The Guest House by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.



A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.



Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.



The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.



Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.



-- Jelaluddin Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks

The Wiseman

The Wiseman said, “


Expect

The

Unexpected”

The fool questioned, “

“Why?”

Both fights…

two twinkling stars

collide

up above so high



a young Finnish

women was expecting

her husband to be

wise/witty/loving/

caring/delightful/



In a lake

far across the northern

hemisphere

a curious child

was expecting

to get an acceptance

letter

from the university

which he applied



a lonesome man

was travelling

and journeying

across southern sky



Europe/America/Asia/









His dreams

Was to find

Love of his life





A boy looks over

Bright blue sky

The sky in a minute

Turned grey/black/



as if there was something

huge coming towards him.







Thou see with great expectation

arises:

desire/belief/faith/sacrifice/



but maybe



The Wiseman

Was absolutely right!

Happenings

Love reaches everywhere,

so do the words and wisdom.

Yes, there are tragedies,



sorrow, pain, disaster,

and above all,

happenings…



without these

no man can survive;

without conflict

no one lives

on this planet earth



so, eventually

differences can be sorted out;

life can turn upside down



because all we have



is love to seek

and speak about.
 
 
Published: VIRGOGRAY PRESS.
Edited by: MICHAEL AARON CASARES

Santosh Kalwar's Eleventh Book, Entitled "An Aphrodisiac," is Published

n his new book with very interesting title, "An Aphrodisiac," a young Nepalese poet from Chitwan, Nepal has published collection of forty-three erotic, sensual and delicate love poems.

Lappeenranta, Finland, June 08, 2010 --(PR.com)-- Lulu Press, Inc. is proud to present An Aphrodisiac by Santosh Kalwar from Lappeenranta, Finland.

An Aphrodisiac is a collection of forty-three erotic, sensual and delicate love poems. The book describes many aspects of love and art of making love. In the poems, there are several poems which describe events in the relationship, thus presenting readers with seductive feelings. The first poem tells about man’s intention to touch a woman, a feeling of infatuations and affectionate desire for love. Poem 2 is didactic and describes principles by which a man develops an addiction of making love. The third and fourth poem, describing a reproduction cycle of human, and claims that no life can prosper without sex. Similarly, Poems 5 and 6 deals with types of sex and lustful desires for it, while 7 and 8 describe an act of making love. In short, all the poems cover romantic, sexual and spicy words which will stimulate readers and will act as a love drug.

 To arrange a book signing or interview, contact the writer. For further information about the writer, please visit his website at kalwar.com.np

ISBN 978-1-4457-8190-7

To place orders for the book, contact: Lulu Press, Inc.

URL: lulu.com/product/item/an-aphrodisiac/11197687

Two Poems accepted by unFold

Well, well, well... finally, some small press of poetry accepted couple short poems. You can find more informaiton about the press at unFold, which is a PG-rated experimental poetry journal that seeks inspired 140 character (including spaces) Tweets.

So You Want To Be A Writer by Charles Bukowski

So You Want To Be A Writer

if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it. if you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don't do it. if you're doing it for money or fame, don't do it. if you're doing it because you want women in your bed, don't do it. if you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don't do it. if it's hard work just thinking about doing it, don't do it. if you're trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else. if you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you're not ready. don't be like so many writers, don't be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don't be dull and boring and pretentious, don't be consumed with self- love. the libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. don't add to that. don't do it. unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it. when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way. and there never was.

Accepted as a member to Suomen tietokirjailijat ry

Learning never stops. You learn from friends and foes. I attended my ECSE Support Meeting this year. I came across a great fellow researcher. Through him, I learned that there is a association of non-fiction writers in Finland.

Usually, it is not an easy to become a member to such associaiton. There are certain rules and regulation, which needs to be followed.

In short, I have been accepted to THE FINNISH ASSOCIATION OF NON-FICTION WRITERS.

Good day !

A Poet's Love

Ovide et Corine by Agostino Carracci portrays the poet with his love of Amores, poem of his huge production in elegiac couplets

Selfless observation

Imagine that you are standing in a crowded street in some unknown city. Take a deep breath, and look around. What will you see? Will you take some notice of that man standing in that crowded street? Most of us will probably ignore him.
What if you were standing for a moment? You will see that everybody is moving around. 


