"Here is my secret. It is very simple: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.."- Antoine de Saint Exupéry

Posts tagged “Tears

Count the Tears

God counts the tears of women
For He knows the measure of life and suffering…
Tears, drops of sacrifice, drops of life essence,
Drops of smile, drops of deception,
Drops of love, drops of dew,
Fuel for the gift of life and forgiveness…
God counts the tears of women,
He alone knows the number…
Women alone feel it.
And God smiles.


memyselfandela, 2010

Photo : Photobucket


It was a cold winter afternoon when the news of losing her husband had struck her worst than the lightning. Shocking. Scary. Heartbreaking. Cruel. This news never comes easy, but there was a sense of cruelty in the easiness with which the words have been spoken by her brother in law who did not even realize that it was not his father John that had been found dead, but his brother John, who happened to have the same name but who has been living at a completely different address. It was ironic that he did not understand the obvious when he received that fatidic phone call, but when she heard about it, she was the only one who did understand. In that moment of truth, in the presence of her daughter, her whole universe has crumbled in a moment. Her child has stood still by the sound of her excruciating loud scream, a voice of despair never heard before. A scream announcing a lot of suffering.

Then came a long time of waiting for the confirmation of her loss, most probably the longest night in her life. They had gone to bring back home his dead body and she was helpless, she had to wait with her child for the moment when she would see him dead with her own eyes. Her heart was broken in two. Her mind was telling her that he was gone, yet her soul refused to accept it and hung on any glimpse of hope. She tried to phone and find out more, she tried to get help from people around, yet nobody seemed to care and all others seemed to stay out of this tragedy that was left only on her shoulders. When there’s pain, nobody seems to want to know it, all seem to turn their back and refuse to be close to it. A solitude understood only by the hurt ones.

With her family hundreds of miles away, she had spent a whole terror night hiding in a corner of the flat, finding comfort only in embracing her daughter while whispering through the tears “it cannot be him, no, he is not dead…Yes, it is him, it can only be him living at our address… no, it cannot be him…” An agony that would have gone unknown to anyone but God. Sounds of bullets fired outside the building, in the near proximity and in a distance, have tormented the whole night. A night of such an acute solitude and emptiness that she nearly lost her mind.

Making it through the madness of what is now known as the Romanian Revolution in 1989, her brothers and sisters have defied any fear and have taken all the same train, coming to bring the deserved consolation for the soul that did not have the strength to express the loss and pain anymore. Their embrace was similar to the wing of an angel covering a broken soul.

His soul was still floating among us while we were crying by his side while we were saying goodbye. In a little village church lit up by many candles, on Christmas day, in that small room full of a whole community of relatives and neighbours, he must have seen his wife kissing his forehead for the last time and his daughter being taken away while reaching her hand for the last time towards him as they were nailing the top of his coffin. He must have known he was loved and missed. He must know he is loved till the end of time.

It is all very vivid in my memory. People say time makes memories fade, yet this memory stays the same, it opens in my mind with the same brightness of a light that suddenly illuminates a very dark room. It was and still is painful. Yet it is also the loving memory of my beloved father. It is also the love for my dear precious mother, a woman who has been through so much in life. I was the witness, I was the child, and somewhere in my heart , at this time of the year, I still am. Back there, 25 years ago.


In loving memory of my father, Ioan Galasiu
700 words, memyselfandela, December 2014

Black & White

when I think of you ~ quand je pense a toi

when I think of you
my soul breaks
into thousand pieces
that fall at your feet…

don’t cry, you said,
but my heart turns into tears
hoping it can get carried by the storm
and fall on your cheeks to caress them…

my breath leaves my chest
looking for the wind
wanting to be pulled all around you
and hold you in my place…

when I think of you
I melt completely
in this blessed
suffering of ours…


quand je pense à toi
mon âme casse
en mille morceaux
qui tombent à tes pieds …

ne pleure pas, tu as dit,
mais mon cœur se transforme en larmes
en espérant qu’il peut se faire porté par la tempête
et tomber sur tes joues pour les caresser …

mon souffle laisse ma poitrine
recherchent pour le vent
en veulent être tiré tout autour de toi
pour te serrer à ma place …

quand je pense à toi
je fondre complètement
dans ce bienheureux
souffrance des nôtres …



If God would not have made tears colourless, pillows would have a lot of stories to tell…….


