A Parallax of Thoughts, re-blogged from poet Amit Rahman.

Amit Rahman has published this thoughtful and pensive poem. His excellent blog has a new header picture…and interesting theme.  I like it a lot. Thanks for the re-blog, Amit!


O Butterfly, flap not your wings in Africa!
Each time you do a violent storm rips me apart,
though my love is not like the madness of oil’s price,
moved up and down by the pride of Caligula
and nor am I the Emperor, O silent Sky!

I was not born a thousand years ago, neither
would I live to see a thousand Springs come and go.
I wonder, had Nero known he would soon be dead,
would he still be playing on! Perhaps now we shall know
from the man with a caterpillar on his head!

But the Sky remains mostly as silent as God
and everywhere the mob drowns all innocence.
Despite the loud thunders, raindrops fall on the sea.
I smell the desert wind then a storm rips through me!


View original post

Cerșind ultima secundă – Begging for the last second

This post is great…it expresses my own philosophy perfectly. The English version is included, but I love to see written words in original language…Romanian, I think. Thank you Mopana!

look around!

For English version click here

Cei care nu simt fiecare clipă își cerșesc degeaba ultimele secunde

mopana-beauty-of-the-moment-03 Source: Google Image

Fiecare clipă are frumusețea ei. Luminoasă sau întunecată, ea își păstrează farmecul. Așa cum nu există pajiște fără buruieni, așa nu există nici viață fără suferință. Chiar dacă realizăm sau nu, orice clipă are un efect asupra nostră. Frumusețea unui moment se măsoară în profunzimea unei emoții. Cam cât putem simți într-o secundă, cât de frumoase pot fi zâmbetele sau lacrimile noastre?

Fiecare secundă e o istorie pentru urmatoarea clipă

mopana-beauty-of-the-moment-02 Source: Google Image

Intensitatea pe care o simțim dovedește cât de mult trăim. Toți trăim cum simțim și simțim atât cât trăim. De fiecare dată când privim un ceas, vedem cum viața se scurge, asemeni unui râu care coboară la vale spre a deveni fluviu. Nu putem opri timpul, putem doar să profităm de el. Avem dreptul la timp. Cei care…

View original post 322 more words

Somewhere, sometime

Somewhere it is six o’clock
and shop-keepers are taking stock
of goods and cash remaining
at the end of the day before turning the lock.

Church bells chime, or “dong,” or “clack”
depending on the location and era–
and also on the training of the smith
that forged the ironwork in his area.

Somewhere it is eight o’clock
past time for sun-setting at end of day
shadows are long if the light remains
or near gone if the light has slipped away.

Soup pots are bubbling–the aroma delicious
tables set with candles…and bread nutritious.
children have been packed off to bed
having had their sup and treats serendipitous.

Somewhere it is eleven o’clock
time for reading and conversation
has come to a close, and those of such persuasion
are trundling off to their beds’ temptations.

Featherbeds and counterpanes turn down
preparing for slumber to come to those
who would snooze away the weariness
recovering from the day’s activities.

Somewhere it is six o’clock
in the morning–time to answer the bell
that rings in cadence with awakening folks
who begin a new day–much like any other.

© Sometimes, 2016

Time observation

Is it Time that is marching on?
Or is my theory correct…
that it is We who are doing the marching.
Time is eternal, always has been, always will be.
Each marcher, or plodder, or slider-through
creates a unique flow of life
through a life span
directed or choreographed
by circumstances or environment
punctuated by genetics.
We get the hand we are dealt, (to use the cliché)
as tiny new humans, each fresh and unique.
Everything else notwithstanding
affects our perspective…
though each life is a true tabla rosa,
–before the chisel is applied to the stone.
Awaiting the scroll to begin to unroll,
endless and blank ’til imprinted with tones.
Time may not be moving at all,
it is We that are moving steadily along,
cutting new paths as we move through each year.
We follow each turn and curve of the road,
forging ahead with evolving blueprints…
which when ended will be a slice of Time
Past–but well expended.