BIRTH OF HEROES.

The sun is still over the hills
The winds whisper as a piper,
The tempest rises as a hammer over a nail,
All creatures are in anticipation.
A lovely lily sprouts.
A pretty but mighty sword is forged,
Its destiny, loneliness, it is to dodge.
At the touch of water, its hisses like kisses never cease.
An invaluable pearl that makes hearts pound has been found,
As he gives his first roar,
Fourteen muscles are set to row.
All marvel at the sight.

It is right to share in our delight.
We are tight as a knot,
Celebrating our winning bout.
Three hundred plus sixty-five days added to our years.
May our days never see tears

DEDICATED TO ALL MAY BORNS
#MAYBORNSROCK

*on the eve of my birthday*

AFTER MY LAST PAPER :)

You see them running here and there, immediately after hours of serious thinking, 
all summing up to the end of ;
4 years of delightful suffering,
4 years of reasonable bondage,
4 years of unbearable tolerance.
Everything seems to me like just yesterday. The only joy I have now is the power of reminiscence.
Right from the day I appended my signature through to this very hour has been full of  memorable memories. 
The friends I made, decisions I took, the high times and the low times, the periods of love and the moments of heartbreaks are all but memories to cherish.
Now the only thing I have in focus is the hope of a bright future, and with Christ, this is but an assurance.
As sand runs through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.

AFTER MY LAST PAPER. 

ON THE FENCE OF MORTALITY

As the leaves on a tree bows down when the wind blows by, so do my eye lids cover my eyes as my hour glass almost run out. 31,025 1/4 days lived well. Those times I used to row against the roaring tempests are but memories to cherish now. I remember the day at the crossroads, I together with my found rib, where I had to decide either to leave or to come with her and as I should in the darkness of my doubts only for her to lift the lamp of love where I saw in her face the path I should take. Many moons of anticipation and worry characterized my waiting for the sprouting of the lily before me now.  Day and night, sunrise and sunset, year after year, toiling against all odds of life to fortify your foundation and secure your future but first to put something on the table. And now the ceiling walls, though white, appears to me, as a hole. The journey of my life has come to an end. the journey of the upper hand, where the weak die and the strong survive, even though I was strong, I now have to succumb to ''it''. Memories of a life well lived now flashes in memory like the sea washing away its shore. And now visions of a brighter after life lives in my heart. My heart is beating the Nunc Dimittis. Now I can hear my heart beat. I can see myself go numb. I feel stressed up, and I think I just had my last breath.