Continue reading “GOD Has a Reason”Behind every trial and every sorrow that He makes us shoulder, GOD has a reason.
— Mullah Faizullah (from “A Thousand Splendid Suns” written by Khaled Hosseini)
Author Archives: mayascrivener
Bicolanang Cam.Norteño | Future Educator | Xanthophile | Astronophile | Selenophile | Bibliophile | Nyctophile | Clinophile | Melophile | Aesthete | TAURUS ♉ From the Gateway of Bicolandia, this is binibining Mia Palencia, who believed in the saying that “Life is like a book and we need to fill its pages to color the universe with our own tiny little stories.”
The Happy Prince
When I was alive and had a human heart,
I did not know what tears were,
for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci,
where sorrow is not allowed to enter.
In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden,
and in the evening I led the dance in the great hall.
Round the garden ran a very lofty wall,
but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it,
everything about me was so beautiful.
My courtiers called me the Happy Prince,
and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness.
So I lived, and so I died.
And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city,
and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot choose but weep…
— The Happy Prince (Oscar Wilde)
L O V E
Love is better than wisdom,
and more precious that riches,
and fairer than the feet of
the daughters of men.
The fires cannot destroy it,
nor can true water quench it…
— The Fisher and His Soul (Oscar Wilde)
Continue reading “L O V E”Life is very dear to all…
yet love is better than life…
— The Nightingale and the Rose (Oscar Wilde)
Be The Best Of Whatever You Are
By: Douglas Malloch
If you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill,
Be a scrub in the valley — but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush if you can’t be a tree.
If you can’t be a bush be a bit of the grass,
And some highway happier make;
If you can’t be a muskie then just be a bass —
But the liveliest bass in the lake!
We can’t all be captains, we’ve got to be crew,
There’s something for all of us here,
There’s big work to do, and there’s lesser to do,
And the task you must do is the near.
If you can’t be a highway then just be a trail,
If you can’t be the sun be a star;
It isn’t by size that you win or you fail —
Be the best of whatever you are!
The Seven Ages of Man
From “As You Like It” by William Shakespeare
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then, the whining school-boy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with a good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Unfold One’s Greatness
Continue reading “Unfold One’s Greatness”“Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired and success achieved.”
— Helen Keller
Africa
by: David Diop
Africa my Africa
Africa of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs
Africa of whom my grandmother sings
On the banks of the distant river
I have never known you
But your blood flows in my veins
Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields
The blood of your sweat
The sweat of your work
The work of your slavery
Africa, tell me Africa
Is this your back that is unbent
This back that never breaks under the weight of humilation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying no to the whip under the midday sun
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous child that tree, young and strong
That tree over there
Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers
That is your Africa springing up anew
springing up patiently, obstinately
Whose fruit bit by bit acquires
The bitter taste of liberty.
The Scribes Legacy 