eBooks „Dove“
Es wurden 57 eBooks für den Suchbegriff „Dove“ gefunden.
Kelly Abell
Haunted Destiny
- Krimi
- Englisch
- 3369 Wörter
- Keine Altersempfehlung
- 9369
- 247
Destiny Dove is the only survivor of a tragic car crash that killed her parents and baby brother. A teen uprooted from her home, she is forced to live with her eccentric grandmother whom Destiny has been taught her whole life to fear. She must start her life over living with an old woman who is not only a stranger to her, but just strange. All Destiny wants is to fit in with kids like her and begin to pull her life back together.
But Destiny soon discovers she is not like the other teens at all. She has developed the family gift of being able to see and talk to ghosts and her estranged grandmother will be the one person who can help her understand what the fates have dealt her…a haunted destiny. Being the town freak does not put Destiny high on the potential friends list, but Jake Turner sees something in her that the other teens from Blake High don’t. Destiny is actually able to put her unique talent to use and help Jake communicate with his recently deceased sister forming a bond between them that no one else can share or know about. In an extraordinary twist of events, Jake’s girlfriend Amy receives some furniture with some frightening ghostly spirits attached to it, and Jake turns to Destiny for help.
Now Destiny must struggle with a force she is unprepared to handle. When a party at Amy’s becomes a showdown between good and evil will Destiny have what it takes to save Amy and the others? Will the help of her grandmother, two resident ghosts and a surprise visitor be enough to rid the Morgan family of the evil possessing them and allow Destiny to finally gain the acceptance she so desperately wants? Or will the ancient evil destroy them all? [mehr]
Stichwörter: ghosts, spirits, haunted, destiny, medium
Kostenlos
Zane Grey
Desert Gold
- Historisches
- Englisch
- 104581 Wörter
- Ab 18 Jahren
- 2
Assassination Of Archduke Francis Ferdinand, Heir To The Throne
Of Austria-Hungary, And His Wife In sarajevo, Bosnia, On June 28,
1914, It Was With A Feeling of Great Regret That Another Sorrow
Had Been Added to The Many Already Borne By ThA Face Haunted cameron--A Woman'S Face. It Was There In the White
Heart Of The Dying campfire; It Hung In the Shadows That Hovered
Over The Flickering light; It Drifted in the Darkness Beyond.
This Hour, When The Day Had Closed and The Lonely Desert Night Set
In With Its Dead Silence, Was One In which Cameron'S Mind Was Thronged
With Memories Of A Time Long Past--Of A Home Back In peoria, Of A
Woman He Had Wronged and Lost, And Loved too Late. He Was A Prospector
For Gold, A Hunter Of Solitude, A Lover Of The Drear, Rock-Ribbed
Infinitude, Because He Wanted to Be Alone To Remember.
e Aged emperor
Francis Joseph. That Those Fatal Shots Would Echo Around The
World And, Flashing out Suddenly Like A Bolt From The Blue, Hurl
Nearly The Whole Of Europe Within A Week'S Time From A State Of
Profound Peace Into One Of Continental War, Unannounced,
Unexpected, Unexplained, Unprecedented in suddenness And
Enormity, Was An Unimaginable Possibility. And Yet The Ringing of
When The People Of The United states Heard The News Of The
The Church Bells Was Suddenly Drowned by The Roar Of Cannon, The
Voice Of The Dove Of Peace By The Blare Of The Trump Of War, And
Throughout The World Ran A Shudder Of Terror At These Unwonted
And Ominous Sounds. [mehr]
Kostenlos
Dutton Cook
Art in England Notes and Studies
- Belletristik
- Englisch
- 87588 Wörter
- Ab 18 Jahren
- 2
Edward Dutton Cook (30 January 1829 – 11 September 1883) was an English dramatic critic and author.
Cook's father was George Simon Cook of Grantham, Lincolnshire, a solicitor, of the firm of Le Blanc & Cook, 18 New Bridge Street, Blackfriars, London, who died on 12 September 1852, leaving a family of nine children.
