Do not read this…

Pont Mirabeau

his afternoon, I decided again to take some pictures, this time inspired by the famous poem of Guillaume Apollinaire Here is the poem and a translation, the pictures follow

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu’il m’en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l’onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

L’amour s’en va comme cette eau courante
L’amour s’en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l’Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure
Guillaume Apollinaire (1880 – 1918)

Mirabeau Bridge
Translated by Richard Wilbur

Under the Mirabeau Bridge there flows the Seine
Must I recall
Our loves recall how then
After each sorrow joy came back again

Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay

Hands joined and face to face let’s stay just so
While underneath
The bridge of our arms shall go
Weary of endless looks the river’s flow

Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay

All love goes by as water to the sea
All love goes by
How slow life seems to me
How violent the hope of love can be

Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay

The days the weeks pass by beyond our ken
Neither time past
Nor love comes back again
Under the Mirabeau Bridge there flows the Seine

Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay

Back with new pictures

Taken this afternoon in Paris near my home

Looking for a desire to live

Not a reason, a desire. Reasons I have a few. My mother; if not a permanent job a quite time consuming one, my cat, (Yes, I know, the greats are coming),the small friends circle that I don’t want to be saddened  even momentarily if I was to die

Apart from that. Nothing. The emptiness of life. A wall that I can’t even climb or skirt round.

I long to live for myself. Not for others.

If I was to disappear right now, the world would not stop turning. It would probably even turn better. Someone less to pollute the planet. Who are we? Ants in the Universe. One less one more, who cares.

I’m tired to live for others. Not through them. For them. No desire, no longing for anything. A step after the other on the path of life, pushed by the wind of necessity.

Yes! Doing things for myself. That’s what I’d need, a craving to create, to act. To accomplish something. But no. Only nothingness.

In the past, I had food or drinking. Two things that were mine. I don’t even have that nowadays (even if it’s for the best. Or is it?)

Where is the door in the wall? Above? Spirituality? Been there done that. Below? Death? I even failed that twice!

If the door is on the right or on the left, sorry, I don’t see it…

Take a sledgehammer and break the wall? Use C4 to blow it? I don’t ha a terrorist mentality and no will to lose my marbles. At least the remaining ones. And I don’t see any other mean to get rid of the wall.

Nobody apart myself to find the exit

Quit smoking with ISIS

They cut fingers of people found smoking.

Simple, easy, efficient….

http://edition.cnn.com/2014/11/14/world/meast/isis-war-crimes/index.html?hpt=hp_t2

Yes, I know, not funny. I never said it was;

My Mom Wrote a Book and You Might get it for Free (reblogged from Jennifer Anne Smucker.)

Dorcas Smucker is a blogger I have been following for years. She whrites about her life as a woman, a mother, a Mennonite with talent and humor. As you can see her daughters took the virus and blog too. They are definitely a family full of talents

You can follow Dorcas blog on

http://dorcassmucker.blogspot.fr/

Here Shall The Wild-Bird Sing

This is my mother. Her name is Dorcas Smucker.

She writes articles in a local newspaper. And every once in a while she takes a bunch of articles that she’s written and she puts them into a book. She just published a new book. It’s called  Footprints on the Ceiling, and it looks like this.

Now, since she just published her book, she’d doing a blog tour thingy, and I just so happen to be one of those blogs that is touring her book. Is that the word I want, touring? I don’t thing it is. Featuring? Maybe. I don’t know, but I think you get the gist of what I’m trying to say.

So, as one of the blogs on the blog tour, it is my responsibility to tell you about this book and convince you to buy it. But before I do, if I’ve already convinced you…

View original post 375 more words

Happiness is a simple thing

As per our guest Nazca

As much as I love Australia. these facts are appalling

 

10 Horrors Of Australia’s Refugee Detention Centers – Listverse.

via  http://listverse.com/

 

Cat fight (Strong language)

Dear Abby… – True questions? I hope not but who knows…

via Dear Abby… – Bits and PiecesBits and Pieces.