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Rower of sea brewer of t.., p.1
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       Rower Of Sea Brewer Of Tea, p.1

           Akshdeep Singh Narula
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Rower Of Sea Brewer Of Tea

  Rower of sea, Brewer of tea

  Copyright 2011 Akshdeep Singh Narula

  Kindly read this page first

  Rower of Sea

  Brewer of Tea,

  is all you are,

  doing all you see.

  I am Akshdeep Singh Narula, who claims to write this book. But actually I am nothing, I acknowledge the God for the mind He has given me so as I can perceive Him incorrectly, and write about Him.

  I also acknowledge all those who have supported me, were honest to tell which of my works are good and which are bad.

  How to read this book

  This book is created so as to be read in a specific order. You can read chapters in any order you wish, but it would be nice to read the poems inside in order.

  “From the one I perceive” is quite tedious poem to understand, being the concentrated form of this whole book. This whole book is based on this poem, and so it is not necessary to read it. It’s just given for reference.

  These poems require your patience. Please don’t read them hastily. Calm yourself and the time itself, and then open the next page.

  Dictionary of Devil

  Breathe. Inhale… … … Stop. Wait. Halt… … … Exhale… … …

  The life force inside you is tangled all around the world’s surface. It has walked in the time, and it has brought many changes… … … Many changes.

  A bold stroke of brush is all it takes to divert your life force off the road. Then your life force becomes a new crushing raw energy which has even the potential of moving the moon off its track. This raw energy has potential to destroy everything into pieces.

  The power of the devil.

  ‘I am a single dot of the earth’s surface’, says the king’s conscience. This single dot’s one word changed every dot in the every country. That king is inside you.

  A destructive king is inside a devil.

  But for the time being, a devil cannot stop the sun to rise.

  The sun rises, the light comes, I brush my teeth, I bathe, I go to bus and then I reach my school, where there are several monkey headed people trying to sit on the seat, trying to grasp the knowledge in a haphazard way, everyone learns one fact which is not completely true, and then go home.

  What the hell is difference between a monkey and a human?

  Human tries to apply x^2 = y – 2, and a monkey takes the banana.

  No one is wiser.

  Neither am I wise, nor you. We are just monkeys sitting on sofas, eating chips and living our life, trying to understand where to apply x^2=y-2 for which we used up twelve years.

  Knowledge comes from the eyes of observers too. It just requires more effort us observed knowledge cannot be written. Observing is learning, but who am I to say which is best? Maybe Observers are monkeys of couch potatoes? Who am I to say what is wrong and right? I just say what I observe.

  Devil is the knowledge you cannot apply.

  Some teachers come and go, and I am so mixed inside the boredom that I am not grasping anything. I see the words and sentences flying over my head like a white dove. I try to clench the blue sky, but my fist always comes empty.

  I just sit down on the grass observing the doves and laughing at them as they fought with themselves for one seed. They fight and fight and the seed is lost somewhere. I open my fist to see that seed have fallen on my hands. That seed ask me-“Who are you?” and “What is your purpose of life?” I had no reply.

  A wave of self-realization hits me. I never asked these questions to myself. I realized that I asked these questions only to people around me. “Who are you, man?”…. “I am Jake”, “What are you doing here?”… “Just sitting around”.

  Never was I curious enough to ask myself questions, and I became the devil of ignorance.

  The time worked its magic and the day passes through my eyes. First it was morning, than lots of events take place in different speeds and pace, and then comes night, and I have to sleep. Time passed, and then I ask where it has gone. As I will be walking on the grey road, I know that before me, just on the end of the horizon, is my destination waiting. My conscience speaks, 'Your final destination will always be death, no matter how much you dislike it or try to avoid it, death will soon come in his dark cloak, his smiling face, and suck you into a whirlpool of life.”

  “Then you will ask yourself; Where is the life gone? Where is the time gone?”’

  Devil is the life not lived.

