to tell you, to share with you.
Time blows through us all through this journey my brethren
from the first step to the last, feeding darkness with light; we burn till we
die, like all stars. So I whisper my song, not to the sensual ear but to the
stars. The stars have been playing theirs to me for millions of nights.
O how can I envy the lighthouse keeper, who observes and is not observed.
A deep self hidden from the soul, a shadow dressed in my same clothes.
So I wonder, if I never dream will I ever die? If I roll back my eyes will the
dreams go back? My eyes are eyes are too near, and so far away. Every step
can be taken at any point in any direction without changing the course of
the journey, sends my minds racing a mile that maybe only clocks are alive.
You tell me my friend. Is meaning what we have or what we search for?
Well how can the owl's night bound eyes reveal the mysteries of light?
Only when we drink from the river of silence do we truly sing.
II
Take this silver lining
Shine it when the night is turning.
Born so alive with wild hopes now tell me why.
Time after time they drag you down
Folks, fools and their madness all around
Know that the light don't sleep
Take the silence in your own
Two hands and sprinkle it like diamonds
All across the skies another wrinkle on your forehead
Another promise is broken
So, will you not close your eyes?
This is your life and today is all you’ve got now
And today is all you’ll ever have.
Yesterday is a kid around the corner
Yesterday is dead and over
This is your life, are you who you want to be?
This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be?
When the world was younger and you had everything to lose.
Don’t close your eyes dreams are just flashes of light.
Only things worth living for are Innocence and magic of moments.
III
Smoke curls through my hands
the morning goes and all I see are
Crowds in the rain passing me by.
The prettiest thing my sight ever sought,
that glance in the crowd that I wish was mine
So fast it passed me by with somewhere else to be.
A picture hanging on someone elses wall
The torn smile doesn’t bother me.
all hope lost, all faith is gone,
Like fingers of wind undressing my mind
Each word from my tongue slips as moments fly
memories lost, Taking you further away
And from a distance that day comes
and I realize there is no easy way
of shedding the painful tear.
Now am feeling a piece of sun
burning like a coin in my hand.
If you forget me do not look for me,
I shall already have forgotten the sight.
Tears, oh those silent tears
When no-one's there to see or hear
The sobs of a heart Rolling down my eyes,
Twisted with sorrow and bliss,
Oh it rains tears from the heavens.
One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
So many things seem filled with the intent
To be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

Of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

Places, and names, and where it was you meant
To travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! My last, or

Next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

Some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
The art of losing's not too hard to master
Though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

• Elizabeth Bishop
IV
I glory in this world of man and woman, torn with troubles yet living on to
love and laugh through it all. Should any feeling but love and infinite
compassion fill our hearts for all who live? A person should learn that
there is both good and bad in all men and in all things and who deal with
life’s circumstances, but anyway what is a weed but an unloved flower.
Humanity should learn a lesson; in unconditional love it not only includes
others but ourselves too.
I glory in this life that I live; its intricacies just keep on eluding me. The
good things in it are like quicksilver, clutch them and they dart, leave the
fingers open-they are whole and beautiful, so you wonder how you cease
the moment and hold it with your fingers wide open.
I glory in this life, this world so full of imperfections, yet fairest of them all
a world so full of tough decisions and endless auditions. Wake up in the
morning and you got to run or you’ll be eaten and run to eat, doesn’t
matter anyways, by break of dawn got to be running. Well, am here for the
sake of another-for those upon whose smile and well being and my
happiness depends upon, and also for the countless unknown souls with
whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy.
I glory in this life, where love and loathing are two words that do not
belong together but too often find comfort amongst each other. Well at this
point too much optimism eludes your judgment as much as you be what
you chose. Be wise about small things, stars are not as small, but only
twinkle from a distance.
Deep in the forest when a great oak is felled the tremors are felt all over,
but when the dandelion sprouts in silence, not even the breeze notices.
No one ever promised sunshine without the rains, but caution my brethren,
as you pray in the latter you better had said another before. Such is the life
I glory in this world.
V
When you don’t want to feel, death can seem like a
dream, but seeing death, really seeing it makes
dreaming about it ridiculous. May be there is a
moment growing up and something peels back,
maybe, maybe we look for secrets because we can’t
believe in our moments. Maybe everyone out there is
a liar; maybe the whole world is stupid and
ignorant. But ad rather be in it. Am I crazy? May be
or maybe life is. Crazy is not swallowing a deep dark
secret or being broken. Its you or me amplified and
enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child
forever then you are not perfect