You may be surprised when people hardly notice you.Our existence in the form of ‘flesh and blood’ is similar to the above scenario. Each one of us is standing in a crowded street and we are unaware of our sole purpose.And I understand the reason behind not noticing such men/women. The answer to any question lies in the question itself. 

Please hold your breath because I am going to reveal a secret.The secret is that we are selfish! We are selfish because our primary goal is to fulfill our needs. We always think about 

ourselves first.Some of us may argue that this is a failed theory. And I understand their rejection. Many of us live a life based on the ‘principle of dualism’. This principle suggests that there are two ways of doing things or looking at things.
One is right and another is wrong.Based on such principle, the theory of ‘selfishness’ reports that either we are selfish or we are not. So, if you are a follower of dualism, probably you will either accept the theory or reject it outright. I would recommend experiencing this sacred moment before rejecting or accepting it. At least once, before your ‘final exit’!
The beauty lies not in thinking about us but thinking about others. 

In simple English, it is called 'observation'. There are two types of observation. On the one hand, there is self-observation or inner-observation, and on the other hand there is selfless-observation or outer-observation.Again, imagine that you are in the same crowded street. You may see office/home goers, a student searching for a job or righteous education, a woman looking for her prince charming or a man looking for his princess fair, someone selling or buying one thing or the other and so on.

Therefore, a person standing in a crowded street will experience fellow humans hustleand bustle which is what may be the experience of selfless observation. And, that is good news of you having achieved enlightenment.


Published: The Himalayan Times
Op-ed


Source:  THT

God, God, God by Paramahansa Yogananda

From the depth of slumber,
As I ascend the spiral stairway of wakefulness,
I whisper
God, God, God!

Thou art the food and when I break my fast
Of nightly separation from Thee
I taste thee and mentally say
God, God, God!

No matter where I go, the spotlight of my mind
Ever keeps turning on Thee;
And in the battle dim of activity my silent war cry
Is ever;
God, God, God!

When boisterous storms of trials shriek
And worries howl at me,
I drown their noises, loudly chanting
God, God, God!

When my mind weaves dreams
With treads of memories,
Then on that magic cloth I do emboss;
God, God, God!

Ever night, in time of deepest sleep,
My peace dreams and calls; Joy! Joy! Joy!
And my Joy comes singing evermore;
God, God, God!

In waking, eating, working, dreaming, sleeping,
Serving, meditating, chanting, divinely loving,
My soul constantly hums, unheard by any;
God, God, God!

- Paramahansa Yogananda

A Poem by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence.
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you always open petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

nothing that we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Before Or After the Sunset.

War

Moment of birth begins with

War, war and the                                War

War of sufferings

             From the unknown names to unknown path that we may take

There is war within us each moment.

            There will be war outside us

each and every moment.

War of poverty and pain; war of rich and poor;

war of goodness and evil; war of love and hate;

war of sadness and despair; war of life after death or death after life;

war on religion, culture; war on politics and social issues.

War of this and war of that;

Who is the winner? and

Who remains the looser?

            How do we know if this is an answer?

Both sides, we are victim.

                        Both side, we are hurt.

All the fights for this land

and that land, my land vs. your land

When is this going to stop?

“How much land does a man need?”

Man needs 6feet long, 2 feet wide and 6 feet down land.

            This is never ending story

as it will continue. Before or after me;

history has shown us, it will continue in future.

Only solution is eradication of all living creature by natural calamities.

That soon is going to come. 

It is not very far when all our advancements

will collapse in the matter of day or two.

It is like building a house with the deck of cards.

The knowledge and wisdom,

whatever strength, ideologies

and dogma human has created must come to an end.

The time is coming soon

when no human soul will survive in this planet.

Whoever you are killing

on either side of war, is your own self reflection.

You cannot kill the image of your own self.

That selfish image has caused you greed, proudest

And that will forever continue

before or after the sunset.

Too early to comment

This is with reference to the article by Alistair Burt and Alan Duncan “Nepal: Time to deliver” (May 26).

            I entirely disagree with the writers’ statement “parties with different ideologies and interests have expressed their common desire to come together to complete the stalled peace process.” I think it is too early to predict that Nepali political parties have reached any sort of consensus on the ongoing peace-process.

