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Quote by Rathnakumar Raghunath

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Charcuterie of Thoughts

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Rathnakumar Raghunath

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“Why not admit that other people are always Organic to the self, that a monologue Is the death of language and that a single lion Is less himself, or alive, than a dog and another dog? With vision but it is vision builds the eye; And in a sense the children kill their parents But do the parents die? And the beloved destroys like fire or water But water sculpts and fire refines And if you are going to read the testaments of cynics You must read between the lines.”

PoetryPoemIrelandIrish PoetIrish PoetryLouis MacneiceMacneice
Book:Autumn Journal
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“Then Bohr retorted, so sharp and too true, "Albert, please stop telling God what to do!” The quantum world, while seeming askew, Unravels her mysteries for the curious few. As Humpty crashed, the words rang along, A haunting echo, a harrowing song. Deep In the quiet, that followed the throng, Whispered the words, “Einstein was wrong.”

SciencePoemQuantumQuantum ComputingQuantum Computers
Book:The Best Book on Quantum Computing: A Beginners Guide to Quantum Magic
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“Blind Heart’s. In the circle of life, a sorrowful tale, Where death and life dance an endless wail. Hungry eyes search for morsels to devour, Survival's cruel game with each passing hour. Angst and fear grip hearts, cold and bleak, Aching souls yearning for solace they seek. In a world that lacks fairness, unjust and unkind, Tears fall like rain, leaving scars behind. Hatred and love, a twisted embrace, In this nature of existence, a bitter chase. For when darkness looms, Love hides in despair, Yet hate finds its mark, leaving hearts threadbare. We, people who turn blind eyes to the cries, As if suffering and anguish were mere lies. Ignoring the plight that surrounds us all, Humanity's downfall, a deafening fall. But what of the animals, creatures so dear? Caught in this cycle, their voices unclear. Silently they suffer, their pain left unheard, In nature's cruel script, an unspoken word. Children on ground, black and white Dying, Drying while survival trying. Scars defining not body, but soul Oh light, forgive us Lord. The circle spins on, in sorrow it turns, A tragic symphony, where hope rarely burns. In this poem of life, where sadness takes hold, Let us open our eyes, let compassion unfold.”

PoetryDarkPsychologyPoemPoems On LifeCruel WorldPoetry Of Life
Author:Astivan Mirza
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“Non-being, i.e., distance from society—social distance—is the very heritage of the oppressed. Which means to the oppressor, social distance is a humiliation. It is to be something less than free, or worse, someone less-than-white. For what does the Karen carry but her dwindling power, dying & desperate? Dangerous & dangling like a gun hung from a tongue?”

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Book:Call Us What We Carry
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