.
VI,
A heart is a heart and what is the love of the world if you can’t find the
better part of you? Tears come streaming down your face
You’ve lost something you can't replace
Head hung low, heart beat slow, not an easy way to be, when the lights
don’t guide you home.
You cry as you fall upon your knees, in the heat of the night,
and try's to get back up, will you sleep sound tonight?
When fear keeps pushing you down.
Will you ever escape this memory?
A fall from the skies through this one way street, looking for that special
thing.
Weak and alone you fall onto this disappearing world
Lifeless for a moment it seems
with no one to heal your broken wings
the flight is out of sight Whimpers & cries, stifled groans is all you hear.
Were you trying to be different? Was fate asleep or just unfair, dragging
you down to where the lights sleep?
In this world, an enjoyment of deception
you fall lifelessly through the hours, minutes, seconds,
To the ground where nobody will save you?
Close your eyes if you can’t stand the flight
and disappear as If you never were to exist...
lost and rejected, born below the clouds with eyes wide open.
Forgotten in a world where heroes don’t cry.
If only you were one, If only you were one. This is your life are you who
you want to be?
VII
I can't lose anything, so what is left that is mine?
I saw it all again fading memory became clear to me
Awake and dreaming am I only sleeping?
Sweet little hands Brush right past me, and
Sometimes you just don't understand why you can't reach
Broken, Torn at the seams, broken words are all I hear
Some never meant and some meant
Well, the difference between us is so hard to tell.
You waste the light between these times
drawing a thin line, It’s nothing planned
but If It could be traded all,
If It could be given all away for one thing
Just for one thing If It could be sorted out
If you knew all about this one thing
Wouldn’t that be something.
Forgive me if I wear the face of worry
this time alone could never cause any doubt
This storm could stay all night
If only we could stay until our eyes closed
till our dreams touched the light.
We think we’re in control, only
When we lie between the lines
Do we climb a little further
because there’s nothing we can’t get around?
Further gets colder until nothing was all that is around.
Maybe stars know why we fall
I just wish they could think out loud
Oh, I could wish all night, a thousand mile wish
VIII
These words are not mine, they were
Jus given to me for you, maybe then you’ll
Drop a dime as you pass me by.
Well who am I? They ask,
the entertainer is what they call me., I’ll make you laugh
I’ll make you cry, I’ll dance and sing
At the drop of a dime, even a rhyme.
If you die from laughing, then I’ve succeeded.
I spend years creating my master piece so that
Upon completion I can get a reaction that might
Last seconds. Then you move on and perhaps
I’m forgotten, here comes the circus, here comes the clown
I paint on my face, strip off my gown.
My smile that once was genuine now must be painted on
And at night washed away by tears.
I am the entertainer .I play with your heart
I play with your mind, but not before
You’ve played with mine.
To entertain you is all I know to do.
You love me, you hate me, you judge me, and why?
Because that’s entertainment!
We all entertain and we all want more.
This world is made of the high and low,
Masters and slaves, all holding hands
Playing musical chairs.
You are all delighted when I reached
My first step, but then you craved to see
Me fall down to my shame and you
Pat me on my back and kick my arse
You laugh and say it’s all just a game.
But I’m not laughing, i'm not entertained
This is my life, a confession I must say
Am not being bitter or complaining
About the world that was handed to me
This is my life, its entertainment.
IX
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. The night is shattered and
the blue stars shiver in the distance. The night wind revolves in the sky and
sings. Life- it is but the dance of a falling leaf. Smelling the air of never and
forever. you shall above all things be glad and young, For if you're young,
whatever life you wear it will become you; and if you are glad whatever's
living will yourself become. And by who’s any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on and his mind take off time? that you should never think,
may God forbid and (in his mercy) your soul spare, for that way knowledge
lies, for that I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten
thousand stars how not to dance. Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly
beyond any experience, of the eye of my eyes, have their silence: in the
frailest gesture are things which enclose us, or which you cannot touch
because they are too near. I do not question whether I am happy or
unhappy, where and why, yet there is one thing that I keep gladly in mind.
My sight searches as though to go, my heart looks for what is not with me.
Will I have to wait till my soul finds satisfaction? Life is fleeting my dear,
do not despise it. Take it. And exhaust it. After, you will have time to go on
dying. Querido, querida, you live only once, and die for such a long time
X
So many things seem filled with the intent
To be lost that their loss is no disaster.
You've found hope; you’ve found faith,
found how fast she could take it away.
Found true love, and lost your heart.
Now you don't know who you are.
It may not always be so;
She made it easy, Made it free,
made you hurt till you couldn't see.
Sometimes it stops, sometimes it flows,
but that is how love goes.
And I say her lips, which you have loved, touch
Another’s, and her dear fingers clutch
His heart, as yours in time not far away
You will fly and you will crawl
No such thing as you lost it all,
We all fall sometime.
On another's face her sweet hair lay
In such a silence, it’s a secret no one tells
One day its heaven, one day it's hell.
It's no fairy tale; Take it from me,
that’s the way it's supposed to be.
As I know of such
Great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
My dear you will fly and you will crawl
No such thing as you lost it all.
We all fall sometime.
Then shall I turn my face, and hear one bird
Sing terribly afar in the lost lands?
You laugh, you cry, no one knows why
Behold the thrill of it all you’re on the ride
you might as well Open your eyes.
I knew someone once who lost two cities, lovely ones.
And vaster, some realms he owned, two rivers, a continent.
He missed them, but it wasn't a disaster.
Even losing her I shan't have lied. It's evident
The art of losing's not too hard to master
Though it may look like a disaster.
XI
Beauty is only skin deep, but
Ugliness is to the bone.
Well So much to say inside we all look pretty much alike
Beauty, truth, truth, beauty
Is that all we should and need to know?
May those who love us, love us, and those
Who do not may Allaah turn their hearts
If not may He turn their ankles so that we
Know them by their limping.
Friend by enemy I call you out
You there staring at me with a bad coin in your socket
You there my friend with a winning air, false indifference,
Who palmed a lie on me when you arrogantly looked at
My shyest secret, with my heart under your hammer.
That though I loved you for your faults as much
As for your good, my friend were an enemy on stilts
With his head in a cunning cloud.
Something strange about agony, its memories
Are short-lived.
We cannot tear a single page of our lives
But we can throw the whole book in the fire
We die but only once and for such a long time.
So can I stay mad forever when there is so much
Beauty in the world? A day in the pouring rain,
Broken mirrors, broken smiles. It’s good to forgive, best to forget
Living we fret, dying we live.
My smile washed away by tears, a beautiful
Place to stay for a while? Melt in the sun, as the wind blows me
Away turning into butterflies.
 XII
Oh this unreflecting love. On the shores of this wide world I stand till love
and fame to nothingness do sink.
Even as I hold you I think of you as someone gone. Hair slipping through
my fingers with your head around the corner, your smile breaking before
me on that last turn. Even as I hold you I am letting go.
What lips my lips have kissed and where and why, I have forgotten the