            It seems to me that after the death of ‘Girijababu’, our political parties are lost. They don’t know how to move forward with the Constituent Assembly. They are only trying to fool Nepali people. We have yet to see wheather they will lead the peace process to a logical conclusion.

Santosh Kalwar

Chitwan, Nepal

Published: Republica

Letter to Editor

Incompetent PM

Many congratulations to the Nepal-led government for breaking the record of the longest serving Communist government in the country ("Base year,", May 26, Page 6). But that is no indication of his competence, Ideally, he should be helping the political parties find common ground on the contentious issues instead of using all tricks in the book to hold on to his chair.

Santosh Kalwar, By email

Published: The Kathmandu Post
Letter to Editor

"I am longing for nothing."

I am longing for nothing.

I know I am not going to

become, what they want me to become.

As I have lived fully today,

I am ready to quit if death

comes my way.

I don’t care if you accept

me as I am.

and from where I come from

or not.

I do not care since I have never cared

and these humanly selfishness of longing

for something

has caused only problems.

There are awards, rewards

and all these recognitions

are foolish accomplishments.

How can someone judge?

We were all created equal

by nature, we are all taken away equally.

I tell you, my dear friend:

I am longing for nothing.

PublishAmerica Presents I Am Dead Man Alive by Santosh Kalwar

PublishAmerica Presents I Am Dead Man Alive by Santosh Kalwar

Frederick, MD May 25, 2010 -- PublishAmerica is proud to present I Am Dead Man Alive by Santosh Kalwar from Lappeenranta, Finland.

I Am Dead Man Alive is a collection of death poems by the Nepalese poet Santosh Kalwar, first published in 2010 by PublishAmerica. The book is collection of several dark poems written to visualize the past, present and the future of human life. The poem is mainly about the death. These poems reflect how one should consider living on present moment and not fear the death.

I Am Dead Man Alive represents ancient, classical, modern and contemporary human times in very poetic manner. The state of physical, spiritual, and rational sensation is aroused in this book. The book brings new light and questions simple phenomenon of human life and death.

Santosh Kumar Kalwar (born September 7, 1982) is a poet, writer and researcher. He is a self-published Nepalese writer who writes in English. He has authored a number of newspaper columns, articles and books on truth, love and relationships. For more information about author, please visit, http://kalwar.com.np

PublishAmerica is the home of 40,000 talented authors. PublishAmerica is a traditional publishing company whose primary goal is to encourage and promote the works of new, previously undiscovered writers. Like more mainstream publishers, PublishAmerica pays its authors advances and royalties and makes its books available through all bookstores. PublishAmerica offers a distinctly personal, supportive alternative to vanity presses and less accessible publishers.

My Funeral by Paulo Coelho

An Excerpt from “Like The Flowing River” from Harper Collins Publishers

The journalist from The Mail on Sunday appears at my hotel in London and asks one simple question: “If you were to die today, what kind of funeral would you like?”

The truth is that the idea of death has been with me everyday since 1986, when I walked the Road to Santiago. Up until then, I had always been terrified at the thought that, one day, everything would end; but on one of the stages of that pilgrimage, I performed an exercise that consisted in experiencing what it felt like to be buried alive. It was such an intense experience that I lost all fear, and afterwards saw death as my daily companion, who is always by my side, saying: “I will touch you, but you don’t know when. Therefore live life as intensely as you can.”

Because of this, I never leave until tomorrow what I can do or experience today- and that includes joys, work obligations, saying I’m sorry if I feel I’ve offended someone, and contemplation of the present moment as if it were my last. I can remember many occasions when I have smelled the last perfume of death: that far-off day in 1974, in Aterro do Flamengo (Rio de Janeiro), where the taxi I was traveling in was blocked by another car, and a group of armed paramilitaries jumped out and put a hood over my head. Even though they assured me that nothing bad would happen to me, I was convinced that I was about to become another of the military regime’s “disappeared”.

Or when, in August 1989, I got lost on a climb in the Pyrenees. I looked around at the mountains bare of snow and vegetation, thought that I wouldn’t have the strength to go back, and concluded that my body would not be found until the following summer. Finally, after wandering around for many hours, I managed to find a track that led me to a remote village.