Edward Dutton, the second son, was born at 9 Grenville Street, Brunswick Square, London, on 30 January 1829. At the age of six he went to a school kept by a Miss Boswell at Haverstock Hill, was removed to another school at Bradmore House, Chiswick, and finally, about 1843, entered King's College School. Having completed his education, he was articled to his father, and remained in his office about four years, when he obtained a situation in the Madras Railway Company's office in New Broad Street, city of London, and in his spare time followed his artistic and literary tastes.[1]
As soon as he was able to do so he left the railway company and devoted himself entirely to literature as a profession. Having studied painting under Rolt, and learned engraving, he at one time sought employment on Punch as a draughtsman on wood. In 1859 he became a member of the Artists' Rifles, and also a member of the Ramblers' Club, which met every night from November to May at Dick's Tavern, 8 Fleet Street. About this period, in conjunction with Mr. Leopold Lewis, he wrote a melodrama entitled The Dove and the Serpent, which was produced with much success, under Mr. Nelson Lee's management, at the City of London Theatre.[2] [mehr]
Kostenlos
Ellen G. White
Patriarchi e Profeti
- Religion
- Italienisch
- 255061 Wörter
- Keine Altersempfehlung
- 56
Patriarchi e profeti è il primo di un’opera in più volumi chiamata la “serie del [gran] conflitto”. In essi Ellen G. White ripercorre la storia biblica dalla ribellione di Lucifero fino alla restaurazione dell’armonia e della pace nel nuovo regno escatologico di Dio. Il volume che presentiamo giunge fino alla fine del grande regno israelitico di Davide. Attraverso le sue pagine ci vengono descritte la realtà dell’Eden troppo presto perduto, le conseguenze del male sulla vita dell’uomo e del mondo intero, il tentativo costante di Dio di ricondurre gli uomini a sé, la sua pazienza, il suo discutere con gli uomini ponendosi al loro livello per ricondurli al suo. La storia degli antichi patriarchi diventa vita vissuta. Con Mosè soffriamo per la schiavitù in Egitto e ci rallegriamo per la potenza liberatrice di Dio, saliamo sul monte dell’allenza e sogniamo il riposo della terra promessa. Con Giosuè entriamo finalmente nella terra della libertà dove scorre “il latte e il miele”. Con i Giudici assistiamo alla difesa di questo popolo dagli attacchi dei tanti nemici, attacchi militari aperti ma anche insidie spirituali che tendevano a snaturare il senso stesso della sua esistenza. Partecipiamo poi al dramma di Saul, il primo re d’Israele e vediamo infine Davide, il re “secondo il cuore dell’Eterno” che cambia i rapporti con le altre nazioni vicine trasformando Israele, da popolo debole e oppresso, in un grande impero che può competere da pari a pari con le superpotenze del momento. [mehr]
Kostenlos
Luke Moore
Pappus and Sonder
Sexual memory ripples through a lifetime
- Erotik
- Englisch
- 205516 Wörter
- Ab 18 Jahren
- 14
Ruby, a leading character, offers a pithy swathe.
There is a troupe of college friends. Let’s start with wistful Luke, your ever-watchful reflective narrator, Christ; his shyness irritates me!
The lovey-dove Coral, our collective adhesive, a modern girl with a regency heart, whom I have the hots for; God, she is gorgeous.
Her action boyfriend, over-eager Josh, a hunk who only has sex on his mind; he is hopeful Coral will be his first!
And risqué me, the little minx; sassy, sharp, conniving, and considering getting inked as the story commences.
There is plenty of wayward troupe fun and raucous laughs through high school and college in 1970s Melbourne. Whoops, an overdose of selfishness by everyone at eighteen, and the crap hits the relationship fan as pleasure ignited by pleasure’s ignition is always a pleasure for two or more until someone muddies it with words or actions.
