tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73160079362287382252024-03-12T16:12:54.010-07:00soul-talkAyesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.comBlogger161125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-41005076290106016142012-09-12T23:45:00.002-07:002012-09-12T23:45:29.826-07:00Friends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear Friends,<br />
<br />
Visiting blogspot after months..<br />
Hope you have all been doing well.<br />
<br />
Best wishes,<br />
<br />
Ayesha</div>
Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-91491855851817415402010-10-15T04:05:00.000-07:002010-10-15T04:28:16.400-07:00The legacy<div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Most parents want the best for their children and would do all in their power to protect and nurture them. However, how much can we do? We can give them the best formal education we can afford, save money for them and pray to God to bless them.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Is that enough? No matter how hard we try to make our children's lives trouble-free, we all know that no one's life can be such. Problems and pain will come inevitably. What we as parents should do about this is to speak openly to them about this reality. Then, they need to feel that they will be able to deal with difficulties. Parents should demonstrate that they have faith in their children. Moreover, children need to be taught that it is okay not to be able to achieve all that we aim for or desire. Stress needs to be put on being just, even if it does not bring material success. Once, they are comfortable with the occasional failure or disappointment in life, they will be happy and emotionally strong enough to deal with travails. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Finally, children should be given the good news of a dear friend watching over them and us all the time. That friend, God, can be called by any name. But children, like adults, need to communicate with Him. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">I think, this is the best legacy we can leave for our children.</span></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-21741885695032351672010-09-25T10:05:00.000-07:002010-09-25T11:10:25.465-07:00A choice<div align="justify"><em><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Have been very irregular at blogspot, I admit. Hence, no idea how many will read this post. Even then, chances are that I might get a few brickbats for writing the following, but I just have to write it:</span></strong></em></div><div align="justify"><em><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong></em> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">He was an exceptionally handsome boy, and a boy with a heart of gold. Very rarely do we come across people who inspire others, heal others without expecting anything in return. He is one such, always has been. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">When Ashu had first met him, he was about 10, and she 8. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">His parents gave him the best education they could afford, and brought him up with good human values. He gave up his training for a certain lucrative career only because he could not adjust to what was being expected of him: to smoke, was one of them.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">All along, he has been a sensitive person; both to the feelings of others as well as his own. </span></strong><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Girls and women find him very attractive, and Sanjana met him when they were MBA students. </span></strong><strong><span style="color:#000099;">She found in him a very 'good catch' and left no stone unturned to marry him as soon as possible. One of the many things she used in order to impress him was that she came from a family of three sisters and a brother (the brother being the youngest sibling), cleverly indicating that her parents kept on having children till that one son was born! The picture she painted was that of an unappreciated girl now grown into a woman eager to have her identity as an individual.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">He was very impressed, although did not want to rush into marriage. Sanjana insisted, saying that her parents were pressurising her.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">He and Sanjana got married, when he was 27, and she 25. Although they belonged to different communities (a big issue, in Indian marriages, generally-speaking), his parents supported his decision. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Is he happy in his marriage? </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">No. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">He is miserable; although he tries his best to hide his pain from the world.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Sanjana has no time for either him or for their child. His parents live in a different city because she refuses to adjust with them in any way. When his daughter was 15 months old (the child's mother was then 32), she was sent to his parents who looked after her for 6 months.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Sanjana is a career-idol to many, including some of his relatives.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">He is a man with a heart of gold, but has withdrawn himself from others because he is unable to bear the fact that he had chosen the wrong person.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Ashu knows it all even without his saying things openly, and he knows that Ashu knows.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Both he and Ashu remain silent.</span></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-87392964110350389582010-09-04T08:21:00.000-07:002010-09-04T08:39:44.861-07:00Krishnam, vandey Jagatgurum<div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Thank you, Krishna, for being my Guru. </span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Thank you, Krishna, for teaching me what I need to know. </span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Thank you, Krishna, for sending me beautiful people and moments, each one being a medium of your teaching.</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Thank you, Krishna, for whispering in my soul.</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Thank you, Krishna, for erasing fear from my heart.</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Thank you, Krishna, for your love and mercy.</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Thank you, Krishna, for being my Destination.</span></em></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-17767329431535376382010-09-01T11:34:00.001-07:002010-09-01T12:32:55.581-07:00Vaasudev, hold my hand..