arms that lain under my head till morn. I cannot say what loves have come
and gone, I only know that there was a song in me, a little while, that in me
sings no more. , such is life and such are children of men.
Thus let me live, unseen, and unknown.
Unlamented let me die, steal me from the world and let not a stone tell
where I lie.
We wear the mask that grins and lies; it hides our cheeks and shades our
eyes. With torn and bleeding hearts we smile and yet let the world dreams
otherwise.
I have fears that I may cease to be, I behold upon the starred nights face
and think I may never live to trace. Well what am I but the creature of an
hour.
Thanks for the morning light, thanks for the seething sea, for the
unplanned new expectations that unveil pleasant surprises.
Thanks for each man of courage, for every maiden with her chaste mind,
and even the boy undauntedly lost in his games who never looks behind.
With letters that do not cheer we plot and corrupt each other, spoiling the
unborn.
Holding all hidden wonders, alas! The sprite that haunts us deceives our
rash desires. Lust in the glories of gods and immortality, left in a maze we
cannot learn the cipher from the stars, a mystery we could never spell.
A patient demon sits with roses and a shroud dealing his gifts but ours is
not allowed.
The night is coming, but soon shall silently sink as the moon drops behind
the sky.
Sit down sad soul and count the flying moments, how much an amount is
lost by a sigh! A smile! Shall you sit down and laugh and count no more for
a day is dying?
Do not leave hope and praying. Believe, for all days shall not be as have
been, better one are there for sure.
Think of days that are no more, tears rise in the heart and gather to the
eyes.
Death in life, the days are no more, so gone it is, as darkness falls a day is
gone. (a day is gone)
XIII
Can a simple thing be who, as simple as the at.
As tiny as an in conclusion, yet two worlds fit through that.
Weigh the heavens more than thrice, and define your world by errors.
But bend the wisdom only twice, then comfort pain by layers.
Tell me in rhyme, my silent friend so I know it is truth,
which unstoppable force can move hell.
If it shines in your eye or causes first cry,
heed way it's the need for approval. But is it? You tell me.
Expectations steer my morning,
riled in beddings I hear my shout.
Sitting on the front edge of my bed,
two worlds joined by doubt. Least I not hate nor love too much,
if their meanings find me lost.
When as an evening showed me how,
a sunset told me soft. My love of you is a painful truth,
and these are its worst occasions.
For I could only give you everything,
but I can never give you persuasions.
I know of a poem with just one verse,
it's called eventually you'll stand and go.
When table flowers wilt just as gently,
that's what it is to know. The most evil I have ever heard,
needed not my tongue. And the most beauty I had ever seen needed not my
sight.
Walking to sights unknown’
trees would cast their shadows,
so as not to be alone
XIV
Bad company is as instructive as licentiousness.
One makes up for the loss of ones innocence
With the loss of ones prejudice
Although sometimes we may feel
The loss of prejudice as a loss of vigor.
Innocence never finds near so much protection as guilt.
Innocence always calls mutely for
Protection when we would be so much wiser
To guard ourselves against it.
Innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell,
Wandering the world, meaning no harm.
Do not, my brethren confuse is with anything else, for ignorance
Is not innocence but sin. Its innocence when it charms us
Ignorance when it doesn’t.
We all began innocent, but look
Now we all are guilty
XV
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
in Islam, I mean to say
For I just took my shahadah
at the masjid here today.
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
I openly ask without any qualms
The one who just walked past me
Without offering me salaam
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
Though stands alone to pray
Each time I move to touch shoulders
Then takes a step and pulls away
Not wanting to touch feet either
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
the one that is not of my race,
for both of us are muslim
with varied hues making up our face
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
Who laughed and made fun of me
And those others who listened
Doesn't their silence make them also guilty
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
Who didn't call me when I was sick
For it seems concern is only shown
for those special one other than i.
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
Who I invited for iftar in my home
But unfortunately did not make it
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
Don't we both love our religion - this Deen?
Do we not pray to the same God? facing same qiblah
Then why am I sharing my lament
Isn't the woman there my sister?
Isn't the man there my brother?
Won't they open up and try to treasure
The love I want and need to share with them
As we both seek Allah's Merciful Pleasure.
XVI
Even such is time which takes in trust our youth, our joys, and all we have,
paying us back with age and dust.
Its fate, whether you love what you love or ceaselessly hate it.
There things to be said. No doubt. And in one way or another they will be
said, but to whom tell the silence?
With whom to share them now?
A moment the skies were empty then a bird flew across.
That which you love most in them may be clearer in their absence.
But indeed, truth be told, Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls,
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
every two souls are absolutely different.
In friendship or in love, the two side by side raise hands together to find
what one cannot reach alone.
The worldly hope men set their hearts upon turns ashes or it prospers
Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face, Lighting a little hour or two is
gone
Some for the glories of this world and some sigh for the prophet’s taught
paradise to come.
O my Beloved, what cup shall I fill that clears
Today of past regrets and future off its fears?
Tomorrow! Why, Tomorrow? Always a day away, never to come.
I would rather yesterday’s seven thousand years.
For some I loved, the loveliest and the best
Which this vintage rolling time has pressed,
Have drunk their Cup a round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
Ourselves must beneath the couch of earth descend
make the most of what we yet may spend, before we too into the dust
descend dust into dust, and under dust to lie.
XVII
Ey Chicita!
Tell me how you’ve been
Tell me what you’ve seen,
Tell me that you’d like to see me too.
They say that love comes in through the eyes
And its sweetness through the mouth,
I look at you and sigh, yet the cup I hold is empty
Couldn’t take another sip even if I wanted.
Is it too late?
I have seen people try to change, and it isn’t easy
But nothing worth the time ever is.
Last night was a record to be broken,
I am coming with a rag to wipe away the haze from the days
So will you be my somebody Chicita?
Remember when you wanted to make a blanket off of me?
I been keeping scores I can’t lie, and it’s your turn,
To wring me out, and lay me down to dry.
Isn’t it scary sometimes to find the truths that you know to be lies?
I tried to fly to the moon but only made it to the sky,
But you still smile about things you don’t have to do.
XVIII
It’s easier to be enthusiastic
About a ceremony of which one has no say chance of eventually
Being involved in.
So my friend, a wedding and a funeral, which one do you prefer?
It’s the parting of years that saddens me.
I lift my glass and toast to true love, at least I was adored once.
Stop all the clocks, Cut off the phones, prevent the dog from barking with a
juicy bone, silence the piano, and with the muffled drum bring out the
coffin.
My north, my south, my east, and west
My working week, my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight
My talk, my song
I thought that love would last forever,
I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now, put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
Pour away the ocean and sweep away the woods
For nothing now can ever count to any good