So adult content warning, erotic impulses are indulged. However, they generate contemplative introspection on friendship, passion, selfishness, brooding, contrition, resilience, cheating and love. And yeah, the pappus and sonder bits skein through the story as it unfolds like recall, intentional or spontaneous, rolling in and out of our minds, non-chronologically.
Sonder connects us all from a child spinning a top In Gomorrah as it met oblivion to friendships forever a word away from starting on a Monday morning once in August at 8.15 am.
Memories are blown like pappus, yet our yearnings are tattooed under our skin. From there, they will swell back. Ready, set, go, read the ripples! [mehr]
Stichwörter: romance, college age, memories, friendship, cheating, love, passion, selfishness, contrition
Kostenlos
Klaus Schad
Regen in Alba
- Kurzgeschichte
- Deutsch
- 752 Wörter
- Keine Altersempfehlung
- 1066
- 1
Ich hatte es schon beim Verlassen des Hotels befürchtet. Das Wetter wird nicht halten und prompt fiel nun mein geplanter Spaziergang durch die schöne Innenstadt von Alba nach einigen Minuten auch regelrecht ins Wasser.
Dabei hatte ich mich so darauf gefreut und auf meiner Reise in die Toskana extra diese Route über das Piemont genommen, um wieder einmal in dieser schönen Stadt zu sein.
Ich liebte die kleinen Geschäfte und das geschäftige Treiben in der gepflegten Fußgängerzone und vor allem den großen Markt, der jeden Samstag die gesamte Innenstadt belebte.
Der Regen wurde immer stärker und der tiefgraue Himmel ließ keine schnelle Wetterbesserung erwarten.
Mit hochgestelltem Jackenkragen flüchtete ich in eine kleine Cafeteria am Piazza Garibaldi um erst einmal eine kleine Denkpause einzulegen. Die Wassertropfen auf meiner Brille, ließen mich nur schemenhaft erkennen, dass an der Theke einige Kunden standen und die wenigen Tischen fast alle noch unbesetzt waren, sodass ich mich erleichtert auf einen Stuhl am Tisch neben dem Eingang niederließ.
“Che cosa desidera “ hörte ich eine sympathische Stimme fragen, während ich noch versuchte meine Brille zu trocknen. Mit einem verlegenen Lächeln schaute ich die hübsche Bedienung an und bestellte eine große Tasse Cappuccino.
Hätte ich wenigstens einen Schirm mitgenommen, dann könnte ich zumindest nach dem kleinen Weingeschäft suchen, in dem ich mich vor drei Jahren so günstig mit Barolo und Nebbiolo Weinen eingedeckt hatte.
Mit den wenigen Brocken Italienisch die ich kannte baute ich mir gedanklich einen Fragesatz zusammen und als die junge Dame mit der dampfenden Tasse ankam versuchte ich es einfach: „Scusi Sinora, dove posso comprare un ombrello
2
qui vicino, per favore?“ Dabei versuchte ich gestikulierend mit meinen Händen und Armen einen Schirm über meinem Kopf anzudeuten, da ich nicht sicher war, ob meine Frage, sprachlich verstanden wurde.
Mit einem bezaubernden Lächeln und dem Satz: „ non so, ma aspetta un momento“ wandte sie sich zur Theke und wiederholte meine Frage ihrem Kollegen gegenüber. Dass sie dabei fast meine Worte benutzte, machte mich richtig stolz auf meine italienischen Sprachkenntnisse.
Während ich an meiner Tasse schlürfte ergab sich an der Theke eine rege Diskussion zwischen den beiden, in die sich ziemlich schnell auch zwei der anderen Kunden einmischten. Ein dritter faltete nach einigen Sekunden seine Zeitung zusammen und beteiligte sich ebenfalls. Nach wenigen Minuten waren alle fünf Gäste an der Theke darüber am diskutieren ob und wo man am schnellsten einen Schirm kaufen könnte. Selbst die schlanke Frau, die im geschäftsmäßig eleganten Hosenanzug als einzige außer mir an einem der Tischchen saß, klappte ihr Mobiltelefon zu und stellte sich zu der Gruppe an der Theke. Alle im Raum waren beteiligt - alle außer mir.