The journalist from The Mail on Sunday insists: but what would my funeral be like? Well, according to my will, there will be no funeral. I have decided to be cremated, and my wife will scatter my ashes in a place called El Cebrero in Spain- the place where I found my sword. Any unpublished manuscripts and typescripts will remain unpublished (I’m horrified at the number of “posthumous works” or “trunks full of papers” that writers’ heirs unscrupulously publish in order to make some money; if the authors chose not to publish these things while they were alive, their privacy should be respected). The sword that I found on the Road to Santiago will be thrown into the sea, and thus be returned to the place whence it came. And my money, along with the royalties that will continue to be received for another seventy years, will be devoted entirely to the charitable foundation I have set up.

“And what about your epitaph” asks the journalist. Well, since I’m going to be cremated, there won’t be a headstone on which to write an inscription, since my ashes will have been carried away on the wind. But if I had to choose a phrase, I would choose this: “He died while he was still alive.” That might seem a contradiction in terms; but I know a lot of people who have stopped living, even though they continue working and eating and carrying on with their usual social activities. They do everything on automatic pilot, unaware of the magic moments that each day brings with it, never stopping to think about the miracle of life, not understanding that the next minute could be their last on the face of the planet.

The journalist leaves, and I sit down at the computer and decide to write this. I know it’s not a topic anyone likes to think about, but I have a duty to my readers – to make them think about the important things in life. And death is possibly the most important thing. We are all walking towards death, but we never know when death will touch us and it is our duty, therefore, to look around us, to be grateful for each minute. But we should also be grateful to death, because it makes us think about the importance of each decision we take, or fail to take; it makes us stop doing anything that keeps us stuck in the category of the “living dead” and, instead, urges us to risk everything, to bet everything on those things we always dreamed of doing, because, whether we like it or not, the angel of death is waiting for us.

You Know You've Been In Finland Too Long, When...

You meticulously manage your plastic bag collection.

You don't think twice about putting wet dishes in the cupboard to dry.

Silence is fun.

Your coffee consumption exceeds 8 cups a day.

You pass a grocery store and think: "Wow, it's open!"

Your native language has seriously deteriorated. Now you "eat medicine", "open the television", and "close the lights off".

You associate pea soup with Thursday.

Your notion of street life is reduced to hanging out in front of the railway station on Friday nights.

After a presentation, you finally stop asking "Are there any questions?"

Hugging is reserved for sexual foreplay.

You no longer look at a track suit as casual wear, but consider it acceptable for formal occasions. Neither do you see a problem wearing white socks with loafers.

You accept alcohol as food.

You no longer eat mashed potatoes - you eat smashed potatoes.

You understand why the Finnish language has no future tense.

You know that "one" beer means "let's get pissed."

When a stranger smiles at you, you assume he is drunk, insane, or American.

You've become lactose intolerant.

You know how to prepare herring 105 different ways.


Source: Finnish Jokes

Before and After

------------------------------------------
Before and After


------------------------------------------
A cycle of life
travels along the time

It makes a journey
with a beginning of sun rise

It travels along the coast of universe
meeting, talking, writing, speaking
thinking, creating, singing and
and
many "ing" suffixes in words...

After being for a while
it wants to take rest

and goes back

goes back to the time

from the time where

once it started

it just wants to take rest...

it leaves the body
and soul departs...

it departs from the cloth which once it was wearing

finally, it goes to "memory-tomb"

and in there, it forgets everything it once did

during those period of time and when it stayed
there

for a while

like 69, 72, 75 ... years

after forgetting,

it takes any other form based on "karma"

in its new form,
it will not remember anything

the cycle repeats
and

repeats

until someday

it reaches to thee;


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

God bless you all !

“Remember My Name”

“Remember my name”


I have no desire,
I have no pain.

The love which once had,
is lost in vain.

I have no money,
I have no fame.

The world which once I loved,
remains unclear, unknown and selfish.

Thou had to step-in
art rejuvenates this poor heart.

What had I given?
Mother Nature lets me sustain.

What would I do with desire?
Desire hardly reaches to destination.

Thee resurrected in love,
This world had once blamed.

If I would someday rise,
rise and rise
rise high above the mountains

I tell you, my dear friend,
I have no one except your love
as you remember my name.