Information like crumbs always trickles down to the vermin on the floor
XIX
Candle flickering in the wind,
Memories undressing my mind,
I sure shall miss you the most.
When you are away I shall long for you,
And when you are gone, weep for you.
For who shall walk with me now that you are leaving?
Clearly a broken smile is something I shall have to live with,
Courting shadows around the corners while chasing your sweet scent,
With lonely heartaches and pains laden upon my back,
Where shall I not go for a sigh of relief?
A glance thorough the crowd, could that be you?
Anyway, what is joy but sorrow unmasked.
The pot that pours your laughter, fill you with tears.
Or how else could it be?
Is it not the same cup that quenches your thirst, the very one that was
burned in the potter’s oven?
The lute that soothes your spirits, was it not hollowed by knives?
Look deep into your heart and you shall find that it’s only that which has
given you sorrow that is giving you joy,
When you are sorrowful look again in you heart if it’s not true that you are
weeping for what once delighted you.
Some say joy is greater than sorrow, others concur otherwise,
But I say to you, they are inseparable,
And we are just suspended like scales between the two, only when you are
empty are you standstill and balanced.
So when the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and silver,
Then must your joy or sorrow rise or fall - (there she goes)

One does not kill oneself for the love of a woman, but because love—any love—reveals us in our nakedness,
our misery, our vulnerability, our nothingness.
XX
A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in,
A minute to smile and an hour to weep in,
A pint of joy to a peck of trouble,
And never a laugh but the moans come double,
And that is life.
A crust and a corner that love makes precious
With a smile to warm and the tears to refresh us,
And joys seem sweeter when cares come after,
Be a moan the finest of foils for laughter?
And that is life.
So it’s all I have to bring today,
This heart of mine that beats so wildly almost to break,
For love is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing,
The more I enjoy it, more it dies,
Love is a torment of the mind, a tempest everlasting of blissful insanity.
For when she came with those red mournful lips
Along came the whole of the world’s tears and sorrows,
Together with the burden of years.
For each ecstatic instant we must an anguish pay, coffers heaped
With tears, a pound of flesh is it.
So I leave for a while,
I shall not blush to even a tear but
Let it touch my cheek and speak that which mine lips have failed.
I leave you for a while with every lone hour uncheered,
For I lost a world just the other day which nobody has found.
A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in,
I being poor have nothing but dreams
XXI

Names do not reflect the honor on men,

But the men behind those names.
So let him speak of his own deeds if they not be eloquent
Enough and not of those before him,
For great men are never decomposed
They say, but what lives after them when their good is interred with their
bones.
O dastard soul, look at my face then judge between us
Which is the victor, though you be free but pale,
Am loaded with chains and compassion for you, well,
Kindness may not always produce what we expect,
For I armed you who wished to betray me.
Well, the truth of lovers is like
A beautiful dream at the back of mind, one says there is
Such, but where no one can tell! If you
Know where, point me to the spot
And I promise to preserve a steadfast love to whosoever.
So my dear friend, fortune is not to be trusted,
Whether she smiles or frowns.
For that wandering light does not mislead,
Nor have magic in that deceitful smile,
For under flowers and leaves a serpent often cowers and coils,
And in the sky a star may seem to twinkle which is
No star.
So my friend, when you see me singing to the clunking of my chains,
Rest yourself, and pay me no mind, yet call me a mad man,
At time when fortune means men most good, she looks upon
Them with threatening eyes, as blind as you may deem her to be.
XXII
We live in deeds, not years,
In thoughts, not breaths,
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by the heart throbs.
He lives the most that thinks most,
Feels the noblest, acts the best.
So let wrinkles on my forehead
Be marks of my deeds engraved
And still indicate what I was in my days.
So my dearest, however great kings
May be, they are what they are;
They can be deceived like other men,
The wisest also errors, laying
The sword on the worthless shoulder
Which had better be branded by the hangman
What then?
As we, and they do their best
We all must answer for the intent
And not the event.
Ah! With how little attention one listens
To reason when the heart is touched
By so charming poison!
Patient loves his disease, and how unwilling
He becomes to allow remedy.
Well, we never enjoy perfect happiness,
Our most fortunate success mingled
With sadness, with anxieties always
Perplexing the reality of our satisfaction.
Its an omen when you enter on the path
With our eyes turned backwards from the first step.
So my friend, do not awaken tenderness
In my breast, for my voice shall fail me
When I seek words to encourage you,
My heart shall sink with me, and tears
Bedew my cheeks. So do your duty
And leave the rest to God.
XXIII