Es war mir etwas peinlich, mit meiner simplen Frage so eine Diskussion ausgelöst zu haben, doch dann wurde mir immer klarer, dass diese Menschen es regelrecht genossen sich mit dieser Angelegenheit auseinanderzusetzen. Jeder deutete in eine andere Richtung. Einzelne Wortfragmente wie … chiuso da due anni - ancora aperto - no, no, troppo esclusivo… konnte ich zwar verstehen, aber viel mehr faszinierte mich das Engagement und die Lebhaftigkeit der gesamten Gruppe. Es war eben eine richtige Diskussion der italienischen Art – vital, laut und voller Gestik.
Ich saß völlig alleine an meinem Tisch und fühlte mich trotzdem nicht isoliert oder gar ausgeschlossen, sondern im
3
Gegenteil irgendwie ernstgenommen, denn sowohl die Bedienung, als auch die anderen Gäste vergewisserten sich immer wieder durch kurze aufmunternde Blicke, dass ich noch da war.
Inzwischen waren fast zehn Minuten vergangen und ich überlegte schon wie ich mich aus der Affäre ziehen könnte, als die Bedienung an meinen Tisch kam und mit einem leichten Schulterzucken andeutete, dass man sich nicht wirklich einigen konnte, aber weiter vorne rechts sei wohl ein Geschäft in dem ich vielleicht eine Chance hätte einen Schirm zu erstehen.
Ich bedankte mich so gut ich konnte und wollte gerade meinen Cappuccino bezahlen, da rief die Frau im Hosenanzug plötzlich: „ Guardate la - il sole“ und wir alle lachten, als wir sahen, dass sich eine Lücke in den Wolken auftat und einige Sonnenstrahlen die Straßen erhellten.
Als ich die Cafeteria verließ nickten mir alle noch einmal lachend zu und einer klopfte mir im vorbeigehen freundlich auf die Schulter: „Allora, e finalmente andata bene.“ Alle freuten sich ganz offensichtlich über unseren gemeinsamen Erfolg.
Immer noch lachend trat ich auf die Straße und versuchte mir dabei vorzustellen, wie es wohl einem Italiener in einem deutschen Cafe ergangen wäre.
Ich jedenfalls fühlte mich hier in Italien wieder einmal auf eine wunderbare Weise sehr gut aufgehoben. Fast so wie zu Hause. [mehr]
Kostenlos
Original:Perugu.Ramakrishna
Flemingo
Translation:Jagadhaatri
- Lyrik und Poesie
- Englisch
- 3399 Wörter
- Keine Altersempfehlung
- 670
- 3
FLEMINGO..(lONG POEM ON MIGRATED BIRDS)
Time is infinite
Time is a canoe
Time is a winged dove
Time is desert silence
Time is the rumble of the oceans
Time is the showering rain droplet
It is the tremor of the heart
Time is the lingo of history
Time is an eternal test
A non stop journey is time
A ceased path is time
Time is life
Time is a flow
Time is death
Time is the opportune right
Time is a tide
Time is the breath
Time is invisible
Time is tangible
Time is a scene of beauty
The breath of an atom is time
The tune of an iota is time
Time is the play of life and death
Time is the envoy of peace and terror
There is no shore that the time has not touched
And no ray of light untouched by time
Time is the manifestation of the ancient Brahman
The modern interpretation of duty is time
Time is earthly and heaven
Time is eternal
Time is the river of life
Life is a journey
In the stream of time!
(2)
Journey
Is a feature of instability
The flow
A lively spirit
Flower voyages
Pollinated
From flower to flower
The bird travels
As love
From shore to shore
As a lineage
Procreation
Is the maternal instinct
And desire for procreation
Is the essence of the expansion of the soul
Copulation
Is it only pertaining to the man alone?