<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiir73vMVdHl2PMMWMk1H1Sqx7wyC9lImjRPh-sTTGLYxapojTA4ONwVZNPqxS5-jm5pHO1HXDrp7NGxrCgT5t_GnGbE23jphI0_61ege4OliHGKHWg5ia4j4r7BIfo8urHqg1_hCY3d6yK/s1600/38149_418775431185_198227841185_5338258_3423226_n.jpg"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512016074223714450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiir73vMVdHl2PMMWMk1H1Sqx7wyC9lImjRPh-sTTGLYxapojTA4ONwVZNPqxS5-jm5pHO1HXDrp7NGxrCgT5t_GnGbE23jphI0_61ege4OliHGKHWg5ia4j4r7BIfo8urHqg1_hCY3d6yK/s400/38149_418775431185_198227841185_5338258_3423226_n.jpg" /></span></strong></a><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><br /></span></strong><strong><span style="color:#000099;">All was dark, till your face was seen.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">The light and peace that are here now</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Have come from you.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">O Vaasudev, you are beauty!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">In every agony that I have felt</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">You have given comfort</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">And healed wounds.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">O Vaasudev, you are love!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">When all else fail, and</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Joy and hope abandon me,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">I cling on to you,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Hoping to survive.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">O Vaasudev, you are life!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">As your call will be heard</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Making me depart from this world,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">May your name be on my lips,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">And, you shining in front of my eyes.</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Hold my hand then, as you are holding now..</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">O Vaasudev, you are mine.</span></strong> </div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-68389156841823742892010-06-29T00:47:00.000-07:002010-06-29T01:14:15.456-07:00Success and suicide<div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">What drives an apparently successful person to kill himself? By 'successful', I mean that by social yardsticks: money, mate, status, looks, popularity.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">I feel that a person can kill himself only if he feels life is not worth living. So, inspite of havings all the trappings of success, such people are not comfortable with themselves. No amount of earthly success can guarantee happiness, if self-esteem is low. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">When a person does his best and is not impatient or greedy for result, when one makes decisions based on his conscience and common-sense and does not succumb to the opinions of others, he does not kill himself. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Life is both a test and a gift. One ought to respect and cherish it. </span></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-26557327515365298422010-06-27T10:42:00.000-07:002010-06-27T11:01:47.243-07:00Are Indians listening?<div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">I shuddered as I watched on the TV, news of people killed by their kith and kin. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">What were they killed for? </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">For marrying the people they chose for themselves.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Where did the killings take place? </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">In Delhi, India's capital.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">I feel that as a nation, we are hypocrites. On the one hand, we claim to have a grand civilization of thousands of years, and on the other hand, we commit all kinds of atrocities possible.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">In the name of upholding traditions and customs which blatantly go against basic human rights, we have stopped practising what used to be the corner-stone of Indian values, <em>sarvo jeevay dayaa</em> or compassion for all. </span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Are Indians listening?</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-72854100828779245582010-06-26T04:27:00.000-07:002010-06-26T04:46:16.274-07:00The X-factor<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_DM71-keqktIQVtScFt4_WOcPdEXOjUi0m1WeWhGyVU-pZ1IXSD525tsxWvgWS3kySJx5Tzfx30ZbBALB_Tpw6Rdxgvas8MykxKBpb6bU5JtuHiZHNZjued-LW2MEVyyXOaFlHMfm91_p/s1600/music.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 309px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487047156066195202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_DM71-keqktIQVtScFt4_WOcPdEXOjUi0m1WeWhGyVU-pZ1IXSD525tsxWvgWS3kySJx5Tzfx30ZbBALB_Tpw6Rdxgvas8MykxKBpb6bU5JtuHiZHNZjued-LW2MEVyyXOaFlHMfm91_p/s400/music.bmp" /></a><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Much that we do in life is of our choice, directly or indirectly. However, results are sometimes unexpected. What determines the results? Success or failure depends on a whole lot of factors, some of which cannot even be quantified, although understood. Still, something remains unexplained: the X-factor.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">I call the X-factor, God. </span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">He decides; He breaks; He makes.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">He plays the tune and we dance.</span></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-92177844097857506652010-05-28T02:04:00.000-07:002010-05-28T02:34:31.383-07:00The Mischief-Maker<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cU1dzNRRVu6uuztDcb0RN3g9hFYh3LrBs9O4K6Y0hsTUGzepE22K4MzX3UtLdERtv6zmy9gbeqBM8_oPxtg1nXuO5YsvymT8reTRTjJ2K4OGNc6tFBtfufqVg1wk9eO5HmJ4IbPDhJF-/s1600/Picture+0298.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476248705756341586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cU1dzNRRVu6uuztDcb0RN3g9hFYh3LrBs9O4K6Y0hsTUGzepE22K4MzX3UtLdERtv6zmy9gbeqBM8_oPxtg1nXuO5YsvymT8reTRTjJ2K4OGNc6tFBtfufqVg1wk9eO5HmJ4IbPDhJF-/s400/Picture+0298.jpg" /></a><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">The mischief-maker by my side</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">Keeps me busy the whole day..</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">And often I regret having no time left for myself.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">No answer do I have for his flow of questions;</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">Thus, he defeats me.