EYE TOWARDS THE SKY

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again.

Once again I am in a mood to write. Once again I must clear my clouded thoughts. There is too much to write and say. Reading an article sent to me by a friend Trekking : Eye in the Sky, a story of a Czech photographer Petr Jan Juracka who traveled to Pakistan to break the world record in altitude photography. I wonder what drives a person to do what he does. At a point of time in his life, he jumps into the world of records. Why records are so important. The purpose is still not clear to me. Having said that I pay tribute to such people who bring with technology the wonder of nature in our living rooms. But I begin to think not what I must do more but to do once again what I have done before. Doing things again brings altogether a new dimension of what I have seen and done. The images which have been chiseled in my mind needs to be seen now with a pristine and unmarked eye. I think when you are moving to achieve an entirely different end with a renewed impetus to a purpose and passing through same footsteps the footprints though same but the whole abstraction of the purpose is redefined. I need not chose now what I must do. The finer details are not important but finding your limits of what can be done now against what was done 39 years ago is very interesting thought. It does bring back the intensity and the vigor but I want to challenge not what I did then but how I should do it now. Exploring nature was not one of my priorities then as I thought I was doing. Time has and will always define and redefine your clarity of purpose of what and how it has to be done. Inside me, I find myself as I am standing on a ledge. I am preparing myself to move ahead. I know I will not fall. I am absolutely sure. I must have a clearer vision of not what I will see but how I should see. It was a bright sunny afternoon way back in 1984 as I trudged along the Biafo Glacier on its left edge, the NE side to be more precise. Having crossed over the ever changing surface of the glacier with the members of Polish Latok 3 expedition who were straddled all along the glacier unperturbed but still moving with that unexpected thought in their minds as to how they would tackle the mountain they had never seen before. The only point of reference they had was an old slightly tattered corner of a picture which had turned yellow. None spoke English except one. So there was not much of excitement which could be exchanged. The weather was all they seemed to be concerned about. Rightly so as they always looked to those dark clouds rolling up and down the glacier but never completely lifting from the mountains. There were few patches of blue sky enough to allow the sunlight splash along the edges of the glacier. I reached the other side and was greeted with few patches of green grass. Was tired and decided to lay down. The still of the mountains except for occasional slides up on the slopes disturbing the supreme hush and tranquility. I removed my bag pack, moved it under my head and lay down. That moment was a moment of truth for me. I have never been able to cast away those images which since then have been etched in my mind. Hundreds of thoughts flew past and I remember none except the clear patch of blue sky. One can never describe the color of the blue. Something pure I think cannot be said or written in words. Today I once again have started to think like that. I am there yet I am not. I must, therefore, do something about it. I must change the way I am going there. I do not want it to be – The Eye in The  Sky. I want to be the eye towards the sky. I must see once again hundreds of Ibex freely roaming up high up on the dark craggy features of the Karakoram range. It made me though sad when I saw some carcass of dead Ibex. I wondered when a man would respect nature and let these beautiful animals roam free. Or maybe they were. It may have been a snow leopard which had made the kill. There then does come a thought that nature must keep its balance. We need not be the one to disturb it. The mountains we intended to march to were numbered  1, 2 and 3. Though these numbers are designed to set in motion so many activities and happenings in our lives yet we cannot see the exact number if there are no points of reference. They have no value or meaning in the wilderness. The elements must allow you to determine how you must judge these numbers. They define your future course of action, they must choose you without you knowing about it. I am once again beginning to determine my own numbers. The numbers I must fix. The time month the weather the season and the people I want to be in my adventure of discovery of another kind. I have yet to define the purpose. It is not as if I do not see that but it must link itself with TIME. You now see this is how it happens. Whenever I think of TIME I am clearer in what I need to do. I must now jump ahead of TIME and state that the skies will always be blue, the clouds will come and go. The rains and snow will fall. The glacier will melt silently. I must witness all that all over again. I must now plan for next year. When the fruit trees of village Askole blossom again. Must spend a night or two there and listen all over again the never-ending folk tales of the mountains where I once was an interpreter to an old very old story teller.