We never halt in our senseless careers,

Flirting ceaselessly from thought to thought,
Our hearts always in a sea of embarrassments,
Not knowing what it wishes and wishes not.
Such is you and I,
What we one day detest, the next we desire.
Happy are you my friend,
Unknown to the world, content with yourself,
Whom the vain smoke of fame has not intoxicated.
I envy you, making all your pleasures dependent
On your liberty of action, giving an account of your leisure
To none but God.
I pass from white to black,
Condemning in the morning what sustained the evening before.
Working all around, not less an enemy to myself turn.
Oh! How long the night appears to one kept up by pain,
Slowly the hours pass for the unhappy.
So, shall I take him at his word till he does opposite
Of what he professes?
Well, distrust may destroy any good feeling that may have been cherished
And suspicion of enmity is often enough to turn a man so.
Well my brother, before you belie your word, and I have proper
Ground to hate you, ad rather have faith in you and love you still
For your good and bad.
Well, some thoughts must be merely glanced at, and pretend not to see
them.
But there is nobody who is not dangerous for someone, for human
passions never come to an end, even when the heart is torn out.
It is thus that we walk through the world like the blind, not knowing where
it is we are going, regarding as bad what is good, and good what is bad,
And ever in entire ignorance, cluttering our paths to the prophet’s
promised paradise.
A man once said that, hope animates the wise, lures the presumptuous and
indolent, who rely inconsiderately on its promises. Can we wish for what
we know not?
O brother without hope life may seem a disgrace. Let prejudices rule the
vulgar around, our spirit is often led astray by its own delusions even
frightened by its own work.
Has the decree of fate often led us astray? Secretly conducting our steps by
the secret paths we know not? Plunging us into pits, and sometimes
drawing us out of them?
Load some with chains, while raising others to empires? Well, everyone
goes astray a
And the least imprudent is he who repents the soonest.
XXIV

All are stricken and you are safe?

All got it wrong and you got it right?
All are blameworthy and you are excused?
What concepts, values, and concerns your heart harbors.
O passionate self lover, loving the illusion of what you think to be good.
Is there something you forgot?
Put aside your prides, set down your arrogance, and remember your grave.
Upon her back you walk, tomorrow in her belly you shall surely lay.
Sadness indeed, again sadness indeed.
Your soul devoid of faith and its impetus,
Yet you raise your hands to the heavens, but He waits for the one day you
shall cleanse that heart you carry, beating with a violent love of the
pleasures of this world.
Do you deny the favors he confers upon you?
With it you return nothing but ingratitude to His bounties.
O man, you fool none but your own self,
For when the secrets in your breasts shall be brought forth and the contents
of your grave scattered about, verily a witness against your own self you
shall be,
And o, what an awful return is that.
You decorate yourself for the world, but what is that you carry?
An enjoyment of deception you glory in and lose yourself,
But what then when the skies shall be cleft asunder, what then?
O man, without faith, an ignoble creature with trivial ambitions and petty
concerns. However big the works your hands lay forth, it all shall remain
in the cesspool of this earth, confined within the limits of this life,
imprisoned by yourself.
O man, what shackles your soul, your hands in bondage?
Shall it be a rude awakening?
You need not know when this will take place, but mere awareness of this is
but enough inspiration.
Know your Lord is your end, and on that day the state of affairs shall be
with Him.
Are you safe? Are you right? Are you excused? (O MAN, O ME)
XXV

We trust our secrets to our friends,

But they escape from us in love.
The first sigh of love is the last of wisdom,
For we are easily duped by those we love.
Is it a pleasant thing to love?
With no obstacle in the way of those chains which together bind two
hearts?
How mistaken are the loving eyes never to see,
Tranquility in love is a disagreeable calm,
A happiness that is quite undisturbed becomes tiresome,
We must have ups and downs.
The difficulties which are mingled with love awaken passion and increase
pleasure.
Love is not a fire to be confined within the breasts,
For everything betrays us, the voice, silence, the eyes.
My faith! Man is but a fool shall he trust the future,
He laughs on Friday, weeps on Sunday,
Well you can chose to court your mind and soothe your conscience with
scale and dice, at times we are naked even in the best of coats.
A sigh, a look, a word from her mouth, that is the desire of a heart like
mine, Chicita, and give me nothing.
Everyday for years I see her, and always think I see her for the first time.
No mask can conceal love where it exists, nor feign it where it is not.
Well, our want to trust, many a time justifies the deceit of others.
I who distrusts myself resorts to silence as the safest course.
O how I envy you,
heart contented with humble fortune,
free from the proud yoke by which I am bound,
lives in obscurity in which fortune conceals him.
But amidst so many honors I am still a man, if at all it is;
So longs as you live, fortune ever changing has not promised you unalloyed
happiness. So count your blessing and praise your God.
XXVI

Sins kill the hearts of men,

Breeding ignominy due to their addiction,
And in leaving of these sins lies its life,
And its best my brother you soul to preserve.
XXVI

IN THE NAME OF ALLAH, THE MERCIFUL, THE COMPASSIONATE

And from him do we seek help all praise be to God, the sustainer of all the
worlds, and blessings be upon our master Muhammad his prophet, his
family and companions ajmain.

My dearest brother, my dearest sister! You wanted a few words of advice,

so listen to a few truths. I consider my soul in need of advice more than
anyone, so I shall address it with these same words in a language of
ordinary people as I. whoever wishes may listen together with me.

Bismillah, “In the name of God” is the start of all things good. We too shall
start with it. O my Soul! Know this blessed phrase is a mark of Islam, as
constantly is recited by all beings with the very tongues of their disposition.
Bismillah is an inexhaustible strength in such a light phrase so sweet to the
tongue, swift to recitation. Bismillah.

O proud soul of mine! You are but the traveller across the desert; your
impotence and poverty are of no limit as you enemies and needs know no
end. Bismillah travel safe and be saved from begging before the whole
universe and trembling before every event.
As all things say Bismillah, bearing God’s bounties, shall we not say
Bismillah as the heedless? For all the priceless wonders, and miraculous
gifts of His mercies. However foolish it s to kiss the feet of the lovely man
conveying glad tidings of a king, not recognizing the gifts of the owner is a
thousand times more foolish, and so is to have the apparent source of
bounties and forget the Bestower of the Bounties.
O Soul! If you do not wish to be foolish in this way, Give in God’s name and
act in God’s name.