</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">Running all over the house,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">My mischief-maker </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">Makes noise, breaks things </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">And comes and hugs me</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">So that I do not scold him!</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">For all the trouble, and all the worry</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">I am glad; because my house</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;"> Has at last become</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">A home, </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">Thanks to my mischief-maker.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">Yashoda's mischief-maker has sent my one to me;</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">To fill my life with joy.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">Hence, in my little one's hug and his laughter</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">I feel Yashodanandan's healing touch, </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330033;">And can hear the flute once more.</span></strong><br /></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-27867042948257388522010-02-28T20:51:00.000-08:002010-02-28T21:02:09.250-08:00The wind played with her long, dark hair..<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></strong></div><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">Walking away one day from all that is mundane,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">She stopped to soak in a moment of silence.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">Looking at the glorious setting sun,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">And letting the wind play with her long, dark hair,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">She rested.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">No thought did she let bother her</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">Nor worry about the next day,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">As for the moment, she was her own,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">Enjoying every breath she took</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">While the wind played with her long, dark hair.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">(A tribute to womanhood)</span></em></strong></p>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-16712293065140269012010-02-26T00:59:00.000-08:002010-02-26T01:14:32.664-08:00The moon running..<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span></strong></div><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">No answer could I give</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">My little one,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">When he pointed out with wonder</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">The moon running in the sky</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Just like the car in which he was!</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">His wonder made me trust </span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">The deep joy of childhood</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Which I had thought was lost to me</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">For good.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Nothing is lost if there is joy</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">In heart, for</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Joy pure proves there is love and faith in the soul.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">My child is a sign of God being by my side,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">And my fragmented life </span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Is once more whole.</span></strong></p>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-80536897409640033192010-02-25T11:29:00.000-08:002010-02-25T11:43:18.140-08:00This night..<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>This night is</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>A time to rest, a time to heal.</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>This night as </em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>I organise my thoughts and</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>Dreams, and gently pull out the shards of glass</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>From the soul, </em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>I know that tomorrow the sun will rise again</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>With new travails, and new hopes.</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>This night is</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>A time to share, a time to pray,</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>For I know not if tomorrow's sure sun</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>These eyes of mine will see.</em></span></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-90679409371070364982010-02-14T22:43:00.000-08:002010-02-20T00:41:11.659-08:00The Last Days<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;"></span></strong></div><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Walking down memory lane one day</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Since I know my days are numbers,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">I asked myself if the balance sheet</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Satisfied me.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">No, it didn't give me contentment,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">As we are trained to look only for joy</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Forgetting to accept the fact that </span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Sorrow is a part of this life.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Today, as I am nearer the exit,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">I understand that even the rude balance sheet does not matter.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Battle-weary was I, but am so no longer</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">As all battles are now over.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Standing quietly in the twilight,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">After giving up all that is meant to go</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Sooner or later,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">I am waiting to embrace rest</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Without the terror of battles anymore.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Call me an escapist, if you so wish;</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">But I am what I am, and my life and my death</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Are my very own.