MY DAUGHTER

A daughter is beauty at its finest.

Heart of an angel, soul so pure, and sweet.
Daughters are one of God’s most precious gifts that he has bestowed upon the world.
Angels in Heaven do not compare to thine beauty, and grace my ever so beautiful, and lovely daughter.
Seeing you at birth brought more joy to me
than all the money in the world could ever do.
You are morning, bright, and shining,
you are noon, you reside at the highest point in my heart,
you are the dew kissed night.
You are my daughter, heart, and soul.

mariam-for-blog

It is 0235 hrs past midnight the 6th of Nov 2016 and not a wink of sleep. Finished watching Season 12 Episode 5 of CRIMINAL MINDs. I am watching this TV Series since 2005. I have never missed an episode being one of my favorite Season Series; it has crime stories based on the detectives who solve complex and complicated crimes with interesting twist and turns of the plot. Each episode is weaved and spun around characters based on their behaviour pattern. The detectives are part of BAU – Behaviour Analysis Unit of the FBI. The most interesting part of all the episodes is the narration of a quote in the beginning and mostly at the end of each episode. Today’s quote from the episode, which I finished, watching, was of Euripides- “To a father growing old nothing is dearer than a daughter”. The quote has a power of recall. It has beamed me to fields of the vastness of my past occurrences. I cannot help but be filled with intense sentiments, tenderness, and love. The quote of Euripides, which dates back to 408 BC, still holds good today. Euripides writings were also a subject of Moody’s passion of reading books of famous philosophers. As I clicked for more quotes I stumbled upon all the quotes of Criminal Minds since it’s screening. I picked up few for my Facebook status and posted them. As browsing continued I pulled out the exact quote of Euripides “ –To a father waxing old Nothing is dearer than a daughter; sons have spirits of a higher pitch, but less inclined to sweet endearing fondness”. Since millennia this unbreakable bond has existed between father and a daughter. I cannot even comprehend how parents without daughters grow as one, not without children but without daughters. My daughter is a blessing who loves, caring and sister to three brothers of whom one has left this world. I feel the pain. Mariam has had three names since she was born. We started with Nadia. That we were told is not a good name as it meant the one who calls. We changed her name when she was only a year old. The second name is Rabiya. I say ‘is’ because I still call her by that name. I like the name. The third and present name she chose herself– Mariam. This name is documented. I have never been able to call her Mariam, only her colleagues and friends call her that. Adnan my dear friend of 17 years always thought that I had two daughters till late, Rabiya and Mariam.

Rabiya has had a very tough life and as a father, it has been very hard and strenuous for me too. At times I see her and feel out of sorts and blue. Sometimes I wonder and do not know what is going on in her mind. She is a fighter beyond any question and doubt. Health issues personal ups and downs and right in midst of keeping the balance of home and studies she has struggled and now is a Ph.D. Scholar, a testimony to her unwavering resolve to set her goals and achieve them. Determined and clear-headed she knows her clearly defined goals. I am very happy and content for that. What goes in my heart is matter of my heart. I as a parent have struggled to define and grade myself. Moody who studied Euripides, Herodotus, Socrates and Plato and other great scholars and philosophers of the past knew how to express himself. He did that with a powerful and potent choice of words. His words resonate in form of his powerful poems. Rabiya has different ways of expressing herself. I call her my doctor. She tells me what medicines I must take when I need them. She is our family dream catcher – a dream seen and she gets a call. I do not remember what I dream and those I do she would expound and illuminate it for me in a few well-chosen words. She goes crazy when she sees a Palmist. She would force me that I must show my palm. I have not except once or twice just to listen to her. Palmists have not been able to read my palm, perhaps my lines of heart and head do not speak loudly. Rabiya definitely knows what goes on inside me she would not say. My kids are not expressive and never have used words I love you. Their way of saying that are more in deeds than in words. The older she gets the friendlier she gets. I must end with an Irish proverb ‘ A son is a son till he takes him a wife, a daughter is a daughter all of her life’

Rabiya may Allah be always be with you – Ameen.

