Some thoughts;poems-index link page 1 - Page 11

Originally posted by: why6

Misti, I know you can't see the pictures. I will mail them to you if it doesn't work today. But I am going to keep on trying until I figure it out. You know...try and try again..

So have reserved this space for successful loading of images.

Originally posted by: why6

Misti, I know you can't see the pictures. I will mail them to you if it doesn't work today. But I am going to keep on trying until I figure it out. You know...try and try again..

So have reserved this space for successful loading of images.

Misti: Send me a PM if you anytime you are able to see the pictures.

<img src="http://img94.imageshack.us/img94/7754/snapshot2612012551am.th.png" alt="" />

Originally posted by: Myra.nelly

Angie, i can see ur pics..two close ups with dev ,one is black and white, he has that painful expression like he is missing his mother..really gud pics 😊

Originally posted by: why6

Ok, finally I can now post the pictures. So my try at creating two pictures.

Originally posted by: why6

Myra, thanks for letting me know. Yes, I like his expressions here. I wanted a one with the window but that was not a closeup. So I interposed two pictures with the one in the window in the background.

Originally posted by: why6

Ok, finally I can now post the pictures. So my try at creating two pictures.

Originally posted by: JustShanta

''The most ordinary word, when put into place, suddenly acquires brilliance. That is the brilliance with which your images do shine''

To the one who gave away

She gave him up for time unknown,

The child of her heart but was she forced

Or did she relinquish her right because of times

Since she was not sure whether others would mind

And call the fruit of her heart names that no child should know

Is this the reason she gave up her child for time unknown?

Did she wonder about the life that he will lead

Without a mother's love to soothe the pains that he might feel

Or did she think that the ones to whom she is giving away

Would give him all the love that he will keep his fears at bay

Did that give her the strength to face the pain deep within

When she was giving up her child to others for time unknown.

Was she told that the child will gladden the days

Of the people who lived in castles and ease their pain

That the child will get all the joys that he would desire

Did that lead her heart to break and her thoughts in a mire

That made her think that maybe her love might not be enough

And did this prompt her to give up her child to others for time unknown?

Wonder what happened to her after she went away

Did she make peace with self and lived life not in vain

Were there hands holding her when the memories turned to grief

Or was she left alone facing the deluge with no one to brief

Did she force herself to harden her heart and look away

Or is she still waiting for the one whom she gave up for time unknown?

(c)MistiB

and the one who waits

When I am asked
how I began writing poems,
I talk about the indifference of nature.

It was soon after my mother died,
a brilliant June day,
everything blooming.

I sat on a gray stone bench
in a lovingly planted garden,
but the day lilies were as deaf
as the ears of drunken sleepers
and the roses curved inward.
Nothing was black or broken
and not a leaf fell
and the sun blared endless commercials for summer holidays.

Curriculum Vitae

1992

1) I was born in a Free City, near the North Sea.

2) In the year of my birth, money was shredded into
confetti. A loaf of bread cost a million marks. Of
course I do not remember this.

3) Parents and grandparents hovered around me. The
world I lived in had a soft voice and no claws.

4) A cornucopia filled with treats took me into a building
with bells. A wide-bosomed teacher took me in.

5) At home the bookshelves connected heaven and earth.

6) On Sundays the city child waded through pinecones
and primrose marshes, a short train ride away.

7) My country was struck by history more deadly than
earthquakes or hurricanes.

8) My father was busy eluding the monsters. My mother
told me the walls had ears. I learned the burden of secrets.

9) I moved into the too bright days, the too dark nights
of adolescence.

10) Two parents, two daughters, we followed the sun
and the moon across the ocean. My grandparents stayed
behind in darkness.

11) In the new language everyone spoke too fast. Eventually
I caught up with them.

12) When I met you, the new language became the language
of love.

13) The death of the mother hurt the daughter into poetry.
The daughter became a mother of daughters.

14) Ordinary life: the plenty and thick of it. Knots tying
threads to everywhere. The past pushed away, the future left
unimagined for the sake of the glorious, difficult, passionate
present.

15) Years and years of this.

16) The children no longer children. An old man's pain, an
old man's loneliness.

17) And then my father too disappeared.

18) I tried to go home again. I stood at the door to my
childhood, but it was closed to the public.

19) One day, on a crowded elevator, everyone's face was younger
than mine.

20) So far, so good. The brilliant days and nights are
breathless in their hurry. We follow, you and I.

Why We Tell Stories

1

Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground

and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers

and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened

and learned to speak

2

We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us

and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees

3

Because the story of our life
becomes our life

Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently

and none of us tells it
the same way twice

Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them

and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and...

Originally posted by: ushasri

i liked the scene when dev asks daima where is his mother photo avinash done this scene brilliantly