soon some day

I shall soon fall prey to rot...
I shall soon fall prey to rot. Though it's hard to die, it's good to die; I shall ask for no one's pity, And there's no one who would pity me.
With my lyre I won no glory For my noble family name; And I die as distant from my people As the day that I began to live.
Ties of friendship, unions of the heart- All are broken: from my youth, Fate has sent me foes implacable, While my friends all perished in the struggle.
Their prophetic songs were left unfinished, They fell victim to misfortune, were betrayed In the bloom of life; and now their portraits watch me From the walls, reproachfully.
© A. Wachtel, I. Kutik and M. Denner www.russianpoetry.net
Скоро стану добычею тленья...
Скоро стану добычею тленья. Тяжело умирать, хорошо умереть; Ничьего не прошу сожаленья, Да и некому будет жалеть.
Я дворянскому нашему роду Блеска лирой своей не стяжал; Я настолько же чуждым народу Умираю, как жить начинал:.
Узы дружбы, союзов сердечных - Всё порвалось: мне с детства судьба Посылала врагов долговечных, А друзей уносила борьба.
Песни вещие их не допеты, Пали жертвою злобы, измен В цвете лет; на меня их портреты Укоризненно смотрят со стен.

hariharan

hariharan
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZAfyPJFR8NQ&feature=related



Hariharan -- Tu hi re
2008-05-31 04:06:29 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
Mahamrityunjaya Mantra--my favourite
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTmHf5cjMvA

Mahamrityunjaya Mantra--my favourite

Mahamrityunjaya Mantra--my favourite http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTmHf5cjMvAhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTmHf5cjMvA Mahamrityunjaya Mantra Mahamrityunjaya Mantra ShankarSahney lent his voice to Lord Shiva's Mahamrityunjaya Mantra recited 108 times by him.shankarsahney allah ke bande http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UBozN_cYF4&feature=related Kailash Kher -- Allah ke Bande sailaab bahaar Title: Pastureland IIArtist: Michael Longo

mitwa--speech of longing

speech of longing
Title: Autumn's Edge Artist: Joan Colomer In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.Speech is born out of longing,True description from the real taste.The one who tastes, knows;the one who explains, lies.How can you describe the true form of SomethingIn whose presence you are blotted out?And in whose being you still exist?And who lives as a sign for your journey? Rabia al-Adawiyya Rabi'a al-'Adawiyya(717 - 801 AD) was born in Basra. As a child, after the death of her parents, Rabi'a was sold into slavery. After years of service to her slavemaster, Rabi'a began to serve only the Beloved with her actions and thoughts. Since she was no longer useful to the slaveowner, Rabi'a was then set free to continue her devotion to the Beloved.Rabi'a held that the true lover, whose consciousness is unwaveringly centered on the Beloved, is unattached to conditions such as pleasure or pain, not from sensory dullness but from ceaseless rapture in Divine Love.
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30-05-2008 08:18 (ссылка)
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mitva
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWigY82Mttk Shankar Mahadevan sings 'mitwA' Shankar Mahadevan sings 'mitwA' Shankar Mahadevan

mushroom

Salted Mushrooms
5 kg (11 1/4 lb) edible lamellar mushrooms,200 to 250 g (1 cup) salt, spices and condiments:leaf of black currant, leaf of horse-radish, garlic,pepper, dill, sweet pepper, cloves(do not add spices when salting saffron milk-caps)
Sort out the mushrooms, wash thoroughly, soak for 2 to 3 days in cold water changing it many times and keeping the mushrooms in a cold room. Place the soaked mushrooms into a prepared wooden or glass vessel in rows, with their stems up, interspersing them with condiments, spices and salt in the proportion of 4% to the mass of the mushrooms. Put a round wooden cover and load over them. Milk agarics and coral milky caps can be salted together interspersing them with salt and chopped white onions.
Large areas covered by woods and forests, especially in the north of Russia, were abundant in berries and mushrooms and this accounted for a wealth of "gifts of the forests" on the Russian table. One should also not forget about the fish courses. Russian cuisine was renowned for diverse delicacies, especially refreshments, made of fish. Russian rivers, lakes and seas yielded much of this tasty and useful kind of food.
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Thursday May 29, 2008 - 04:46pm (NFT) Edit Delete Permanent Link 0 Comments
Entry for May 28, 2008
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0s0anVD104


"Hey Ram Hey Ram" - Lord Rama Prayer
"Hey Ram Hey Ram" - Lord Rama Prayer
. A beautiful bhajan by Jagjit Singh....Ram

twilight--betabi shab

Title: Twilight Courtyard Artist: Philip Craig

araj

araj
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkYlxjsQ714 Suniyo Ji Araj Mhariyo - Lata Mangeshkar Suniyo Ji Araj Mhariyo - Lata Mangeshkar A plea is often ignored....Lekin Dimple Kapadia Vinod Khanna GulzarHridaynathMangeshkar

seeking

Title: Village Landscape Artist: Lowell Herrero If you are seeking closeness to the Beloved,love everyone.Whether in their presence or absence,see only their good.If you want to be as clear and refreshing as the breath of the morning breeze,like the sun, have nothing but warmth and light for everyone.Shaikh Abu-Saeed Abil-Kheir - 'Nobody, Son of Nobody' - Vraje Abramian

ajanabi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKZq2a1kGwQ


jaan-e-mann - ajnabi shehar hai

lost in thoughts

Title: Riziere, Bali Artist: Diagentur
ALEXANDR PUSHKIN(1799-1837)
Wandering the noisy streets...Wandering the noisy streets,Entering the crowded church,Sitting among wild young men,I am lost in my thoughts. I say to myself: the years will fly,And however many are here, we shall allGo down under the eternal vaults.Someone's hour is already at hand. Gazing at a solitary oak,I think: this patriarchWill outlive my forgotten ageAs it outlived the age of my fathers. When I caress a dear child, I'm already thinking: goodbye!I yield my place to you: it's timeFor me to decay and you to blossom. I say goodbye to each day,Trying to guessWhich among them will beThe anniversary of my death. And how and where shall I die?Fighting, travelling, in the waves?Or will the neighbouring valleyReceive my cold dust? And though it's all the sameTo the feelingless body,I should like to restCloser to the places I love. And at the grave's entranceLet young life play,And the beauty of indifferent natureNever cease to shine.Брожу ли я вдоль улиц шумных...Брожу ли я вдоль улиц шумных,Вхожу ль во многолюдный храм,Сижу ль меж юношей безумных,Я предаюсь моим мечтам. Я говорю: промчатся годы,И сколько здесь ни видно нас,Мы все сойдем под вечны своды -И чей-нибудь уж близок час.Гляжу ль на дуб уединенный,Я мыслю: патриарх лесовПереживет мой век забвенный,Как пережил он век отцов.Младенца ль милого ласкаю,Уже я думаю; прости!Тебе я место уступаю:Мне время тлеть, тебе цвести.День каждый, каждую годинуПривык я думой провождать,Грядущей смерти годовщинуМеж их стараясь угадать.И где мне смерть пошлет судьбина?В бою ли, в странствии, в волнах?Или соседняя долинаМой примет охладелый прах?И хоть бесчувственному телуРавно повсюду истлевать,Но ближе к милому пределуМне все б хотелось почивать.И пусть у гробового входаМладая будет жизнь играть,И равнодушная природаКрасою вечною сиять.1829

justice

Title: Approaching Heaven Artist: Brooks Anderson
Crime and Punishment chapter XII
Then one of the judges of the city stood forth and said, "Speak to us of Crime and Punishment." And he answered saying: It is when your spirit goes wandering upon the wind, That you, alone and unguarded, commit a wrong unto others and therefore unto yourself. And for that wrong committed must you knock and wait a while unheeded at the gate of the blessed. Like the ocean is your god-self; It remains for ever undefiled. And like the ether it lifts but the winged. Even like the sun is your god-self; It knows not the ways of the mole nor seeks it the holes of the serpent. But your god-self does not dwell alone in your being. Much in you is still man, and much in you is not yet man, But a shapeless pigmy that walks asleep in the mist searching for its own awakening. And of the man in you would I now speak. For it is he and not your god-self nor the pigmy in the mist, that knows crime and the punishment of crime. Oftentimes have I heard you speak of one who commits a wrong as though he were not one of you, but a stranger unto you and an intruder upon your world. But I say that even as the holy and the righteous cannot rise beyond the highest which is in each one of you, So the wicked and the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest which is in you also. And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree, So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all. Like a procession you walk together towards your god-self. You are the way and the wayfarers. And when one of you falls down he falls for those behind him, a caution against the stumbling stone. Ay, and he falls for those ahead of him, who though faster and surer of foot, yet removed not the stumbling stone. And this also, though the word lie heavy upon your hearts: The murdered is not unaccountable for his own murder, And the robbed is not blameless in being robbed. The righteous is not innocent of the deeds of the wicked, And the white-handed is not clean in the doings of the felon. Yea, the guilty is oftentimes the victim of the injured, And still more often the condemned is the burden-bearer for the guiltless and unblamed. You cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good from the wicked; For they stand together before the face of the sun even as the black thread and the white are woven together. And when the black thread breaks, the weaver shall look into the whole cloth, and he shall examine the loom also. If any of you would bring judgment the unfaithful wife, Let him also weight the heart of her husband in scales, and measure his soul with measurements. And let him who would lash the offender look unto the spirit of the offended. And if any of you would punish in the name of righteousness and lay the ax unto the evil tree, let him see to its roots; And verily he will find the roots of the good and the bad, the fruitful and the fruitless, all entwined together in the silent heart of the earth. And you judges who would be just, What judgment pronounce you upon him who though honest in the flesh yet is a thief in spirit? What penalty lay you upon him who slays in the flesh yet is himself slain in the spirit? And how prosecute you him who in action is a deceiver and an oppressor, Yet who also is aggrieved and outraged? And how shall you punish those whose remorse is already greater than their misdeeds? Is not remorse the justice which is administered by that very law which you would fain serve? Yet you cannot lay remorse upon the innocent nor lift it from the heart of the guilty. Unbidden shall it call in the night, that men may wake and gaze upon themselves. And you who would understand justice, how shall you unless you look upon all deeds in the fullness of light? Only then shall you know that the erect and the fallen are but one man standing in twilight between the night of his pigmy-self and the day of his god-self, And that the corner-stone of the temple is not higher than the lowest stone in its foundation. Khalil Gibran

yaar hai magar gul

Ttitle: Lavender: Study in Gold Artist: Brooks Anderson

pursuit

Title: Fields of Lavendar Artist: Roberto Lombardi 'Pursuit of the Friend'The heart left, and the Friend is (also) gone.I don't know whether I should go after the Friend or after the heart!A voice spoke to me: "Go in pursuit of the Friend, because the lover needs a heart in order to find union with the Friend. If there was no Friend, what would (the lover) do with (his) heart?" Sheikh Ansari - Kashf al_Asrar, Vol. 1, p. 628 - 'Maqulat-o Andarz-ha - Sayings and Advice' - A.G. Farhadi

passerby

Title: Chestnut Lane Artist: Gregory Wilhelmi You're me in the way. I used to Walk so, without looking up. Stop, passerby! Don't refuse to. I beg and I pray you - stop! You'll read, as you lay the glowing Red blossoms on the mound of grass: Marina. And then more slowly: The dates - of my birth and death. Yes, there is a grave, but leave it And haunt you I won't, no fear. I too, you can well believe it, Once laugh in the midst of tears. The blood through my veins coursed freely, The locks curled around my face. Stop, passerby! Can't you feel it? I too, passerby, once was. A strawberry. Pluck it, eat it! It's there, near the very ground. No berries are ever sweeter Then those in a graveyard found. But only no gloom, no tightly Closed lips, do not brood or fret. Think lightly on me, and lightly My name, passerby, forget. The sun's dust-like beams caress you, Your shoulders and head they lave. Please don't let the voice distress you That comes to you from grave.
*** Идешь, на меня похожий, Глаза устремляя вниз. Я их опускала - тоже! Прохожий, остановись! Прочти, - слепоты куриной И маков набрав букет, - Что звали меня Мариной И сколько мне был лет. Не думай, что здесь могила, Что я появлюсь, грозя... Я слишком сама любила Смеяться, когда нельзя, И кровь приливала к коже, И кудри мои вились... Я тоже была, прохожий! Прохожий, остановись! Сорви себе стебель дикий И ягоду - ему вслед. Кладбищенской земляники Крупнее и слаще нет, Но только не стой угрюмо, Главу опустив на грудь. Легко обо мне подумай, Легко обо мне забудь. Как луч тебя освещает! Ты весь в золотой пыли... И пусть тебя не смущает Мой голос из-под земли.

morality

Title: Horses in Field, Near Grandville, Vermont, USA Artist: Joe Restuccia
God is the ideal that raises mankind to the utmost height of perfection.
Bowl of Saki, by Hazrat Inayat Khan
Commentary by Pir-o-Murshid Inayat KhanAn ideal is something to hope for and hold on to, and in the absence of an ideal hope has nothing to look forward to. It is the lack of idealism which accounts for the present degeneration of humanity in spite of all the progress it has made in other directions. There are many kinds of ideals: principles, virtues, objects of devotion; but the greatest and highest of all ideals is the God-ideal. And when this God-ideal upon which all other ideals are based is lost, then the very notion of ideal is ignored. Man needs many things in life, but his greatest need is an ideal.from http://wahiduddin.net/mv2/IX/IX_9.htmGod is the ideal that raises mankind to the utmost reach of perfection. As man considers and judges his dealings with man in his conscience, so the real worshipper of God considers his dealings with God. If he has helped anybody, if he has been kind to anybody, if he has made sacrifices for anybody, he does not look for appreciation or return for his doing so to the people to whom he has done good; for he considers that he has done it for God, and therefore, his account is with God, not with those with whom he has dealt. He does not care even if instead of praising they blame him; for in any case he has done it for God, who is the best judge and the knower of all things.There is no ideal that can raise the moral standard higher than the God-ideal, although love is the root of all and God is the fruit of this. Love's expansion and love's culmination and love's progress all depend upon the God-ideal. How much a man fears his friend, his neighbor, when he does something that might offend him whom he loves, whom he respects; and yet how narrow is his goodness when it is only for one person or for certain people! Imagine if he had the same consideration for God, then he would be considerate everywhere and in dealing with all people; as in a verse of a Sufi which says, 'Everywhere I go I find Thy sacred dwelling-place; and whichever side I look I see Thy beautiful face, my Beloved.'from http://wahiduddin.net/mv2/III/III_III_4.htm

chamber of your heart

Title: Morning Mist Artist: Kent Wallis Sa'd al-din Mahmud Shabistari(1250 - 1320) is one of the most celebrated authors of Persian Sufism. Because of his gift for expressing the Sufi mystical vision with extraordinary clarity, his Gulshan-i raz or Secret Rose Garden rapidly became one of the most popular works of Persian Sufi poetry. Go sweep out the chamber of your heart. Make it ready to be the dwelling place of the Beloved. When you depart out, He will enter it. In you, void of yourself, will He display His beauties. Mahmud Shabistari - 'Rose Garden of Mystery'

silentium

FEDOR TYUTCHEV(1803-1873)
SilentiumSpeak not, lie hidden, and concealthe way you dream, the things you feel.Deep in your spirit let them riseakin to stars in crystal skiesthat set before the night is blurred:delight in them and speak no word.How can a heart expression find?How should another know your mind?Will he discern what quickens you?A thought once uttered is untrue.Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred:drink at the source and speak no word.Live in your inner self alonewithin your soul a world has grown,the magic of veiled thoughts that mightbe blinded by the outer light,drowned in the noise of day, unheard...take in their song and speak no word.Translated by V.Nabokov
Silentium*Молчи, скрывайся и таиИ чувства и мечты свои -Пускай в душевной глубинеВстают и заходят онеБезмолвно, как звезды в ночи, -Любуйся ими - и молчи. Как сердцу высказать себя?Другому как понять тебя?Поймет ли он, чем ты живешь?Мысль изреченная есть ложь.Взрывая, возмутишь ключи, -Питайся ими - и молчи. Лишь жить в себе самом умей -Есть целый мир в душе твоейТаинственно-волшебных дум;Их оглушит наружный шум,Дневные разгонят лучи, -Внимай их пенью и молчи!..* Молчание

the drink

Title: Reflection of Fall Leaves in Pond, New England Artist: Curtis Martin Yunus Emre- AD1240-1241 to 1320-21. Yunus' poetry made a great impact on Turkish culture. The drink sent down from Truth, we drank it, glory be to God. And we sailed over the Ocean of Power, glory be to God.Beyond those hills and oak woods, beyond those vineyards and gardens, we passed in health and joy, glory be to God. We were dry, but we moistened. We grew wings and became birds, we married one another and flew, glory be to God.To whatever lands we came, in whatever hearts, in all humanity, we planted the meanings Taptuk taught us, glory be to God.Come here, let's make peace, let's not be strangers to one another. We have saddled the horse and trained it, glory be to God.We became a trickle that grew into a river. We took flight and drove into the sea, and then we overflowed, glory be to God. We became servants at Taptuk's door. Poor Yunus, raw and tasteless, finally got cooked, glory be to God. Yunus Emre, translated by Kabir Helminski and Refik Algan - 'The Drop That Became Sea'

yazid--urainab

Yazid son of Muawiya came to know about the beauty of Urainab, daughter of Ishaq who was the wife of the Qurayshite Abdullah bin Salam. Urainab, was the most beautiful and accomplished woman of her time and possessed enormous wealth. Yazid fell in love with her without having seen her. He lost all patience and mentioned the matter to Muawiya's favorite slave named Rafig. The slave informed Muawiya about this love and told him that his son was very keen to marry Urainab. Muawiya called Yazid and enquired from him about the matter. Yazid admitted that whatever Muawiya had been told was correct. Muawiya said: "Be calm and patient. Something will be done in this behalf". Yazid said: It is no use consoling me now because the matter is already finished. She has already been married. Muawiya said: My dear son! Keep the secret to yourself, because if it is divulged it will do you no good. God completes what He ordains and what has already happened cannot be helped.

cold spring air

Title: Noonday Dreams Artist: Tadashi Asoma
In cold spring airby Reginald GibbonsIn cold spring air the white wisp- visible breath of a blackbird singing— we don’t know to un- wrap these blind- folds we keep thinking we are seeing through

learning to speak

learning to speak
Title: Afternoon Calm Artist: Tadashi Asoma Learning to Speak by Liz Rosenberg She was the quietest thing I'd ever seen. It was so restful, being in her company For hours, neither of us uttering a word. I'd read the paper, look up, and she would smile, Her lips half-pursed, just tucked up at the ends As if holding a blithe secret. When I fed her, she'd silently nod and smile, Like immigrants you see In train stations or in the movies, She'd take the bowl from my hands And nod again and smile again And neither of us would say a word From sunup to sunset. When son and husband came home, Both talking at once, both talking With their mouths full, My daughter and I could only look at them With our dark quiet eyes. Siddown, she says now. I sit down Without argument.

talabghar

Title: Garden Pond Artist: Kent Wallis