 

 

 

Blushes Of My Pen and Brush

Mastering others is Strength. Mastering yourself is True Power ~ LAO TZU

head-vs-heart

Of many happenings in my life, I can count  many which have left a deep and lasting traumatic impressions.  Gradually, now after prolonged years of life, I am beginning to realize a definite transformation has taken place in me. The head and heart both have embraced the change – I think I can feel and think with both. It is seldom that one remains ahead of the other constantly. Ups and downs of life haven’t affected me a lot. In many ways I think others  would have been influenced more than how I perceive them in my own case. Yet my life has been full of traumatizing experiences especially because of people and incidents connected to me.  During the last 12 years or so, I have mulled over my reflections of the past as well as ruminating what future holds for me. This state has not resulted out of any discontentment or vexation. My center point of aspirations and dreams of not  what I should have been but what I did not do, so to be able to make a difference in lives of others. At the same time, I have regret over what I could learn and what were my potentials to explore and exploit my life. I think I became like so many who are moving in my first two inner circles of life and are lost in a directionless existence. Their goals, in my opinion, more of what they would like to be in a short term. I can fathom their lack of desire and action to break themselves free. Some, rather many are not sure of themselves of what they could achieve with their lives. Many, sadly do not realize their true potential. Me, I consider myself in a group in that circle. I seriously feel that I have wasted so much of Time which I could ‘earn’ usefully not in a materialistic way but what I could do to contribute which could have been my earning. I have a self-belief that no matter how difficult, I could have excelled in many ways. In the last decade or so, I have dissipated two years of my life. The unintended dissipation of my concept of ‘Time’ has resulted into reorientation. The tone and tenor of my inner surges have pulled me away sneaking to a new found stimulus. The forces inside me have definitely done one thing for sure of which I have no vacillation. They have kindled my urge to write. Two areas I have begun to free myself to. Write my life story. It has been difficult because of vast empty spaces when it comes to details. I am happy that I kept all diaries, despite so many movements and resetting within the military postings and transfers.  These diaries which I wrote with interruptions have helped in jogging my memories as best as I could and relate to events at that time and letting the pen do the rest. The second is writing when I am affected by my own biases, people, and events, impassioned feelings, first impressions and judgemental thoughts. This state remains fleeting and open-ended without leaving any imprints unless I do not gloss them in my words with an exact description of how I felt and with congruent intensity at the time. I have added a couple of my thoughts on my Blog Page as MINDFULNESS and DRIBBLING WITH RUMINATIONS. I have to think of a title or choose a heading, will do so this after I have finished this page. I am occupied presently writing my initial draft of my life story. The idea is to preserve me in black and white. I will leave it behind me for someone to discover me more of what I am. Strong writing skills haven’t been my forte. I do consider myself missing a lot of cardinals of good writing. Browsing the net for Autobiographies and Biographies I have today stumbled upon searching for a list of works of great writers. I accidently found out about great American writer Mark Twain who left instructions not to publish his autobiography until 100 years after his death which was around 2010. I have yet to read the book so cannot right away comment on why? I though know that I would continue to write and leave my draft script for somebody else to take up the challenge. So much for considering myself to be somebody’s challenge.

Let me come to my second part of the action. In 2012 I started painting with great earnest. Self-learning is a great pleasure and in this case tremendous relaxation. It has been now almost 4 years that I have been painting. The weekends are the days I look forward to playing with colors. Gradually after giving away over hundred paintings to friends and colleagues has given me the priceless endorsement of my work. Thanks to Facebook which allowed me to showcase my work to the surprise and bewilderment of many of my friends who did not know of my love for painting. What really pushed me to keep on the painting is a Pakistani  cartoonist, caricaturist a painter and a friend Sabir Nazar who lives in Lahore and belongs to Kohat. He told me not to care how good or bad is my work as long as I was doing it myself – that was the trigger which set everything in motion. I tell everyone that I do not consider myself an artist of any sort. I am far away from being a traditional artist. I am self-trained and learned through practice. The painting has given me a life to create. My Hobby is not to just distract myself but to distract away from worldly nickel and dime stuff and other triflings. I am not attracted to colors but it is the colors of nature which pull me. I am not painting to sell. I am driven to paint, but I want to sell. I enjoy the feeling of knowing my works will definitely be a source of adornment. It has already happened and it will continue to be. The paintings I make have been a great source of pleasure. Something very solo and unrepeatable. Something made is final. I hate to correct my mistakes on canvas. Where I have done I have not liked it. Good or bad let it be.

