Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

[Danae]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

/pf/images/graemlins/laugh.gif rrofsh,faleminderit vertet sot jam tension 20. :kiss:isha me mire,pjesen tjeter do ta shfrytezoj me mire.

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

paqen e gjen ne nje pyll shekullor me bime te harlisura aq shume sa eshte gjithnje fresket, ne kolonat e fillimit te eres sone, ku edhe kaktuset dekorative kane mbishkrime emrash dhe zemrash, mbi muret e nje kalaje te vjeter nga e cila ja ben me dore Ali Pashes hijerende, qe rri e vrojton nga ana tjeter e liqenit me uje deti, ku vec midhjeve e gjarperinjve nuk lodron specie tjeter, e ku emblemave bencore u duhet te perulen para kraheve te nxire te nje burri plak dhe litareve te celikte te lundres shumevjecare.

shshshshshshshshttt! Ka ende vise e qoshka ku zogjte kendojne te lire...

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

jam ulur perballe detit perseri. Te ndenjurat me jane mavijosur, duart kane njolla guresh lejla e blu nga te mbeshteturit. Eshte dimer, shume i gjate si dimer, por me shume ere se te ftohte te hidhur si ne Elbasan. Era te ben mire, asaj mund t'i vesh fajin per lotet qe rrjedhin paturpesisht nga syte e bere jeshil nga kripa. Ato vazhdojne te fiksojne detit, dallget e tij, thellesine dhe pulebardhat gjigante, qe vijne verdalle si te trullosura. Ulur rri, edhe pse tashme ndjej dhimbje, nje dhimbje fizike qe perpiqet te zevendesoje ate te shpirtit, por pa sukses. E si munden gurickat e bregut te mposhtin gurin e zemres?! Sa patetike gurickat! Sikur ta dinin, do te thermoheshin e do te merrnin arratine ne kraharorin e gjere te detit, brenda ne boten e magjishme te sirenave per te mos u kthyer kurre me ne realitetin e thate te nje jete monotone...
me merr malli per eren e ngrohte te gjirit, per motrat gelqerore dhe per plazhin kokemadh, edhe per lotet e humbur mes gurickave...
si te kthehemi ne pafajesi?!

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

Fajesia eshte normative per disa persona. Mvaresia nga keto norma eshte e pashmangshem. Njehere qe e ke prishur ajken e qumeshtit mos prit te rigjesh homogjenizem, eshte e prere.

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

kush foli per homogjenizem?
as e kam idene se si eshte!!!
desha vetem ate fragment sekonde qe ne mendjen time eshte perzier me aq shume ndjenja e kujtime sa nuk di ta ndaj e te gjej gjendjen e tij te paster...

p.s. per mua pafajesia nuk eshte e kunderta e fajesise, por gjendje e paster, e cilter, e paprekur... e virgjer. (dhe nuk flas per ate gjene!!! /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif )

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

S'e mora vesh, po pak rendesi ka. Te thashe i prere, sic pritet qumeshti e s'ben me per gje, jo i prere sic pret thika. Ndoshta me kete shtytje me merr vesh. Asgje nuk eshte e purifikuar, as ti si qenie kaq autentike (jo ti si ti, ti si kushdo) s'je perfektesisht e shkeputur nga gjithcka. Edhe po te shetisnim te lakuriqte s'do ishim aq te purifikuar. Ne na bejne kujtimet, koherat keta qe jemi.

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

e megjithate ai fragment sekonde ekziston, e une e lashe te ikte lakuriq e nuk i hodha nje robe ndjenje, kujtimi e me the e te thashe...
ate te qumshit e kuptova, thjesht nuk e kisha mendjen ne ate drejtim. Mos u bej merak, une kam kohe qe nuk e pi hic qumshin /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif

 

[Kordelja]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

Bukur, desha te them qe: S'gjen dot paqen duke evituar kujtimet /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif Ato jane pikat tona te references, jane shenjat e pikesimit. /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif

 

[Le_Routard]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

Paqja gjehet vetem kur arrin te shkrihesh me driten e jo duke perqafuar eresiren.

Una po iki te shkrihem me krevatin qe po m'pret /pf/images/graemlins/laugh.gif

 

[Danae]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

i pashe tek binin pertoke dhe berberi si duke qeshur i vendosi para duarve te mia.ishin te buta,te lagura dukeshin edhe me te zeza.ne te kthyer pesha e tyre ishte zhdukur por akoma mbaja koken pak te shtrember,ne mendjen time une nuk isha identifikuar akoma me situaten e re.
shume nga te njohurit u cuditen pse kaq shkurt,ne deren e portinerise ishim dy e dikush tha do nderrosh jete apo do nderrosh te dashur,pse atribuhet ne menyre te tille nje prerje vertik,nuk kuptova, une desha vetem te kthehesha si vajza e fotografise,ajo qe me floket e saj te shkurtra enderronte te shetiste cdo kend te botes.

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

The Dead Return

THE dead return. I know they do;
The glad smile may have passed from view,
The ringing voice that cheered us so
In that remembered long ago
Be stilled, and yet in sweeter ways
It speaks to us throughout our days.
The kindly father comes again
To guide us through the haunts of men,
And always near, their sons to greet
Are lingering the mothers sweet.

