(Ok, i had written this poem abt 7 yrs ago when i was 11 and now i m posting it here. xD)
BRIDE
The precious day of holy crown
A sweet little princess white and brown
In a palace came a day
Marriage of a princess in the month of May
With flower in hand and prince on side
She was the most beautiful country’s bride
Went to the church and had a kiss
For unforgettable day of princess’s miss
Gave a royal party in the whole town
Gave fun and joy by jokers and clown
The only princess of royal crown
A sweet little bride, white and brown.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
My Lucky Girl
Remember the days of yore
The road back to your place
A time when i felt new
The youth of my lucky days
You used to look at me
And so quickly look away
I too stole a few glimpses
Thought that was my lucky day
How our hands brushed each other's
While walking back from school
To think that as my lucky day
I must have been a fool
"bye!" last word you'd smile
On the junction, at the dusk
And that voice to my ears
I thought, was my luck
But now no more school
You must have grown tall
The dusk, junction, and the road
Misses my lucky girl...
The road back to your place
A time when i felt new
The youth of my lucky days
You used to look at me
And so quickly look away
I too stole a few glimpses
Thought that was my lucky day
How our hands brushed each other's
While walking back from school
To think that as my lucky day
I must have been a fool
"bye!" last word you'd smile
On the junction, at the dusk
And that voice to my ears
I thought, was my luck
But now no more school
You must have grown tall
The dusk, junction, and the road
Misses my lucky girl...
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
wishes....
i wish i could fly
if i were a bird
i wish i could swim
if i were a fish
i wish i could walk
i wish i could fly
(wishes never end, do they?)
if i were a bird
i wish i could swim
if i were a fish
i wish i could walk
i wish i could fly
(wishes never end, do they?)
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Half empty?....Half full....?
(this piece is from Jo, the adress you can see at the links i follow. i just liked this one and posted in mine aswell, though she doesnot know about it. i hope you like it...:)
I am always amazed by people who go through life acquiring everything and still seeing their glass as half empty, rather than half full. Nothing ever makes them happy. They have it all, but all is not enough. All becomes more, and it is still not enough. Their cup runs over, and still it is not enough. They're constantly depressed, like Eeyore in "Winnie the Pooh". I'm sure you all know people like that.
On a sliding scale of one to ten, I have next to nothing. I certainly don't have all the things that most folks take for granted, even though I have done all the same things everyone else has. I have had losses in my life, but so has everyone else. It's called life. And yet for some weird reason which I do not understand, I don't look at my cup as half empty, but rather half full. It's a choice we all make, and it's a choice I have had to make, or I would be filled with anger, resentment and bitterness -- three emotions that will kill anyone's spirit.
Maybe it is the concept of "the glass half empty" that has led to the world's dire economic situation. Everyone wants more, more, more. Fill that glass up; only a full glass will make people happy. Still not happy? Get more things. My chesterfield is 20 years old. My TV is 15 years old and it still works. I probably should get a new bed -- some day. Don't even ask me how old is my dining room table; I bought it second-hand and had the chairs re-finished 18 years ago. My coffee table is a wicker basket. To my eye, all of these things are beautiful because they're mine. But I also have no debt. Whatsoever.
I don't know the answer. I'm no economist, and I'm certainly no philosopher. I'm just grateful for the few things I have and for the people in my life who care about me, and that makes my cup more than half full.
I am always amazed by people who go through life acquiring everything and still seeing their glass as half empty, rather than half full. Nothing ever makes them happy. They have it all, but all is not enough. All becomes more, and it is still not enough. Their cup runs over, and still it is not enough. They're constantly depressed, like Eeyore in "Winnie the Pooh". I'm sure you all know people like that.
On a sliding scale of one to ten, I have next to nothing. I certainly don't have all the things that most folks take for granted, even though I have done all the same things everyone else has. I have had losses in my life, but so has everyone else. It's called life. And yet for some weird reason which I do not understand, I don't look at my cup as half empty, but rather half full. It's a choice we all make, and it's a choice I have had to make, or I would be filled with anger, resentment and bitterness -- three emotions that will kill anyone's spirit.
Maybe it is the concept of "the glass half empty" that has led to the world's dire economic situation. Everyone wants more, more, more. Fill that glass up; only a full glass will make people happy. Still not happy? Get more things. My chesterfield is 20 years old. My TV is 15 years old and it still works. I probably should get a new bed -- some day. Don't even ask me how old is my dining room table; I bought it second-hand and had the chairs re-finished 18 years ago. My coffee table is a wicker basket. To my eye, all of these things are beautiful because they're mine. But I also have no debt. Whatsoever.