The entire activity with brush and what I write is driven by my absolute and the central key of the relationship of me with Time. I have tried to say and I have written about that. Much is in my mind but the darkness of outer space and the world of moons, suns and stars have convinced me and I say it always for myself that I only live in future. The present for me is not more than a PICOSECOND – one trillion of a second. That is my present to you. Please read and enjoy and comment.

DRIBBLING​ WITH RUMINATIONS

 

A very dear friend of mine Dr. Afridi who resides in USA and used to come to Kohat where he came to live in his native village Babri Banda. While in Pakistan he was a regular visitor to the Dhoda Golf Club in Kohat. This was when I was stationed at Kohat. We played golf regularly, an ardent golfer and a gentleman he is. Since those days we are connected via email exchanging mails. He visited my Blog a few days back and suggested that I should rename my Blog which I named MINDLESS to change it to MINDFULNESS! Why I named it mindless is for discussion for another day. I respect Doctor Sahib and agreed with him and as I approved his comment I also immediately changed the title to MINDFULNESS. So much, for the power of reasoning and perception. We all have our minds, which at one point or the other sways me like a pendulum. And when you have a pen in your hand so much can happen. As I said earlier in my Blog let it go. I like what another friend Khushnood Lashari Sahib also commented – “Excellent. As Wordsworth said, “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” So today again while I was thinking about abstract painting I was submerged once again in deep thoughts. I texted few lines to two of my very dear friends and decided that to be the start point of my next Blog which I have named DRIBBLING WITH RUMINATIONS. So here it is.

 

DRIBBLING WITH RUMINATIONS

RUMINATION

It all started when on the behest of my neighbour General Abid who requested me to make for him a couple of abstract paintings for his living room. I have never painted one so far. So I took up the challenge. He gave me a couple of photos to paint. As I sat and saw those two pictures I did not want to copy them. I started thinking and for last two days, I saw how these and so many more abstracts were painted. The more I studied them, the more I got immersed and was spellbound by the rapturous eloquence and acceleration of colours which artists had created. I always thought abstract was an easy thing to make. Not now definitely. I know I can transfer to a large extent what I am thinking about the configuration and structure of the final form and what I want to create. But I am a bit apprehensive and yet to start painting. There is uneasiness and cloudiness in my mind as to how and what would be the final shape of the art and its colour combinations, which bears the resemblance to what is in my mind. The abstractness of the art seems so extreme and mere thought of non-representational form has filled me with uncontrollable lust and passion of leaving the pen and picking up the brush. It is like sexual attraction with both forms of an exhibition; of the pen as well as the brush. In one which is not visible, it can only be read and the other may not be describable to the last detail but can only be seen. Within the splash of colours there lays the image in my mind; imperfect yet by no means incomplete. There is uneasiness within my own self. There is this palpitation of heart and a tensed feeling of how my first abstract painting will actually come out to be. It is like the first kiss and not actually the first. An unseen tremble and shake of the leaf. Dribbling with ruminations has raised its sails. There is a gust and surge of the wind, which has filled the sails, which is in front of me in the form of a canvas. Flat, plain showing no upheaval so far. Waiting to be electrified and illuminated. The rudder is in my control. The direction will be set and rest with the combination of colours and more colours until my eyes know what I am looking at to be perfect to give away at the vehemence of my thoughts. The trajectory and orientation will be the memento for future evolutions. I am not a student of art, and I cannot express the art of expressionism. I have not read or studied art any time in my life. I just pick my brush like I do my pen and start transferring the strands of my thoughts. I have self-trained myself. I am far away from being anywhere near to being an artist. But what pleases me the most is what I paint. I do not follow the rules and sequence of painting, but I do gradually, in the end, reach there. Sabir Nazar a friend and an inspiration once remarked on my painting that I did a good job on a lighthouse I painted and put on Facebook. When I told him that I needed guidance from a trained painter, he strictly forbade me and said something, which has stuck in my mind since then. He said whatever you do, good or bad is your work and your prized possessions, you need not take any lessons but prepare yourself with practice. That day was the beginning of my unending trail of all kinds of paintings. My bent of mind is fixated in the colour of planets and stars, big and small and collision of meteors and the debris of these in deep outer space leaving a dust forming patterns and kaleidoscope of colours, which are beyond my comprehension. Thanks to the continual and uninterrupted voyage of science into cosmos, which has barely, touched the edge of the fringes of deep dark space so far that we have begun to know what lies out there so far. The single most facet which drives me to paint is to get into this puzzle of nature and let my head spin to visualise the light of thousands of years reaching us in our minuscule planet earth. We are in present time yet also thousands of light years into the past which is present now in 2016.