About us wheresoe'er we tread
Hover the spirits of our dead;
We cannot see them as we could
In bygone days, when near they stood
And shared the joys and griefs that came,
But they are with us just the same.
They see us as we plod along,
And proudly smile when we are strong,
And sigh and grieve the selfsame way
When thoughtlessly we go astray.

I sometimes think it hurts the dead
When into sin and shame we're led,
And that they feel a thrill divine
When we've accomplished something fine.
And sometimes thoughts that come at night
Seem more like messages that might
Have whispered been by one we love,
Whose spirit has been called above.
So wise the counsel, it must be
That all we are the dead can see.

The dead return. They come to share
Our laughter and our bit of care;
They glory, as they used to do,
When we are splendid men and true,
In all the joy that we have won,
And they are proud of what we've done.
They suffer when we suffer woe;
All things about us here they know.
And though we never see them here
Their spirits hover very near.

Edgar Guest

 

[chiocciolina]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

Jam ca me vonese (ndoshta) te marr pjese ne kete teme. Lexova shume dhe me duket se e kuptova thelbin e asaj qe desheron te thote Alinos.

Une nuk jam shume e bindur sesi eshte e verteta e te gjeturit te paqes. Ndoshta nuk eshte e lidhur me te diturit, por me te mesuarit e te jetuarit. Eshte e paevitueshme qe kush meson shume, futet ne thellesi e thelbi i cdo gjeje eshte objekt diskutimi, dyshimi, analize, mendimi e rimendimi e sa e sa te tjera, qe jo gjithmone jane burim hareje.
Te diturit shume, eshte dicka e mrekullueshme, por nuk eshte burim paqeje. Me vjen ne mendje nje shprehje e lexuar nga Remarku "... mos e humb injorancen tende, nuk mund ta rikuperosh kurre me". Po te lexosh nder rreshta, nuk eshte nje shprehje budallallek. Non do te thote, qe te mesosh, por te mesosh duke ruajtur nje distance te ndergjegjshme ndaj asaj qe njeh, qe ndihmon shendetin mendor te te diturit.
Ndersa per sa i perket paqes, ate e harrijme e e humbasim sa here qe ngjitemi ne nje shkalle te re njohjeje, ne rradhe te pare te vetvehtes.

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

eshte per vdekjen, jeten qe te con drejt vdekjes, misterin e vdekjes, dijen, vetvrasjen... po me shume reflektime te te gjitha ketyre ne baze momenti e humori...
une s'jam e aktit final, por e mendoj ate si nje pjese te pandashme te qenies time...
flas me vone, me shume...

 

[Danae]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

ne cilin fshat ndodhesh ti??
se une nuk mbaj mend emrin e nje fshati te beratit,nje fshat shume shume i varfer.do me hynte ne pune edhe nje beratli,
po cne ne fshat ti?
te puth fort :kiss:

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

kete here e prisha. ndoshta jo si here te tjera, por perseri e prisha. do te kishte qene mire sikur te kisha vazhduar lojen e pafund, derisa te vinte monotonia, perseritja pa fund, merzitia, trashja dhe se fundmi ftohja. Te pakten kete loje e njoh: di etapat dhe pasojat e seciles etape; di si te sillem dhe si te mos sillem; di si te mjekoj ate qe lendohet; di ku te vendos kembet, kur puna te marre rrokopujen; di ku te mbahem, kur te me rrezojne; di ku te strehohem, kur te vije nata e ftohte; di si te gjej buzeqeshjen, kur te ma vjedhin; di si te rinjallem nga hiri i zjarrit tim...

-------------------------------------

fshati me i madh i Shqiperise nuk eshte ne Berat, ai eshte pak me i madh se fshati yt i Beratit, pak me i madh dhe se vete Berati, ne fakt eshte me i madh nga te gjithe ne Shqiperi, per kete arsye ne te kane vendosur shtepine e perbashket te baballareve te kombit, si edhe shtepite e tyre te vecanta; aty ku te gjithe duan nga nje mauzole, ose te pakten nje statuje ne qender te fshatit; aty ku te gjithe hiqen si metropolitane, por sillen si fshatare te pagdhendur. Ruralen e kane ne shpirt, dhe e pasqyrojne ne sjellje, duke e kthyer vendin e tyre ne fshatin me te populluar e me lluksoz te Shqiperise...
eve une te puf folt :kiss:
p.s. dua te di me shume per ty, se s'di asgje :shrug: :book:

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

it is strange how much i like this stupid tema. it reminds me of my innerself, of my tambourine girl

 

[eniad]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

The Love Song of J. Alfred Proofrock by T. S. Eliot


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, What is it?

Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, Do I dare? and, Do I dare?
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair --
They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin --
(They will say: But how his arms and legs are thin!)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

* * * *

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet -- and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all
--
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: That is not what I meant at all;

That is not it, at all.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor --
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.


I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

 

[eniad]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

E gjate e?

Epo gjerat e bukura duan kohe, kohe te vijne, kohe te qendrojne, kohe te te ndjekin, kohe te te perqafojne, per te ikur pas nje shkendije qe as ti vete nuk e di se ç'dem ka bere. /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

e gjate por shume domethenese...
njelloj si kjo ketu poshte

If

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son/child!

Rudyard Kipling

edhe pse dikush e ka quajtur Kipling racist...

 

[alinos]

Re: Nuk gjen dot paqen duke evituar jeten!

sometimes when you look into the abyss, the abyss looks back at you! Knowledge is the enemy of faith!

nga Sin Eater