Charlie Brown

What is light but rings of depth
What is happy that is borne of sadness
What is soulful but first touches the ears
What is cherished but first understood

What is important but can always be lost
What is visible but can go unnoticed
What is of now, that some place in the past

secrets and dreams might make us happy
fame and riches might be the difference
But amidst the joy and the smiles
when the mirth makes the moment alive
We will never be lost and we will never feel down

We all hope to live like Charlie Brown.

sunrise and writers

We seek happiness and we want to laugh

We move through life always trying to avoid the stings

We accept the reality but we reject the bitterness

We want to be wise but never let go of our youth

The lights shine bright

The world is at our feet

The moment is ready and the time is right

 Beauty is short lived but character is sweet

The time that will be spent, the memories we will relive

The words we shall speak, the questions we shall ask

The opinions we build on and the thoughts we cherish

The bold and the beautiful

There is something about poetry that is amazing. Every day we speak words that we never know the value of. when you mix and match two very dissimilar words both serving one purpose the moment is alive and the sound is as sweet as a thousand drums being played in symphony. But there is something about a writer that is concealed, you cannot write so much without thinking so deep. Still we might only ever get to write a millionth of what we think, And I guess that is why sometimes you do not need to have a complete  story...just a line that will lead the way to others.

When I write I am telling a secret that is still a secret because you can never fully comprehend in much the same way that you cannot ask a bird to describe its adventures. But you can still look up at the sky and marvel at its flight because that is what life is about; unanswered questions, unhindered thoughts, and wild hints that guide us through.

I will always encourage a person to write what they think rather than say it. That to me is the fundamental difference between a novel and speech. One is a moment, the other is eternity .And yet both are an outlet, built upon the same emotions and that same inspiration. It is just that the speech maker was brave while the writer was valiant....playing even his last piece if that is what he needed to protect his king and capture his opponent....willing to give all to keep one. Perfecting the house to the last brick.

Some write and some speak- some are bold and some are beautiful. some are old and some are wise  But we have the same intention; we carve the footsteps we want others to step in.

Duby.

hearts and pieces; le chat et le renard

hold me tight make my dreams come true
laugh with me make me come alive
say something new make my mind spark

tell me your dreams let this fairytale happen
lets be spontaneous  life is short
lets make a play of time nothing is sure

I dont understand fully, not nearly wise enough
some things you just do, you dont need to think
lips are subtle hearts are brittle
so kiss the former and love the other

People are complex, minds are weirder
everything is not easy, but this is simple
I am cunning you are curious
you are sweet, I am honey
We are free, we are young

If tomorrow the stars shine brighter the smile will be broader
If the sun shines on my face the memories would be merrier
Times  may change, bodies might age
I am here, you are there
But some things remain the same
You are a cat, I am a fox

one moment that eternity will not steal.

Duby.

hearts and pieces

The one who could not be saved

Here is a story about a boy and a girl. The girl had never loved; the boy was to be lost. It started out like any relationship in the 21^st century; first an invite (facebook) then a connection (Skype), and then a spark (love). Questions ran through her mind.  Is it possible that he might be the one to make it true? Can this be the love I have always feared…could I one day be strong enough to feel and lose?

I had never seen him before and yet he had seen me; sometime in the past as kids we had met and he was the one who remembered everything. For once her normally perfect memory failed her for she could not recall a face…could not even ascribe a name or personality. And yet she allowed herself to accept the fact that he was not a stranger, because she wanted him to be a friend. Many times in life we meet someone that makes us feel happy but only rarely do we meet someone that makes us feel true….someone that makes us feel special that we are who we are. Some would later on call them acquaintances, others would say they are friends…but as far as faith goes I like to refer to them as the ones ‘to be saved’.

Trying to find a boy you like is like trying to guess which is the best book on a shelf by observation; at first we notice the fine edges and then we admire the title, but we still do not know what this book contains…still cannot be sure of its reliability as an interesting piece of work that would make our time and money worthwhile. And then we dare to read the writer’s review at the back. At first we lightly surf through the summary albeit a bit curious. And then we read it closely, this time paying more attention to hints about the book’s nature and uniqueness. In many ways this is what many would use to judge the book in finality. But with me, it is the comments of other notable figures at the bottom (such as newspaper bodies, famous authors, and outstanding media figures) that would eventually serve as my final basis of judgement….that would be the key to making my choice.

Like a book, every person has an outline. The fine edge of the book’s spine are what keep the book together in much the same way as our bodies are what enhouse us and make us functional. In the same way a book has designs to make it attractive so also do people have faces that will serve to set them apart from others and make them look more or less striking. The many pages of a book are like the many colours of our personality. You can act in so many ways and yet still be one character, one individual, one person, one heartbeat. In much the same way a book has so many themes but one distinct plot; one conclusive ending.

One can love a thousand times but never understand. Because like a rainbow love is a perfect beauty as it is a rare complexity. But you cannot touch a rainbow and you can never hold one down. Yet you believe that it is a rainbow because you can see it. You admire its existence though you cannot guarantee its longevity. Trying to comprehend love is almost as impossible as attempting to chase a rainbow.#

Duby

Beautiful Irony

Its amazing how in life we meet so many people whom we would never know. Billions of people walk the earth, the common ground  we share and yet we would never be able to know who are they are. We might see them but that is mostly as far as we would ever get because we are all sourjourners in this journey that is defined as life.

They all walked along the curb each in deep thought or subdued silence
Sometimes their shoulders brushed against the next, sometimes they felt the presence of another
The streets were rowdy yet there was a silence that no one could hear
The symphony of their  footsteps made a tune, sang a melody of purpose
They looked to the sun, they felt the brightness of day
But the light that shone from the faces and hearts of those around them was was more luminous
Yet it was unnoticed, no one could see it, any sense of what was around them was amiss

They say life is an interesting journey, they say it is a never ending pain
I say life is a beautiful irony, but also one we would never figure
for we walk the same footsteps of those that preceded us
And we create a light for those who would come after us
But as we search for light and hope all the necessities for our existence
Never once do we notice the others
Those that walk beside us, those that creep behind us
We are lost in this hurry
We all sourjourn in this quest we've defined as life

Duby.

Some thoughts

Oh the perils of being too young
But 'far-too-old!' to play and sleep

They drive us night and day
like herds of cattle, forced to read

'Look to your future 'ole girl', he'd hiss
'I wish, old man'- he'd never guess- 'and leave just all of this'

Because then I'm seated in First Class first
A night, a new country- for a new day

And round my neck, expensive glass
A doting man would wave my way

I'd speak of things that'd help the world
And strategies to change Her ways

And when I'd have them by the rope,
Like Ghandi, raise my hands in hope

For now though, I realise
This wooden desk will suffice

And these glamorous wooden dolls,
Will lend me a silent applause.

-Cathy