Archive for March, 2010

Love is blind , Marriage is an eye opener!

Love is holding hands in the street.
Marriage is holding arguments in the street.

Love is cuddling on a sofa.
Marriage is one of them sleeping on a sofa.

Love is talking about having children.
Marriage is talking about getting away from children.

Love is going to bed early.
Marriage is going to sleep early.

Love is losing your appetite.
Marriage is losing your figure.

Love is sweet nothing in the ear.
Marriage is sweet nothing in the bank.

TV has no place in love.
Marriage is a fight for remote control.

Love is 1 drink and 2 straws.
Marriage is “Don’t you think you’ve had enough!”.

That’s why they say:

“Love is blind , Marriage is an eye opener!”

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WHO I AM AND WHERE I CAME FROM…

Latiff was the poorest beggar of the village. Every night he slept in the hall of a different house, in front of the town square.

Every day he had a short rest under a different tree, with a widespread hand and a far away look in his thoughts. Every evening he would eat the alms or the crusts that some charitable person brought over to him.

Without embargo, in spite of his aspect and the way his days happened, Latiff was considered by all to be the wisest man of town, perhaps not so much because of his intelligence, but by what he had lived.

One sunny morning the king appeared in the square, surrounded by his guards, walking between the fruits and trinkets looking for nothing.

Laughing at the merchants and at the buyers, the king and his entourage almost stumbled over Latiff, who was dozing in the shade of a holm oak. Someone told the king that he was in front of the poorest of his subdits, but also in front of one of the most respected men because of his knowledge.

The king, entertained, approached the beggar and said to him, "If you answer my question, I will give you this golden coin."

Latiff looked at it, almost contemptuously, and said to him, "You can keep your coin, what will I do with it anyway? What is your question?"

The king felt defied by the response and instead of a banal question, he asked a question that was bothering him for days and that he could not solve; a problem of goods and resources that analysts had not solved for him.

Latiff’s response was wise and creative. The king was surprised; he left the coin at the feet of the beggar and continued on his way to the market, pondering the events.

The next day he came back directly to where Latiff was resting; this time under an olive grove. Again the king posed a question and again Latiff answered it rapidly and wisely. The king was surprised again at so much intelligence. In a humble act, he took off his sandals and sat in front of Latiff.

"Latiff, I need you", the king said to him. "I am overwhelmed by the decisions that as king I must make. I do not want to harm my people and neither do I want to be an evil king. I ask you to come to the palace to be my adviser. I promise you that you should not fear at all, that you will be respected and that you will be able to leave whenever you want… Please."

Whether it was out of compassion, for service or for surprise, Latiff, after thinking a few minutes, accepted the proposal of the king.

That same evening Latiff came into the palace, where immediately a luxurious room was assigned to him. The room was close to the king’s room and had a tub filled with essences and lukewarm water waiting for him.

During the following weeks the consultations with the king became habitual. Every day, in the morning, and in the evening, the monarch ordered his new adviser to consult him on the problems of the kingdom, on his own life or on his spiritual doubts.

Latiff always answered with clarity and precision and became the favourite speaker of the king. Three months after his arrival, there wasn’t any decision made by the monarch without consulting his valued adviser first.

Obviously this unleashed the jealousy of all the other advisers. They saw in the beggar a threat against their own influences.

One day all of the advisers asked for a private hearing with the king. Very circumspect and with gravity they said to him, "Your friend Latif, as you call him, is conspiring to demolish you."

The king said, "I cannot believe it."

"You can confirm it with your own eyes", they said. "Every evening, at about five o’clock, Latiff slinks away from the palace up to the south wing and he enters a dark room. He meets with someone undercover, we do not know with whom. We have asked him where he was going all these evenings. He gave us evasive answers. His attitude alerted us to his conspiracy."

The king felt defrauded and hurt. He had to confirm these versions.

That evening, at five o’clock, he was waiting for Latiff under the stairs. He saw Latiff come to the door and look all around, with the key hanging from his neck. He opened the wooden door and slinked secretly into the room.

"Did you see him?" The other advisers shouted. "You saw him?"

Followed by his personal guard, the monarch struck the door.

"Who is it?" Latiff asked from the inside.

"I am the King" he said, "Open the door to me."

Latiff opened the door. There was nobody inside, except Latiff. No other doors or windows, no secret doors or any furniture where someone could hide.

Inside the room, there was only a worn out wooden plate; in a corner, a walking stick and in the center of the room a shabby tunic hanging by a hook in the roof.

"Are you conspiring against me Latiff?" the King asked.

"How could I, your Majesty?" Latiff answered. "No way. Why would I do that? Only six months ago, when I first came here, the only thing that I had was this tunic, this plate and this walking stick. Now I feel so comfortable in the clothes that I wear, I feel so comfortable with the bed that I sleep in, I am so flattered by the respect that you give me and so fascinated by the power you allow me… to be close you … that I come here every day to touch this old tunic to make sure that I do Remember…

WHO I AM AND WHERE I CAME FROM.

True:

We must never forget who we are and where we come from; life turns and we can always return to the same place.

Crabby Old Man…………… Truth of Life

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte , Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Missouri ..

The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based
on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . .. .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you’re looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice . . . . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not . . . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten . . . . . with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . with wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons . . .. . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman’s beside me . . . . . to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . my wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . and the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old man . . . . . and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . . . . . a young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . . . life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . . . . . gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . open and see.
Not a crabby old man .. . . Look closer . . . see ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet

an older person who you might brush aside

without looking at the young soul within.

We will all, one day, be there, too!