O Soul! What makes this boundless universe rejoice if not rahma of Allah,
self-evidently what illuminates these faulty beings? What fosters and raises
creatures struggling within endless needs? Say Bismillahi Ar-Rahman Ar-
Rahim, adhere to this truth and be saved from absolute desolation and
pains of your needs and shortcomings. He informs you that He knows you,
through His mercies, with respect let Him know Him too and understand
with certainty that what subjugates the vast universe to an absolutely weak,
impotent, needy, insignificant creature like you is the truth of His mercy
through wisdom, knowledge and power, which require sincere gratitude,
earnest and genuine respect, therefore say Bismillahi Ar-Rahman Ar-
Rahim.

O Foolish Soul of mine! What happened to you that made the heart become
even harder and more lifeless than a stone? What sort of heart is borne
beneath my breast, within its hardness it resists the commands of such a
One. While the rock unfeeling and mighty display softness to His
command, prostrating in submission from sunrise. Yet you with a tincture
of reason and breath!

O my Wretched Soul! Is your life eternal I wonder? Are you assumed of

tomorrow or even the next minute if I may ask? So what causes you
boredom if not that you fancy that you shall live forever. You complain as
though you will abide in this world forever.

O my Foolish Soul! Charmed at glory, enamored of fame, addicted o praise.

Glory not in your own works but b of gratitude to Allah Subhana
wata’Allah. Fame benefits you not but humility. The right is not yours to be
praised but repentance and istigfar.
Your perfection is not in your self- centeredness but recognizing what is
due to Allah. But O my Soul! You have take on a form entirely contrary to
the principles of my nature, through my incapacities transforming good
into evil, what a great stat of loss. What they see is only skin deep, beneath
which the truth lies, beneath the apparent veil. What truth is there?

O soul! The happiness of your dwellings is but a fleeting flash of light. So

be not perplexed by that await you. If only you understood that your life in
brief and that it in departing fruitlessly, then it surely would not cause you
boredom but excite, eagerness and agreeable pleasure to spend at least an
hour of the twenty four on ibadat.

O my Soul! Is it not everyday you eat, drink and breathe the air that
descend from His mercies? Do they not cause you boredom?

O my Impatient Soul! Is it at all sensible to think today of past hardships of

worship, difficulties of salat, troubles of misfortune and its distress, and to
imagine future duties of iadat and sorrows of disaster, and yet display
impatience? O Soul! You are charged with patience in three; ibadat,
refraining from sin and in the face of disaster.
O my Foolish Soul! Is the duty of ibadat without result and its recompense
little that it causes your weariness? But for a little sum or intimidation you
could work till evening without slacking. Which in this world in your
sustenance and wealth for your impotent weak heart, while the grave will
be a certain dwelling place for you? Ever though of the document and
patent that will be handed to you on that day, and on the bridge of Sirat
you are bound to pass? Is the recompose for ibadat little you say?
O my World-worshipping Soul! Dos your slackness in worship and
prescribed prayers arise from the multiplicity of your worldly occupations,
or because you cannot find time due to the struggle for livelihood. Were
you created, for this world that you shall spend so much time on it? Heed
to the advice of Luqman.

O Soul of mine! Run and Heed to your Caller of truth. Be not blind, deaf or
even mad. Never thinks yourself better than others but listen to their
sorrows with compassion. Harbor not bad thoughts if you want peace. And
teach not that which you know not. (O MY SOUL!)
 XXVII

You may labor your fill, friend of mine, if you will,

You may worry a bit, if you must,
You may treat your affairs as though they were a series of cares,
You may live on a scrap and a crust,
But when the day's done, put it out of your head, Its all gone now,
Don't take your troubles to bed. You may batter your way through the thick of the fray,
You may sweat, you may swear, you may grunt,
You may be a fool for the world to see if you must, but this rule
Should ever be kept at the front,
Don't fight with your pillow, but lay down your head
And kick every worriment out of the bed.
Instead, sit down as the dark skies are laid forth
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, if you my friend find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went,
Then you may count that day well spent.
But if, through all the livelong day,
You’ve cheered no heart, by yea or nay
If, through it all
You’ve nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost
Then count that day as worse than lost
So my friend,
Be watchful as tomorrow creeps in a petty pace from day to day,
And you wonder if your yesterday lifted but fools.
Life is but a walking shadow,
We strut and fret till we are heard no more
A tale told by idiots signifying nothing.
 XXVIII

Some rise tall

Others fall short
Great thud, great oak felled
Silence in the wind a dandelion sprouts
Love through the eyes, I lift my glass and sigh!
We choose our fate by the things we do if it were.
That, a life lived to measure, then all you know count to scale.
And first there came a bitter laughter;
A sound of tears the moment after;
And then a music so lofty and gay,
Every morning, day by day,
I strive to recall it if I may.
The silent sands alone haunt thought and dream,
A barren calm, the failure of all strife,
Exhausted pyre where brightness found an end.
Nine to five, are we Living lies?
Everyday Stealing time taking everything we can
A need in me remains for sight or sense,
To wander where we dreamed, and loved, and wept,
Though faith is broken, bitter vow is kept.
As you go down you breathe life over me
Even though were miles apart we are each other’s destiny
Old moon fades into the new, your scent larking around the corner
It's an easy ride to roam you’ll never walk alone
Simple things we say Everyday hope to find the way
I hope it Feels like you've walked this way before.
I wait in line’ Till time. Ticking clock everyone stop.
 XXIX

