Saturday, March 26, 2005

What are they?

HOPES what are they?--Beads of morning
Strung on slender blades of grass;
Or a spider's web adorning
In a strait and treacherous pass.

What are fears but voices airy?
Whispering harm where harm is not;
And deluding the unwary
Till the fatal bolt is shot!

What is glory?--in the socket
See how dying tapers fare!
What is pride?--a whizzing rocket
That would emulate a star.

What is friendship?--do not trust her,
Nor the vows which she has made;
Diamonds dart their brightest lustre
From a palsy-shaken head.

What is truth?--a staff rejected;
Duty?--an unwelcome clog;
Joy?--a moon by fits reflected
In a swamp or watery bog;

Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the Traveller's eye it shone:
He hath hailed it re-appearing--
And as quickly it is gone;

Such is Joy--as quickly hidden,
Or mis-shapen to the sight,
And by sullen weeds forbidden
To resume its native light.

What is youth?--a dancing billow,
(Winds behind, and rocks before!)
Age?--a drooping, tottering willow
On a flat and lazy shore.

What is peace?--when pain is over,
And love ceases to rebel,
Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing knell!

- William Wordsworth

Break Free..

Just imagine a life without lectures/ quizzes/ labs/ assignments/ projects/ midsem/ endsem....
Just reading things I like and I enjoy.. Wondering deep into some intellectual realm rather than cramming for the bullshit cpi.
Once again seems like you are being taught the things you dont like.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Life of a programmer/Compi ghoda

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Think..

Dude.. do you really need to go through a bed of thorns to get the rosy bed.You will just get it but think.. Will you Enjoy it??
Can you sleep on a rose bed after being scratched and bruised all over?

Friday, March 18, 2005

A NIGHT THOUGHT

LO! where the Moon along the sky
Sails with her happy destiny;
Oft is she hid from mortal eye
Or dimly seen,
But when the clouds asunder fly
How bright her mien!

Far different we--a froward race,
Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace
With cherished sullenness of pace
Their way pursue,
Ingrates who wear a smileless face
The whole year through.

If kindred humours e'er would make
My spirit droop for drooping's sake,
From Fancy following in thy wake,
Bright ship of heaven!
A counter impulse let me take
And be forgiven.

- William Wordsworth