  I walk on this road, and many crowds of people move along me, towards a destination my conscience speaks as wrong.

  I try to move away, but then the shoulders of these people hit me, again and again and again.

  As I move on this road, many people agree to accompany me in my journey. But like a smoke they fade quite soon, and again I become alone.

  But one in the hundred I find, and we are bonded with the thread of truth, and hands on each other’s shoulders, we smile, and then face the horizon.

  Devil is the nature of many of your companions in your road of life.

  The sun shoots up the sky with a loud report. Then, its momentum is slowed owning to the tangles of the sky. the sun is now trapped in the tangles of the whole world. It blazes, with the colors both warm and sad. It is a mixture of red and azure. The scene so beautiful, the perfect spectrum of colors, with the intensity such that the eyes they burn.

  I am puppet of earth. I am bond by the forces of natures which I can only salute. My flute, my song is just a weak meek breath in the orchestra of thousands of instruments. And no listener remembers my breathe of flute, it is so insignificant. They only remember the violin which played loudly.

  I am unseparatable from this orchestra of instrument. The buzz, the clang, the zwing and twee-ing of rhythm and tone and I am just a part of it.

  Devil is the singer who makes the song noise.

  The building builds and builds with the brick. Again and Again bricks are cemented and the building grows, until it becomes so high that it falls.

  Devil is the man who tries to build a building with vanity.

  I brush, I bathe, I bus. For things I am sweating for, money, ipad, camera or a new home, will die. They are transitory. Even I am; I will die. I wish my words and actions be remembered forever, leaving an impression on people’s mind. Sweat for things which will leave something permanent…forever.

  Devil is the man who lived a life purposeless.

  Light the world with your every brights,

  live in the hearts forever alight


  Pain and Sweat

  your muscles heat…

  anger in your heart…

  power in your hands…

  Cutting your way into that stone

  which obstructs the destination you so blindly look,

  you crash and crush and hush

  destroying everything in your path.

  Then after some of your life’s years

  when you reach that place,

  you so much dreamed about every day’ar

  your rejoice and jump

  But then, after that short celebration

  pops a hesitation

  why you took so much of effort

  when there’s nothing more of fruit

  other than a useless doing

  of ‘eating money and dying’

  Eater of money, remember,

  nor that money will be a member

  nor that lavishes and luxury,

  you will go in a hurry,

  leaving everything behind

  which time will surely behead…


  And now, you lay in your grave,

  and time is what destroys your flesh,

name is banished…

  and what remains is bone

  Your grave stone is ruined,

  cracked into pieces,

  green with the fungi,

  All what remains is nothing…

  you, yourself, nothing

  But what remains is the fire of your own words,

  alive in the heart of those they have touched

  and over and over the time they blaze,

  and it is you, yourself and everything.


  You see me and what I write, what I speak,

  what I leak from my mind’s dark depths,

  from my well’s water I pour and splash,

  all around I splash and splash

  I wish those splashes I affect,

  could remain in your minds forever.


  The clockwork and mechanism,

  Dance and the drama,

  on your stage you act,

  for the audience the people themselves,

  may your drama reflect in their mind even when you are gone

  Beauty only for the beholder of eyes



  See the river

  flow of thousands fine mirror,

  reflecting so many scenes uncountable.

  On upon its silvery depths,

  it reflects the red hot sun,

  empathizes something so subtle about the sun's anger

  like a pinch of turmeric and paprika;

  almost taste able in the air.


  See the trees,

  whistling in the crowd's limelight,

  its leaves moving like wings of bird,

  that wing of bird, detaches from its known worlds,

  goes in the depths realms of unknown darkness;

  balancing perfectly on the surface of the mirror.


  See the mountains,

  their arcs and horizons singing song so loud,

  so profound,

  that your ears burn.

  Hear the silent vibrancy of oscillations and momentum

  playing like a radio in your hearts.



  Finger on your lips...

  hear the silence with your ears,

  hear the mountain singing,

  hear the birds jumping.

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