</span></strong></p>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-67609068482282261082010-01-30T05:07:00.000-08:002010-01-30T05:37:30.772-08:00Krishna<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Krishna,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Your presence is felt </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">When my friend holds my hand,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">And when my child hugs me with pure joy;</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Your hand touches me</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">When deeds go unrewarded,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">For injustice does not make me lose faith or hope.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Your healing balm is there </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">In every breath of wind</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">That plays gently with my hair let down.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Now, as I stand on the brink of a new birth,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">A nascent life, full of trepidation,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Wondering if the labour, the pain, the tears,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Will bear fruit,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">I cease to worry any more, for..</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Krishna, </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">You are holding my hand </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">And climbing into my lap </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">While playing with my breeze-smothered hair</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">All the time.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">You are in all, and all are in you,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">My Krishna, o my </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Krishna.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-32729302710120143832010-01-19T17:42:00.000-08:002010-01-19T17:50:48.250-08:00Blooming<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">In this cold winter morning,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">A little bud has decided that she will bloom,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Knowing that the chill will not last forever,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">And sooner than later, spring will come.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Having being a bud for a long time now,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">She is waiting to spread out her soft petals</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Full of colour and fragrance.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">No winter can kill a bud, for she </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Has the patience to wait for the time of bloom.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-25484779725583095142010-01-15T05:49:00.000-08:002010-01-15T06:05:41.268-08:00A child shall show the way<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Walking on the steep hilly road,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">With sweatdrops dripping</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">I almost gave up.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">It was not of my choice</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">That I was on the road</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">So forbidding.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">I had been politely ordered to walk</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">And walk, and walk.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">The boss had underestimated my difficulty</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">In walking. It was not her fault;</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">She had no idea how different I am.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">On the uphill climb, my little son came running to me,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Seeing me panting, and by seeing him so near me</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Full of faith and natural joy,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">I knew I could walk all the way.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">As my son walked a few steps ahead of me,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">I followed willingly, and with revived vigour.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">My handicap no longer holding me back,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">I remembered that years ago,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Someone had whispered to me,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">"A child shall show the way."</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-74451483510611061932010-01-14T22:16:00.000-08:002010-01-14T22:53:30.976-08:00The Fifth Sense<strong><em><span style="color:#000066;">This is not my work, but I thought it worth sharing with you. </span></em></strong><br /><br /><em><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">A 65-year-old Cypriot Greek shepherd, Nicolis Loizou, was wounded on 30 December, 1957, by security forces. He was challenged twice; when he failed to answer, troops opened fire. A subsequent hospital examination showed that the man was deaf.</span></strong></em><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Lamps burn all night</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Here, where people must be watched and seen,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">And I, a shepherd, Nicolis Loizou,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Wish for the dark, for I have been</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Sure-footed in the dark, but now my sight</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Stumbles among these beds, scattered white boulders,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">As I lean towards my far slumbering house</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">With the night slumbering upon my shoulders.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">My sight was always good,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Better than others, I could taste wine and bread</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">And name the field they spattered when the harvest</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Broke, I could coil in the red </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Scent of the fox out of a maze of wood</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">And grass. I could touch mist. I could touch breath.