A wish ...

... by Christina Rossetti

I wish I were a little bird
That out of sight doth soar;
I wish I were a song once heard
But often pondered o'er,
Or shadow of a lily stirred
By wind upon the floor,
Or echo of a loving word
Worth all that went before,
Or memory of a hope deferred
That springs again no more.

Absence ...

... by Elizabeth Jennings

I visited the place where we last met.
Nothing was changed, the gardens were well-tended,
The fountains sprayed their usual steady jet;
There was no sign that anything had ended
And nothing to instruct me to forget.

The thoughtless birds that shook out of the trees,
Singing an ecstasy I could not share,
Played cunning in my thoughts. Surely in these
Pleasures there could not be a pain to bear
Or any discord shake the level breeze.

It was because the place was just the same
That made your absence seem a savage force,
For under all the gentleness there came
An earthquake tremor: Fountain, birds and grass
Were shaken by my thinking of your name.

Your laughter ...

... by Pablo Neruda ...

Take breath away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

if you forget me ...

... by Pablo Neruda ...

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

~ an utterly awesome poem. Maybe it is a realistic way of looking at love, but does "my love feeds on your love" means that it is conditional? Or is letting go a more mature way of loving someone? Maybe there is an extensive to how much you can love someone alone ...

chasing pavement ...

... by Adele ...

I've made up my mind,
Don't need to think it over,
If i'm wrong I am right,
No need to look no further,
This ain't lust,
I know this is love.

But,
If i tell the world,
I'll never say enough,
Cause it was not said to you,
And thats exactly what i need to do,
If i'm in love with you.

Should I give up,
Or should I just keep chasing pavements?
Even if it leads nowhere,
Or would it be a waste?
Even If i knew my place,
should i leave it there?

I'd build myself up,
And fly around in circles,
Wait then as my heart drops,
and my back begins to tingle
finally could this be it ...

Should i give up,
Or should i just keep chasing pavements?
Even if it leads nowhere,
Or would it be a waste?
Even If i knew my place,
should i leave it there?

But beautiful ...

... a song by Carmen McRae ... I read the lyrics from a book, but was unable to find the song ...

Love is funny or it's sad
Or it's quiet or it's mad,
It's a good thing or it's bad -
But beautiful.

Beautiful to take a chance
And if you fall you fall
And I'm thinking I wouldn't mind at all
Love is tearful or it's gay
It's a problem or it's play
It's heartache either way -
But beautiful.

And I'm thinking if you were mine
I'd never let you go
And that would be but beautiful
I know.

Letting go ...

... is probably one of the hardest things to do ... something out of reach, like a shining star. Part of you feels that if only you can master it, the whole universe is in your hand ...

It can be a person, a patient, a place, a job, a memory ... sometimes, in the process of letting go, you discover some long forgotten places; maybe the star is still 10 millions light years away, but you have experienced the coolness of a summer night in catching it ...

... letting go means trusting it in a more capable hands than yours, and ultimately, in God's ...

What I miss about you ...

... by Katie Meula

Missing the train every morning at 8:52,
Sipping coffee from the same cup as you.
The sharing of secrets we thought no one else knew,
That's what I miss about you.

The new way that love had made me see,
Your bashful grin when you asked if I would like your key.
The knowing way you used to caress me,
That's what I miss about you.

You stole in with your starry smile exciting me,
Driving with you in your new car, feeling free.
If it's true that love is blind, then I was blind willingly,
You made me feel we had a future, that could be and would be.

The way you said I'd be no one on my own,
Your habit of soaking yourself in over-priced cologne.
The way you turned the light out when I knew you were home,
That's what I don't miss about you.

I bet you're using your weary magic like it's new,
Driving so fast with a new fool beside you.
Presumably believing she's the last of the lucky few,
I wonder if she knows she's being lied to like I do.

The way I only doubted myself when I was with you,
Like I was a fool for expecting something from life too.
Your skill of putting me down in-front of everyone we knew,
That's what I don't miss about you

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night ...

by Dylan Thomas ...

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Interpretation

Somewhere within your loving look I sense,
Without the least intention to deceive,
Without suspicion, without evidence,
Somewhere within your heart the heart to leave.
~ Vikram Seth

Variation on the theme love ...

... an interesting interpretation by Margaret Atwood, as you would expect ...

This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.

Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.

cry, the beloved country ...

... is one of those books which should be read at some points of one's life ... it is a simple story, about a man's journey to find his lost son. Along the way, he found other souls to save, and he experienced some mind-blowing kindness, transcending the difference in beliefs, races, principles, social statuses, leading to forgiveness and compassion in a lost world.

A great book about a simple man with his struggles with his own selfishness and self-righteousness, leading to the ultimate forgiveness and repetence ...

Valentine ....

... by Carol Ann Duffy ... a little dark, but a most interesting metaphor ...

"Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife".

Colorblind ...

... by Counting Crows

I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am taffy stuck and tongue tied
Stutter shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine

I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded and unfolded and unfolding
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine

Not love perhaps ...

~ by A. S. J. Tessimond

This is not Love, perhaps,
Love that lays down its life,
that many waters cannot quench,
nor the floods drown,
But something written in lighter ink,
said in a lower tone, something, perhaps, especially our own.

