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My Love

 

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Friendship, A Rarity

Doug Wead, donning the garb of friendship, was presented with the plumes of "friend and spiritual adviser" by George Bush, then Texas Governor. These plumes, however, did not match his scheming shades of grey.

Nor did he fit into the template of a friend, as said in the dictionary. (The dictionary says a friend is a person whom one knows, likes and trusts; a comrade, one who supports and sympathizes or is an acquaintance)

One of the greatest wonders of friendship is the potent bond of trust, which is woven from an intricate and delicate entity, which we call harmony. It is this bond of the heart, which provides the freedom to expose those parts of one's self, which nobody else knows. Idle chatter or intellectual deliberations, the significance of the topics conversed is a hardly a matter of concern. When friends come together secrets are shared and thoughts are brought to life. The trust with which the keepers of friendship cement the bond underlines the camaraderie. "For Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity", said Khalil Gibran.

If anything Doug Wead is an opportunist. A representative of a world ruled by materialism, where success is gauged by the amount of wealth amassed. In the process, justifying the devious means adopted to achieve self-centered goals. Had Wead been the "mentor, philosopher and guide" as Bush believed him to be, he would have cleared the rough patch and used it as a lower rung of a ladder to enable him to put his foot on the higher rung. 

When materialism is in and values are out, when money, opulence and popularity define achievement, true friends are a rarity.  However, when one comes along, it sure will bring a rainbow of life, in our black & White world. Indu Naina George, Ajman (Letter Winner - Khaleej Times Weekend 4th March, 2005)

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The Fox and the Little Prince

It was then that the fox appeared.

"Good morning" said the fox.

"Good morning" the little prince responded politely although when he turned around he saw nothing.

"I'm right here" the voice said, "under the apple tree."

"Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You're very pretty to look at."

"I'm a fox", the fox said.

"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince, "I'm so unhappy."

"I can't play with you," the fox said, "I'm not tamed."

"Ah! Please excuse me, "said the little prince. But after some thought, he added: "What does that mean---'tame'?"

"You do not live here," said the fox, "What is it you're looking for?"

"I'm looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean---tame?"

"Men," said the fox, "they've guns, and they hunt. It's very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"

"No," said the little prince. "I'm looking for friends. What does that mean---tame?"

"It's an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."

"To establish ties?"

"Just that," said the fox. "to me, you're still nothing more than a little boy who's just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I'm nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you'll be unique in the entire world. To you, I shall be unique in the entire world ..."

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"I'm beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There's a flower . . . I think she has tamed me..."

"It is possible," said the fox. "On earth one sees all sorts of things."

"Oh but this is not on the earth!" said the little prince.

The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious. "On another planet, then?"

"Yes"

"Are there hunters on that planet?"

"No"

"Ah that's interesting! Are there chickens?"

"No"

"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox. But he came back to his idea. "My life is very monotonous," he said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it'll be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that'll be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat..."

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The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time. "Please---tame me!" he said.

"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I've not much time. I've friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there's no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me..."

"What must I do, to tame you? Asked the little prince.

"You must be very patient," replied the fox. First you'll sit down at a little distance from me - like that - in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you'll sit a little closer to me, every day..."

The next day the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If for example, you came at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is ready to greet you... One must observe the proper rites..."

"What's a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They’re what make one day different from other days, one hour different from other hours. There's a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday's a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near---

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

"It's your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you..."

"Yes that is so", said the fox.

"But now you're going to cry!" said the little prince.

"Yes that is so" said the fox.

"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added: "go and look again at the roses. You'll understand now that yours is unique in the entire world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."

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The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. "You're not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You're like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made a friend, and now he's unique in the entire world." And the roses were very much embarrassed. "You're beautiful, but you're empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you --the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she's more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is for her that I've killed the caterpillars (except the two or three we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing; because she is MY rose."

And he went back to meet the fox. "Goodbye" he said.

"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here's my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."

"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince so he would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose..."