Justice in creation
Flourishes in plural
Many rain droplets do make a rain
Umpteen leaves do make a tree
Millions of cells do make one creation
Loneliness is not the trait of the world
Embossing fetus in the ovum
The bird blows the warmth of breath
The cosmic universe is
Perceived in totality by the inner eye
(3)
Every move is a journey
Every death is a journey
Every birth is a voyage
Flight is the winning spirit of the migrating birds
The effort of the ocean of love
Is to procreate
As the oceans run
With the feet of waves
As the air flows
In wavy winds
As life continues
With the unending breaths
As the world rounds in
Non stop news
In wings and wings
Do fly and arrive these birds
The creatures with passion and patience
Thousands of kilometers of restless journey
To the destination afar
In search of wonderlands
A partly witness of the
Irrepressible instinct
The soaring birds flying
Like hunks of the rainbow
Like the seven colored sankranthi(pongal rangoli)
The flowing sea of the bird flock
Floats on the treasures of the blue oceans
The jingling song of the migrating birds
Is a travel
A stopover
A sojourn
A libido
All are the traces of the moving time….
(4)
The bird is the
Infinite freedom with sprouted wings
The eyes filled with a fear
And a shiver
As the soldier of the border forces
The bird is a being, all time alert
Onlooker with a quest
It is the bird that
Smears a mosaic of colors
To the ends of the wings
And tips of the tails
The bird is the one
Which casts net and
Catches hold of the
Jet velocity
And the splendor of winds
In the moment of hunger
It is the bird that
Surgically operates the available food
And feeds on it as a fork
Welcoming a dawn
The bird is the
Wake up call
To the society
Crossing a cold night
Slivering the foggy morn
With its beak
Flying fast with its legs apart
Runs the bird in prey hunt
Testing the air contaminated
From the farthest branch
Of a tall tree
It is the bird that removes the pollution
On a sunny afternoon
On a choicest water meadow
It is the bird that
Jumps and thumps
And somersaults
Playing water khabaddi
Fluttering the body
Dries its wings
Measuring the distance of thousands of miles
It is the migrating bird
That carries
The history of the other side of the world
To the culture this side
And the race of that land
To this generation here
The bird is the flying goddess of passion
A flying message of peace
Completing the journeys
By the twilight of dusk
Gathering near the tree
It is the bird that gets ready for a chorus concert
It is the bird that reflects
The mynahs of poesy
Gandharvas (divine singers) of music
And the doyens of music
Hunger, sleep, love, and passion
Are similar to all the living beings
Between birth and death
Birds too have relations
They are not promiscuous
Birds too have a social life
They do not know social betrayal
The bird that unfolds its broad wings of vast feels
Seldom knows selfishness
It does not contract with narrow mindedness
To the lady bird
That sits over in hatching
With all balance and patience
The snacks of Pulicot
Brought tucked in the bags beneath its nose
Is fed in pecks and perks by the male
The bird is beyond jealousy and hatred
To the villagers who saved it from
Any one shooting a bullet
The bird as a good Samaritan in ardent gratitude,
Makes the land fertile
with its drops
Gifting a three times crop and leaves the land
The bird must be a role model for the man..!!
For sincerity and commitment
And discipline.