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">But of my sharp senses I had only four.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">The fifth one pinned me to my death.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">The soldiers must have called</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">The word they needed: Halt. Not hearing it,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">I was their failure, relaxed against the winter</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Sky, the flag of their defeat.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">With their five senses they could not have told</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">That I lacked one, and so they had to shoot.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">They would fire at a rainbow if it had </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">A colour less than they were taught. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Christ said that when one sheep</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Was lost, the rest meant nothing any more.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Here in this hospital, where others' breathing</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Swings like a lantern in the polished floor</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">And squeezes those who cannot sleep,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">I see how precious each thing is, how dear,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">For I may never touch, smell, taste or see</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Again, because I could not hear.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">(From, <em>Collected Poems </em>by <em>Patricia Beer</em>, published by <em>Carcanet Press Limited</em> in 1998)</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;"><em>The world is still very much the same.</em></span></strong>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-91594285122495607232010-01-13T04:41:00.000-08:002010-01-13T04:53:13.945-08:00Closeness: an act of love<div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">As I walk down the narrow lane</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">Trying to save myself from all the crowd,</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">Smell and touches undesired,</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">I feel a breath on my neck.</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">Yet, for the first time in the narrow lane,</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">Did I like to have someone so near me.</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">There is that one whose closeness</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">Makes me survive anything, anywhere;</span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">Yes, survive even in the narrow lane. </span></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#ff0000;">(Dedicated to the one who makes my life worth living)</span></em></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-6816778615363553672010-01-09T22:37:00.000-08:002010-01-09T22:50:25.753-08:00Manners?<div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">A good friend visited me a few days back. Along with her came her 7-year-old daughter. As we were sitting in the living-room, the child got up and started roaming around the place. I thought she was getting restless sitting for long, and wanted to stretch her legs.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">After about 10 minutes I heeded towards the kitchen to check if the domestic-maid had prepared the snacks and the tea for the guests. As I crossed my bedroom, I happened to glance inside and what I saw irritated me.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">The child was at the dressing-table, had opened the drawer and was using my comb!</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">When we were children, our parents, grandparents and teachers had taught us never to touch things that did not belong to us. They had said that manners are important in life.</span></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong> </div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-38139850848698240242010-01-09T06:43:00.000-08:002010-01-09T07:02:34.087-08:00The Healing<div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Toiling hard each day of this life</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Or living in doubt or pain or despair</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>One gets tired.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Tired to work; tired to laugh; </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Tired to breathe.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>With every bone aching</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>And every tear fallen,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>What is left?</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Is there anything that can heal</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>This broken being?</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Leaving all that hurts..</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Oh, there is so much that does!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>And, no longer trying to control life,</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>She surrenders, to the one</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Who holds the thread running through all.</strong></span></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-3660547680241624042009-09-24T22:40:00.001-07:002009-09-25T01:45:38.853-07:00You and I, my dearest<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Beyond all wrong, I meet you;</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">For you wash away my sins.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Beyond any desire to work for gain, I touch you;</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">For, I am tired of doing so much.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">You are there for me, right beside me.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">I know because I feel you in something</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Finer than breath.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">With you by my side, pain no longer wins;</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Nor sorrow can defeat me ever again.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">With you am I engaged </span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">In the eternal dance.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">And, all is bliss and all is truth.