I don't know the answer. I'm no economist, and I'm certainly no philosopher. I'm just grateful for the few things I have and for the people in my life who care about me, and that makes my cup more than half full.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
WHAT LIFE!
When the world was born just
After I opened my eyes first
I was not alive
One blink, I sensed the room dry
No joy, no fun, no sorrow, no cry
I was not dead
Could see but couldn’t think
The world that blows in the room that shrink
Then I felt
World is living! It’s dying in my eye
Its existence is a hidden lie
Now I left
Hopes that bloom to turn into gloom
Fruits of vast world of shrinking room
At last, please tell me if
I’m lost deep in the course of end
Of this ball of ash that blows in wind?
After I opened my eyes first
I was not alive
One blink, I sensed the room dry
No joy, no fun, no sorrow, no cry
I was not dead
Could see but couldn’t think
The world that blows in the room that shrink
Then I felt
World is living! It’s dying in my eye
Its existence is a hidden lie
Now I left
Hopes that bloom to turn into gloom
Fruits of vast world of shrinking room
At last, please tell me if
I’m lost deep in the course of end
Of this ball of ash that blows in wind?
Monday, March 2, 2009
Gen article
this is an excerpt frm Gen's 'WAITING TO BE SAVED...'
The reality was that it was sadder for us to witness his disability then it was for him to live with it because likewise, we can’t imagine our lives being any other way. Would his life really be better with a corporate job and a blackberry in hand or can fulfillment still be found in watching the snow fall? Would his life genuinely be more worthwhile with bigger dreams and bigger vision instead of contentment in the small joys and abundance in everyday life? It’s a classic case of having tunnel vision but, as North Americans, I think that it’s begun to reach out into far more than just the boy across the street. It lead me consider how many other things we impose our sense of happiness upon assuming that our “shoes” are the only ones worth walking in.
This very question also brought about my very mixed emotions about the Middle East and Islamic culture. We, as a society, are very quick to judge their motivations and intentions. We consider them violent, oppressed and behind the times socially. I agree that there are elements of their culture that I struggle with and violence is certainly one of them. I am appalled at the idea of stoning a person because of their infidelities but I’m equally appalled at the idea of dragging a black man behind a pick up truck because of the colour of his skin…and that happened in the U.S. We look at them and see mistreatment of women and distortion of religion. For all we know, they may look at us and see misguided youth and a value system so deteriorated that we have entire magazines devoted to celebrity gossip. We see them covered head to toe in a veil as a lack of rights and they may see us without enough self-respect to dress for any purpose other than sex. We assume that all of these things, because we don’t share them, must mean that they are unhappy. We assume that their lack of reality television and wardrobe attire to choose from must mean that they feel deprivation that we, of course, need to rescue them from. To take over another country under a cloak of good intention and to assume that our way of doing things would suit them better poses a lot of questions for me. First and foremost, it sparks the question of whether or not our way even works for us nonetheless anyone else?
On that note, let’s take this opportunity to look at our lives for a moment; we are a society of great wealth and consumption. We work long hours and grow up too fast. We are connected to each other at all times while never really being connected to anyone at all. We are in a constant hurry to get to places that they don’t generally want to be. We have the convenience of doing our grocery shopping from home and all the while, we’ve never been more stressed. Our bodies are filled with disease and our minds are filled with dis-ease. We aim for bigger houses, faster cars and fancier televisions when we should be aiming for broader perspectives, grandeur experiences and better relationships…and I don’t mean with our cell phones.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging the state of how we live our lives. It’s all relative and our necessities sit pretty low on the hierarchy of needs. More importantly though, I feed the beast in my own way as well but what I’m questioning is whether or not our morals and values are really the appropriate measuring stick by which all others should be judged? We live lives that seem privileged and innovative. We live lives that seem a step above the rest but we also live lives that are out of touch with the very basics of what it means to be human. Life is simply not meant to be lived in nothing but a frenzy of technology and corporate ladders.
The reality was that it was sadder for us to witness his disability then it was for him to live with it because likewise, we can’t imagine our lives being any other way. Would his life really be better with a corporate job and a blackberry in hand or can fulfillment still be found in watching the snow fall? Would his life genuinely be more worthwhile with bigger dreams and bigger vision instead of contentment in the small joys and abundance in everyday life? It’s a classic case of having tunnel vision but, as North Americans, I think that it’s begun to reach out into far more than just the boy across the street. It lead me consider how many other things we impose our sense of happiness upon assuming that our “shoes” are the only ones worth walking in.
