A shair (verse) Dr A (the cute one) shared with all of us when we were discussing the organization of human body....
It amazed me at that time too that how the complexities of human body which we are trying to comprehend can be elaborated in two simple lines....and that too so damn accurately.
Humans are strange. Simple and complex at the same time.
here is the verse... ( i cannot recall if he mentioned the poet or not)
"Zindagi kia hai? Anasir ka zahoor e tarteeb!
Maut kia hai? Inhi Ajza ka pareshaan hona!"
(I am not good at translations and... i guess the loss of original language looses much of the charm too but still for my friends who don't know urdu i am giving it a try)
(Translation:
What is life?? The organization of factors!
What is death? The disruption of these very contents!)
Imagine, the concept of homeostasis (maintaining constant internal environment) around which the whole subject of physiology revolves can actually be explained in two short lines.
Organization is the key to survival!!
As long as everything goes according to the plan...human life goes on in a smooth manner..
But a minor change (even a little imbalance of ions) can cause such huge disturbances. A little crossing of the normal ranges can even be fatal.
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Trust me, My love!!!
My love for you,
Believe me is true.
My every tear,
Is shed for you my dear.
You may think that i lie,
But believe me when i die.
You will still be there in my heart,
As my soul's eternal part.
And till the very end, I will keep loving you,
Trust me, my love, what i say is true.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Poverty- the vicious cycle!
It was a shabby little hut where he opened his eyes,
The innocent baby and his innocent cries.
The cries foretelling his miserable fate,
The fate, which was to be his lifetime mate.
His father- a poor hardworking man,
Was killed in a dispute with a nearby clan.
The dispute being of trivial nature,
Never brought into notice, the poor man's murder.
Thus, came into this world, an unfortunate soul,
Unaware of what was for him in store.
His mother too weak to earn some bread,
The boy was, therefore, seldom fed.
With little to eat and no fun at all,
He started to grow a little tall.
When he was but a little boy of eight,
In vain, he would, for good days wait.
The good days never came his way,
But destiny took his mother away.
Oh! how the poor innocent soul cried,
Wondering why every joy, was he denied.
Without anyone to love and caress,
The boy's life was one of agony and distress.
The hut was the same, and so was the boy,
He laboured hard, his life devoid of any joy.
Labouring hard, he grew into a young man,
He would then, with hope for good days, plan.
He married a girl whose life was the same as his,
Determined to share sorrows, and turn them into bliss.
They started their journey with love, together,
They vowed to stay happy forever.
Though money was scanty, and meals rare,
They thought their life was pretty fair.
The cruel fate again came to strike,
The young man was hit, by a rashly driven bike.
He was disabled for the rest of his life,
And left in misery, his poor young wife.
Being forced to earn bread for them both,
She knocked every door to sell some cloth.
Her health kept failing, but the stove was kept alive,
Inside her, she was nurturing, another life.
The young man seemed to be nearing his demise,
From his sickly bed, he was unable to rise.
The money was scantier, the meals rarer,
The only option left was an earnest prayer.
The answers to their prayers never came,
They had no idea that who was to blame.
The night was getting darker,
The future looked even harder.
It was the same shabby little hut, where he opened his eyes,
The young man's baby and his innocent cries...............
The innocent baby and his innocent cries.
The cries foretelling his miserable fate,
The fate, which was to be his lifetime mate.
His father- a poor hardworking man,
Was killed in a dispute with a nearby clan.
The dispute being of trivial nature,
Never brought into notice, the poor man's murder.
Thus, came into this world, an unfortunate soul,
Unaware of what was for him in store.
His mother too weak to earn some bread,
The boy was, therefore, seldom fed.
With little to eat and no fun at all,
He started to grow a little tall.
When he was but a little boy of eight,
In vain, he would, for good days wait.
The good days never came his way,
But destiny took his mother away.
Oh! how the poor innocent soul cried,
Wondering why every joy, was he denied.
Without anyone to love and caress,
The boy's life was one of agony and distress.
The hut was the same, and so was the boy,
He laboured hard, his life devoid of any joy.
Labouring hard, he grew into a young man,
He would then, with hope for good days, plan.
He married a girl whose life was the same as his,
Determined to share sorrows, and turn them into bliss.
They started their journey with love, together,
They vowed to stay happy forever.
Though money was scanty, and meals rare,
They thought their life was pretty fair.
The cruel fate again came to strike,
The young man was hit, by a rashly driven bike.
He was disabled for the rest of his life,
And left in misery, his poor young wife.
Being forced to earn bread for them both,
She knocked every door to sell some cloth.
Her health kept failing, but the stove was kept alive,
Inside her, she was nurturing, another life.
The young man seemed to be nearing his demise,
From his sickly bed, he was unable to rise.
The money was scantier, the meals rarer,
The only option left was an earnest prayer.
The answers to their prayers never came,
They had no idea that who was to blame.
The night was getting darker,
The future looked even harder.
It was the same shabby little hut, where he opened his eyes,
The young man's baby and his innocent cries...............
Sunday, November 18, 2007
my "bongy"...
I want to do plenty,
But fail, as if my mind is empty.
I wonder why no one understands,
That i make a lot of plans.
All my planning goes in vain,
The reason is quite plain.
Although i plan a lot,
There is one thing i haven't got.
It is the drive to work hard,
Without which success is away, many a yard.
But fail, as if my mind is empty.
I wonder why no one understands,
That i make a lot of plans.
All my planning goes in vain,
The reason is quite plain.
Although i plan a lot,
There is one thing i haven't got.
It is the drive to work hard,
Without which success is away, many a yard.
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