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em><span style="color:#000099;">(dedicated to my Krishna)</span></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></p>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-22957129293059273602009-09-19T07:50:00.000-07:002009-09-19T08:15:47.541-07:00A Prayer<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">There are so many who have made a difference to me,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Have added joy to my stay on earth,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Or from who I have learnt invaluable lessons on</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Compassion, honesty and courage.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Some of them are gone from this place;</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Yet others have moved on from my life.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">A great many names forgotten or not even known to me,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Some faces have faded in my mind as well.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">A heartfelt prayer today I am sending </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">To my Krishna:</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Bless and forgive each of those whose loving touch </em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Has made my life beautiful;</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><em>For with all their earthly imperfections</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Just like I have,</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><em>They have dared to love and tried to heal.</em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Krishna dear, their sincere efforts, accept with love. </em></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong> </div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-46577792473320777232009-09-16T11:35:00.000-07:002009-09-16T11:56:39.773-07:00Your Silence<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAoDnuzVW8Cfj0COs9c5jPni8m_6Ecyhxd34oZMs-GAOu16Ux71JmgGHoP5Ay8dfvfnhIALPDFEafq_PKvj3Ceh-_3KJUIO2Rs2aDH8bmEfLchvs-qFHaYiKYqH4Ipsh1y3Vm2SzeKRqjk/s1600-h/albatross.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 180px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 230px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382140075840433490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAoDnuzVW8Cfj0COs9c5jPni8m_6Ecyhxd34oZMs-GAOu16Ux71JmgGHoP5Ay8dfvfnhIALPDFEafq_PKvj3Ceh-_3KJUIO2Rs2aDH8bmEfLchvs-qFHaYiKYqH4Ipsh1y3Vm2SzeKRqjk/s400/albatross.bmp" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">The silence I hear from you tells me </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">A story you hesitate to put into words;</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Neither you nor I am a fool so great</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">As not to know the truth!</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">But we do fool ourselves on the outside,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Trying to justify what is happening;</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">As life has enfeebled us, we dare not now </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Tell one another that there is love.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">But never mind; for both you know and I know</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">That the trembling silence has </span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Spoken of two souls intertwined.</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"></span></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-84354867783899521492009-09-16T02:29:00.000-07:002009-09-16T02:42:01.280-07:00Trust and Healing<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GpbgoZoU6xiOFjGE0FOmubCcmH684ld3OOSuPwYe2evMFIoj1bH-w8HTaj2SYeovKF3J4m9KI8AyVjqRhCZVMKtibPAWsaCh3L0I43iyupAFie_wHgaVTP4mya79QlngXQ9Iac0P2Xdx/s1600-h/tem.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 312px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381997962159607026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GpbgoZoU6xiOFjGE0FOmubCcmH684ld3OOSuPwYe2evMFIoj1bH-w8HTaj2SYeovKF3J4m9KI8AyVjqRhCZVMKtibPAWsaCh3L0I43iyupAFie_wHgaVTP4mya79QlngXQ9Iac0P2Xdx/s400/tem.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#006600;">Why is it that when in pain due to the cruel or indifferent behaviour of others, we look for comfort in the companionship of someone we trust? It is because, it is human nature to trust and love. If someone has hurt us, someone else will appear and he/she will help us heal. Such is life. Such is the power of love. </span></strong></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><strong><span style="color:#006600;">May healing and love wash away all pain that any reader of this post might be feeling.</span></strong></div>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7316007936228738225.post-88766112824059333022009-09-11T01:43:00.000-07:002009-09-11T02:02:10.412-07:00Araafat: the mountain of light<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPlkzFM-Csll-8VoS4UhJKMLOTUlREokJUwTPDXQHylN6xq5DIH2MehATwJ0JJxfwPGJyVAWJz3uhx-qSiggrHRkZ0rEbht5VVRElyo-7YDnMUwaC_W3PAm545QBMcax4EVjoCR3OHFiD/s1600-h/Picture+0104.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380131831871554322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPlkzFM-Csll-8VoS4UhJKMLOTUlREokJUwTPDXQHylN6xq5DIH2MehATwJ0JJxfwPGJyVAWJz3uhx-qSiggrHRkZ0rEbht5VVRElyo-7YDnMUwaC_W3PAm545QBMcax4EVjoCR3OHFiD/s400/Picture+0104.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong></div><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">My little boy I know not what I can do for you</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">As not much of life is in my control.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">But, there is something that I can give you, always</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Without fail, without having to explain to anyone;</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">In all your innocence and faith, you know what that something is:</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">My unending love for you.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Every time you run to me and give me a hug,</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">I feel an overflowing of all that is true and beautiful.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">In my love for you my faith has grown</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">And I know that you will be taken care of by Him</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Who has sent you to me.</span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">My little boy, my bundle of joy, </span></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Live long, be happy and true. </span></strong></p>Ayesha Parveenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09218100056258179715noreply@blogger.com19