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    dotsJournal: Eloisa to Abeladots
    Mood: Thinking...

    How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
    The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
    Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
    Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd

    - Alexander Pope

    ...Created 2007-09-29 13:23:07

    dotsJournal: My First Book!dots
    Mood: Relaxing

    ...Created 2005-12-20 12:05:41

    dotsJournal: Love..dots
    Mood: Relaxing

    Happens when you are not looking or chasing it :)

    ...Created 2005-12-08 10:21:38

    dotsJournal: Who, me?dots
    Mood: Confused

    What is life?
    Why am i here?
    What is the purpose?
    Is there true love?

    ...Created 2005-09-15 04:21:27

    dotsJournal: Know My Poet :)dots
    Mood: Overwhelmed

    Pablo Neruda, whose real name is Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto, was born on 12 July, 1904, in the town of Parral in Chile. His father was a railway employeé and his mother, who died shortly after his birth, a teacher. Some years later his father, who had then moved to the town of Temuco, remarried doña Trinidad Candia Malverde. The poet spent his childhood and youth in Temuco, where he also got to know Gabriela Mistral, head of the girls' secondary school, who took a liking to him. At the early age of thirteen he began to contribute some articles to the daily "La Mañana", among them, Entusiasmo y Perseverancia - his first publication - and his first poem. In 1920, he became a contributor to the literary journal "Selva Austral" under the pen name of Pablo Neruda, which he adopted in memory of the Czechoslovak poet Jan Neruda (1834-1891). Some of the poems Neruda wrote at that time are to be found in his first published book: Crepusculario (1923). The following year saw the publication of Veinte poemas de amor y una cancion desesperada, one of his best-known and most translated works. Alongside his literary activities, Neruda studied French and pedagogy at the University of Chile in Santiago.

    Between 1927 and 1935, the government put him in charge of a number of honorary consulships, which took him to Burma, Ceylon, Java, Singapore, Buenos Aires, Barcelona, and Madrid. His poetic production during that difficult period included, among other works, the collection of esoteric surrealistic poems, Residencia en la tierra (1933), which marked his literary breakthrough.

    The Spanish Civil War and the murder of Garcia Lorca, whom Neruda knew, affected him strongly and made him join the Republican movement, first in Spain, and later in France, where he started working on his collection of poems España en el Corazon (1937). The same year he returned to his native country, to which he had been recalled, and his poetry during the following period was characterised by an orientation towards political and social matters. 'España en el Corazon' had a great impact by virtue of its being printed in the middle of the front during the civil war.

    In 1939, Neruda was appointed consul for the Spanish emigration, residing in Paris, and, shortly afterwards, Consul General in Mexico, where he rewrote his Canto General de Chile, transforming it into an epic poem about the whole South American continent, its nature, its people and its historical destiny. This work, entitled Canto General, was published in Mexico 1950, and also underground in Chile. It consists of approximately 250 poems brought together into fifteen literary cycles and constitutes the central part of Neruda's production. Shortly after its publication, Canto General was translated into some ten languages. Nearly all these poems were created in a difficult situation, when Neruda was living abroad.

    In 1943, Neruda returned to Chile, and in 1945 he was elected senator of the Republic, also joining the Communist Party of Chile. Due to his protests against President Gonzalez Videla's repressive policy against striking miners in 1947, he had to live underground in his own country for two years until he managed to leave in 1949. After living in different European countries he returned home in 1952. A great deal of what he published during that period bears the stamp of his political activities; one example is Las Uvas y el Viento (1954), which can be regarded as the diary of Neruda's exile. In Odas elementales (1954- 1959) his message is expanded into a more extensive description of the world, where the objects of the hymns - things, events and relations - are duly presented in alphabetic form.

    Neruda's production is exceptionally extensive. For example, his Obras Completas, constantly republished, comprised 459 pages in 1951; in 1962 the number of pages was 1,925, and in 1968 it amounted to 3,237, in two volumes. Among his works of the last few years can be mentioned Cien sonetos de amor (1959), which includes poems dedicated to his wife Matilde Urrutia, Memorial de Isla Negra, a poetic work of an autobiographic character in five volumes, published on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, Arte de pajaros (1966), La Barcarola (1967), the play Fulgor y muerte de Joaquin Murieta (1967), Las manos del dia (1968), Fin del mundo (1969), Las piedras del cielo (1970), and La espada encendida

    ...Created 2005-07-13 08:25:04

    dotsJournal: Happy Birthday!dots
    Mood: The Usual

    ..Dear Neruda (July 12, 1904 - September 23, 1973)

    Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
    and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
    maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
    a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
    Something from far off it seemed
    deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
    a shout muffled by huge autumns,
    by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

    Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
    sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
    climbed up through my conscious mind

    as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
    cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood-
    and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

    ...Created 2005-07-13 08:17:50

    dotsJournal: Peace Redefineddots
    Mood: Relaxing

    'A part of heaven succumbed to gravity, and it was called Mcleod Ganj'

    "It was one of those unplanned and impulsive trip. At a quick trip to a 46degree Celsius hot Delhi, I said Time-Out. Immediately, called up a friend who was in Manali to know the weather conditions. He said it was nice. I wanted to visit another friend who teaches at Dharamshala since long. So, decided to skip Manali and straight head to the land of Buddha. We decided to get together and surprise this friend. The buses to Dharamshala were full and I had to go via Pathankot(in Punjab). Finally, checked out of a Paharganj Hotel and started the long-awaited jounrey. All stressed and looking forward to do some soul-searching, I pledged to remain with myself, observe people and not make any friends. The single seat behind the entry door of the bus looked inviting and perfect. A book and a bottle of a cold bottled water with extra oxygen were the right travel companions. As the bus tirelessly found it's way through crowded, undisciplined roads, I observed the long sweaty queues at a famous temple. The women clad in colourful chiffon saris, patiently holding onto their pooja-plates filled with marigold, ghee-lit 'diya', camphor, sandalwood incense sticks, fruits like mango, gauva and apple. The men trying to discipline the mischievious kids. The pot-bellied traffic police irritatingly trying to control the circus of cycles, auto-rickshaws, hand-rickshaws,private buses, state buses,cars,scooters and motor bikes. There was enough noise in the bus too. The people were settling down and the noisy kids and played a game of hide and seek. The heat was getting on everyone's nerves. Slowly, the bus touched the highway. I looked at aloof tall trees as the twilight calmed everyone. The noises in the bus softly translated to whispers. I closed my eyes and tried to absorb the moment. One of the kid woke me and shyly smiled. 'Oh no!', I said to myself as I managed a quick smile and closed my eyes with a obvious 'leave me alone' gesture. After an hour, I realized that I had four new friends. I knew all their names and their favourite actor, colour, game, movie and song. It was nearing dinner hour and the bus stopped at a 'dhabba'. Aroma of fresh 'tandoori rotis' mingled with pirated music of punjabi song created paradoxically interesting ambience. It had drizzled and the damp soil had a pure and soothing fragrance. Not hungry and just wanted to sleep, I closed my eyes. This time awaken by a soft, caring voice. I opened my eyes and smiled at the owner of the bus as he asked if I would like to eat something, probably have a cola. I said I was fine and needed to sleep. He acknowleged and got down of his bus. He came back with a bottle of cola and we chatted. I told him if he could wake me up when Pathankot arrives. He nodded. The twilight I guess had collected enough shadows as it gave it's way to a star-crowded summer night. It was bright morning when I woke up.The bus had stopped at a gas station and I asked the driver about Pathankot. He said I had missed the stop and now I was 25kms away from Pathankot. I managed to take the local state bus that bypassed Pathankot. It dropped me to a rickshaw stand. I took a autorickshaw and headed to the bus depot. The chripy and enthusiastic punjabi driver entertained me with the folk songs. The amazing land of punjab with happy people and green fields, perfect start of great day. I took a bus from the depot and finally headed towards dharamshala. The bus climbed the high mountains and skillfully managed it's way on narrow roads - sometimes overtaking a car and sometimes picking up a stray traveller. I reached McLeod Ganj.

    My good friend was promptly there at the 'chowk' to pick me up. I came to the hotel room, had a quick shower and was immediately taken in by the beauty of a faraway snow-covered mountain peaks, green forests and peace. We met the other friend and her hotel room faced stark blue wide sky, almost kissed by the dynamic and spiritual himalayas. The four days passed too fast as I walked around; explored places(sometimes landed in a place like Dharamkot that had it's own character or went to a old, unkept Shiva temple with a swimming pool); listened to my friend who played damnyen; celebrated the essence of the place with a apple wine; watched 30Rs. movies(Himalayan, etc); met interesting people; window shopped at shops owned by kashmiri, punjabi and tibetan traders - all seem to coexist in a perfect harmony; went to a monastery that nearly dissolved in grey rainfilled clouds; smiled warmly at the monks passing by; visited the tibet museum; watched a documentary 'A long look Homeward'; almost babyseated a local young couple's cute kid named Tenzing Cho Mung; dined sinfully at the cosy restaurants; caught a glimpse of a sage in deep meditation in a quiet corner of a small shiva temple and accidently saw His holiness Dalai Lama. His magnetic personality seem to calm me down in a way I still cannot understand. I walked down at a colonial Church on a lazy, rainy noon and was amazed to see a graveyard dating back to 1800s. The simple, no-frill Church seem to stand forsaken, yet strong. The bell that got down the entire roof when a earthquake in the year of Ninteen hundred five killed around thousand people, now caged near the Church looked almost grounded. The old Tibetan with hunch-back and wrinkled face, walked slowly in their traditional outfit and smiled pleasantly at people. The wrinkles seem to tell a story of long struggle and unshaken hope. The tibetan were humble and quiet. The travellers looked happy. The place, truly blessed"