This happens in Lebanon… Why ??? We humans are said to be inteligent and wise…
What are we if such atrocities happen? What does it say about humanity???

And they say that if you save a life you saved the whole world…

Source : http://piazzadcara.wordpress.com/2012/04/14/pope-rat-in-lebanon-franklin-lamb/


To Blossom Blue – Lake Of Tears

“I’m bleeding, I’m bleeding in ways of the fire burned.
I’m crying, I’m crying in ways of the nightbird.
No more is there one to lay by my side.
I’m straying, I’m straying in nightmares all the time.

A little something I know,
A little somewhere I go,
Reminds me of you.

To blossom blue is to blossom without you.
To blossom blue…

I’m breaking, I’m breaking but I cannot bear to.
I’m staring, I’m staring but I cannot see you.
For no more are you to lay by my side…
I’m weeping, I’m weeping no more then this second time.

A little something I know,
A little somewhere I go,
Where the sweet waters flow,
Reminds me of you…

A little something I know,
A little somewhere I go,
Where the sweet waters flow,
Where the mistletoes grow,
Reminds me of you.

To blossom blue is to blossom without you.
To blossom blue is to blossom without you.”


I light my thoughts one by one
trying to smoke my darkness

my hand burns still on your heart
there, were I stopped pulsating

mountains of unspoken, dead rivers of tears
broken hopeless bridges

mere ordeal suffocating your heartbeat…
close you eyes. rewind. tomorrow we get born again


Negative – Svet Tuge / World Of Sadness

“Tonight she died all my faith
to the last drop is absorbed country
tonight I was alone in the world
deep in the heart are extinguished desire

To live alone in a world of sadness
the desert cold, long nights
even when the days are gray dawn
with such a life

Tonight my eyes turned to heaven
demanded by the star to stand
but all of them fell to the ground
and gave me the strength to admit himself

To live alone in a world of sadness
the desert cold, long nights
even when the days are gray dawn
with such life and death lures me

I live alone in a world of sadness
the desert cold, long nights
even when the days are gray dawn
with such life and death lures me

Tonight the Angels made the wings
turned the other way
and gave me the strength to admit himself

I live alone in a world of sadness
the desert cold, long nights

I live alone in a world of sadness
night long, and me death calling me
night long, and me death calling me”

Chaque heure, ou je songe a ta bonté, Émile Verhaeren

Chaque heure, où je songe à ta bonté

Si simplement profonde,

Je me confonds en prières vers toi.

Je suis venu si tard

Vers la douceur de ton regard,

Et de si loin vers tes deux mains tendues,

Tranquillement, par à travers les étendues !

J’avais en moi tant de rouille tenace

Qui me rongeait, à dents rapaces, la confiance.

J’étais si lourd, j’étais si las,

J’étais si vieux de méfiance,

J’étais si lourd, j’étais si las

Du vain chemin de tous mes pas.

Je méritais si peu la merveilleuse joie

De voir tes pieds illuminer ma voie,

Que j’en reste tremblant encore et presque en pleurs

Et humble, à tout jamais, en face du bonheur.

Les heures claires (1896)

Always, Pablo Neruda

I am not jealous

of what came before me.

Come with a man

on your shoulders,

come with a hundred men in your hair,

come with a thousand men between your breasts and your feet,

come like a river

full of drowned men

which flows down to the wild sea,

to the eternal surf, to Time!

Bring them all

to where I am waiting for you;

we shall always be alone,

we shall always be you and I

alone on earth,

to start our life!

Little things

Little things can ease

The wounds of your soul

Maybe only the thought of

Being sheltered under a wing…

Little things can fill

The emptiness  of your heart

Maybe only the love

You have not been yet given…

Little can cover

Your hundred years of solitude

Probably only

My solitude.

Nobody knows that I love you

“Nobody knows that I love you

Only my soul

and he is silent.

Nobody will know that I love you,

only my soul

which is quieter than ever.

My soul and my voice

because the motr scream I love you,

you do not want to listen.

Now I know what is silence

Now I do.

I wait every day

the waiting time.

You are in my child dreams

and in my great needs.

In the silences that are beyond

to confess in the afternoon.

In the heavy silence

full of loneliness.

