Monday, January 12, 2009

GET UP AND WIN THE RACE !

I read this poem somewhere. I dont remember exactly where. But i came across it at a very appropriate time. I was feeling down and out, and after reading it, it made me feel not good, but great.
I hope you people like it as well.
Dont just read it, live it...
: )
Here it goes...
"QUIT! GIVE UP! YOU'RE BEATEN!" They shout and plead,
There's just too much against you now, this time you can't succeed.
And as I start to hang my head in front of failure's face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.

And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene.
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children's race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn't hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that race.
Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son.
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they went, young hearts and hopes of fire.
To win, to be the hero there, was each young boy's desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, "My dad will be so proud."

But as he speeded down the field across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his hands flew out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.

So down he fell and with him hope. He couldn't win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, "Get up and win that race!"

He quickly rose, no damage done - behind a bit, that's all,
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself to catch up and to win,His mind went faster than his legs.
He slipped and fell again.

He wished that he had quite before with only one disgrace.
I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race.
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face
That steady look that said again, "Get up and win the race."

So, he jumped up to try again. Ten yards behind the last.
If I'm to gain those yards, he thought, I've got to run real fast.
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.

Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
There's no sense running anymore - three strikes and I'm out - why try?
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had flew away.
So far behind, so error prone, closer all the way.

I've lost, so what's the use, he thought, I'll live with my disgrace.
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he'd have to face.
"Get up," an echo sounded low. "Get up and take your place.
You were not meant for failure here, get up and win the race."

With borrowed will, "Get up," it said, "You haven't lost at all,
For winning is not more than this, to rise each time you fall.
"So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn't quit.

So far behind the others now, the most he'd ever been.
Still he gave it all he had and ran as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen stumbling, three times he'd rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.

They cheered the winning runner as he crossed first place.
Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster crossed the line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.

And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud;
You would have thought he'd won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his Dad he sadly said, "I didn't do so well."
"To me you won," his father said, "You rose each time you fell."

And when things seemed dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy - helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and down and all,
And all you have to do to win - is rise each time you fall.
"Quit!" "GIVE UP, YOU'RE BEATEN." They still shout in my face.
But another voice within me says, "GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!"....
What say people, wasnt it awsome...!!!
Have a great day ahead.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

tashakor!!!

tashakor...


thank you!!! as it would mean in parsi...


but shouldnt it have been there at the end of my post...


hmmmmmm...but i think i have always been the toe-to-head version...but ideally hasnt it been the case for all of us...for we do come on this planet in this rather inverted position...


anyways


tashakor...to one and all


i say so because its been one of my two favourite words...the other one being sorry...sounds like a humble character, u must be thinking or atleast trying to be so. But i am truly and honestly true with these two words, for i consider them a part of my nung namoos, my honour and pride. But the problem starts when i end up confused betwwen them, not knowing when to say sorry and when to say tashakor, thank you. For they surely seem to be interchangable to me.


like the politician for whom you have voted might be saying thank you for your vote, but invariably he means to be sorry for u for the next five years ; ) .....


Like when your father buys you ur first bicycle...u jump with joy kissing him all the way and shouting thank you papa!!!thank you abbu!!!thanks dad!!!thanks babuji!!!thanks pader jaan!!!thanks pa!!!...with the sound of thank you echoing from all over the world...but when these echoes reaches the ears they are meant for don't they somehow create an acoustic vibration as if saying "sorry pa!!!for the sacrifices that u had to make for bringing me this bike". The tashakor , the thanksgiving inevitably modulates itself to sorry...as in some mysticism surrounding it.

Don't they seem to be the sides of the same coin.
Ironically yes.
When thousands out there die in bomb blasts, for millions feeling sad and sorry for them, there are definitely few hundreds who are rejoicing in glory.
When india wins a match against pakistan, there are billion heads going gaga with the celebration, but there are still millions on the other side of the border gearing up to break there TV sets...

So this all just broadens my big-bang confusion theory.
Next time when i fail to make it to the top of the ladder , should i be happy for the one sitting at the top or join hands with those saddened-sadists trying to shaken up the ladder.
Does the Darwin's survival of the fittest survive or is it the Gandhi's principality of ahimsa ,not only physically but also at the cerebral level, emerge victorious triumphantly.

!!