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Only I can read your smile

I love the way your smile
Turns the pages of time
Shows each moment strung in a song.
Your smile miraculously connects them all.
I love the way you smile.

I love the way your smile
Begins a new story for me
Ideas hovering at just the right temperature
Wearing variations of my moody memory.
I love the way you smile.

I love the way your smile
Sings in prose
Delivers speeches in rhymes
In a soundless universe of harmony.
I love the way you smile.

I love the way your smile
Jogs in and out of modern-day revolutions
Yet remaining flawless like the colour strokes
On a painting done centuries ago.
I love the way you smile.

I love the way your smile
Silently gives shape
To all that is going on in my mind
Guarding, guiding, and building upon nuances.
I love the way you smile.

I love the way your smile
Sketches the unsaid and the unread
Creating bridges with
What things are or what they must be.
I love the way you smile.

I love the way your smile
Enacts the seven stages and more
Without wishing to score or settle a score.
Knowing that smiles live forever only if read,
I have and will go on reading your smile.

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Arvind Passey
20 April 2018
www.passey.info
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#FridayFeeling #Poetry #poem #lovepoem

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People always in search of your quality , but for me it is just opposite , because 
I love the way , you call my name 
I love the way , you tease me 
I love the way, call me yours 
I love the way love me
I love the way, you say sorry to me
I love the way, you care for me 
I love the way , you treat me 
I love the way of your living 
I love the way of your thinking 
I just love the way what you are . #NojotoQuote

 

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YES I miss you
No no let me clarify that..
I miss your voice;
I miss your smile showing all the teeth.;
I miss the way you hold my hand;
I miss the way you play with my fingers..
I miss the smell of your perfume;
I miss the way you forcefully messed up my cheeks...
I miss your stalking..
I miss your scolding...
I miss your pinching...
I miss the push which you give knowingly...
I miss the way you call me...
I miss the staring when you take food..
I miss the sharing from the same paper boat...
I miss watermelon juice,beet-carrot juice..
I miss your sneeze...
I miss your sleepy face..
I miss your curly hair..
I miss the way slept in my arms...
I miss the staring when you fall asleep;
I miss all the walk and talks with you under Sun..
I miss the way you made me puzzled before teachers...
I miss all the travel and talks...
I miss the way you make me angry
I miss the way you make me feel happy..
I miss the way you make me feel jealous
I miss all the coincidence with you..
But not you...

