Horse

He knows when you're happy

He knows when you're comfortable

He knows when you're confident 

And he always knows when you have carrots!

- Author Unknown

(Please click to enlarge)

Good or Bad??

 I was watching The Lord Of the Rings again :) And obviously, the age old question or atleast since the book was read by its dearest readers occurred to me. Is Gollum good or bad? Not even Tolkien could understand this character's true nature.

I believe that no person is either good or bad. It depends on the situation one is forced or trapped into. Besides, it gives variety to life. There are not even just shades of grey in between the black and white. There is a whole range of colours of light with the invisible rays, unfelt rays, etc. in the human spectrum of evil-good trait.

There is always a conflict of emotions within us and more so in people with an active imagination and passion. But how is it that one chooses to be good at one point and then bad again concerning the same event or person but at a different point in time. Is the mind and heart so oscillatory?

You try to think good thoughts and deeds, lean towards it but at the same time sway towards the bad. Of course, knowing whether a thing is evil or good is in itself a conflict. When you are ruled by passions, be it in a case of patriotism or the greater good or a personal matter, how does one decide to choose among the existing course of actions?

Does the outcome of an event decide if a being is good or bad?

Considering all this Is Gollum good or bad?  I would love to know your take on this.

Lost moments

Her heart remembers
a cold wintry night of yesterday
with the promise of snow in the air.
She is dining with friends
amid laughter and friendly banter,
with her shy smiles and covert glances at her lover
Brimming with the hopes
and dreams of tomorrow.

But oh! when it is tomorrow
it is not the happy sunny smiles
and the worship of the loved one that awaits her
In the dread and despair of tomorrow
she sees in her mind's eye
the long gone scene
not as a memory
but as something so real
that she only has to reach out a hand
and tear the veil
to touch the ethereal face
as solid beneath her palms
and enter the other universe
of mirth and merriment.

Who is that dark-haired lass?
laughing with her midnight eyes
sassy and cheeky
glowing with love,
youth and beauty
the daredevil with a zest for life
seizing the moment,
not caring for reason.
Was it a dream or was it real
Now all that is left
is just an empty shell.

Pride and misunderstandings
the great curses of love
have built a wall
around her heart
which beats so reluctantly
lamenting a lost youth.
An acute pain sears her heart
so great is the agony
that tears spring to her eyes
longing for the times gone by
yearning for the moments lost.

A cute bird

This is my first attempt at drawing a bird - Great Tit.

My source - Thanks Bob!

A Bird Came Down the Walk

Emily Dickinson

A bird came down the walk: 

He did not know I saw; 

He bit an angle-worm in halves 

And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew 

From a convenient grass, 

And then hopped sidewise to the wall 

To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes 

That hurried all abroad,-- 

They looked like frightened beads, I thought; 

He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger; cautious, 

I offered him a crumb, 

And he unrolled his feathers 

And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean, 

Too silver for a seam, 

Or butterflies, off banks of noon, 

Leap, plashless, as they swim.

Liebster Blog Award

I have been awarded the Liebster Blog Award by Anne at miscellanees. Many Thanks to Anne for this award. I'm not at all sure of the awards thing because I don't think my ramblings deserve any award ;)

The rules for this one are to choose five other upcoming blogs with less than 200 followers for this award. And they, in turn pass it on to other 5 upcoming bloggers. Very difficult indeed, because the blogs I follow are pretty much well established in the blogland and are extremely talented writers or artists.

I'm breaking some rules here, seriously its very hard to follow all those. So, here goes my choices in no particular order. Please don't take offense as you guys are not new bloggers.

Sprinkles at wyldechylde - I love her blog because the posts are different and varied every time I visit her.

Red at Hiawathahouse - His blog has posts with a variety of topics, lots of real life stories and interesting day-to-day happenings.

Lisa at Where Peaceful Moments Flow.. - I just love the look and feel of her blog, very simple and elegant, the very pretty photos and the dreamy quotes that go with it.

Dave at Cimba7200's thoughts - He has been blogging since 2005 and I find his blog very interesting. He was the first blogger I followed. I stumbled on his blog accidentally and it was refreshing, laid-back and cool.

Hilary at The Smitten Image - I have broken all rules but I want to appreciate her excellent work in choosing POTW awards. Her blog has excellent photographs, even the mundane things turn into works of art and has led me to many versatile and beautiful places, excellent photo shoots and travels all over the world. Just a token of appreciation to keep up the good work!

