This is what I will write: some thoughts, some stories, some of myself. The way I see the way of life. It is just me, my views, my opinions, my way of saying, my way of writing. My spirit, my fire, my love and the freedom of being myself.

India my love

Friday, February 15, 2008

Il cielo in India e' piu' grande

The sky in India is bigger.
This line holds everything there is to say about India.

I will see again coconut tree, long white beaches, banana trees and Indians climbing like little monkey.
The wonderful colors of the sari.
The elegance of women even the poorest carrying water and anything else straight on their head and at the same time small children wrapped around their hips.
The noise of rickshaw and the baba screaming mango lassi, chai.
The bullcart blocking the road and the unstoppable sound of horning.
The air smells of incense, spice and cowshit.
The beggars and the rich so close to each other and yet so faraway from centuries of social and religious discrimination.
In their heart the Indians are gentle souls. It is the land where so many people are busy with nothing and preaching to go shanti shanti, because karma has its course.
A contradiction in itself.
It is a Land of contradiction. I love India also and especially because of this.

Sunset on an indian ocean is without words.
It was on one of her ( India is a she) beaches that I felt how truly the sentence its home.
The sky in India is bigger.

I made this drawing in Goa in '88.

In few days after 12 years I will namaste the Indian people terribly happy to be again in India. Me and my beloved husband on our second honeymoon. In the land of "the god of small things", Kerala with the backwaters, the hill stations and the ancient port of Kochi.

Endless Time

Time is endless in thy hands, my lord.
There is none to count thy minutes.

Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers.
Thou knowest how to wait.

Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.

We have no time to lose,
and having no time we must scramble for a chance.
We are too poor to be late.

And thus it is that time goes by
while I give it to every querulous man who claims it,
and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.

At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate be shut;
but I find that yet there is time.

Rabindranath Tagore ( 1861-1941 / India)


posted by Milena at 4:48 AM 1 comments

Amsterdam from the water

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

I can never stop wondering why is it that I am living in the big village of Amsterdam which is below the sea level, mostly grey and wet? It is the paradox of my life at the moment.

There are days though that I love to be here. They are few but nevertheless precious.
Last Sunday was one of those days.
For the first time I went along the canals with a friend's boat, a typical old amsterdamse metal boat.
Curious to admire the walls of houses deep in the water. And the sun was even shining.
Never before I felt the similitude with Venice.
Don't they call Amsterdam the Venice of the North?
Sometimes I think it is very presumptuous of the Dutch to claim that honor, but after all I have to admit you don't smell grass in the street of Venice.

Amsterdam is just Amsterdam

Venice of the North

In May 2006 I wrote this poem.

Amsterdam bagnata
Amsterdam con i suoi canali
Amsterdam, acqua sotto, acqua sopra, buio, vento, un’orrizzonte grigio e piatto come i visi delle persone che vedo oggi.
Si muovono veloci, inciampando tra un negozio e l’altro senza un saluto, senza un sorriso.
Perche’ bisogna sempre parlare bene dei paesi che ci ospitano?
Forse che descrivendo le brutture queste diventano ancora piu’ macabre?
Non credo, parlandone, esprimendo queste sensazioni diamo un altro colore al mondo.
Nella sua banalita’ c’e’ dello straordinario.
L’uomo che incontri ad Amsterdam ha un sapore furtivo, come se avesse appena rubato un attimo al tempo.
E’ raro in queste strade trovare un sorriso e allora non regalo anch’io al prossimo sconosciuto la gentilezza di uno sguardo.
Oggi e` così, ora e' così, forse tra un attimo una sensazione di benessere mi pervaderà e sentirò di poter anche amare questa citta’ che ha troppo grigio.

Ma anche ad Amsterdam puo’ splendere il sole,
anche ad Ansterdam puoi trovare dei sorrisi.
Li’ devi cercare.
E allora li trovi.
Continuo a cercare, senza fermarmi,
anche quando ho già trovato.

The English translation will have to wait.

The contradiction of a mountain girl living 4 meter below sea level, where the only mountain I see is the most recent webcam photo from M.t Macaion on my huge Mac screen.

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posted by Milena at 6:51 AM 0 comments

A friend

Monday, February 11, 2008

Walking in the gorge of lago Smeraldo

I edited this entry in Aug 2010.
This poem was dedicated to me by Thomas Heydel who used to be a friend. After exiting prison in August 2009, he forgot those who helped him and he forgot his own words. Fallen from grace!
On this planet, called earth.
There are humans, people.
All kinds, all colors, sorts.
They are!
All of them, of us,
have choices, free to give
whatever it is...
You, Milena,
choose to be a friend!
So rare, so precious,
but surely
You are one, we are One.

--Thomas Jan. 08
And this is what I have said to him:

Listen, my friend

There is one thing in the world
that satisfies, and that is meeting
with the Guest.

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posted by Milena at 8:38 AM 0 comments