I drift aimlessly in times of hopelessness,

Searching tirelessly for meaning, purpose and truth and yet find no
direction.
My mind cries out desperately in times of solitude, posing questions, with
answers none forthcoming.
Well dream on but don’t imagine that they all come true. If only it were so
simple to slide through life smelling of flowers, to the contrary we
unwittingly crush them beneath our feet.
Dreams sustain us through the madness,
Goals give us a finish line to our race, yet they change with every turn,
around every wall, and remain elusive through out the quest.
I feel fine with this sun in my eyes,
This wind in my hair, its like falling through the skies, but nothing fells
good.
Mistakes are made, laden with regrets, dragging them along every step.
The victories are flashes of light, sudden and unlasting, allowing us to
glimpse the road ahead before darkness descends.
When you hold everything in your hand, try the thrill of odds.
For where there is an ‘if’ there are odds.
Love is bitter my dear, yet it’s the bread that keeps us,
Over and over it fills us only to starve us,
It’s the people we love that shape our destinies and strengths, those that
help you lift that one leg, and yet the same ones that lose us in the darkness.
Sometimes we think the truth is what we want until we find it, an actually
get it.
Alone is not a bad way to be, it clears your mind with focus, but cherish the
short intervals in your quest that you have with others, and be prepared to
walk alone.
Life is hard to think about, that is the danger, everyone is a stranger.
Wonder where the pieces fall, with each footfall a heart betrays,
You may need the fear to drive you through the day.
So I lay down to a world of dreams hoping to find an answer.
XXX

The value of compassion cannot be over emphasized, anyone can criticize.

It takes a true believer to be compassionate; for no greater burden can be
borne than to know no one cares nor understands.
It’s a thing of no great difficulty to raise objections against another’s
orations but to produce better in its place is a task extremely troublesome.
Criticism, should it be as constructive as possible? As we always expect it to
be so? Nor can we feel always obliged to make it so? Well, when a man
points out that you have got a counterfeit, he is not obliged to replace it
with a new one.
On the other hand the cynic makes fun of all earnestness.
He makes fun of everything and everyone who feels that something can be
done. But in his heart of hearts he knows that he is a defeated man, and
that his cynicism is merely an expression of the fact that he has lost
courage and is beaten. He builds no bridges, makes no discoveries, while
progress demands inspiration and motivation, he prides himself with being
realistic in his approach, his is nothing but idealism gone wrong in the face
of frustration… well ,well, well, a few things are more expensive than a
girl who is free for the evening. So be sure of yourself and do not relinquish
simply because some one else is not sure.
The devil is in the details, evil is the blemish of our species that will not
spare even the best man, but not to worry, when you hit the wall, walk
along until you find a door.
So watch closely and show no one, they will beg you for it but never you
give it up, because the secret impresses no one, it’s the trick that you use it
for that is everything.
XXXI

And thou art dead, as young and fair

as mortal birth aught.
form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon to Earth return
to be received in her bed,
And over the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness
There is an eye which
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where you lie low,

Nor gaze upon the spot;
where flowers and weeds at will grow,
It is enough for me
That what I loved, long must love,
Like common earth can rot
To me there needs no stone to tell,
it is Nothing that I loved so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last

that did not change through all the past,
and cannot alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse in me you set not to see
the wrong, or fault in me.
The better days of life were ours;
the worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
the silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
that all those charms have passed away.

The flower in ripened bloom unmatched

Must fall the earliest prey
Though by no hand untimely snatched,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it plucked by day
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne

to see thy beauties fade
the night that followed morn
had worn a deeper shade.
Your day without a cloud hath passed,
and thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguished, not decayed,
as stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil over your bed,
To gaze fondly on your face,
fold you in a faint embrace,
Uphold your drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor you nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though you have left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
as much as I remember you!
The all of you that cannot die
through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
and more your buried love endears
than aught except its living years.
XXXII

Every man dies, but not every man lives.

One day your life will flash before your very eyes
Just hope it’s worth watching.
To be or not to be is a choice we make with
Every minute, every breath.
A thing is not necessarily true because a man
Dies for it, for amidst the insanity of men,
He can believe the impossible,
And not the improbable,
It’s a pity, what dies in us while we live
Renders our coffers much greater loss that life itself.
So let’s die for what is true and not what we want to be true.
Even the boatman would agree, the first step to eternal life,
Is you having to die.
Am sorry my friends, that this stage that every man must play part,
Mine is a sad one, for when the game is over
The king and the pawn must in the same box go.
Cheers to the dead already, and hurrah for the next that dies
XXXIII

Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells,

And sights, before the dark hour of reason grows – somebody
Once said.
Who am I? Who are you?
We are who we are, in masks we fret on stage for the play.
But please understand that there is a face beneath this mask I wear,
Which is not me.
I am more than the face; the flesh beneath it, and the bones beneath it.
Who am I? Who are you?
A fragment of a grand master’s imagination if at all is closer than what you
and they may suppose. Irrespective, we are all bound by a certainty.
So drop the dice and forget coincidence.
But how do you take away a man’s madness without also taking away who
he is?
What you see is but a garment with which to cover the nakedness of the
self,
So I beg your pardon, for I prefer mine loose, through which my nakedness
can always be felt and sometimes discerned if at all.
With memories we hold onto the things we love, the things we are, the
things we never want to lose, for we wake up in different times and places,
Being forced to deny who we are.
As such am not upset you will tell me of a lie, I’m upset that from then on I
shall not believe you.
What is there to do as underlings but to love our fate, our life?
Don’t stop nor mind my obscure self, for identity is but theft of the self,
need I belong? We are who we are.
XXXIV - CCBB