A need, at times, to be together and talk,
And then the finding we can walk
More firmly through dark narrow places,
And meet more easily nightmare faces;
A need to reach out, sometimes, hand to hand,
And then find Earth less like an alien land;
A need for alliance to defeat
The whisperers at the corner of the street.

A need for inns on roads, islands in seas,
Halts for discoveries to be shared,
Maps checked, notes compared;
A need, at times, of each for each,
Direct as the need of throat and tongue for speech.

Elizabeth Bishop ...

... is a poet who I came across the other day in an anthology ...

One art ~
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.


Insomnia ~
The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she'd tell it to go to hell,
and she'd find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.

Once ...

... a musical for our time ...

Say it to me now ~
"I'm scratching at the surface now
And I'm trying hard to work it out
So much has gone misunderstood
This mystery only leads to doubt
And I didn't understand
When you reached out to take my hand
And if you have something to say
You'd better say it now

Cause this is what you've waited for
Your chance to even up the score
And as these shadows fall on me now
I will win somehow

Cause I'm picking up a message Lord
And I'm closer than I've ever been before
So if you have something to say
Say it to me now ..."

If you want me ~
"Are you really here or am I dreaming
I can’t tell dreams from truth
For it’s been so long since I have seen you
I can hardly remember your face anymore
When I get really lonely and the distance calls its only silence
I think of you smiling with pride in your eyes a lover that sighs

If you want me, satisfy me

Are you really sure that you believe me
When others say I lie
I wonder if you could ever despise me
You know I really try
To be a better one
to satisfy you
for you’re everything to me
And I do what you ask me
If you let me be free"

When your mind is made up ~
"So
If you ever want something
You call, call
And I'll come running
to fight
And I'll be at your door
And there's nothing worth running for

When your mind is made up
There's no point trying to change it
When your mind is made up
There's no point trying to stop it

You see, you're just like everyone
When the s*** falls
All you want to do is run away
And hide all by yourself
When there's fall, fall
There's nothing else

When your mind is made up
There's no point trying to change it
When your mind is made up
There's no point even talkin'
When your mind is made up
There's no point trying to fight it ..."

A&E ...

... is what I have spent the last two and a half month doing and to be honest, it is not my favourite department/subject on earth ... the work itself can be tedious (with about an interesting-rate of 1/10), the staffs can be difficult (some are absolutely amazing though), the hours are just plain awful (all those evenings at the department, seeing only the moon) ... I sometimes wonder why I choose to be a clerking machine for 4 months ...

Then, on Friday, we had a stimulation day (where plastic robot acts like patient) and for once, I actually know how to deal with an acutely ill patient. My technique is still pretty poor (I am never going to be a vascular surgeon) but I somehow managed to absorb some knowledge about patient management (and not only when they have psychiatric problems or falls or being confused or generally unwell - yep, I am sent to see such cases all the time).

So maybe, just maybe, these four months are not wasted. Somehow, in the midst of the repetitiveness, I have learnt something ... Maybe there is some goodness to be found among the mundanes ...

The Lives of Others ...

... (German: Das Leben der Anderen) is probably one of the best films I have seen for a long long time ... Watching the lives of those around you, with the ability to affect their densities ~ Will one try to do good? Will one seize the possibility, without guarantee of success? Will love for mankind triumph over national pride? Can one do the right thing, even if one has gone down the wrong path for so long?

There has been a lot of arguments about "The Lives of Others" as some critics felt that it is not reflective of what happened in Eastern Germany with the Stasi force. There has been no documented case of Stasi operative trying to save their subjects. Yet, this is where the beauty of the film lies ... It allows one to believe in the goodness of humankind, even in the darkest of place ...

"Remembering Maria A" by Brecht was read during the film and summarises the possibility of holding onto something good:

"It was a day in that blue month September
Silent beneath the plum trees' slender shade
I held her there
My love, so pale and silent
As if she were a dream that must not fade

Above us in the shining summer heaven
There was a cloud my eyes dwelled long upon
It was quite white and very high above us
Then I looked up
And found that it had gone

And since that day, so many moons in silence
Have swum across the sky and gone below
The plum trees surely have been chopped for firewood
And if you ask, how does that love seem now
I must admit, I really can't remember
And yet I know what you are trying to say
But what her face was like, I know no longer
I only know I kissed it on that day

As for the kiss, I long ago forgot it
But for the cloud that floated in the sky
I know that still and shall forever know it
It was quite white and moved in very high
It may be that the plum trees still are blooming
That woman's seventh child may now be there
And yet that cloud had only bloomed for minutes
When I looked up
It vanished on the air"

Goodbyes ...

... are probably one of the hardest things to say, especially after you have spent an intense weekend with a group of people who you dearly love but do not see often, due to the geographical distances, various commitments, the general busyness of life ... Such weekends always remind me of the scene in "Snoopy, Come Home", in which Charlie Brown said the following wise words, while looking at the abandoned dog-house of Snoopy:

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like, and just stay together forever. Someone would leave. Someone would always leave, and then we have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. You know what I need? I need more 'hellos'."

I wonder why too ... maybe that is the answer to our sadness sometimes ...