This very question also brought about my very mixed emotions about the Middle East and Islamic culture. We, as a society, are very quick to judge their motivations and intentions. We consider them violent, oppressed and behind the times socially. I agree that there are elements of their culture that I struggle with and violence is certainly one of them. I am appalled at the idea of stoning a person because of their infidelities but I’m equally appalled at the idea of dragging a black man behind a pick up truck because of the colour of his skin…and that happened in the U.S. We look at them and see mistreatment of women and distortion of religion. For all we know, they may look at us and see misguided youth and a value system so deteriorated that we have entire magazines devoted to celebrity gossip. We see them covered head to toe in a veil as a lack of rights and they may see us without enough self-respect to dress for any purpose other than sex. We assume that all of these things, because we don’t share them, must mean that they are unhappy. We assume that their lack of reality television and wardrobe attire to choose from must mean that they feel deprivation that we, of course, need to rescue them from. To take over another country under a cloak of good intention and to assume that our way of doing things would suit them better poses a lot of questions for me. First and foremost, it sparks the question of whether or not our way even works for us nonetheless anyone else?
On that note, let’s take this opportunity to look at our lives for a moment; we are a society of great wealth and consumption. We work long hours and grow up too fast. We are connected to each other at all times while never really being connected to anyone at all. We are in a constant hurry to get to places that they don’t generally want to be. We have the convenience of doing our grocery shopping from home and all the while, we’ve never been more stressed. Our bodies are filled with disease and our minds are filled with dis-ease. We aim for bigger houses, faster cars and fancier televisions when we should be aiming for broader perspectives, grandeur experiences and better relationships…and I don’t mean with our cell phones.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging the state of how we live our lives. It’s all relative and our necessities sit pretty low on the hierarchy of needs. More importantly though, I feed the beast in my own way as well but what I’m questioning is whether or not our morals and values are really the appropriate measuring stick by which all others should be judged? We live lives that seem privileged and innovative. We live lives that seem a step above the rest but we also live lives that are out of touch with the very basics of what it means to be human. Life is simply not meant to be lived in nothing but a frenzy of technology and corporate ladders.
voices-by Gen
voices...
Did you ever have an imaginary friend when you were young?
I spent a lot of time by myself when I was a little girl, mostly because of school; the bus ride was long, the bus stop was far and I usually had a couple of hours to myself before my Mom arrived home from work. I can’t remember how old I was but at one point in time, my Mom and I moved to a newer neighborhood in London and our home was still surrounded by wide open spaces that hadn’t yet been developed. I used to have to walk through a large field to get from my bus stop to our house and the walk was about a kilometer in distance – not far as an adult but certainly a hike for a little kid, especially through an empty field and with a vivid imagination!
It was during this time that I met Penelope. She was my imaginary friend. She was older and wiser and made the time by myself a little less lonely. At first, she was only around during my walks to and from the bus stops. Then she would appear on nights when I would lie awake in my bed unable to sleep. Eventually, she was always just kind of there…lingering by my side. She would talk me out of being scared or help me to mentally prepare myself when I knew I was about to get in trouble for something. She tried to help me with my math homework too but we both knew that was a lost cause!
In grade six, just after my Grandmother died, I started talking to her instead. I would spend countless hours conversing with her and asking for her advice. I missed her immensely and needed someone to listen to me. I needed someone who understood the people around me better than I did and someone who could guide me through the endless web of adolescence. Her absence was difficult for me and talking to her as though she was right next to me made the pain seem more bearable.
It wasn’t until a desperate night in grade eleven that I spoke to the God for the first time. I was tired, in mind and body, and desperately needed my life to be different. The last couple of years had been tumultuous for my Mother and I and few things seemed like they offered any stability anymore. I remember lying in my bed that night sobbing and begging God to make things different. After crying myself to sleep, I awoke the next morning feeling more peaceful than I had in a long time. Life proceeded to get even harder for the next few years but I continued to talk to God and every now and then, I think that He even talked back.
As you can see, I have a long history of hearing voices! Some people call this mental illness and in a mad attempt to convince myself that I’m not a schizophrenic, I prefer to call it the angels assigned to my case! We do a lot of things to ensure that we don’t feel alone in this world and why shouldn’t we? The love that surrounds us isn’t always so obvious and in some ways, these people…these voices, are merely our calmer and more comforting selves stepping in to take over the reigns; Our alter ego, our divine creation, our higher being…the self we long to be but can’t dig ourselves out of our doubt, our fear and our sorrow long enough to uncover them. We often need to hear things from somewhere else in order to truly listen.
I spoke to God a lot this past weekend. I pleaded in desperation for words…any words. I longed for words that weren’t my own and words that could somehow make this better. While I concede that I may be completely delusional, I’m also willing to testify that when I calmed down long enough to be still, I truly felt someone hold my face gently in their hands and whisper in my ear, “This too shall pass.”
