Sitting at the shores of the net, you watch the tides rolling by. Each day brings a new harvest. Some you like and keep, the others roll on, pushed as if by some inexorable force. Of the harvests I have seen, these are the fruits I have liked, these are the ones I have kept.
This morning,
One light with a thousand rays
Woke the clouds in the eastern sky.
One rain with a thousand drops
Washed the trees a bright green.
One breeze playing a thousand leaves
Sang the melody of longing.
This morning
Amidst a thousand restless thoughts
You came in sandalwood feelings.
By Pankaj Agrawal
"But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh from the labours of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Mme Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming. Mme Loisel felt moved. Was she going to speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she was going to tell her all about it. Why not?
"She went up. "Good-day, Jeanne." The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain goodwife, did not recognise her at all, and stammered: "But-- madame! I do not know-- You must have mistaken." "No, I am Mathilde Loisel." Her friend uttered a cry. "Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!" "Yes, I have had the days hard enough, since I have seen you, days wretched enough-- and that because of you!" "Of me! How so?" "Do you remember that diamond necklace which you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?" "Yes. Well?" "Well, I lost it." "What do you mean? You brought it back." "I brought you back another just like it. And for this we have been ten years paying. You can understand that it was not easy for us, us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad."
"Mme Forestier had stopped. "You say that you brought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?" "Yes, you never noticed it then. They were very alike." And she smiled with a joy which was proud and naive at once. Mme Forestier, strongly moved, took her two hands. "Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste. It was worth at most five hundred francs!" "
"In the midst of my garden
Grows a palm-tree;
Born in the West,
Away from the country of palm-trees.
"I cried: You are like me,
For you resemble me
In wandering and peregrination,
And the long separation from kith and kin.
"You also
Grew up on a foreign soil;
Like me,
You are far from the country of your birth.
"May the fertilising clouds of morning
Water you in exile,
May the beneficent rains besought by the poor
Never forsake you."
Translated by J. B. Trend.
You think you own whatever land you land on The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim But I know every rock and tree and creature Has a life, has a spirit, has a name You think the only people who are people Are the people who look and think like you But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger You'll learn things you never knew you never knew Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned? Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains? Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest Come taste the sunsweet berries of the Earth Come roll in all the riches all around you And for once, never wonder what they're worth The rainstorm and the river are my brothers The heron and the otter are my friends And we are all connected to each other In a circle, in a hoop that never ends How high will the sycamore grow? If you cut it down, then you'll never know And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon For whether we are white or copper skinned We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains We need to paint with all the colors of the wind You can own the Earth and still All you'll own is Earth until You can paint with all the colors of the wind Vocal: Judy Kuhn Music: Alan Menken Lyrics: Stephen Schwartz
"You told me: `I am not worthy of you.' And you hid your face from me.
But my kiss found it, and slipped lightly over your sweet golden temples
where magic lies asleep.
What do you know about yourself? Nothing.
You know nothing of the charm and freshness that play around your beauty.
You know nothing of your laughter, similar to that of fountains.
You've never seen that shining nimbus that circles your head during times
I wish were fatal, they give me so much happiness.
You've never seen your eyes where the whole sky catches fire and dies
in the pleasure of my caresses.
You don't hear the words which dissolve my soul and lead it toward paradise.
You don't know anything, so shut up."
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