(5)
Exodus is an unending journey
Migration an age old fete
When the hues of life’s backdrop change
Exodus is a weapon
When the clouds anger
Making scarce a droplet of rain
The village turns an exodus
To the anna datha (farmer)
The farmer’s life turns a coolie
Exodus transports a generation
Exodus changes the way of life
At times migration in life
Encircles as a whirl pool
At times drowns as a typhoon
It makes you travel out to the continents
For the sake of the tiny belly
There is no race and no religion
The hunger’s language is universal
It may sojourn over anywhere
Will make you do anything
Stretches its hand until the belly is filled
From a dark continent
On to the dais of light
From an icy country
To the warm place
Builds the bridge of the seasons
(6)
The pelicans moving on the wings of time
The flamingos that ram in the air car
The Painted storks flown in like kites
Fluttering on the Konkanai
Sails of the waves are the black cranes
As the ambassadors of many countries
Have taken part in the international conference
The nature is all over colorful messages of love
All the festivals of love of the bird tourists
Are happily celebrated by the youth
On all the branches of the land are the happy resorts
In whichever village lost is the eye
It is the hustle of the moving colorful dreams
Are the goods of the empires of Manmadha(god of love)
The secrets of Mithuna rasi(Zodiac sign pertaining to love)
The hundred puzzles of the colorful flying boats
All over the Pulicot lake is the congregation of romantic heroes
All over the sky of Pulicot are the airs of emotions
Each bird is a hoisted flag of poesy
The colorful parrot is a short poem of dreams
The dark legged crane that has soiled its feet in the dirt of darkness
Washes them in the blue Pulicot
The myriad colored sea-parrot
Dives into the waters as the water drawing pulley
Alone a great sage
Stands on single foot in penance
When in the shades of waters narayani(heron) appears
He chants the manthra of gutakayaswaha(i.e. to swallow it)
Folding its wings to the sides of time
Gudaswami(the paddy bird or pond heron)
Takes thrice a dip in the Pulitheertham(name of a place)
As if thousands of women
Are stilled as a picture
In the postures of classical Indian dances
On the dais are the postures of the imitating flamingos
The everlasting fight of the usurpers for the water treasure
And for the enticing damsels
As if the Nelapattu has blown the snake charm
Every now and then they journey to the home
Naughty kids being the waves,
Floating are the winged boats
The structure that has turned
The Pralaya Kaveri(stormy Kaveri)
Into pranaya Saveri(lovable Saveri(a raga))
In the radiant jugalbandi of the jalatharangini
Is the passionate shower of dazzling ragas
As soon as it dawns in Pulicot
Spreading the colorful carpet
Entwining the hues of spring and winter
Flows as a soaring garden of blooms
Watering the mouth of the awaiting sea.
(7)
The bird guests under the boundless skies
Are the messiahs of universal brotherhood
The romantic tales carried over by the great poets
The Manmadhas(gods of love) who well knew the secrets of love
Lovers they are, who have left their family and place
With an ardent desire to beget off springs
Though in the size of a seed, but vast are their hearts
Their eyes are like lamps without wicks
To spread light is their message
To perceive life is their philosophy
Life is a penance
Life is radiance
Life is a dawn
Life is providence
Life a tune of the creation
From generation to generation pervades life
From earth to heaven is the debate of puranas
Life is an eternal stream of time!
The birds are the flags hoisted by the King of time!!
(8)
There –
On each branch is a concert
In each nestle, a sonata
Every tree a cluster of myriad hues
A bird fete all over the lands
Chirps and tickles
Coos and laughs
Many a confluences of umpteen springs of ragas
Many a sum of joy
With the exciting songs of the round eyed ones
The climate is delighted
In the highways of power filled skies
A colorful dream unfolds
The milky-way
Turns a rosy hued stream
In the time of saran navarathri Saphari Theerdham(name of a place)
Relaxes in the conference of arts
The banjara(wagabond) birds that have come
Croon the songs of coos
They spread out the treasure troves of love
Onto the nest of the worlds
To the noises of the love making birds
All the stars peer down to the earth
The ways of love of the romantic hearts
Breathe out the passions in loneliness
Stretching his hands of rays, sun of the dawn
Applies henna in stealth
Unfolding the doors of their hearts
The blooms color themselves in serenity
Color is the manifestation of spirit of life!