Even more miraculous still were the many voices that followed; the very real voices of the people we love, the people who reached out to us in our sorrow and who asked to carry the weight for us. The people who cried with us and the people cried for us. I am overwhelmed at the amount of love that comes from grief and because of that, I am also forced to wonder if part of the reason such things happen at all is to simply remind us that whether we hear voices or not…we are never alone in this world. Never…
Did you ever have an imaginary friend when you were young?
I spent a lot of time by myself when I was a little girl, mostly because of school; the bus ride was long, the bus stop was far and I usually had a couple of hours to myself before my Mom arrived home from work. I can’t remember how old I was but at one point in time, my Mom and I moved to a newer neighborhood in London and our home was still surrounded by wide open spaces that hadn’t yet been developed. I used to have to walk through a large field to get from my bus stop to our house and the walk was about a kilometer in distance – not far as an adult but certainly a hike for a little kid, especially through an empty field and with a vivid imagination!
It was during this time that I met Penelope. She was my imaginary friend. She was older and wiser and made the time by myself a little less lonely. At first, she was only around during my walks to and from the bus stops. Then she would appear on nights when I would lie awake in my bed unable to sleep. Eventually, she was always just kind of there…lingering by my side. She would talk me out of being scared or help me to mentally prepare myself when I knew I was about to get in trouble for something. She tried to help me with my math homework too but we both knew that was a lost cause!
In grade six, just after my Grandmother died, I started talking to her instead. I would spend countless hours conversing with her and asking for her advice. I missed her immensely and needed someone to listen to me. I needed someone who understood the people around me better than I did and someone who could guide me through the endless web of adolescence. Her absence was difficult for me and talking to her as though she was right next to me made the pain seem more bearable.
It wasn’t until a desperate night in grade eleven that I spoke to the God for the first time. I was tired, in mind and body, and desperately needed my life to be different. The last couple of years had been tumultuous for my Mother and I and few things seemed like they offered any stability anymore. I remember lying in my bed that night sobbing and begging God to make things different. After crying myself to sleep, I awoke the next morning feeling more peaceful than I had in a long time. Life proceeded to get even harder for the next few years but I continued to talk to God and every now and then, I think that He even talked back.
As you can see, I have a long history of hearing voices! Some people call this mental illness and in a mad attempt to convince myself that I’m not a schizophrenic, I prefer to call it the angels assigned to my case! We do a lot of things to ensure that we don’t feel alone in this world and why shouldn’t we? The love that surrounds us isn’t always so obvious and in some ways, these people…these voices, are merely our calmer and more comforting selves stepping in to take over the reigns; Our alter ego, our divine creation, our higher being…the self we long to be but can’t dig ourselves out of our doubt, our fear and our sorrow long enough to uncover them. We often need to hear things from somewhere else in order to truly listen.
I spoke to God a lot this past weekend. I pleaded in desperation for words…any words. I longed for words that weren’t my own and words that could somehow make this better. While I concede that I may be completely delusional, I’m also willing to testify that when I calmed down long enough to be still, I truly felt someone hold my face gently in their hands and whisper in my ear, “This too shall pass.”
Even more miraculous still were the many voices that followed; the very real voices of the people we love, the people who reached out to us in our sorrow and who asked to carry the weight for us. The people who cried with us and the people cried for us. I am overwhelmed at the amount of love that comes from grief and because of that, I am also forced to wonder if part of the reason such things happen at all is to simply remind us that whether we hear voices or not…we are never alone in this world. Never…
my grampa says....
Now the wrinkles appear
as i smile
Back then i could swim all Nile
Now the spine bows
as i stand
back then i could walk on hand
Now the ear deafens
as i hear
back then it was all loud and clear
Now the gum joins
as i chew
Back then i could crush a date in two
Now the skin bruises
as i lie
Back then the whole floor was my
Now the wrinkles remain
as i breathe
may be.....
Back then i was same, but blithe
as i smile
Back then i could swim all Nile
Now the spine bows
as i stand
back then i could walk on hand
Now the ear deafens
as i hear
back then it was all loud and clear
Now the gum joins
as i chew
Back then i could crush a date in two
Now the skin bruises
as i lie
Back then the whole floor was my
Now the wrinkles remain
as i breathe
may be.....
Back then i was same, but blithe
Sunday, March 1, 2009
faith and religion
2-I think that it’s worth mentioning that I think there is a very big difference between faith and religion. I believe that my faith is my relationship with God and that my religion is {one of} the means in which I celebrate that faith. Faith can exist without religion and religion {sadly} can exist without faith. I know many people whose faith is dictated by their religion. I am not one of those people. My faith existed long before I ever stepped foot in a church and will continue to do so.- Gen, otawa, Ontario, canada
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