01-09-2013, 12:09 PM
I just started writing poems a few days ago. This is one of my first ones.
He sits in the same spot with his cup of chai
With the same old cushion to support his broken spine
He only reads
I never understood why
Words which hold no meaning for a man unlettered
Wouldn't it be better if he spoke a kind word to a friend?
Or if he went outside to do some good works instead?
If he at least read in a tongue that he readily knew
Suddenly, a nagging voice calls for him
But his lowered head does not even lift
Nor does his reciting voice make the slightest change in pitch
'What is in this book? ', I wondered
I opened it for myself and immediately felt God's mercy descend!
It commanded, 'Read! '
So I obeyed and read
Since then, I have not stopped reading
For indeed
This is guidance, my friend
He sits in the same spot with his cup of chai
With the same old cushion to support his broken spine
He only reads
I never understood why
Words which hold no meaning for a man unlettered
Wouldn't it be better if he spoke a kind word to a friend?
Or if he went outside to do some good works instead?
If he at least read in a tongue that he readily knew
Suddenly, a nagging voice calls for him
But his lowered head does not even lift
Nor does his reciting voice make the slightest change in pitch
'What is in this book? ', I wondered
I opened it for myself and immediately felt God's mercy descend!
It commanded, 'Read! '
So I obeyed and read
Since then, I have not stopped reading
For indeed
This is guidance, my friend