 

 

 

 

 

MINDFULNESS!

I wrote this piece exactly a month ago – 25th of May 2016. I have read it again today. It was a very special moment when I started writing this. I am beginning to like this way to express myself. It doesn’t happen every time. There are special moments; before I go to sleep, during my drive to work, when I am touched by an event and people I witness on the road and other places. There is an outpouring and an upsurge of thoughts, the turbulence and flutter of ideas as to what I want to say doesn’t remain long. I have started taking notes. The pen and book ready to be opened. I call this for some reason MINDLESS that was the first name I thought I must give to this “Thought”. For now please read this and feel free to express – Thank you ~

Muhammad Tahir

 

There is a vociferous desire in me these days to immediately start writing about my randomly undirected aroused state of consciousness.In this state there are words and ideas which ooze out in fragments which run its course and suddenly I am confronted with another idea. I find sublime explanations injecting it with words, sentences and focussed thoughts. The corresponding words and analogies surprises me as well. Being a painter I am confronted with similar situation during that activity which I pursue whole heartedly. The quizzing I do of myself does not open up real doors. Though for painting my pursuit has been very rewarding. There is still however lot of avenues to stumble on in my quest. There is nothing negative with my emotional state. It is actually the forgetfulness which thwarts my aroused exhuberance.  The best words to describe what is in my mind  at that point stays momentarily and later I struggle to remind myself what it was I thought off. I could at that very moment choose effectively what I wanted to say and what I could compare it with. I know I need to overcome this weakness one way or the other. The dilution of all thoughts with very few remaining reflections.  I am beginning to  discover very gradually the transformation. These thoughts are not shrouded anymore. Others have not so far been able either witness or observe the elevated mutation of this change. It has actually started taking shape since last two years or so. It was rare occurence though not so in distant past but I am beginning to like this. At times I feel it has been a late coming. But by nature I am a believer of that with me Time is no impediment if I have to pursue what I could not do earlier I would not be dampened merely because I could have done earlier. I am a great proponent of the idea that there is always time. When there is why then limit yourself by this or that. I think choice of words are very important to chronical my unimaginable and erractic chain of thoughts. Once I have grasped them in full control of my pen I should present it as very lucid piece of articulated thought process. Each idea would then allow me to sieve and crystallize into shapes which genuinely reflect my state of mind. It should allow the reader enter in my mind to wander around and explore. I would love if the limits of my passion is discovered by all senses. The distance and time for me does not matter. The connection should remain established. Questions asked with no holds barred. It should be I reckon a wonderful experience. I would like to cherish that without any qualms about sharing them. I have reached a point in life where I do not get upset of the disclosure. I am not sure everyone feels like that. I think to me it does not matter because I want the perception of what I am should not be contrastive to what I think I am. I have seen people straying and wandering off in misplaced orbit. It is very important, I feel, to commit oneself. I am not looking for praise and acceptance of how I feel, I’m in actuality allowing and learning creation of space for more tangible and touchable feelings. The connection of me and the reciepient develops unconciously with spontainity. This state I suppose is exceedingly complex to accomplish. I have no uncertanity that I won’t acquire the skill to reflect completely what I am reflecting in my mind about. The mind such a powerful medium for me who is constatntly exploring the voyager inside my mind. I have used the word voyager not without an untied reason. The assemply of thoughts may be muddled up right now but is alright. I should remain unfaltering in my quest. The beauty however, is that I am not bound by any format. It should be like that. Means is not necessary as long as I have achieved the explication of the required commentary. My fascination with outer space and its vastness with unending dimensions where everything at one point or the other becomes trivial to an ordinary human being unintelligble. The evolution of human brain has tip toed in time, the distance remains indecipherable. As a fan of stars and planets I am not seeking to unravel into the nature’s scheme, I am not looking at unlocking anything which exists in outer space deep into nothingness. Instead I am taking pleasure in creating on the canvas. It gives me freedom. Nothing to me is stationary out there but in a state of constant change and flux. I have enormous liberation of how and what I produce. That is so exhilarating and intoxicating. The movement of thousands of stars in different orbits with different sizes, the time calculations in thousands of light years is perplexing. I cannot seek myself in any way. Why not must I then free my self. Write and write to myself. I am not seeking wisdom either. An artist who thinks only has squandered Time. MORE LATER

