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¡La vida no te debe nada!

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Hace unos días, la vida nos arrebató a una preciosa niña de sólo 10 años. La única hija de un amigo, pero como si fuera mi hija. Hace 21 años, un día como hoy, 25 de mayo, perdí a mi hermana mayor en circunstancias sospechosas.  He llorado, me he dado el derecho de enfadarme, no he tenido miedo de hacer preguntas difíciles como: ¿por qué ella? ¿Y por qué yo, y por qué tan joven? ¿Y la justicia? ¿Y el karma? ¿Y que era una buena persona? Sólo se dedicaba a ayudar a los enfermos, a cantar con esa voz angelical que tenía, a compartir con los demás su alegría y su risa.  ¿Por qué ella? ¿Por qué, por qué, por qué? No sé con quién enfadarme, no sé de quién esperar respuestas. Lo único que me llega es el silencio. Y un rotundo... ¡La vida no te debe nada! Entonces, ¿cómo voy a tomar esta vida? Entonces comprendí la letanía de la vida: La vida es un don gratuito, tómala o déjala. La vida es como una semilla, depende de la tierra y de las circunstancias que la rodean para florecer o marchitarse

Reap Today's Harvest!

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 A few days ago, life took from us a beautiful girl only 10 years old. The only daughter of a friend, but as if she were my daughter.  21 years ago, on a day like today, May 25th, I lost my  elder sister in suspicious circumstances.  I have cried, I have given myself the right to be angry, I have not been afraid to ask hard questions like: why her? And why me, and why so young? And justice? And karma? What a good person she was? She only dedicated herself to helping the sick, to singing with that angelic voice she had, to sharing with others her joy and laughter.  Why her? Why, why, why ? I don't know who to be angry at. I don't know who to expect answers from. The only thing that reaches me is silence. And a resounding... Life owes you nothing! So  how am I to take this life ? Then I understood the litany of life: Life is a free gift, take it or leave it. Life is like a seed, it depends on the soil and surrounding circumstances to flourish or wither .  Life at its source is sh

Paz para Nuestros Tiempos

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  ¿Qué dirá Winston Churchill   hoy sobre la guerra y la paz?   Queridos compatriotas y   pueblos del mundo, levantémonos como un solo hombre y con una sola voz solemne, digamos NO a la Guerra.   Condenamos todo acto de violencia y barbarie en nombre de la guerra.   Hace 77 años, nos prometimos a nosotros mismos que “NUNCA MÁS” la humanidad conocería los estragos de la guerra, pero aquí estamos hoy en guerra y con el mundo entero al borde de un desastre aún mayor, un desastre nuclear.   ¿A caso hemos perdido el juicio?   ¿Tan pronto hemos olvidado   lo que tuvimos que sufrir?   Pensé que habíamos aprendido la lección de que si la raza humana desea tener un período prolongado e indefinido de prosperidad, solo tiene que comportarse de manera pacífica y servicial entre sí.   ¿Cómo es que hemos llegado a esto de nuevo?   La respuesta es simple, codicia, la codicia de uno y codicia de todos.   Parece que no hemos entendido que nos ganamos la vida con lo que recibimos, pero hacemos una

Peace For Our time!

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  What will Winston Churchill say on war and peace today? Fellow country and people of the world, Let us rise as one man and with one solemn voice, say, NO to War.   We condemn every act of violence and barbarity in the name of war. 77 years ago, we vowed to ourselves that “NEVER AGAIN” shall mankind know the ravages of war, yet here we stand today in war and with the whole world at the brink of an even greater disaster, a nuclear disaster. Have we lost our wits? Have we forgotten so soon what we went through? I thought we had learnt the lesson that if the human race wishes to have a prolonged and indefinite period of material prosperity, they have only got to behave in a peaceful and helpful way toward one another . How have we come to this again? The answer is simple, greed, greed of one and greed of all. We seem not to haveunderstood that we make a living by whatwe get but we make a life by what we give. Just as it takes two to tango, it takes two to war. And if we are in war, i

The Search.

  The Search.   He controls each of them meticulously. In some he is lucky and in others no. Around him people are all busy,  chatting buying and dumping. No one seems to care, yes everyone has his own problems. It's a busy world no time to waste on lunatics. In his tattered jeans and worn out shoes he continues his search. As people shift, his stink too much to stand. Yet his worries seem nothing compared to theirs. Once again his hand goes deep into one of the bins, Ah atlast his eyes brighten up with  his trophy; Some crumbs of left over pizza, discarded by an overfed stomach. He sinks his teeth into the crunch, every bite munches aways his hunger. This man is oblivious to all the gliterring around, while lights of latest cell phones flash and people worry, his hunger is satisfied. The dust bin is his lunch table.   Munteh, 23.10.2018

Political Bugs.

  Political Bugs.   With sunken eyes, in their desperate mendicant rags they gather; to welcome this bedevilled crew; that losely waves at them. They gaze at this poor with fake smiles, in the comfort of  limos and luxury cars. These swollen bed bugs bleeding a nation to death; They utter nothing but shameless promises of a better tomorrow;  thugs and thieves well clad in burrowed ropes; but nothing ever changes. Handing down tins of sardines and slices of bread, as bait for their prey, In exchange of their victims' lives and livelihoods. Its election time and the zombies are out again. The mercililess vampires tour the streets; proclaiming their faded clichés of interminable years, as if in mockery they caress their well fed bodies, as they pry for more, overloading  their banks and egos. The hypnotized holler and shout their praise, trapped in their snare, unable to react, to free themselves from the tyranny. It were better the rule of our fore

My beloved land in travail and groaning

  My beloved land in travail and groaning. My land desacralized and deeply hurt; The soil is drunk with the peoples' blood, By the occupiers' sacriligeous acts. My land throbs in pain for her sons and daughters.   My beloved land bemoans her woes; Plunderers and rapists parade her contours. Heartless murderers contaminate her shrines; Recklessly torch ancestral homesteads. What did we do wrong, she ponders, As old women and men roast in their slumber.   My beautiful land raped as a virgin shrieks; No one is spared, everyone is an enemy. She hollers and shouts but the World is silent. Who shall save her from these molesters, That execute without mercy men of God, Messengers clad but in peace garments.   Not even the mad have where to hide; Their blissful world with inhuman fury shattered. Babies clung on mothers backs whine and fret; Whole families seek relief in the wilds, Still their cries are silenced by thunderous shots; As t