I wait and not tell you

where you can find me.

I love you and I do not wait for you

Because it hurts.

I  have you and I can not have you,

because I can not find you.

Because in my days of adult

I can come after you,

Because in my child nights

The cry comes to find me.

Because I love you innocent

because I hate implacable

because my sex is forgotten,

but I forget not my blood.

You have sought and found me,

Now I wait,

and you do not come to me.

An angel has lost his voice in the silence,

but I speak to your soul

soul magical and mysterious.

I do not know if I’ll ever hear the voice of an angel

I do not

really, I do not

because your soul is mine

My soul is trapped.

If our souls before God are one,

it will be the soul of our children,

and our children’s children … ”


” Nadie sabe que te amo,

sólo mi alma

y es muda.

Nadie sabrá que sigo amándote,

sólo mi alma,

que está más muda que nunca.

Mi alma y mi voz,

porque por más que grite: Te amo,

no quieres escucharme.

Ahora sí sé lo que es el silencio,

ahora sí.

Espero día por día

el momento de esperarte.

Te espero en mis sueńos nińos

y en mis necesidades grandes.

En los silencios que escapan

a confesarse en la tarde.

En los silencios pesados,

cargados de soledades.

Te espero y no te digo

donde puedes encontrarme.

Te amo y no te espero

porque me duele esperarte.

Puedo tenerte y no puedo,

porque no puedo buscarte.

Porque en mis días adultos

puedo llegar a buscarte,

porque en mis noches de nińo

el llanto, viene a buscarme.

Porque te amo inocente,

porque te odio implacable,

porque mi sexo se olvida,

pero no olvida mi sangre.

No te busqué, y me encontraste,

ahora te espero,

y no vienes a buscarme.

Un ángel perdió su voz, en el silencio,

pero me habla con su alma,

su alma mágica y misteriosa.

No sé si volveré a escuchar la voz del ángel,

pero no me importa,

de veras, no me importa,

porque su alma es mía,

mi alma la tiene cautiva.

Si ante Dios nuestras almas son una sola,

y serán las almas de nuestros hijos,

y de los hijos de nuestros hijos…”



I close myself again in my world… in the trap of solitude… I stopped walking, unwillingly,  and my smile faded on my lips… the colour in my eyes  froze spreading tears of ashes…

my soul has turned into a bizarre delta, with countless arms through wich the whole sadness of the world is flowing… time was not on my side… when I missed you the most you have hidden yourself like a criminal, killing my feelings… you set my soul on fire and you left me a mountain of memories, a dirty thick water of sensations and feelings and dead dreams, sad water, dirty water, yellow like the face of a corpse… dirty water that my soul has to filter day and night, flowing in my cells in long moments… endless drops of sick time, bizarre time, irreversible time…my idears turn into a dirty brown, my wings are cut, my flight is an utopia…


Most people are horrified by the thought of solitude, but isn’t solitude a part of ourselves?
That voice that speaks when all others leave us, that part that never betrays us?
It takes lots of strength to be true to ourselves, deep inside, there where we are alone,
Where there are no more veils to cover our soul, nor things to distract us.
No more ideas to kidnap our eyes, only ourselves, simple, stripped, in the middle of reality.
Do you know the feeling? There’s such a surreal beauty inside.
Take a deep breath and welcome yourself.


100 words

memyselfandela, 2012

My beautiful love

“…My beautiful love, my great love, my tear

I carry you in myself like a wounded bird

Not knowing to watch the past

And repeating the words that I said

That will also die for your eyes…

There is no happy love…

It is already late to have more time to learn

Our hearts cry together every night

Suffering for the smallest song

Paying with regrets for every small shiver

Losing the breath for every guitar song

There’s no happy love….

There’s no love that is not pain

There’s no love to live without tears

There’s no happy love

But it is our love, it belongs to us both.”

Il N’y a Pas D’amour Hereaux, Nina Simone

About me

the Mother and the Child

the Destroyer and the Builder

the Teacher and the Pupil

the Darkness and the Light

the Tear and the Laughter

the Dreamer and the Realist

the Rebel and the Submissive

the Traveller and the Guide

the Dispair and the Hope

the Loneliness and the Shelter

the Lover and the Solitary…

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I’m all in one name: Woman.