– An Expressive Letter to Me

I am a man of spatial heights, inspirational self, and emotional depth ~~ Moody

My dearest Agha,                                                                     August 18, 2005

I have devoured my day in the usual mantle of shorts and t-shirt. The myth of rising sun for many is a globe to advent on fresh vernacular of ideas and for some of us the stillness of night thriving thoughts on the zenith of a belated bed time. I struggle to sum my sentences, arrange and rearrange my thoughts in appropriate drawers. I was winking and working till four in the proverbial limelight of bulb and books. Our refrigerator is loaded with bakery boxes and every now and then I plaudit my appetite with charcoal of percolating coffee and munch on crumbling biscuits underneath my carnivore edges of teeth. Often? Indeed. Free? Yes. I can hear the sweeper in a less distant place swiveling the thorns and thistles of his Indian buds. The music slowly skips one single from track to another. The CPU humming rotaries hesitatingly gusto cesspool of currents vibrating nuts and gadgetry. The plausible phone calls squeaking and trembling linchpin of emanated ideas. I took a momentary lofty stroll in my room and acutely observed mounted painting in front with the aloofness in the look of birds staring art to each other and in that all avoid my any atrociousness to your picture beside. Just joking. I aimlessly noticed the lingerie behind the curtain before the window and recalled Mum’s every cost of advice and appropriateness to not strip our endeared windows completely. I felt like a complete Greek word “idiot” who does not hold any private office or the public. We really console ourselves now and then moping on every talent and the psychic phenomenon of friend and foe. Bilal is all rash but not shy on the white board probing his pontification and poetry on the word Math. I bet by now he really regrets me being here with all crash load of study avocations bobbing over his head. He will be indebted to my company and its very oddity one day and so will I. I am finally through and full proof from the green book and controvertible republican. But any book is always an unfinished business. I read few pages of Marrouchi and Eddy in the frailty of early morning minutes. They seem to be very lucid and calculated writers. For now, I am totally withdrawn with the finesse of font and book cover.

 

Your loving Son

Moody

Avicenna – Moody’s Commentary

Avicenna

For Avicenna, human minds were not in themselves formed for abstract thought. Humans are intellectual only potentially, and only “illumination by the Angel confers” upon them the ability to make from this potential a real ability to think. This is the Tenth Intellect.

The degree to which minds are illuminated by the Angel varies. Prophets are illuminated to the point that they possess not only rational intellect but also an imagination and ability which allows them to pass on their superior wisdom to others. Some receive less, but enough to write, teach, pass laws, and contribute to the distribution of knowledge. Others receive enough for their own personal realisation, and others still receive less.

On this view, all humanity shares a single agent intellect – a collective consciousness. “The final stage of human life”, according to Avicenna, is “reunion with the emanation of the Angel”. Thus, the Angel confers upon those imbued with its intellect the certainty of life after death.

