Live as if you were to die tomorrow

Hello Clovers! I hope your weekend was not as boring as mine.

Throughout the previous month, I was emphasising on doing things for yourself and making yourself the best version you can be. I honestly hope you have done at least one thing for yourself that has made you feel excited or really great, if not this is another great chance to do so.

Stop procrastinating, write the list of things you want to do, places you want to go, new things you want to learn. If you have no idea what to do, you could always check out a bucket list online, or list of places (perhaps I’d share my own list soon). Always keep this in mind.

Live as if you were to die tomorrow, learn as if you were to live forever

MAHATMA GANDHI

So Clovers, the week is yours! Own it!

A birthday

A birthday 
BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water’d shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

Hello Clovers, I came across this poem way back in high school for my IGCSE literature. It was definitely one of my favourites in the whole poetry list we had to study. I didn’t post it just because it’s my birthday month (definitely not) . I found it as such a poem that represents a new beginning or perhaps reaching a new chapter in life. I hope you enjoy the poem as much as I did.

Happy new month

Happy new month Clovers!! I am pretty excited and kinda looking forward to this new month (maybe because it’s my birth month).

Anyway, this new month, prioritize one thing you want to do and go for it (yeah, stop procrastinating). It could be your reading list, or places you want to go. Whatever it is, pick one (just one should be pretty easy) Don’t stop halfway, don’t get tired. It’ll all be worth it someday.

Cheers to our best month yet

A quoi bon dire?

Narrated by Mayowa Isiaq


A Quoi Bon Dire?
BY CHARLOTTE MEW

Seventeen years ago you said
Something that sounded like Good-bye;
And everybody thinks that you are dead,
But I.

So I, as I grow stiff and cold
To this and that say Good-bye too;
And everybody sees that I am old
But you.

And one fine morning in a sunny lane
Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear
That nobody can love their way again
While over there
You will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.

Diving into the wreck

Narrated by Mayowa Isiaq (Voice of the grey clover)
Diving into the wreck 
BY ADRIENNE RICH

First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.

There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it is a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.

I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.

First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.

And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.

I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed

the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.

This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body.
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he

whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass

We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.

Poetry by Marianne Moore

Poetry 
BY MARIANNE MOORE

I too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers that there is in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a

high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because they are
useful; when they become so derivative as to become unintelligible, the
same thing may be said for all of us—that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand. The bat,
holding on upside down or in quest of something to

eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless wolf under
a tree, the immovable critic twinkling his skin like a horse that feels a flea, the base—
ball fan, the statistician—case after case
could be cited did
one wish it; nor is it valid
to discriminate against “business documents and

school-books”; all these phenomena are important. One must make a distinction
however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry,
nor till the autocrats among us can be
“literalists of
the imagination”—above
insolence and triviality and can present

for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have
it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand, in defiance of their opinion—
the raw material of poetry in
all its rawness, and
that which is on the other hand,
genuine, then you are interested in poetry.

New milestone!!

Hello Clovers, today I just want to share a good news with you all

We hit 1k on Instagram!!

The grey clover hits 1000 followers on Instagram!!

I just want to thank you all for the love and support, your comments, likes, messages. Every single one means a lot to me and I do appreciate it.

I’m hoping to reach more milestones with you all around!

Cheers to better days.

Kindly check out my Instagram page here or click the button below

Love and the bird



Love and the Bird"
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

The moments passed as at a play,
I had the wisdom love can bring,
I had my share of mother wit;
And yet for all that I could say,
And though I had her praise for it,

And she seemed happy as a king,
Love’s moon was withering away.
Believing every word I said
I praised her body and her mind,
Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,

And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
And vanity her footfall light;
Yet we, for all that praise, could find
Nothing but darkness overhead.
I sat as silent as a stone

And knew, though she’d not said a word,
That even the best of love must die,
And had been savagely undone
Were it not that love, upon the cry
Of a most ridiculous little bird,
Threw up in the air his marvellous moon.

Prosperity and adversity with hopes and fears

Hello Clovers! It’s been another long week. If you’re reading this I’m glad you made it through the previous week. Last week was quite a rough one for me (I had back to back exams everyday all through the week) Glad we all made it out alive

So the quote of this week has to do with prosperity and adversity. What thoughts do these words bring to your mind?

Prosperity is not without many fears and disasters; and adversity is not without comforts and hopes.

FRANCIS BACON

I’d like you all to give this quote another thought for a second or more. It’s almost like saying the good and bad are the two sides of a coin. One cannot exist or perhaps be much valued without the other; prosperity and fears, adversity and hopes.

Sometimes you have to see beyond the present.

Cheers to the week ahead

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said

 Psalm of Life
(What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.)
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW



Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
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