
Photo : National Geographic
This Blog is all about my favourite things besides stamps & views about life that I would like to write in leisure...
I can see a rainbow,
see it in the sky, see it when the rain has gone away.
All the colors of the rainbow
in the sky so high,
I can name them all for you today:
Red there is, a rosy red, a red so bright and bonny,
and orange as a tiger lily leaf, so bold and tawny,
yellow as the blazing sun, that gives us all our light,
and green as grass beneath our feet,
blue as the sky so bright.
There's indigo, as dark as night,
and violet like flowers.
These are the colors nature paints
the sky with
after showers.
- Helen H. Moore
For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.
Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own focus.
The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers
By Miles….
You are far from me..
By thoughts You are close to me..
By Hearts..
You are in me….
I cannot remember my mother....
I cannot remember my mother
only sometimes in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.
I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air
the scent of the morning service in the temple
comes to me as the scent of my mother.
I cannot remember my mother
only when from my bedroom window I send
my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of
my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.
By Rabindranath Tagore from Shishu Bholanath