Music Ìf I cannot listen to the inner voice, I cannot praise the Universe….


The still small Voice

The Voice

that comes in the night.

The Voice

that says fight for the right.

The Voice

that brings back the wisdom of the sages.

Even the Voice on facebook pages…

What is is this Voice

How do you know

The Voice

that is with you where ever you go.

The Voice

that is loving.

The Voice

that is kind.

The Voice

that asks for your stillness…

when your tears make you blind. 

The Voice

from the past.

The Voice

from within.

Quiet yourself, dear heart, and you will hear

The Voice,

That says 

All will be well, my precious child…

You have a choice to fear.

You have a choice to love.

You have a choice to remember…

I am always with you.

I am always here. 

Perfect and perfect timing


The silence was enough to put the words out in the open. That deafening silence. I want who I can not attain and can attain the one that I do not want. Life is sometimes funny that way.  

 But why cry? It Won’t change anything. So I SAY -laugh.  

 Laugh it off really good. Laugh now cry later -or Not- its ur prerogative.  

 My prerogative? 

  Swallow it in, digest it, puree it into tiny strengthening lessons and recycle it into energy,serenity and growth.  

 What else is there ? you tell me  – Should I throw a tantrum? Should I make a scene where we are the actors-you the villain I the victim ?    

 It WON’T change anything!  

 So again- say it with me.. Swallow it in, tiny lessons, energy, serenity, Growth!  

 10 times fast Vee!…

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Seduced (poem and pictorial)

English: Eskimo women and one Eskimo man
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English: Harpist at Bath A young woman supplem...
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A young woman from Tajikistan in 2007.
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Sunday (Photo credit: ex.libris)
Sweet Sunday
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Sweet Sunday (Photo credit: storebukkebruse)

English: Young woman with head draped looking ...
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English: Young Himba woman Deutsch: Himba-Mädchen
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Rustic Aphrodite (1859), by Georges Clère (181...
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English: Young woman from Tamil Nadu near Maha...
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Sunday’s as a young woman

there  were stacks

of newspapers

from all over the world…

now with one click I am there.

Sunday’s as a young woman

I dreamed of Prince charming…

now I date my self,

pamper myself,

 provide for myself,

 please and appease  myself.

Sunday’s as a young woman

I craved

for more time

to do the things I wanted…

now I enjoy the moment,

its silence and its joys.

Sunday’s as a young woman,

I traveled searching for home,

now I am home.

Sunday’s as a young woman,

I yearned for love,

now I am love.

Sunday’s as a young woman, 

I asked “Why?”…

now I ask “Why not?”

This young writer has the eyes of ages


You turned me over love

You are a path to the heart that knows it own way
You dazzle me with your bright shinning star
And leave your prints on me
You know not your own depth until the hour of separation
You Leave me low and torn
You gut me open with your big claws
You drive me to the ends of the world
Then leave me stranded with no way to get back
Meeting you in my dreams is only torture
Because then i awake reaching for you to no avail
Love why do you wound me so bad?

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My Blog

Loving (TV series)
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“Condemned for Loving too Much”

All was quiet in this forgotten town,

Because of the record snow tumbling down,

Yet in the plaza crowds were shopping still,

Looking for entertainment to get their fill,

There were walkers, and talkers, shops all ablaze,

Restaurants still open but countless delays,

Marge was waiting patiently and talking to a friend,

This day had been perfect, she didn’t want it to end,

Somehow, she noticed him, standing off from the crowd,

His gray eyes fixed on her, haughty and proud,

His brown coat, his lean frame, the thin twisted nose,

Why she alone could see him, she could only suppose,

His eyes asked questions, the answers she didn’t dare,

What kind of man was he? One that didn’t care?

Was he an angry ghost or a demon of some kind?

Why were his thoughts penetrating her mind?

Somehow in his hands…

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Art preservation in the heart of chaos


In the midst of the conflict, the Allied Forces appointed the monuments officers—a motley group of art historians, curators, architects, and artists—to ensure that the great masterworks of European art and architecture were not looted or bombed into oblivion. The journalist Ilaria Dagnini Brey focuses her spellbinding account on the monuments officers of Italy, quickly dubbed “the Venus Fixers” by bemused troops.
Working on the front lines in conditions of great deprivation and danger, these unlikely soldiers stripped the great galleries of their incomparable holdings and sent them into safety by any means they could; when trucks could not be requisitioned or “borrowed,” a Tiepolo altarpiece might make its midnight journey across the countryside balanced in the front basket of a bicycle. They blocked a Nazi convoy of two hundred stolen paintings—including Danae, Titian’s voluptuous masterpiece, an intended birthday present for Hermann Göring. They worked with skeptical army strategists to…

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Great beats the present bagging pants trend

Moment Matters

What if we’re still living the decade of 80’s..

Now that’s fashionable. Great style, groovy artists, era of true icons, classic films and TV, and chilling activities. Plus, people are not yet slaves of technology.

In 80’s people see the best of the Smurfs, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and GI Joe (and Hello Kitty, whatever); heard the best of Madonna and Michael Jackson; and tasted the best of bubblegum flavors. How can we forget the roller skating fad and multi-colored slouch socks (like, really 80’s??). Those are good times.

What do you miss most about 80’s?

More Moments for you:
What If.. No Harry Potter
What If.. Earth is Purgatory
Such Perky TV

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