Some days I worry less, but still gather strength 

Many days, there’s the same old routine; mundane

Other days I gather the wrinkled leaves

Bundle them up and burn them up

I enjoy the heat, the blaze of the flame

Some days, I find no leaves and I feel cold

A weary disappointment as I fall asleep in the freezing lap 

Many days, I find a log, a big one if lucky 

I worship it with fire and I mingle both together 

Fire and fuel,

Fuel and wood,

Wood and me

And me with the fire

Together we lit the nights, warm!

As the day betrays again and again

I find solace in the night 

With the leaves and the logs 

With the fire and the morning frost

Acceptance & Denial

Some might say and some might deny 

The power we feel, the pull of gravity 

Even in the dark times,


A small flame burns,


The night and in the misty moon light,


Hope, life, a journey away from evil

Keeping the shadows at bay

The power which makes the flame

To revel in its purity

The supplier of wax and the oil

The sustaining power, the echo of which reflects the big bang

The pull of the moon

The waving of the waves, the sailing of the ships

The floating of the boats

The survivor’s unanswered prayer, the strength of the weak

The hope of the lost, their determination to return 

The power we feel, you all deny

Afraid of it, scared of the power 

Die you all cowards for not being able to see

The miracle of birth and the bluntness in death 

Pity yourselves and go live your worthless lives 

For you are nothing but burden, 

The burden to those who see.


I Am The Ugly Duckling

The Ugly Duckling
Once upon a time down
on an old farm, lived a
duck family, and Mother
Duck had been sitting on a
clutch of new eggs. One
nice morning, the eggs
hatched and out popped
six chirpy ducklings. But
one egg was bigger than
the rest, and it didn’t
hatch. Mother Duck
couldn’t recall laying that
seventh egg. How did it
get there? TOCK! TOCK!
The little prisoner was
pecking inside his shell.
“Did I count the eggs
wrongly?” Mother Duck
wondered. But before she
had time to think about it,
the last egg finally
hatched. A strange looking
duckling with gray
feathers that should have
been yellow gazed at a
worried mother. The
ducklings grew quickly,
but Mother Duck had a
secret worry.
“I can’t understand how
this ugly duckling can be
one of mine!” she said to
herself, shaking her head
as she looked at her last
born. Well, the gray
duckling certainly wasn’t
pretty, and since he ate
far more than his
brothers, he was
outgrowing them. As the
days went by, the poor
ugly duckling became
more and more unhappy.
His brothers didn’t want
to play with him, he was
clumsy, and all the
farmyard folks simply
laughed at him. He felt
sad and lonely, while
Mother Duck did her best
to console him.
“Poor little ugly
duckling!” she would say.
“Why are you so different
from the others?” And the
ugly duckling felt worse
than ever. He secretly
wept at night. He felt
nobody wanted him.
“Nobody loves me, they
all tease me! Why am I
different from my
Then one day, at
sunrise, he ran away from
the farmyard. He stopped
at a pond and began to
question all the other
birds. “Do you know of
any ducklings with gray
feathers like mine?” But
everyone shook their
heads in scorn.
“We don’t know anyone
as ugly as you.” The ugly
duckling did not lose
heart, however, and kept
on making inquiries. He
went to another pond,
where a pair of large
geese gave him the same
answer to his question.
What’s more, they warned
him: “Don’t stay here! Go
away! It’s dangerous.
There are men with guns
around here!” The
duckling was sorry he had
ever left the farmyard.
Then one day, his
travels took him near an
old countrywoman’s
cottage. Thinking he was a
stray goose, she caught
“I’ll put this in a hutch.
I hope it’s a female and
lays plenty of eggs!” said
the old woman, whose
eyesight was poor. But the
ugly duckling laid not a
single egg. The hen kept
frightening him.
“Just wait! If you don’t
lay eggs, the old woman
will wring your neck and
pop you into the pot!”
And the cat chipped in:
“Hee! Hee! I hope the
woman cooks you, then I
can gnaw at your bones!”
The poor ugly duckling
was so scared that he lost
his appetite, though the
old woman kept stuffing
him with food and
grumbling: “If you won’t
lay eggs, at least hurry up
and get plump!”
“Oh, dear me!” moaned
the now terrified duckling.
“I’ll die of fright first! And
I did so hope someone
would love me!”
Then one night, finding
the hutch door ajar, he
escaped. Once again he
was all alone. He fled as
far away as he could, and
at dawn, he found himself
in a thick bed of reeds. “If
nobody wants me, I’ll hid
here forever.” There was
plenty a food, and the
duckling began to feel a
little happier, though he
was lonely. One day at
sunrise, he saw a flight of
beautiful birds wing
overhead. White, with long
slender necks, yellow
beaks and large wings,
they were migrating south.
“If only I could look like
them, just for a day!” said
the duckling, admiringly.
Winter came and the
water in the reed bed
froze. The poor duckling
left home to seek food in
the snow. He dropped
exhausted to the ground,
but a farmer found him
and put him in his big
jacket pocket.
“I’ll take him home to
my children. They’ll look
after him. Poor thing, he’s
frozen!” The duckling was
showered with kindly care
at the farmer’s house. In
this way, the ugly duckling
was able to survive the
bitterly cold winter.
However, by springtime,
he had grown so big that
the farmer decided: “I’ll
set him free by the pond!”
That was when the
duckling saw himself
mirrored in the water.
“Goodness! How I’ve
changed! I hardly
recognize myself!” The
flight of swans winged
north again and glided on
to the pond. When the
duckling saw them, he
realized he was one of
their kind, and soon made
“We’re swans like you!”
they said, warmly. “Where
have you been hiding?”
“It’s a long story,”
replied the young swan,
still astounded. Now, he
swam majestically with his
fellow swans. One day, he
heard children on the
river bank exclaim: “Look
at that young swan! He’s
the finest of them all!”
And he almost burst
with happiness.

The End

The moral of the story is clear. I dont see it in mine though. I relate to the duckling a lot. Sigh.
I love this story. Its silly symphony makes me want to cry. Its so good. The poor duckling who isnt a duckling after all!

Posted from Shifa Naseer’s Phone