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Crazy 8
Visiting her grave was part of my routine. If I returned I would know exactly which wooden box to walk too, in which flower patch her body rests and exactly how far beneath the ground her degrading body sits in harmony with the earth. She was ready to die. She was ready to die six months before I forced her body awake every morning. Before I coerced her to eat her wet soggy food. Before I held her so close to my body and dripped my tears of optimism all over her back. She was ready to die long before I decided she should live.
On September 6, 2010 Mother Nature decided that Idaho was ready for winter. The clouds swirled into a monotonous tundra over my home. The hawks mocked us for not being prepared for winter. It’s easier for them – they fill their stomachs and fly south. It was their time to eat. They flew in circles over my chicken shed meditating on their prey. As I saw the commotion in the sky and the craving of flesh in their eyes I knew it was time to corral my chickens.
My chickens roamed around the ten-acre land as they pleased. Some would make their way into my home on occasions and eat the food off the counters and others would go near the barn and roll their bodies into the hay hiding themselves from the rest of the world. The ones with more exploring initiative would lay on their sides in the middle of the fields like they were born in the tropics – stomach turned toward the heat finding every way to become one with the sun. They didn’t succeed but when I would pick those ones off the ground their heat would soak into my body and I would understand their logic. After their day of roaming the world they would find their way back to the coop. The coop was painted with my neighbors and my love. The names of the chickens were written on the walls and amateur drawings covered all the nooks and crannies. It was comforting to me. I wonder if they thought it was too.
As the hawks picked their prey I was frantic. My mom and I frolicked the land, me in search for all my babies and her supporting hers. I was yelling trying to scare away the hawks but they knew I couldn’t fly. I could never reach them. The sound of my petrified voice didn’t pierce the hawks as much as it pierced myself. There was one chicken missing. Where was the last one? I saw her body frantically trapped on the other side of the fence. I guided her around the fence to the shed and I pushed the last chicken into the shed and slammed the door shut. As the door slammed I heard the cries of a bird. Did I miss one? Did a hawk steal it before I did? But the distant noise wasn’t so distant at all. As I turned my head toward the door the chicken I had just saved from the hawk I had shut in the door. She lay – just like she used to lay beneath the sun but this time it was not out of pleasure. I opened the door and my chicken rest, her neck strutting in multiple directions and her eyes looking at me in desperation.
I convinced my mom to let me buy chickens when I was eight. She said “if you pay for them and take care of them – you can get them.” So, I saved my money, did my research, and found it only reasonable to make a business to pay for my chickens. I would sell eggs and thus my chickens would be paid for. And this is what I did. But the relationship between my chickens and I over the years became less of a business venture and more of a companionship. When I heard the arguing in the house I found solace in the chickens outside. I talked to them like I was a chicken myself. I would tell them my secrets and my fears. They would sit in my lap and tilt their head whenever I said something noteworthy. After I paused they would come in with some of their thoughts. It’s too bad I didn’t understand their language.
My chicken laid in my arms. My mom took it upon herself to make a bed in the warmth of our home. I brought the barely breathing chicken to the bed that was so delicately made and placed her in it. My tears of optimism didn’t cover the chicken today – they covered her body creating a coat of pain and suffering. I’m sure this coat wasn’t ever taken off my chicken – but I pretended it didn’t exist. I’m good at pretending.
In the preceding days, every morning, pre-lunch, lunch, pre-dinner, dinner, pre-dessert, and post dessert I would feed my chicken food that I soaked in water so it was soft enough to go down her broken neck. I wasn’t an anatomy expert but somehow I figured that with a neck that looks like a 90-degree angle it might be easier to eat if the food is soft. My chicken laid there day after day – gaining energy by night. I convinced myself or perhaps I dreamed it – that she was getting better. I imagined her standing up. I craved her leading a happy life – the life that she deserved.
My mom used to say that if she got in an accident and was unable to move or do anything with her life that she would want to die. She wouldn’t want her children spending their lives caring for a cause that we cared so deeply for but that she left long ago. Our family likes knowing one another at our best and at our worst. But when our worst makes others suffer it becomes a problem that affects all those around us. When I ponder the chicken months today – I always wonder if my chicken was like my mother. Did she want me to let her die? Did she want to close her eyes and sleep to her death? Had I stripped her of her one wish just like I would strip my mother?
