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A marriage of two
Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic

A marriage of two


A marriage of two
is for love that is true

A marriage of two
is always something new

A marriage of two
happens sometimes out of the blue

A marriage of two
is worth it when its due

A marriage of two
is a marriage of trust
Many can find themselves lost
It can be an expensive cost

They are only very few
who have a clue
of when love accrues

A marriage of two
is about love making
It is not about
money raking

A marriage of two
can be bad
A marriage of two
can be sad
You should only be glad if
A marriage of two
is for love that is true

Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi


www.sylviachidi.com

Sylvia Chidi


February 23, 2008 | 8:45 AM Comments  2 comments

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Beauty lies in the beholder's eyes
Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic


Beauty lies in the beholder's eyes


So many beauties in this appealing world
The true beauty lies in the beholder's eyes
There is beauty in the child's innocence and in mother's love
There is beauty in a friend's affection and in a tender heart
There is beauty in a pretty smile and caring eyes
There is beauty in the morning sun and a rainy day
There is beauty in the flaky slow and a pleasant spring
There is beauty in the milky moon and the graceful rivers
There is beauty in a hard earned victory and a hopeful soul
There is beauty in me and beauty in you
So many beauties in this spectacular world and its dazzling life
And the true beauty lies in the beholder's eyes

Kavitha Krishnamurthy



February 23, 2008 | 8:44 AM Comments  0 comments

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Happiness is finding your inner receptionist
Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic

A couple of months ago a friend asked if I'd write her a job reference. She is bright and witty and sophisticated and for about 20 years has held a succession of powerful jobs in television and newspapers.

Yet this latest position was rather different: she had applied to be a receptionist at a small office building in Mayfair. This struck me as an eccentric career choice for a clever woman on the cusp of 50, but I wrote out the reference and in due course she got the job.
Last week I had lunch with her and asked how it was going. She told me that for the first time in her life she was entirely happy in her job. At last she had found something that had all the good things about office work and none of the bad ones.

Her routine was soothing. The people were friendly. The work was pleasant. It was also finite, easy to do well, and ended on the dot of 6pm. There were no unmanageable work loads, no ugly competition, no gnawing anxiety that you aren't up to it and that someone else is better.

But best of all, she said, the receptionist's job didn't swamp her mind and her life; instead it left plenty of room for her to think her own thoughts. The only thing that wasn't fantastic was the money, but it was enough and she didn't mind.

After our lunch she took me to see the site of such happiness. I eyed her curvy glass desk and saw through the square-paned windows the bare trees of Green Park. I imagined myself smiling at the hedge fund managers who came in and out: "Hello, it's milder today isn't it?" I could see a certain charm in it.
Yet what impressed me most about her satisfaction was how it contrasted with the dissatisfaction of almost all my other contemporaries. One word describes how most of us in our late 40s are coping with far more interesting jobs: badly. In varying measures we are susceptible to boredom, fear, exhaustion and frustration. We've all been working for an eternity as it is, but we now realise we'll have to go on working until we are 70 at least and so there is still a long way to go. In all it is not pretty. We feel we ought to leap, but don't how and don't know which way to go.

A relatively sensible article in February's Harvard Business Review attempts to explain why we are getting it all wrong and why my receptionist friend is getting it right.

The rest of us are falling for the most common misapprehension of mid-career crisis - which is to think this is the beginning of the end. Instead the magazine insists that we have more opportunities than we used to. Because we have worked for a few decades, we know what work is like and what we are good at. The trick isn't to hanker after some magical transformation - one minute you are a banker, and then, hey presto, an organic farmer - but to think carefully and practically about what suits you.

When I think about it now I see that, unlike my friend, I'm not ready to get in touch with my inner receptionist. She says the job gives her space to think, whereas I have a horror of unstructured thought. Indeed one of the things that I've worked out over the past few decades is that I need to be wildly busy all the time: in fallow periods my thoughts wander off in all sorts of unwanted directions.
at 25. This is a truth that we tend to forget: most people are in a rut from the start, blindly pursuing careers with no idea of what the other options were. When I was in my 20s I didn't feel that I was deciding rationally between hundreds of possibilities, I was simply trying to do what I thought was expected of me, and what my friends were doing. My motivation was to do it better than a tiny handful of people I considered to be my rivals.

Now that I think of it, I have stopped caring about these petty contests. I am doing better than some of my former competitors and worse than others, but either way it doesn't matter any more. This is liberating. I am starting to mind less what other people think of me and that is liberating too.

My friend confirms that she couldn't have become a receptionist in her 20s or 30s. She would have been miserable, unfulfilled and certain she throwing was her life away. At 49 she has nothing more to prove; she has already proved that important jobs are no longer what she wants.

A couple of weeks ago another cheering piece of work was published by scientists at the University of Warwick showing that happiness over a lifetime is U-shaped. It looked at thousands of workers in 80 different countries and found that most people start off happy, and then slide towards misery, reaching a trough at 44. By our early 50s we start to get happy again and by our 60s and 70s happier still.







February 12, 2008 | 8:04 AM Comments  0 comments

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i Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic

i Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You


I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.



Pablo Neruda




February 9, 2008 | 11:36 AM Comments  0 comments

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if u forget me
Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic


If You Forget Me


I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda



February 9, 2008 | 11:34 AM Comments  0 comments

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