    ...Created 2005-07-09 06:38:37

    dotsJournal: My Favouritedots
    Mood: The Usual

    Buz Luhrmann---Everyone's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)

    If I could offer you one tip for the future, sunscreen
    would be it. The
    long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
    scientists whereas the
    rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my
    own meandering
    experience... I will dispense this advice now

    Enjoy the power and beauty of you youth; oh,
    nevermind, you will not
    understand the power and beauty of your youth until
    they've faded. But trust
    me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself
    and recall in a way
    you can't grasp now, how much possibility lay before
    you and how fabulous
    you really looked. You are NOT as fat as you imagine

    Do not worry about the future; or worry, but know that
    worrying is as
    effective as trying to solve and algebra equation by
    chewing bubblegum. The
    real toubles in life are apt to be things that never
    crossed your worried
    mind; the kind the blindsides you an 4pm on some idle

    Do one thing everyday that scares you


    Do not be reckless with other peoples hearts. Do not
    put up with people who
    are reckless with yours


    Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're
    ahead, sometimes you're
    behind. The race is long, and in the end, it's only with

    Remember compliments you recieve. Forget the
    insults. If you suceed in doing
    this, tell me how

    Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank


    Do not feel guilty if you don't know what you wanna do
    with your life,...
    the most interesting people I know didn't know at 22
    what they wanted to do
    with their lives, some of the most ineresting 40 year
    olds I know still

    Get plenty of calcium

    Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're

    Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll
    have children, maybe you
    won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40. Maybe you'll dance
    the funky chicken at
    your 75th wedding anniversary.... Whatever you do,
    don't congratulate
    yourself too much or berate yourself either - your
    choices are half chance,
    so are everybody else's

    Enjoy your body, use it every way you can... don't be
    afraid of it, or what
    other people think of it... it's the greatest instrument
    you'll ever own

    Dance... even if you have nowhere else to do it but in
    your own living room

    Read the directions, even if you don't follow them

    Do NOT read beauty magazines they will only make
    you feel UGLY

    Get to know your parents, you never know when they
    might be gone for good.
    Be nice to your siblings; They're your best link to your
    past, and the
    people most likely to stick with you in the future

    Understand that friends come and go, except for the
    precious few you should
    hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography
    and lifestyle because the
    older you get, the more you need the people you knew
    when you were young

    Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes
    you hard. Live in
    Northern California once, but, leave before it makes
    you soft


    Accept certain inalienable truths. Prices will rise,
    Politicians will
    philander, you too will get old. And when you do, you'll
    fantasize that when
    you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians
    were noble, and children
    respected their elders

    Respect your elders

    Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe
    you'llhave a trust fund,
    maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse; but you never
    know when either one might
    run out

    Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time it's
    40, it will look 85

    Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with
    those who supply it.
    Advice is a form of nostalgia; dispensing it is a way of
    fishing the past
    from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly
    parts, and
    recycling it for more than its worth

    But trust me on the sunscreen

    ...Created 2005-06-17 05:13:21

    dotsJournal: W.B.Yeatsdots
    Mood: The Usual

    ..i was reading this poem and liked the concept of it..

    *For Anne Gregory*
    Never shall a young man,
    Thrown into despair
    By those great honey-coloured
    Ramparts at your ear,
    Love you for yourself alone
    And not your yellow hair.'
    'But I can get a hair-dye
    And set such colour there,
    Brown, or black, or carrot,
    That young men in despair
    May love me for myself alone
    And not my yellow hair.'
    'I heard an old religious man
    But yesternight declare
    That he had found a text to prove
    That only God, my dear,
    Could love you for yourself alone
    And not your yellow hair.'

    ...Created 2005-05-07 02:43:00

    dotsJournal: More poets...dots
    Mood: The Usual

    I have been reading a lot of poetry, Shakespeare, Emily, Frost, Byron, Neruda, Whitman. I get daily updates from and it's nice to catch up on a poem everyday :) It puts me in a different mood. I have also quite a few light verses by Wendy Cope. A complete different set from contemporary kinds and it's kind of nice to understand people through their works.

    ...Created 2005-05-05 09:14:45

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.




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