As her health improved and she began to seem more alert to the world we started having daily sessions. In the morning’s we stretched. I would pick her immobile body up and slowly move her legs away from her body. I would do the same for her feet. I trusted I was saving a child from its misery. I know now that death isn’t something to fear. I feared for my chicken – I’m sure she didn’t fear it. I would put her body to the ground like she was walking – reminding her of a past long forgotten. A past that today she only sees in her heaven. I didn’t put any of her weight on the ground – it was more of a presentation. When she gobbled, I thought she was telling me things. I would listen and try to pick up on her words. But somehow her gobbles never translated to English.
When people visited our home, they wondered why my mother let me keep a dying chicken in our bathroom. You couldn’t use that bathroom because it smelled of manure and death – so people were ushered to the one in my mother’s room. My mom and I thought it was normal. She was a part of the family. I considered her a part of me just like a person would consider their sibling a part of them. My mother felt the same way. Often when I slept in too late my mom would do my job for me. She would help her walk and feed her her wet food. I remember her words ringing in my head “if you take care of them, you can get them.” I knew she believed this but my mother would also check in on my chicken day and night when I couldn’t care for her myself. She is a mother after all. I learned my ways from her.
A month later my chicken could stand up. I never thought her progress would be so vast. Balancing was a difficult task for her. Her vision was off – or at least something was because when she stood up to eat her food – she would go to peck the liquid matter but she would miss and peck the ground instead. It would take her a few tries to get her beak into the bowl. I didn’t know how to teach her without moving her head in the right direction. Sometimes I would place my hands around the bowl covering the ground. My chicken knew when she pecked me – she never wanted to peck me so she would try to find the bowl. When the days were still warm I would bring her under the hot sun to some of her favorite places – to the sawdust where she used to roll or to the blanket of grass where she would heat her body. She loved the days when it was warm. She would place herself near a tree and sprawl on the ground.
Sometimes my mother would come play the guitar outside. Her lyrics penetrated the atmosphere. She wasn’t playing for anyone – or at least anyone I knew of. But I know my chicken would sit under the tree a few feet away from her and she would turn her head, in any way she knew how, to look at my mother. She would tilt her head, a sober sign of listening and she would keep it that way until my mother’s words receded. Then she would go back to sticking her beak into the ground in search of insects but whenever my mom started up again she would always repeat her actions. I think her voice was a gift into a world of pleasure that was absent from her life. My mother’s voice was a gift to more than one.
As time went on my chicken became stronger. She could walk. Her head and neck leaned to one side of her body making her unbalanced. When she could walk, she would only go in a circle. Her circles eventually got bigger and some days she would make it all the way across the yard by way of circles. When I think about spending life only able to move in circles it makes me shiver.
We could never reintroduce her to the other chickens because they would peck her to death. Chickens are cruel birds – or cruel to the human eye. If one has a disability they will peck it until it dies. I couldn’t let this happen – but maybe that’s the way of the chicken world – and maybe that’s what is best.
My chicken would go to the fence and stand at it looking at all the other ones on the other side of the fence. She looked in desperation as if she was so alone – as if she wanted to be pecked to death – as if she was ready to take death. I couldn’t bear to see her own kind kill her and I couldn’t leave her knowing exactly what was going to happen when I left.
By May 8, 2010 my chicken acted as if she had never got her neck crushed in a door. She laid eggs, she only tilted her head slightly and she befriended the less cruel chickens. She still slept in a different place than them, she would still eat wet food, and I would still watch her with a hawk’s eye.
Months later I walked into her bed and she lied there dead. I still wonder what caused it. Was it her age? Was it something from the event that occurred seven months earlier? Or was she just ready to die?
We buried her on the same day and my tears covered the dirt of where she lay. My tears soaked the area – I’m sure they reached her body that lied so far beneath the dirt. Her body lays in the dirt that I shed my tears on today. But, she doesn’t lay there. She is somewhere, in some beautiful place, dancing with the land just of how she always dreamed. A rock lay by her grave and on it are the words ‘Crazy 8.’ We called her Crazy 8. Her name is Crazy 8.