MOODY

 

Swing! – Poem on Golf

SWING Foto

Swing!

It is myth that unfolds width figuratively
composition of angles poised as geometry
And if comprehension is the quest in struggle
mechanics take many years of feel to overcome

It is to attune yourself by addressing four basics
gain control by repetitive strength and technique
And if apparels and clubs suit your style
flags will not have balls on green sides

It is assimilating every finger for grip soft and fix
stand tall yet feet square from shoulder to hips
And when stance has set you aim straight
ball is bound to knock that flagstick

It is take away by strength of left arm and wrist straight
maintaining circle steady on swing plane
And when sight finds the shoulder behind ball and eye
weight must start slide towards left side

It is journey back but on swing plane same
pull triceps for lag in given time frame
And when moment of truth meets your swing state
whip that club past impact place

It is strength of arms subtle yet empowers big in hips
rotates rapidly but with lower body quietly
And when club head speed is every divots prerogative
distance and accuracy are every swing’s package

It is temperament of Els yet challenge like Tiger
swinging irons like Golden Bear
And when concentration results on scorecard
plan birdies but save every par

It is containing force inside triangles and torso
obliging to self-integrity and game rules
And when discipline is your very own mentor
nerves will roll putts by feel straighter

It is searching peace for fairways and overcoming rough
seek focus in presence of target and turf
And when emotional intelligence arrives at impact zone
establish contact as if you were a born PGA Pro

16 Nov 2005

 

 

DANKE by Moody

 

Very few people know that Moody did his Diploma in The Russian Language from St. Petersberg University. Later completed his Masters in Business Administration. While in Lahore in 2003 developed a voracious appetite for reading books. His favourite author was Bertrand Russell he read most of his books. Never read fiction. in 2005 got admission in Australian National University to do Masters in Accounting. A study he could not complete because of his illness. It was down hill from then on. In another Post, I will give name of books which were  his teasured collections. For him, I became a member for Barnes and Noble. Earlier while in Lahore he started learning The German Language and achieved Level 3 proficiency with complete self-study.

He wrote Danke.

 

Ich schriebe und denke mit eines Wort
Das Wort kommt von buchstabe fünf
Bedeutung und verstehen noch etwas ein
Gibt es vielen für alles
Das Gedicht mit den größen dank
Immer schön das Leben eins

I write and think with word one
The word comes from letters five
meaning and understanding still somewhat one
giving a whole lot more for everyone
A poem with the biggest Thank
always beautifully in life once
______________________________________

bis bald / till later
Moody

 

 

IN A MILIEU by Moody

MILIEU

In a milieu of noughts perched on a leap of loan

Buried under a seizure of murmuring tenure

Bicker domains caught in a vale of counterfeits

Stuck in savvy alleys of a stale Park

Lost by a tongue and a tumultuous past

Smothered in the rectitude of pitch silence

Gauged in wastes of paper and monetary matters

All that echoes is not silence brother!

Many have suffered in devoured vows till the 12th of time

Many have hatred with voluminous enmity in them

There are lighter heights on the verge of space…

There are steeper paths in depths of affection…

There are frontiers beyond the latitude of knowledge…

There is more friction in the weights and molecules of a fractured soul…

A moment that torments itself and those we seek in the underworlds?

Fights with your insights and kindle the flame of fortitude with your prodigious perceptions

Levi ate and lure in lucid leaves of autumn to an Island off course

We are far apart in our hearts like a broken glass

It cuts deep but shines wide like diam

It keeps us alive to settle the agony of our sentiments

Give thy soul purpose and search in this xenophobic circus

We are Amirs and Karim euer Ancestors

Sense! So subtle when twined with intellect in a sentence

Imagination! A gem and jewel of such magic clots of fascinations

Resonate your flute of reason with fractions and fruits of Words

Words! Are they not a fireball of fury and fortune?

Is it not joyful oh that juvenile Gibran?

Just few lines of faith with Will

Just few dots of demise in shades of Pink

Euer – Deutsch word means ‘your’

Note: Amir was name of his great great great grandfather

And Karim was grandfather