I chose five, wanted to choose lots but thought I'd atleast stick to one rule. Please visit their blogs, in case you are not already following. You're sure to have a lovely time.

P.S. If you choose not to accept the award, no offense taken :)

Appended to initial post:
Please feel free to ignore the sodding rules :))

Power of Music

I was reading "The Chronicles of Avonlea" by Lucy Montgomery. The third story is of a young boy, Felix who has the skill and genius to play music which the listener wants to hear in the depths of his soul. The following passages moved me. At the end of a life of Magdalene of the harbor, Naomi is scared of hell and wants forgiveness, but is unable to grasp the love of a forgiving God with an all en-compassing and unconditional love. Felix, the minister Mr.Leonard's grandson, with his music makes Naomi, on her deathbed, understand God's love.

"Felix drew the bow softly, perplexedly over the strings. He had no idea what he should play. Then his eyes were caught and held by Naomi's burning, mesmeric, blue gaze as she lay on her crumpled pillow. A strange, inspired look came over the boy's face. He began to play as if it were not he who played, but some mightier power, of which he was but the passive instrument.

Sweet and soft and wonderful was the music that stole through the room. Mr. Leonard forgot his heartbreak and listened to it in puzzled amazement. He had never heard anything like it before. How could the child play like that? He looked at Naomi and marvelled at the change in her face. The fear and frenzy were going out of it; she listened breathlessly, never taking her eyes from Felix. At the foot of the bed the idiot girl sat with tears on her cheeks.

In that strange music was the joy of the innocent, mirthful childhood, blent with the laughter of waves and the call of glad winds. Then it held the wild, wayward dreams of youth, sweet and pure in all their wildness and waywardness. They were followed by a rapture of young love—all-surrendering, all-sacrificing love. The music changed. It held the torture of unshed tears, the anguish of a heart deceived and desolate. Mr. Leonard almost put his hands over his ears to shut out its intolerable poignancy. But on the dying woman's face was only a strange relief, as if some dumb, long-hidden pain had at last won to the healing of utterance.

The sullen indifference of despair came next, the bitterness of smouldering revolt and misery, the reckless casting away of all good. There was something indescribably evil in the music now—so evil that Mr. Leonard's white soul shuddered away in loathing, and Maggie cowered and whined like a frightened animal.

Again the music changed. And in it now there was agony and fear—and repentance and a cry for pardon. To Mr. Leonard there was something strangely familiar in it. He struggled to recall where he had heard it before; then he suddenly knew—he had heard it before Felix came in Naomi's terrible words! He looked at his grandson with something like awe. Here was a power of which he knew nothing—a strange and dreadful power. Was it of God? Or of Satan?

For the last time the music changed. And now it was not music at all—it was a great, infinite forgiveness, an all-comprehending love. It was healing for a sick soul; it was light and hope and peace. A Bible text, seemingly incongruous, came into Mr. Leonard's mind—"This is the house of God; this is the gate of heaven."

Haiku Poems and Translation

Haiku poems - those short three lines that convey a world of meaning. But the translations - I'm not so sure. I read some haiku poems today and was baffled by the translations. I remember one haiku, which my mother loves and told me when I was a little girl. It is in my native language, Tamil.

"vizhigal vinmeenagalai varudinalum
viralgalo jannal kambiodu daan"

I wouldn't dare attempt a translation but it goes something  like - although the eyes may caress the stars, (you are merely present on Earth with) your fingers remain on the window grilles. Thus conveying the differences in daydreams or more aptly, mooning over stuff against the hard facts and harsh realities of life. It could also mean the planning yet to be done for some big dreams aspired to be achieved. Although, of course the former meaning is more romantic in a poetic sense.

This is the most famous 300 odd years old poetry in Japan. And the literal translation goes something like

The old pond;
a frog jumps in —
the sound of the water.

Furu ike ya                Old pond!
kawazu tobikomu      frog jumps in
mizu no oto                water’s sound

Do you believe the translations (not the Google translator!) retain the beauty and essence of meaning that is originally intended to be conveyed?

The Piano

The piano was created by an Italian named Bartolomeo Cristofori. The date  of creation is believed to be somewhere in the mid 1600’s.

When my heart is unsettled,

And tossed about the seas of emotions,

My fingers go to the keyboard,

Where my soul bleeds the pain,

Into the notes,

Into the music,

And I seek peace,

Among dead composers.

     R.Scarlett