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32
32 important life lessons from 32 years
Sometimes so many questions accumulate in your head that you just have to find a way to release them. Olesya Novikova, a writer, journalist, blogger, and traveller, recently shared the life lessons which she has discovered over the 32 years of her life so far.Everyone has a fear. Even beautiful, talented, smart, and lucky people. We’re scared to start something new, to go out of our comfort zone, to take a risk, to do something that we never done before. We fear for our families, for our jobs, for our life, and for many other things as well. Fear will always exist. No matter how much experience, confidence, recognition, money or talent you have, you’ll be scared to a greater or lesser degree each time when you conquer a new height or do something new. But this is fine. This means you’re still alive. You have to keep going on. Go through and past your fear, and don’t try to get rid of it.
Changes will keep happening. Stability is illusory. We’re constantly on the move. We keep changing — outwardly and inwardly, and these processes don’t stop even for a second. A sane person doesn’t have the chance to pose the question — to change or not to change? He or she can only answer a different one: ’’Do I have control over these changes that are taking place, and to what extent?’’
’’Quickly’’ means ’’slowly, but without interruption.’’ There’s no need to do something quickly, intensely, or forcefully. Just do it regularly. The most important thing is to keep the rhythm going. Do it little by little, but constantly. And after some time, if you look at it from the outside, it will look like you did it quickly and efficiently.
Create more than you consume.Otherwise, you’ll be left with only a hopeless consumer lifestyle leading to no meaningful conclusion. ’’Everything is good, but there’s nothing good’’. A person must always create something, willingly and with love. This is a formula for good mental health. Curiously, this is the only way to enjoy the pleasure of consumption that won’t destroy the pleasure itself. You can consider this process as a spiritual version of having good metabolism.
Today’’ is what you did and thought yesterday, and ’’tomorrow’’ is what you do and think today. Repeat this phrase like a mantra for as long as you realize that no one else is responsible for the problems you come up against.
There are no guarantees at all. This is a basic rule of the universe which you need to take into account when making all your decisions and preparing all your plans.
The era of sacred knowledge is over.Now, it’s the era of informational hygiene. For several years already, knowledge hasn’t helped any of us achieve anything or attain a meaningful existence. The internet has devalued knowledge. The ability to concentrate on a given task without losing interest is now more important. And this skill is directly affected by the storm of information battering your mind at any given moment. The more verbal ’’garbage’’ is around, the weaker your concentration becomes. The more the thoughts of others circulate in your mind, the harder it is to hear your own voice. The online stream of information weakens your ability to discover yourself.
Joy and pleasure are not the same thing. We never experience real joy while eating a chocolate cake, drinking a glass of wine or smoking a cigarette. We don’t experience joy while buying new shoes or perfume. Let’s call things by their proper names — in these cases, we just get pleasure. And that’s another story. By its nature this feeling is very short-lived, and it’s inextricably linked to further dissatisfaction, boredom, satiety, and the desire for a new portion of pleasure. Don’t be afraid to give up pleasures, be afraid not to experience real joy.Suffering exists. Buddha was right after all. 
Suffering exists. Everybody suffers. Both those who have nothing and those who have everything. Those who don’t suffer in the present will make the transition to a state of pain at a later date. Maybe because of the falling currency or because of a terrorist attack. Maybe because of finding out that someone doesn’t love him or her anymore. Or they’ll get upset because they don’t get a reply to a message they sent, or they don’t earn enough money, or for literally any other reason you can think of. Suffering exists. We will always find a reason to suffer. Just accept it, and do your best to ignore it.
Not everyone can be happy. Can everyone be happy? Yes, sure! But only in theory. In practice, only those who have disciplined their minds can be consistently happy, calm, balanced, and benevolent. Only those whose minds are trained and capable of not worrying about everything around them. Only those who manage to retain a sense of joy not only in agreeable circumstances but also in unpleasant situations. Otherwise, there’s an endless stream of events which will evoke only pain, irritation, and anxiety. And some situations are more serious than others. A person who reacts emotionally to every little incident can never be happy inside.
Joy means retaining a balance in your mind. If somebody had told me this five years ago, I would never have believed it. When you dream all day and night of finding your one true love, creating a family, a well-paid job, an opportunity to work for yourself, to travelk, you think that you know what joy is. At least, what your own joy is. Of course, you can’t always be satisfied with everything. Sometimes you suffer. And this is fine. The most important thing is that you know what to strive for. Looking at your dreams, you realize where your sense of enduring joy comes from. Joy is a state of complete peace of mind, which is achieved by overcoming the blind, automatic reactions of the mind to events. Practising a form of deep meditation is perhaps the only healthy way to discover and attain this state true maturity.
Know the importance of fruit and its physical effects. Fruit is not acidic, it’s alkaline. To divert into science for a second, all kinds of ripe fruit and vegetables have an alkaline reaction, helping to neutralise excess acid in your body. Things like meat, sugar, fat and dairy products have the opposite effect. Not many people know this — try googling it!
’’My body itself knows what is better for it’’ is one of the most insidious mind traps. An alcoholic’s body wants to drink; a smoker’s body dreams of a cigarette; our bodies are always hungry for chocolate and fries. How can the body know what is better? Our minds live by automatic responses that don’t let us make necessary changes; our bodies obey our habits and our chaotic impulses.
