Everyday is just another day with twist; bitter and butter..life goes on

Category: day as it comes (page 1 of 9)

Slowly But Surely

Om Prakash

I am trying, inch by inch I climb,
Through storms of doubt and tests of time.
In every challenge that I meet,
I push ahead on weary feet.

I’ve not learned to stop when shadows fall,
Nor bend beneath life’s weight and call.
With wings of effort, strong and wide,
I scale each peak with steady stride.

Taunts may come, sharp stones may lie,
But I press on, as fears deny.
My pen, a chisel, carves the way,
Through trials born of night and day.

Silence stands with me through it all,
In struggle’s hour, I stand tall.
I’ll bear the talk, the scorn, the fight—
For victory is in my sight.

Slowly, surely, step by step,
I climb this path with no regret.
I am trying.

The Quiet Bond

Wasim Barelvi

He doesn’t come to my house, I don’t go to his
Yet, distance doesn’t make our bond amiss.
Good or bad, all ties remain,
None leaves this world with more to gain.

In the hands of TV, what has become
Of homes where once fathers led their sons?
No child now follows in their stride,
A fading lineage, once full of pride.

A hundred doors opened, yet held by care,
Where would I roam, if not to return there?
These tears of love, let them quietly stay—
The secrets of the noble, in silence lay.

Tell him, ‘Wasim,’ this world is small,
Whoever enters my door, returns no call.
For once within, they no longer stray,
No wandering heart will drift away.

Unseen, Yet All-Seeing

Sudhan Subedi

I frown,
I’m feeble,
Yet I see it all—
What goes in, what comes out,
The secrets of the world unfold before me.

The world may not know my name,
But I know its every whisper,
Its every sigh,
I know the world,
Though it may pass me by.

In silence, I observe,
In quiet strength, I endure,
Unknown to the masses,
But to the world,
I am sure.

The Name on Dusty Glass

Sudhan Subedi

You write her name on the dusty glass,
Of a car not yours, parked by the bay,
Let her name travel on every breeze,
Let the world know your love today.

Though washed or cleaned in a little while,
For now, her name is clear, it gleams,
Until the rain or time erases,
Her name lingers in fleeting dreams.

Motherhood in every gene

Sudhan Subedi

A poem written for Mom was well-admired,
For all the things she does, all she’s inspired.
When it’s Mom—do we ever need to explain?
Her love flows through us, like gentle rain.

Look at these monkeys, how they care,
Motherhood at its peak, always there.
No need for words, no need for feeling,
Motherhood’s in our genes, ever-revealing.

No force on Earth can stand before,
A mother’s love—steadfast and pure.

Veils of Dreams

Ahmed Faraz

If we part ways today, perhaps in dreams we’ll meet,
Like dried flowers pressed between pages, bittersweet.

In the hearts of the broken, seek loyalty’s gleam,
For even among the lost, you’ll find treasures unseen.

You are divine, am I not too?
My love, are we not angels, pure and true?
Why then, must we meet behind so many veils?
When our souls are bound, beyond all tales?

The Night of Excuses

Sudhan Subedi

A Friday night call came from a friend,
But two replies outright condemned.
One claimed urgency, a crisis at max,
The other excused with commitments that stacked.

No typsy evening of laughter and fun,
No chit-chat beneath both moon and sun.

Yet, fate had plans of its own to make,
For that evening, the two would partake.
One held a bag brimming with tomatoes,
The other bore potatoes, heavy as halos.

They shared a smile, knowing the game,
The creative excuses, all the same.
A hint of duty in the air,
For home-cooked meals they’d prepare.

Vegetables won, over barroom snacks,
Responsibilities, no turning back.

Friday Full

Life is full of daily routines and small tasks—often referred to as the “daily grind” or “daily chores.” These activities, while sometimes mundane, are the backbone of our existence. They provide structure and a sense of normalcy, anchoring us in the present.

When you say, “life around daily chores is wow,” it reflects an appreciation for the beauty in these everyday moments. There’s a certain magic in the simplicity of daily life, where each task—whether it’s making breakfast, walking the dog, or tidying up—has its own rhythm and significance. These activities might seem ordinary, but they are filled with life and movement. They sparkle with the potential for small joys, like the satisfaction of a clean space, the warmth of a cooked meal, or the peace of a quiet evening.

The routine itself can be comforting, a reminder that even in a world of constant change, there are things we can rely on. It’s the flow of these small, consistent actions that create the larger tapestry of our lives. And within this flow, there’s a rhythm that can be quite beautiful when we take the time to notice it. Each moment, each task, contributes to the whole, making life a series of sparkling moments that might otherwise go unnoticed.

The Balance of Life: Work and Family

In the corporate world, we often see ourselves as indispensable. We play our roles diligently, believing our contributions are critical. Yet, roles can be omitted, and the world keeps turning. One day, we may leave our positions, and the business will continue as usual.

After years of hard work, the bosses who once demanded our dedication might forget our contributions. However, our children will always remember the time we couldn’t spend with them.

The lesson is not to take things too seriously. Approach life with balance, playing the ball as it comes, and cherishing moments with family as much as those at work.

Echoes of Buddha’s Birth

Sudhan Subedi @tweetsudhan

Beyond the horizon, peace eludes our grasp,
Inner calm falters, a fleeting clasp.
Miles we traverse, to the moon and back,
Personal gain sought, leaving others’ peace ransacked.

Shattered souls, we break and bend,
Yet the name of Buddha, profound, we tend.
Nonstop chants, in every breath we take,
Reflecting on the truth, for Buddha’s sake.

A day of pause, to honor the tale,
Buddha was born in Nepal, in peace to prevail.