Chimerical echoes

The land of Buddha: Ravaged by war, Apostles of peace, Turned into victims of rage: Merciless war games, Where innocence takes up arms, Numbing anything humane, To defend the “worthy” cause: BUT Who is to decide the “worth”? Who will receive honor? Who will bask in glory? Who will accept laurels? (As in wars fought earlier, As well as wars that lay ahead.) “Existence” will cease to be; At the end of this glorious war!

In many schools today, we find students categorically divided based on their marks/percentage…. The school authorities say that this is to make the students excel in the subjects more… they argue that the world is facing stiff competition and this is the right way to build them for the challenge… The reason why this factor has started to bug me so much is that recently I heard of a school where students are divided into “clubs”!.... when a child score above 80% means: the child becomes part of the elite club and will be eligible for free snacks/lunch (sponsored by school)…. This is a demeaning, revolting… SKEWED value system: the school is imposing on its students! Is dividing children on the basis of their capacity to perform / out perform the prescribed content … (an education system based solely on the memory capacity of children)…The right way to shape a child’s attitude or build the child to face life… guess only engineers, doctors, professionals will survive in this planet I am n...

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough And held against the world of hoary grass. It melted, and I let it fall and break. But I was well Upon my way to sleep before it fell, And I could tell What form my dreaming was about to take. Magnified apples appear and disappear, Stem end and blossom end, And every fleck of russet showing clear. My instep arch not only keeps the ache, It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round. I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend. And I keep hearing from the cellar bin The rumbling sound Of load on load of apples coming in. For I have had too m...