Food affects not only your body but also your mind. In the same way that alcohol significantly changes your consciousness, blunting it, certain kinds of food can have a similar effect, but it’s less pronounced and more unconscious. Food can slow down and refocus your thinking process. Moreover, it can weaken your control, your power of awareness, and your clarity of perception. A slightly ’’blurred’’ state of mind becomes a norm for you, so you forget what lightness and clarity actually mean. The most ’’clean’’ kinds of food are fresh fruit, vegetables, cereals, and that which is cooked with a minimum amount of oil, spices, and salt.
You need money only in order not to think about money. Money doesn’t solve the central question of humanity. It don’t make people happy. But the opportunity not to think about money, at least in everyday life, significantly releases energy for something else.
We have more similarities than differences. The value of personal uniqueness is greatly exaggerated. All the answers and solutions have already existed for a long time. In focusing on your own uniqueness, you don’t have the chance to push away your ego and perceive reality with all its real answers.
The best way to stop an addiction is not to have access to the thing your addicted to, at all. It’s impossible to drink one glass of wine if you’re an alcoholic. If you’re trying to quit smoking, you can’t still have a smoke from time to time. You’ll be constantly in a state of mental torture. You’ll go up and down. You’ll always have disruptions. This rule is immutable for all kinds of addiction.
You will never be fully prepared for change. We are never fully prepared for twists of fate or changes. There is always a strong ’’but...’’ and the temptation to postpone changes until a more favorable time. There is no point waiting for complete internal harmony. You just need to make a decision, relying on the thought that ’’it’s high time’’ to get things done.
Life is a book where the first chapters weren’t written by you. Sometimes even the subsequent chapters aren’t either. We’re composed of beliefs and we make up models of the world around us. And this world isn’t just abstract. It’s a concrete office, a house, a street — the places where we spend our life. It’s our friends, colleagues, parents, and the salespeople whom we meet every evening. It’s a news feed on social networks and so-called Facebook friends. We automatically absorb the opinions, positions, and viewpoints of other people. We imbibe them along with the air, regardless of whether we agree with them or not. And when we don’t agree, it’s also a moment of automatic denial. In childhood, this process was completely out of our control. The essence of your personality was forged by other people, and parental input (if it was ever there) wasn’t dominant in this. What and who you consider yourself to be and what you should be afraid to lose, according to some psychologists, is just a mosaic of your environment. There is nothing to lose. Isn’t that great news? At least in that case, you can redraw everything however you like.
A result is a bunch of attempts at something. It’s not a single well-aimed shot. And it’s certainly not just good fortune.
What helped you at one stage may one day prevent you from going on to the next stage. Sometimes it’s important to give up that which has helped you in the past. Here’s an example: rules for small businesses don’t work for huge corporations. It’s impossible to grow without giving up some of the rules, even if they helped you to grow up yesterday. This also applies to your personality, a person’s values, and their plans.
Outside of your comfort zone, there is a discomfort zone. And there’s no flowers and chocolates there. But you have to go there anyway if you want to achieve something.
There is no life without a purpose. The only question is whether you create these purposes yourself or leave it to your instincts to decide them for you.
Laziness doesn’t exist. There are unloved activities, there’s such a thing as a lack of energy and a lack of wide vision and ability to be excited about new perspectives. But there is no such thing as laziness.
You can’t find yourself; you can only create yourself. There is nothing and nobody to look for. You’re always here, in the here and now. Your path is what you have under your feet right now, nothing more — it’s not anywhere else. You can only distinguish between the right path and the wrong one by using your awareness. You pave small, but definite goals. If these goals are determined by others, or if they chaotically grow as a result of duty, it’s not your path. It’s just a bunch of separate episodes of your life.
You don’t need alcohol. At all.
Your unrealized potential will hurt you one day. It’s useless to hide this fact and instead stick inside your comfort zone. As they say, you are responsible for the talent that has been entrusted to you.
Banks should pay you, but not vice versa. This is the only possible way to be financially healthy. Never, never, never buy anything that you haven’t earned enough to pay for. Never. Especially if you want something big. We pay banks not only our money but also our energy. As a result, you don’t have the energy to take that risk and make adventurous plans. Breaking out from such a situation once that decision is taken is hardly going to be possible.
You need to learn how to work under pressure, and how to relax. Every movement requires exertion. If you make this move reluctantly and out of necessity, you’ll spend twice as much energy. In this case, you spend some energy on the physical and mental effort, and the mental stress saps the rest of your energy. That’s why you need to learn how to deal with stress when it appears and how to love it. If you сan put yourself under strain voluntarily, considering it only something positive, you’ll expend much less energy. The second part of success is the ability to relax, to accept things as they are, to let go of your expectations. You can’t move on if you only know how to be stressed, but don’t know how to relax.
’’Yes’’ and ’’no’’ are two answers that you need to learn as soon as possible.Learn how to say ’’yes’’ to situations and people in spite of the absence of guarantees, internal readiness, and changing circumstances. Learn how to say ’’no’’ first of all to yourself: to your weaknesses, your fears, and your selfishness. And only much later, learn how to say ’’no’’ to others.
There’s a difference between great things and good things. The latter you forget about, the former you don’t. A truly creative person is different from someone who simply does his job well. Creators put their tasks above themselves, dissolving their egos in the process. They work consciously and with love, not because of a sense of duty or a lack of choice. A marketer can be a true musician while a proper musician can be just a mediocre craftsman for their entire life.
Every sign that you meet on your way through life can be interpreted in at least three different ways. 1. Maybe this is a real sign! 2. Perhaps there are no signs at all. 3. Maybe this is a test. Maybe fate just attempted to knock you out of your stride by testing the sincerity of your intentions and your decisions.

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