Writing is my passion
You're my inspiration
My rock solid foundation
Whom I seek in times of tribulation

Pragmatic precepts did he essay
Against which I often make an assay
Though departed to a place far away
His memories keep me swing and sway

I yearn for your visitation
Desperately need some consolation

An avid reader, a writer of merit, a man of profound knowledge and moral soundness. I owe everything to my appa. The memory of walking alongside with him in the journey of life is unforgettable. The imprints he made on the sands of time are indelible.

"Blessed be the Lord thy God, which delighted in thee..."

An Albanian by birth,
Made her life worth.

Until her final breath,
Traveled the globe, both length and breadth.

In the slums, seeing their lachrymatory plight,
She resolved to fight.

Giving solace,
To the poverty stricken populace.

Wherever a calamity occur,
She was there to tender shelter and succor.

Her eyes suffused with tear,
At the sight of a leper.

Propelled by the divine power,
She nursed them with vim and vigor.

By nature, sedulous and studious,
Her deeds, to many, were wondrous and virtuous.

Obsessed by her vision, obstinate in her mission,
Service as her profession, won the heart of this whole nation.

We salute O mother,
We are indebted to you forever.

Dedicated to all the innocent children swept away in the Middle East conflict.

He hath made everything beautiful in his time...my mom read
Vast expanse of star-studded firmament
Enchanting fragrance of Lilly of the valley
Bewitching spring crocuses
Enticing aroma of blossoms of the fig trees
Lush rolling vineyards brimming with grapes
Delectable rubies of pomegranate
Majestic Cedars of Lebanon
Surrealistic land of olives
Melodies of beetles
Bleats of goats
Euphonious songs of birds
Yet, in stark contrast, what I hear now are wails and desperate pleas for help
I had a dream, my Lord
To revel in the enduring bond with my father
It's so magical you know
To snuggle up to my mom and suckle
She's a benevolent empress to my papa
To me, a merciful cherub
But, I wither in hunger within the womb, my God!
The medics around my mom say she's bleeding heavily
A shrapnel pierced her aorta
They also whisper, her chances of survival are slim
What's an aorta? Why did shrapnel hurt her?
What's life? Why do they celebrate it?
What's death? Why do they mourn?
These are elusive and beyond my understanding
It doesn't matter whether I'm Sarah or Fatima
My dreams are shattered, nipped in the bud
Answer me, my Lord, "Why have you forsaken me?"