For what it's worth: it's never too late nor too early to be whoever you want
to be. There's no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or
stay the same; there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the
worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that
startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet
people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of.
If you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over
again. You can be as mad as a mad dog at the way things go. You could
swear, curse the fates, but when it comes to the end, you have to let go, for
you never know what's coming for you. A house can be haunted by those
who were never there if there was where they were missed. Of man's first
disobedience, and the fruit of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe, a peaceful sorrow at home
is the best I'll be able to offer the world in the end, and so I told the angels
by me goodbye. A new life for me. Eagerly I wish the morrow, vainly I seek
to borrow from my books of sorrow—sorrow for the lost self.
 XXXV
There is a voice within my fingers, buried beneath my skin,
Words festering silence into hidden wounds. Words that mean everything
but nothings at all. Sit next to me and entice me with your look.
That desirable torment, pleasurable torture. That unavoidable thought I just
can’t escape.
And I have myself for friendship, my friends for solitude.
And I want darkness to see, love so I can hate.
And I need you so I can be lonely, nothing so I can be full.
 XXXVI

I was eighteen years of age when love opened my eyes with its magic
rays and touched my spirit for the first time with its fiery fingers, and
that was the first woman who awakened my spirit with her beauty and
led me into the garden of high affection, where days pass like dreams
and nights like weddings. She was the one who taught me to worship
beauty by the example of her own and revealed to me the secret of love
by her affection; she was the one who first sang to me. A very young
man remembers his first love and tries to recapture that strange hour,
the memory of which changes his deepest feeling and makes him so
happy in spite of all the bitterness of its mystery. In every young man's
life there is a girl who appears to him suddenly while in the spring of
life and transforms his solitude into happy moments and fills the
silence of his nights with music. I was deeply engrossed in thought and
contemplation and seeking to understand the meaning of nature and
the revelation of books and scriptures when I heard love whispered into
my ears through her lips. Filled my heart with secrets and wonders. The
Eve led Adam out of Paradise by her own will, while she made me enter
willingly into the bliss of love and virtue by her sweetness and love; but
what happened to the first man also happened to me, forced me away
without having disobeyed any order or tasted the fruit of the forbidden
tree. Today, after many years have passed, I have nothing left out of that
beautiful dream except painful memories flapping like invisible wings
around me, filling the depths of my heart with sorrow, and bringing
tears to my eyes; and my beloved, beautiful, she is dead and nothing is
left to commemorate her except my broken heart and tomb surrounded
by trees. That tomb and this heart are all that is left to bear witness of
her. The silence that guards the tomb does not reveal a grand master’s
secret in the obscurity of the shroud, and the rustling of the branches
 whose roots suck the body's elements do not tell the mysteries of the
grave, by the agonized sighs of my heart announce to the living the
drama which love, beauty, and death have performed. Oh, friends of
my youth who are scattered in the city, when you pass by the cemetery,
enter it silently and walk slowly so the tramping of your feet will not
disturb the slumber of the dead, and stop humbly by her tomb and
greet the earth that encloses her corpse and mention my name with
deep sigh and say to yourself, "here, all the hopes of boy I knew, who is
living as prisoner of love beyond the seas, were buried. On this spot he
lost his happiness, drained his tears, and forgot his smile." Ay that tomb
grows the boy's sorrow together with trees, and above the tomb his
spirit flickers every night commemorating her, joining the branches of
the trees in sorrowful wailing, mourning and lamenting her going,
who, yesterday was a beautiful tune on the lips of life and today is a
silent secret in the bosom of the earth.
Oh, comrades of my youth! I appeal to you in the names of those
virgins whom your hearts have loved, to lay a wreath of flowers on the
forsaken tomb of my beloved, for the flowers you lay on her tomb are
like falling drops of dew for the eyes of dawn on the leaves of withering
rose.
 XXXVII

My neighbors, you remember the dawn of youth with pleasure and

regret its passing; but I remember it like a prisoner who recalls the bars
and shackles of his jail. You speak of those years between infancy and
youth as a golden era free from confinement and cares, but I call those
years an era of silent sorrow which dropped as a seed into my heart
and grew with it and could find no outlet to the world of Knowledge
and wisdom until love came and opened the heart's doors and lighted
its corners. Love provided me with a tongue and tears. You people
remember the meeting places and street corners that witnessed your
games and heard your innocent whispering; and I remember, too, the
beautiful spots. It is said that unsophistication makes a man empty and
that emptiness makes him carefree. It may be true among those who
were born dead and who exist and exist as such; but the sensitive boy
who feels much and knows little is the most unfortunate creature
under the sun, because he is torn by two forces. The first force elevates
him and shows him the beauty of existence through a cloud of dreams;
the second ties him down to the earth and fills his eyes with dust and
overpowers him with fears and darkness. Solitude has soft, silky hands,
but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with
sorrow. If that boy does not have diversion or friends or companions in
his games his life will be like a narrow prison in which he sees nothing
but spider webs and hears nothing but the crawling of insects. That
sorrow which obsessed me during my youth was not caused by lack of
amusement, because I could have had it; neither from lack of friends,
because I could have found them. That sorrow was caused by an
inward ailment which made me love solitude. It killed in me the
inclination for games and amusement. It removed from my shoulders
the wings of youth and made me like a pong of water between
mountains which reflects in its calm surface the shadows of ghosts and
the colors of clouds and trees, but cannot find an outlet by which to
pass singing to the sea. Thus was my life before I attained the age. That
year is like a mountain peak in my life, for it awakened knowledge in
me and made me understand the vicissitudes of mankind. In that year I
was reborn and ink touched the blank pages in my book of existence. In
that year, I saw angels looking at me through the eyes of a beautiful
woman, devils raging in the heart of an evil man. He who does not see
the angels and devils in the beauty and malice of life will be far
removed from knowledge, and his spirit will be empty of affection.
 XXXVIII

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
 And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
be all my sins remembered.
- W.S
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There is a tide in the affairs of men

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
'Tis a common proof,
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend.