She sings.. Part 2 //TryToGetIT !


It’s Thursday
I FEEL okay
Tomorrow is a holiday
I will play
And visit the near bay
My inner child needs some humour
Let Not care for any rumour
And neglect the fear of the future
How can I fear and worry
Or even FEEL sorry
My Lord is great and careful
So why to be fearful
He knows everything
He is So caring
He can Not forget me
Relying on him is the key
Sohair
Allah says

وَمَا نَتَنَزَّلُ إِلَّا بِأَمۡرِ رَبِّكَۖ لَهُۥ مَا بَيۡنَ أَيۡدِينَا وَمَا خَلۡفَنَا وَمَا بَيۡنَ ذَٰلِكَۚ وَمَا كَانَ رَبُّكَ نَسِيّٗا Gabriel said1] “And we [angels] descend not except by the order of your Lord. To Him belongs that before us and that behind us and what is in between. And never is your Lord forgetful
Mary Chapter
Verse 64

https://omabdalrahmaan.wordpress.com/2020/09/15/she-sings-%e2%98%98%ef%b8%8f/

Interlude #HouseOfHeart


In this dream I turn to you and

light my cigarette from the glowing

tip of yours. 

I propose we fly away.

Your dark eyes whip my mind 

into arousal and your elegant hand

on my thigh turns me soft inside.

Your breathing is a sigh against

my ear that whispers my hair

and crimson lips so near devours

your resistance.

Against waves of joy and sadness

dreams are always what it could

be like.

Suddenly hares chase foxes

and Roebucks hunt hunters and

to shield me from the terror you

hold me within bleak arms.

Related image

Babylon Premium

https://houseofheartweb.wordpress.com/2020/09/25/interlude-3/

Butterfly 🦋


I wish I was a butterfly

Butterfly 🦋

I wish I were a butterfly
Silently carrying beautiful
Paintings by Miró on my wings
To your garden

I would flutter before you
And light upon your finger
So you can hold me up
To admire my colors

I would have no fear
That you would harm me
Why would you harm something
That only seeks to bring you joy?

Alas, I am no butterfly
But only a caterpillar
That can aspire no higher than Pupa
And has to abandon all dreams
To return to the cocoon

Yesterday 😔🙌


Take time to read…it is the foundation of knowledge.

“For a small amount of perspective at this moment, imagine you were born in 1900. When you are 14, World War I starts, and ends on your 18th birthday with 22 million people killed. Later in the year, a Spanish Flu epidemic hits the planet and runs until you are 20. Fifty million people die from it in those two years. Yes, 50 million.

When you’re 29, the Great Depression begins. Unemployment hits 25%, global GDP drops 27%. That runs until you are 33. The country nearly collapses along with the world economy. When you turn 39, World War II starts. You aren’t even over the hill yet.

When you’re 41, the United States is fully pulled into WWII. Between your 39th and 45th birthday, 75 million people perish in the war and the Holocaust kills six million. At 52, the Korean War starts and five million perish.

At 64 the Vietnam War begins, and it doesn’t end for many years. Four million people die in that conflict. Approaching your 62nd birthday you have the Cuban Missile Crisis, a tipping point in the Cold War. Life on our planet, as we know it, could well have ended. Great leaders prevented that from happening.

As you turn 75, the Vietnam War finally ends. Think of everyone on the planet born in 1900. How do you survive all of that? A kid in 1985 didn’t think their 85 year old grandparent understood how hard school was. Yet those grandparents (and now great grandparents) survived through everything listed above.

Perspective is an amazing art. Let’s try and keep things in perspective. Let’s be smart, help each other out, and we will get through all of this. In the history of the world, there has never been a storm that lasted. This too, shall pass.”

Photo by Lewis Hine

Yesterday 😔🙌

Silencio en la biblioteca


Todavía no hay que pedir silencio en la biblioteca. Es una sensación rara, inédita, pues el hecho de demandar discreción en una sala infantil resulta más que cotidiano. Quizá sea exagerado catalogarlo de acto reflejo, pero hagamos un ejercicio de abstracción y denominémoslo así, tan solo por recordar viejos tiempos. 

Viejos tiempos… Referirse de esa manera a hace tan solo siete meses, con tan vetusta etiqueta, no nos parece descabellado por mucho que debiera serlo. Admitimos que tendría que ser así, una descripción disparatada, al mismo tiempo que reconocemos que se trata de una época pretérita a la que hoy vivimos. Sí: por mucho que nos pese, nuestra forma de existir hoy es distinta a aquella.

No obstante, una institución como la biblioteca está curtida en este tipo de cambios. Ya ha sobrevivido a etapas complicadas y a otras tantas vejaciones a lo largo del transcurso de la historia: demasiada experiencia ante la adversidad como para detenerse ahora. Ni puede ni debe hacerlo. El acceso a la cultura y el deber de difundir la información cabal, y no esos bulos ni realidades a la carta que son nuestro menú del día porque gustan tanto a quienes se los tragan como a los que se los sirven, es un bien innegociable e insustituible. Así debe entenderse, así se entiende en la biblioteca y así lo entienden todos los que trabajan en ella.

Silencio en la biblioteca

This is about you? #Kindness


Stop and Learn. This will be you tomorrow 🌼

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses?. … .What do you see?
What are you thinking … When you’re looking at me?
A cranky older man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food … … . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice,.’ I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice. .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . … lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten. .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters … … who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now. … a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure, happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me. To see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. …Babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future … . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing … young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. … Grace and vigour depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass. A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . … I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . … open and see.
Not a cranky older man.
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. …. . ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

The best and most beautiful things of this world can’t be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

This is about you?