The lands that were not greeted till the day before
Today are, the life of the birds summit
The trees that were faded till the day before
Are today the strings played veenas
Thousands of flute songs of Krishna
Now the morns of Nelapattu
Are the wavy streams of sweet melodies
Now the evenings of Nelapattu
Are the springs of songs of the elixir of love
A pelican tucks in its lover
Into the nestle of its wings
A painted stork nearing it
Woos its beloved with its long snout
The sabari crane in the tune of passion
Loses himself to the sweet song of its lady love
Turning its body into breath the wood pecker
Smears all over the body of its heart throb
Not only the floods of milky bosoms
But the ardor of sperm too flows
In the great yagna of the Santhana Lakshmi(the goddess of children)
Millions of lives are dawned
(9)
Not only the Devakakulu
But all the birds are the ancient kith and kin!
All our visiting birds are
Manvanthara purandharas!(the age old lords of Heaven)
We assume the Bulbul to be an alien
When have we seen it as a peace monger?
We feel the blind crane as the evil spirit
Have we ever counted it as the
Charioteer of virtue?
Though the python is black in color
It is as good hearted as the dark lord (Lord Krishna)
All the beautiful dances of the red breast are
The festoons of light of the happy family ways
In the life rituals of the branches
Pour in the fuel of lively smiles
In the bright journey of procreation, both the branches
Ignite the lights of new radiances
Numerous tales of love, umpteen loves
Each branch is the cottage of Vathsayana(the author of Kama Sutra)
Every nestle is a sound of music
No creation, no rains, no destruction
No progress of the world is possible without the family life
Children are to the man, seeds of time
And the ovum is the radiance of dynamism for the bird
From the seed the tree and from the tree the seed
Is the first step to the world’s progress
To the yagna(ritual sacrifice) of the migrating birds
The flourishing Kadapa tree is the dais
The tree is the green flag hoisted by the nature
The tree is the comfort to the exhausted mankind
To the alien birds that crossed the oceans
The tree is the temple of conjugal bliss
To the on spreading bird dynasties
The tree is the temple of the secret of creation
(10)
Time is always an open book
All are open truths that are snuggled into it
Time is a teacher that seldom taught anything to anyone
Time is the emissary that tells every one everything
The foreign birds are the prophets of yoga of life
They are the bosom friends that do not know the hatreds of the borders
They are the alien yogis that do not have lust
They are the enlightened ones that have seen the secret of the kala chakra(the cycle of time)
Greets in the universal lingo, and ecstasies
They are well cultured ones that conduct unity camps
Holy souls overflow in joy
To the emigrant flock with the touch of this land
In the lush green shade
Appear the dreams of morrow’s generation
That’s why I say bird is the indication of time
It is the symphony of the past, present and future
The holy fire of confluence is the endorsement of trikala tantra
Bird loves a bird
Soul copulates with the soul
Nelapattu is the dais of the perseverance of Poundarika
Nelapattu is the indication of age old yagas
The sowing of seeds of life from generations
Nature is the balancing measure here
It is here that nature takes another breath
And here the world gives birth to another creation
This little land after crossing over the oceans
Is a living home for a race
It is a pillow of the joys and sorrows
Where the dharma of Buddha has excelled
It is the stage of dance for the danseuse Rathi Devi(wife of kamadeva, the lord of love)
That knew the mystic tune or the tune of mysticism
It’s the moment that seeks the justification of the soul
Having understood the inevitability of the mortal body
Forgetting the body pleasure, and pleasure of the body
Manmadha becomes a passionate yogi here
It’s the nature that fulfils it’s duty on this land
Turning to be a man, it furthers the creation
Congregation of birds that have no disparities
An egalitarian equality
The fragrance of passion to the ones who open eyes
And to the eyes closed sages
The liberation of the soul
Time, changing colors as seasons
For a minute, ecstasies as birds
It’s here that begins an end
To the time infinite
The foundation is laid here
From the end to the endless
(11)
Flamingo offers with love to its lady
The bedisa(silver fish) that it brings with its nose
How much it longs for its lover
When it succeeds to fly in whirls
Catching the vanjaram(the scomber or the seer -fish )in the net of its nose
Fluttering its wings dreams of off springs
Who must have taught so many tunes to these birds?
How was such passion adorned to these round eyed ones?
Which bird was that have shown way to this place?