Love is Like ….

love is like an ocean
It goes down so deep
love is like a rose
Whose beauty you want to keep.

love is like a river
That will never end
love is like a dove
With a beautiful message to send.

love is like a prisoner
It’s to you that I surrender
love is like a song
That shall go on and on forever.

A flower of God’s design, the Rosebud…..

A young, new preacher was walking with an older, more seasoned preacher in the garden one day. Feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was asking the older preacher for some advice. The older preacher walked up to a rose bush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing any of the petals The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the will of God for his life and ministry. But, because of his great respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to try and unfold the rosebud while keeping every petal intact . . It wasn’t long before he realized how impossible this was to do. Noticing the young preacher’s inability to unfold the rosebud without tearing it, the older preacher began to recite the following poem:

It is only a tiny rosebud
A flower of God’s design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.

The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
GOD opens this flower so sweetly,
Then, in my hands, they die

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
The flower of God’s design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?

So, I’ll trust in Him for leading
Each moment of my day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the Pilgrim’s way.

The pathway that lies before me
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I’ll trust him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose

The woman of my dreams.

As I awaken, each and every day,
Thoughts of love turn to you.
An unbreakable bond between us two,
A special love ever so true…

The warm glow in your eyes,
The sweet smile on your face;
Makes me want to hold you,
Forever in love’s tender embrace.

The gentleness of your touch,
The sweet passion of your kiss.
Just a couple of many pleasures,
I longingly so miss…

The sound of your voice,
Is like a song in my heart,
Always bringing me happiness,
As it has done from our start.

We’ve shared many joys,
And also felt some sorrows,
Yet our future is filled,
Of wonderful tomorrows.

So, until that bright day,
Far away such as it seems,
You shall always be my one true love…
The woman of my dreams.


World’s famOus Photo Graphy by NAT GEO…

Afghan Girl [1984]

And of course the afghan girl, picture shot by National Geographic photographer Steve McCurry. Sharbat Gula was one of the students in an informal school within the refugee camp; McCurry, rarely given the opportunity to photograph Afghan women, seized the opportunity and captured her image. She was approximately 12 years old at the time. She made it on the cover of National Geographic next year, and her identity was discovered in 1992.

Photographer: Steve McCurry

Omayra Sánchez [1985]

Omayra Sánchez was one of the 25,000 victims of the Nevado del Ruiz (Colombia) volcano which erupted on November 14, 1985. The 13-year old had been trapped in water and concrete for 3 days. The picture was taken shortly before she died and it caused controversy due to the photographer’s work and the Colombian government’s inaction in the midst of the tragedy, when it was published worldwide after the young girl’s death.

Photographer: Frank Fournier

Portrait of Winston Churchill [1941]

This photograph was taken by Yousuf Karsh, a Canadian photographer, when Winston Churchill came to Ottawa. The portrait of Churchill brought Karsh international fame. It is claimed to be the most reproduced photographic portrait in history. It also appeared on the cover of Life magazine.

Photograph from: Yousuf Karsh

The plight of Kosovo refugees [1999]

The photo is part of The Washington Post’s Pulitzer Prize-winning entry (2000) showing how a Kosovar refugee Agim Shala, 2, is passed through a barbed wire fence into the hands of grandparents at a camp run by United Arab Emirates in Kukes, Albania. The members of the Shala family were reunited here after fleeing the conflict in Kosovo.

Photographer: Carol Guzy

Stricken child crawling towards a food camp [1994]

The photo is the “Pulitzer Prize” winning photo taken in 1994 during the Sudan Famine.
The picture depicts stricken child crawling towards an United Nations food camp, located a kilometer away. The vulture is waiting for the child to die so that it can eat him. This picture shocked the whole world. No one knows what happened to the child, including the photographer Kevin Carter who
Left the place as soon as the photograph was taken. Three months later he committed suicide due to depression.

Photographer: Kevin Carter

Segregated Water Fountains [1950]

Picture of segregated water fountains in North Carolina taken by Elliott Erwitt

Photographer: Elliott Erwitt, Magnum Photos

Burning Monk – The Self-Immolation [1963]

June 11, 1963, Thich Quang Duc, a Buddhist monk from Vietnam, burned himself to death at a busy intersection in downtown Saigon to bring attention to the repressive policies of the Catholic Diem regime that controlled the South Vietnamese government at the time. Buddhist monks asked the regime to lift its ban on flying the traditional Buddhist flag, to grant Buddhism the same rights as Catholicism, to stop detaining Buddhists and to give Buddhist monks and nuns the right to practice and spread their religion. While burning Thich Quang Duc never moved a muscle.

Photographer: Malcolm Browne

Bliss [~2000]

Bliss is the name of a photograph of a landscape in Napa County, California, east of Sonoma Valley. It contains rolling green hills and a blue sky with stratocumulus and cirrus clouds. The image is used as the default computer wallpaper for the “Luna” theme in Windows XP. The photograph was taken by the professional photographer Charles O’Rear, a resident of St. Helena in Napa County, for digital-design company HighTurn. O’Rear has also taken photographs of Napa Valley for the May 1979 National Geographic Magazine article Napa, Valley of the Vine. O’Rear’s photograph inspired Windows XP’s US$ 200 million advertising campaign Yes you can.

Photographer: Charles O’Rear

The Triangle Shirtwaist Fire [1911]

Picture of bodies at the Triangle Shirtwaist Company. Company rules were to keep doors closed to the factory so workers (mostly immigrant women) couldn’t leave or steal. When a fire ignited, disaster struck. 146 people died that day.

Photographer: International Ladies Garmet workers Union !

Finally, a question for you……… …..

Who is this famous guy?

“Karl Marx”