The 'How' And The 'Why' - Alfred Lord Tennyson

I am any man's suitor,

If any will be my tutor:

Some say this life is pleasant,

Some think it speedeth fast:

In time there is no present,

In eternity no future,

In eternity no past.

We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die,

Who will riddle me the _how_ and the _why_?

The bulrush nods unto his brother

The wheatears whisper to each other:

What is it they say? What do they there?

Why two and two make four? Why round is not square?

Why the rocks stand still, and the light clouds fly?

Why the heavy oak groans, and the white willows sigh?

Why deep is not high, and high is not deep?

Whether we wake or whether we sleep?

Whether we sleep or whether we die?

How you are you? Why I am I?

Who will riddle me the _how_ and the _why_?

The world is somewhat; it goes on somehow;

But what is the meaning of _then_ and _now_!

I feel there is something; but how and what?

I know there is somewhat; but what and why!

I cannot tell if that somewhat be I.

The little bird pipeth 'why! why!'

In the summerwoods when the sun falls low,

And the great bird sits on the opposite bough,

And stares in his face and shouts 'how? how?'

And the black owl scuds down the mellow twilight,

And chaunts 'how? how?' the whole of the night.

Why the life goes when the blood is spilt?

What the life is? where the soul may lie?

Why a church is with a steeple built;

And a house with a chimney-pot?

Who will riddle me the how and the what?

Who will riddle me the what and the why?

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' World's most recognised painting '

Mona Lisa or La Gioconda

This painting by Leonardo da Vinci is by far the most recognised painting in the world.

In the present era it is arguably the most famous painting in the world. Its fame rests, in particular, on the elusive smile on the woman's face, its mysterious quality brought about perhaps by the fact that the artist has subtly shadowed the corners of the mouth and eyes so that the exact nature of the smile cannot be determined. The shadowy quality for which the work is renowned came to be called "sfumato" or Leonardo's smoke. Vasari, who is generally thought to have known the painting only by repute, said that "the smile was so pleasing that it seemed divine rather than human; and those who saw it were amazed to find that it was as alive as the original.

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'All the world's a stage' -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 schoolboy, 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 honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with 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. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Reflections' -Wasif Ahmad

I asked him,

in the silence of the whispers,

in cold eeriness of the unknown,

Of 'what' I am?

He rocked in his chair

smoked his death,

and spoke nil.

Assuming a neglected kin.

I stepped a foot ahead,

asked yet aloud,

'Am I not merry?'

still silence smiled in victory-

'Let it be'

I could melt to tears

just as I should be,

caring none as such-

of a failure of 'he'.

I could soar with laughter,

but suits not me.

Fetters on feet pull along,

playing an elegy- a mournful song.

Move now,

yet death is passe.

My wish, my illusion...

Help me,

Plead I.

He rose up-

as I saw myself rising.

And said he-

'Life's a reflection,

and so are you.'

                                                                       -Wasif Ahmad

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