Audrey Hepburn

"As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands,

one for helping yourself, the other for helping others."

- Audrey Hepburn

 

 

In Childhood - a japanese poem

Things don't die or remain damaged
but return: stumps grow back hands,
a head reconnects to a neck,
a whole corpse rises blushing and newly elastic.
Later this vision is not True:
the grandmother remains dead
not hibernating in a wolf's belly.
Or the blue parakeet does not return
from the little grave in the fern garden
though one may wake in the morning
thinking mother's call is the bird.
Or maybe the bird is with grandmother
inside light. Or grandmother was the bird
and is now the dog
gnawing on the chair leg.
Where do the gone things go
when the child is old enough
to walk herself to school,
her playmates already
pumping so high the swing hiccups?

- Kimiko Hahn

Lights

“A great attitude does much more than turn on the lights in our worlds;

it seems to magically connect us to all sorts of serendipitous opportunities 

that were somehow absent before the change.

“these lights are so bright. white lights in the night. they keep me from sleeping, 

but i am still dreaming. i dream of your smile. i remember your kiss. in the light of the night.”

 

 

“An optimist is a person who sees only the lights in the picture, 

whereas a pessimist sees only the shadows. An idealist, however,

is one who sees the light and the shadows, but in addition sees something else:

the possibility of changing the picture, of making the lights prevail over the shadows.”

 

If i had half of the nature of an animal

"If i had half of an animal's nature,
i'm sure i would be more true to my existing,
less egocentric and materialist."

- Me

Red Panda

The Amen of nature is always a flower

"Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

- William Wordsworth

Dream in our childhood

“We plan our lives according to a dream that came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet, at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It's just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it were a riddle, and fulfills the dream in ways we couldn't have expected.”

- Ben Okri 

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hill-for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

- Maya Angelou 

Ode ao Gato

Os animais foram imperfeitos, 

compridos de rabo,tristes de cabeça.
Pouco a pouco se foram compondo, 

fazendo-se paisagem, adquirindo pintas, graça vôo.
O gato, só o gato apareceu completo e orgulhoso:
nasceu completamente terminado,
anda sozinho e sabe o que quer.
O homem quer ser peixe e pássaro,
a serpente quisera ter asas,
o cachorro é um leão desorientado,
o engenheiro quer ser poeta,
a mosca estuda para andorinha,
o poeta trata de imitar a mosca,
mas o gato quer ser só gato
e todo gato é gato do bigode ao rabo,
do pressentimento à ratazana viva,
da noite até os seus olhos de ouro.
Não há unidade como ele, não tem a lua nem a flor
tal contextura: é uma coisa só como o sol ou o topázio,
e a elástica linha em seu contorno
firme e sutil é como a linha da proa de uma nave.
Os seus olhos amarelos deixaram uma só ranhura
para jogar as moedas da noite.

Oh pequeno imperador sem orbe,
conquistador sem pátria, mínimo tigre de salão, nupcial
sultão do céu das telhas eróticas, o vento do amor
na intempérie reclamas quando passas e pousas
quatro pés delicados no solo, cheirando, desconfiando
de todo o terrestre, porque tudo é imundo
para o imaculado pé do gato.
Oh fera independente da casa, arrogante
vestígio da noite, preguiçoso, ginástico
e alheio, profundíssimo gato, polícia secreta
dos quartos, insígnia de um desaparecido veludo,
certamente não há enigma na tua maneira,
talvez não sejas mistério, 

todo o mundo sabe de ti e pertences
ao habitante menos misterioso 

talvez todos acreditem, todos se acreditem donos,
proprietários, tios de gato, companheiros,
colegas, discípulos ou amigos do seu gato.
Eu não. Eu não subscrevo.
Eu não conheço o gato.
Tudo sei, a vida e o seu arquipélago,
o mar e a cidade incalculável,
a botânica o gineceu com os seus extravios,
o pôr e o menos da matemática,
os funis vulcânicos do mundo,
a casca irreal do crocodilo,
a bondade ignorada do bombeiro,
o atavismo azul do sacerdote,
mas não posso decifrar um gato.
Minha razão resvalou na sua indiferença,
os seus olhos têm números de ouro.

- Pablo Neruda