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SL OLD HIT SONGS Add Here
- Thread starter madhu4gr
- Start date
- Status
Hikizzz...KHz said:Thanku
ane ow ragapana eka withramai mata adu danmoko kiyanne machan api kattiyama ekathu wela ron ayyata Film ekaka kallak set karamuda???gemak ne ayi Bodiya dakka gaman Nikanma gani
Ron Aiyage Slim BODY ekata Raga Paana Niliya waha wetila MALA Jan Jaalayak weida danne ne...
coolnishan said:
Elakiri Gayandilanga.. Duru Rataka Sitiyath Apith ekka Hema welawakama Hitiya.All The best Machan.
thnz machan
rakee677 said:
rakee malli.. mama ranawiruwan gana genapu yojanawa balanna labunada. labune nathnam (pg 2785) kiyawa bala mata oyage adahasath kiyanna...
suba dawasak!!
coolnishan said:Hikizzz...
mallila nikanma mawa macho man kenek karalane. mage puthagenam macho body ekak thiyenawa. weradilada danne nahe kattiyata...
kamak naha mallila kiyanawanam baragannam....
Ane aiyala mata Ajith pererage sanda bonda wee song eka thiyena kenek dennako plsssssssssssssssss
"Freedom"
I was fifteen when Grandfather died,
his twisted body vanquished by too many years,
his mind confused by too many diluted memories,
his spirit still as strong and indomitable
as the day he first killed another man
to protect the life he loved.
It was hard to see the war hero he had been
until Grandfather opened his rheumy eyes,
the blue as pale as sky,
as hard and cold as tempered steel.
When he opened his eyes and looked into your soul,
only then could you see it. Then you would know.
Grandfather was a warrior, but he was also a teacher.
I listened to his words, saw his examples,
learned from the stories and histories he shared.
He showed me that courage and strength aren't independent qualities,
but rather are the inevitable results of abiding love.
"What you truly love," he would say, "can never be surrendered."
We were sitting in the old wooden swing,
its paint as wrinkled and weathered
as the skin of my grandfather's aged face,
the sound of the river flowing through his yard
a backdrop for a classroom
with neither desks nor chalk boards.
"A man can never take away your Freedom," he told me.
"They can only take power and make you pay a higher price
when you choose to exercise it.
There is always a price to be paid for Freedom,
But when the price becomes too high, a man must fight."
"But you must always remember that its Constitution,
and all the laws has passed since then,
don't give you one bit more Freedom
than you already have.
Laws are made by men. Laws change.
Your Freedom is part of you. It's forever."
I was fifteen when Grandfather died,
his twisted body vanquished by too many years,
his mind confused by too many diluted memories,
his spirit still as strong and indomitable
as the day he first killed another man
to protect the life he loved.
It was hard to see the war hero he had been
until Grandfather opened his rheumy eyes,
the blue as pale as sky,
as hard and cold as tempered steel.
When he opened his eyes and looked into your soul,
only then could you see it. Then you would know.
Grandfather was a warrior, but he was also a teacher.
I listened to his words, saw his examples,
learned from the stories and histories he shared.
He showed me that courage and strength aren't independent qualities,
but rather are the inevitable results of abiding love.
"What you truly love," he would say, "can never be surrendered."
We were sitting in the old wooden swing,
its paint as wrinkled and weathered
as the skin of my grandfather's aged face,
the sound of the river flowing through his yard
a backdrop for a classroom
with neither desks nor chalk boards.
"A man can never take away your Freedom," he told me.
"They can only take power and make you pay a higher price
when you choose to exercise it.
There is always a price to be paid for Freedom,
But when the price becomes too high, a man must fight."
"But you must always remember that its Constitution,
and all the laws has passed since then,
don't give you one bit more Freedom
than you already have.
Laws are made by men. Laws change.
Your Freedom is part of you. It's forever."
Last edited:
- Status
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