That results every year in this compulsory family fair
The ecstasy of life in the foreyard of Nelapattu
Wings sprout to the nestlings
The tiny fish school, become their food grains
Pulicot is the field of water crop
The tiny shrimp is the fruit of the crop
Fluttering its wings the blue flamingo
Hounds the snake fish
The crooked nose lakumuki(king fisher) bird
Chase the mattagidasa(the sucking fish, called the Echeneis))
Having shattered the line of the girasa(short) fish
The baby paraja(Rasica) crow feels joyous
The sky seems congested
To the nestlings that got wings
The blue lake is the food store
To the red breast that has learnt to fly
In the battle for food
To the shouts of hunger and
The dance of the Bharatha(Titlark or Pippit called in Dakhini Chendul)) bird
Searching for prey
Bulbul is the food
Hunger is the age old enemy to all the living beings
To gratify hunger is peace for any being
Even the gods of heaven savor elixir in hunger
When big fish is swallowing the small ones
Why is it wrong if birds feed on fish?
As if the rainbows had bathed
As the Apsaras (divine courtesans of the heaven)cast their charms
Festival of colors on the waves of Pulicot
A divine game of the baby sparrows
The water meadow filled with children
Looks like a conference of joy and gay
In the eyes of the bird watchers
Reflects a kaleidoscope of colors
From Nelapattu to Pulicot
This bird festival
Flows like a stream of water colors
The celebration reaches the skies
Neither trap nor net, and no hook
Beak is the mere weapon
The battle of hunger seldom stops
Even in tides and in the nets of waves and typhoons
All the expertise lies in hunting
However a great jalapushpam(fish)
The test is to catch the prey with its beak
Is the sanguine trait shared
Pulicot is the resort for a change of climate
For the progress of the breed the trunks of Nelapattu are the residencies
The Pralaya Kaveri is now the grace f love
Every nestling born here is morrow’s bird
The yester born narayana(the common heron)
The water parrot that fed on this land
Having breathed his first in the nest of this tree
Can the alien Sabari ever forget?
The colorful dreams of the pelicans
The blooms of hope of their beautiful nights
The cool breeze and the odor of the soil of Nelapattu
Can the red breast ever lose memory of this honeymoon?
The ecology of India echoed with
The divine violin notes of gratitude
The land is infinite and sky vast
As the flow of time the ocean too is boundless
The one who called these foreign birds as aliens
The one who made immigration as inheritance
If he goes from this village
Begets a child in that great nation
Earns a green card and citizenship
But how can the egg laid here be an alien?
Can the way of pariga(the rose colored Starling or theCholam bird. Pastor roseus) brought up in the Pralaya Kaveri be changed?
This soil is remembered by every bird
And hence every year it turns up to its motherland!
(12)
The scene of the skies blooming in myriad colors
On the branches of the rubber trees is
The sweet home of the flamingo and pelican
Reflects the groping families of man
In the spreading apartment culture
In the shades of the hoods of the waters of Pralaya Kaveri
Joyously bathes the Siberia
Forgetting the tiresomeness of thousands of miles
As the armed forces of navy
The meghmalhar(a raga that invokes rain God) song of the bird
How many brushes of the artist must have bowed in reverence?
To this sea parrot
Umpteen canvases must have lost their faces
In the symphony of the chirps of love birds is
The still picture of the happy NRI doves
The music of sarigama (the seven music notes)that teaches the soaring music to the heart
At least once in a year……
The passion for the embrace of the motherland
The longing to kiss the soil of birth
The son of the soil who lost his inner face
Forgetting the roots of life in the battle
Having turned into a machine
At least …now
Have to transmigrate into the bird!
Conclusion
All the souls become one
The cosmic treasures become divine souls
In the confluence of the water treasures of India
Taking a holy dip turn to be the holy souls
What may be the divinity of the migrating birds
They always worship Narayana in waters.
Telugu original: Perugu Ramakrishna Eng trans: Jagaddhatri [mehr]
Kostenlos