welcome joy, from sadness arise

When I read about strife, disaster, from everyday mondane life to gigantic scale catsatrophe like terror attacks and inter-territory wars, I also hear echoes from certain quarters that these are signs and days of the impending "end of the world".

Desi as a writer thinks as long as men continue to war and fight over terrain and the bounty of the land, the impending "end" won't be such an easy, absolute finale to his greed. Isn't it greed at the peak of all the reasons leaders and governments try to hide as the prime and primordial motivation behind all their expressed noble intentions of bringing civilization (salvation?) to thy neighbour's land?

Spreading the dreams of democracy to enter Iraq and Kuwait?
More like the Balck Gold that awaits the victor.

So let's not get ourselves caught up in the crap of PoliticSpeak and its Perpertrators who abuse others' intelligence to no end.
Let's ENJOY the beauty of Wordsmiths and their creative spirit. So that even from Sadness, we reap Beauty, and Enjoyment of Life.

Welcoming a fellow blogger back from Escapeville ... sumtimes they call it a hiatus?... okay-lah, excuses are aloud;), I dedicate this PrimeDay's cut in answer to her honest to nature capture of a seaside sunset Down Under (http://sweetspirits.blogspot.com) , and I can sense its serenity to feed my hands ridingover Matey's keys on an otherwise mnodane day ...so often associated, poor dear, with Monday Blues:(


From darkness will spring forth light.

From sadness -- even the deepest one -- will spring forth joy. 'Cos you have fRiends and you care for them as they care for thee.

I recall from sweets webpage:

August 30, 2005

Pablo Neruda.......

SADDEST POEM

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

with mighty thanks to Pablo Neruda