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

(From The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry )

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attractive

"A house becomes a home when you can write "I love you" on the furniture."

I used to spend at least 8 hours every weekend making sure things were just perfect "in case someone came over" Finally I realized one day that no-one came over; they were all out living life and having fun!

NOW, when people visit, I don't have to explain the "condition" of my home.

They are more interested in hearing about the things I've been doing while I was away living life and having fun.

If you haven't figured this out yet, please heed this advice.

Life is short. Enjoy it!

Dust if you must....... but wouldn't it be better to paint a picture or write a letter, bake cookies or a cake and lick the spoon or plant a seed, ponder the difference between want and need?!

Dust if you must, but there's not much time with rivers to swim and mountains to climb, music to hear and books to read, friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world is out there with the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair, a flutter of snow, and with a shower of rain.

This day will not come around, again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind, old age will come and it's not kind.

And when you go - and go you must - you, yourself will make more dust!

It's not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you have lived ….and remember, a layer of dust protects the wood beneath it.  (Name withheld)

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When you come to me.....
 
I don't expect someone soon to love me,
Nor are my own feelings clear.
Passion is the ornate entrance
To a world I crave and fear.

I cannot understand where this will take me,
Nor whether I will ride for long this way,
But pleasure is the overture
That flows into the larger song.

So come with me with open mind
And heart, and the time will prove
With laughter and with joy unfettered,
And, perhaps, someday with love.
09th April  2007

IF YOU DON'T.....
 

If you don’t try to sow even a seed…..

How you will be a peasant

                                             

If you don’t try to know the meaning of even a word…..

How you will be a Scholar

 

If you don’t try to hum even a tune.….

How you will be a Singer

 

If you don’t try to put even a single line down…..

How you will be a Poet

 

If you don’t want to get into the water…..

How you will be a Swimmer

 

It never ends……09/03/2007

Habeeba Tasnim (Signature)

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COLOR OF THE LOVE

It is getting dark
They are tired of walking through the wet sand
Sitting next to him
She cannot see his face well
 
"Color has nothing to do with love"
As an answer she says
Looking into his eyes
Where she can see only the glittering
 
"Romance has much more then!"
He begins his argument
She smiles with disagreement
"While I am in love, I am blind"
 
"Then what is color for?"
He is not going to stop
"Just to recognize each other!"
She smiles as she wins
 
"You quote Allah almighty from Qur'an"
His smile fades as it turns strong
She still seems calm, looking at the horizon she hums
"Fall in love...... being in the path of Allah....."
February 27, 2007

Feeling
Feather touch of Sadique
of Sadique

Marks of the Past
 
Your tearful eyes won't let my thoughts go back to sleep.
Your words take me across thousands of miles.
I don't know you at all, I say, and yet
I know you better than my friends of many years.

The days I spent with you are like a tape
I play, rewind, play, rewind, and play.
Whenever I remember something new,
I feel as though you touched me on my shoulder from back.

I pray the footstep I hear should be yours
I pray the laughing of bangles I hear should be yours
I even pray the new smell on the floor
should be the one from your new perfume!
 
I miss you as the grass miss the dew,
Or as the morning sky awaits the sun.
(both will not last for long)
Although I look for you in every doorway,
I find only the darkness in my heart.
 
                                                        25th January, 2007

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Autopsy
 

I thought I must give up on this
When she turns into a stone;
The desert wind here quite suited her sometime:
No heart, no mind--just the shape.

I thought it would be dumb to try again
To want something again which I threw once
Wanting turns to need, and then
transforms it to pain.

Once, I laughed at people still in love
Who trusted someone's word, the word only!
To make my happiness depend
On something uncertain seemed quite strange.

She came and gave glimpses of love

My meadow were full of snow,
And she showed the flowers only love
Could recognize and grow;

And made me feel so proud
I shed my cold, cold skin and thoughts
And opened up my heart to her,
And, fearfully, let her in.

And now, she put me back wehre I was,
With all that I've been through.
My dreams turn into nightmares
And I believe what I believed was right!

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