A thousand splendid suns...

Ive never cried while reading any book before, but this one i did, all through the last 50 pages.
"A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini is a book worth reading for each one of us.
Its a tribute to life, women, struggle, war and belief.

The book has shaken me beyond words. Its impossible to stop reading, once you begin and its impossible to not get involved with the characters, that you sooner or later begin to identify with.

Read this book, id say...it wakes you up to reality.

Ill end this post, with the poem that Saib-e-Tabrizi wrote from where the title of the book has been adopted.

KABUL
(Translated by Dr. Josephine Davis)

Ah! How beautiful is Kabul encircled by her arid mountains
And Rose, of the trails of thorns she envies
Her gusts of powdered soil, slightly sting my eyes
But I love her, for knowing and loving are born of this same dust

My song exhalts her dazzling tulips
And at the beauty of her trees, I blush
How sparkling the water flows from Pul-I-Bastaan!
May Allah protect such beauty from the evil eye of man!

Khizr chose the path to Kabul in order to reach Paradise
For her mountains brought him close to the delights of heaven
From the fort with sprawling walls, A Dragon of protection
Each stone is there more precious than the treasure of Shayagan

Every street of Kabul is enthralling to the eye
Through the bazaars, caravans of Egypt pass
One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs
And the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls

Her laughter of mornings has the gaiety of flowers
Her nights of darkness, the reflections of lustrous hair
Her melodious nightingales, with passion sing their songs
Ardent tunes, as leaves enflamed, cascading from their throats

And I, I sing in the gardens of Jahanara, of Sharbara
And even the trumpets of heaven envy their green pastures...

Afterglow...

This is a song, i just heard yesterday and fell in love with the lyrics..so decided to put it up..

"Afterglow"

Here I am,
Lost in the light of the moon,
That comes through my window.

Bathed in blue,
The walls of my memory divides,
The thorns from the roses.
It's you and the roses.

Touch me and I will follow,
In your afterglow.
Heal me from all this sorrow,
As I let you go.
I will find my way
When I see your eyes,
Now I'm living,
In your afterglow.

Here I am,
Lost in the ashes of time,
But who wants tomorrow,
In between,
Longing to hold you again,
I'm caught in your shadow.
I'm losing control.

My mind drifts away,
We only have today.

'Til the blinding day,
When I see your eyes.

Now I'm living,
In your afterglow [in your afterglow].
When the veils are gone,
As I let you go,
As I let you go

Bathed in blue,
The walls of my memory divides,
The thorns from the roses.
It's you who is closest.

Marbles...

Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a smallboy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr.Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. Sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"

"Not zackley. but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next tripthis way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. Witha smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community,all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a greenmarble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A shorttime later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering. Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and whiteshirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each youngman stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.

Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening,she took my hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now,at last,when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt." "We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest manin Idaho " With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined redmarbles.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.

Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments thattake our breath.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles..A fresh pot of coffeeyou didn't make yourself. An unexpected phone call from an old friend.Green stoplights on your way to work. The fastest line at the grocerystore. A good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys right where you left them...

Have a nice weekend everyone.

"Richard Cory..."

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
" Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace;
In fine we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

- Edwin Arlington Robinson -
" The Children Of The Night "

A new beginning...

I havent blogged in a while now. I don’t know why. Everytime I sat down to write something, it just never materialised into anything that id think was worth sharing on this blog. I contemplated if I should indeed delete the blog, maybe. But again, the thought passed away. I wonder why I wasn’t writing.
Maybe, I had too many things on my mind. Maybe I was fed up of the games my mind was playing with me. Maybe I was just plain bored. Lots of may be’s and no answers whatsoever.
But today I write, to make a beginning again. To start to blog cause I enjoy it. To say whats on my mind and to do what my mind says.
I wonder again, have I lost my creative ability to write after all?
Wonder. Thoughts. Baseless arguments in a mind of their own.
Hence I write. To let the words flow once again, to let me be me again.
Would like to end with a few lines of this poem I once read…

“The More Loving One”
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

W. H. Auden

Ironic

An old man turned ninety-eight

He won the lottery and died the next day

It's a black fly in your Chardonnay

It's a death row pardon two minutes too late

Isn't it ironic ... don't you think

It's like rain on your wedding day

It's a free ride when you've already paid

It's the good advice that you just didn't take

Who would've thought ... it figures

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly

He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids good-bye

He waited his whole damn life to take that flight

And as the plane crashed down he thought 'Well isn't this nice...'

And isn't it ironic ... don't you think

Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you

When you think everything's okay and everything's going right

And life has a funny way of helping you out when

You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up

In your face

It's a traffic jam when you're already late

It's a no-smoking sign on your cigarette break

It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife

It's meeting the man of my dreams

And then meeting his beautiful wife

And isn't it ironic... don't you think