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Just like you would open the door
to a stranger on a stormy day,
welcome the souls
who knock on your heart.
You never know what
they've gone through.
-precious.whispers
I like soft light best,
candles and moonlight.
Such light always overlooks a blemish
to highlight the deeper beauty-
the sparkle in one's eye,
the glow of a fire, the contours of the night.
It's not concerned with getting to some final truth,
but instead, naturally gregarious, invites us to talk
of our dreams, our aspirations, indeed anything,
usually over a glass of burgundy,
......
The language of love requires no translation,
The language of trust needs no explanation,
The language of honesty needs no interpretation,
The language of wisdom requires no noise,
The language of kindness requires no words.
Silly wisps of her raven hair flutter
In the winds of the long-short corridor of summer;
They snivel with the whims of cosseted sots,
Sinking in the futile harmony of winking beasts.
Pretty whiskers, soft with the ague of age, and lean
From frazzled grey.
A halo of white cotton crowns her fine dome, revealing little.
She paints the inky images of Al Hirschfeld —
Among whited, slit, black smuts needed for art’s emphases.
The greens of the season, lush and dreamy,
......
Please give and take peace,
Ease others during life-lease,
Knees-bending need no fees,
Cease to hate, love you seize !
M V Venkataraman
It’s cold, really cold.
“Gosh you talk a lot,”
“Philosophy, politics, just shut up.”
Not a snow cold, or a sweater cold.
Maybe it's not the weather that's cold, thought about it?
Maybe it's your heart, or you who's cold.
“Gosh don't be so sensitive, don't overthink it.”
But if you aren't mad about it, have you heard it?
If you aren't sad, did you see it?
If you don't mind, do you feel it, do you even breath?
......
Silly wisps of her raven hair flutter
In the winds of the long-short corridor of summer;
They snivel with the whims of cosseted sots,
Sinking in the futile harmony of winking beasts.
Pretty whiskers, soft with the ague of age, and lean
From frazzled grey.
A halo of white cotton crowns her fine dome, revealing little.
She paints the inky images of Al Hirschfeld —
Among whited, slit, black smuts needed for art’s emphases.
The greens of the season, lush and dreamy,
......
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A person's life should undergo constant sublimation;
that's the secret to fulfilment, in my estimation.
Refine yourself more each day by doing a special favor
that's unexpected, but appreciated with joy and savor.
Perform good deeds daily;
on someone confer a nice surprise.
Smile at a complete stranger to echo joy in smiling eyes.
......