1 Corinthians 13

 If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.

³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,but do not have love, I gain nothing.

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸ Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

⁹ For we know in part and we prophesy in part,

¹⁰ but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears.

¹¹ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.

¹² For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

¹³ And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Who’s the tallest of them all?

When little, she was told

that being tall is good-

tall girls are closest to heaven.

And she wanted to grow ever since,

pick the fruit from the top of the tree,

touch the birds,

tickle the clouds,

look into airplanes,

and sit on the moon.

As she grew tallest, she saw

that the more she grew, the farther she was

from others,

secluded ,

unfit.

Ever since, she has dreamed of  the other,

whose chest would fit her chin,

and whose fingerprints would meet hers,

like life inside a growing nut.

Mirror, mirror , on the wall,

Who’s the tallest of them all?

 

Forget me not

Red sky

The sky has fallen ill tonight

It’s bleeding.

The shadows draw dark circles 

Around the clouds

And the wind is pale,

Barely whispering.

There’s a temporary thaw 

But it’s red.

And I’m afraid

That tonight

The sky will bleed to death.

Open letter from a teacher

You do not know that I have a blog, because there are so many things that you do not know about your teachers….And it is better this way, because you’ll may never know the contents of this letter.

My dear,

Many educators pass through their lives and careers with remembrance of students who embraced the flow of teaching, nurtured their great gifts and blossomed their talents.

Teaching can  be a thankless job,but I am thankful for your hard work, perseverance, and constant good manners which spring from a good education and Common Sense.

May you find success on your path to knowledge and happiness in personal life. May God guard your every step and hold your hand when you are in need.

Make good use of all the great qualities I am deeply convinced you harbor. Keep your modesty and serenity at all times and DO good deeds in your future career.

You are motivation and hope for a tired teacher.

All the best,

Me

 

Curcubeu peste orasul meu <3

An attempt at happiness

This was an attempt at happiness,

A feeble thread

And a soundless firework.

With roads diverging

After sudden crossroads.

A lingering scent 

In the clothes no longer worn

Locked in boxes no longer opened,

Under piles of heavy weight

To make it die,

And melt

And dissipate.

Out of all our senses

The smell is the toughest.

Quote of the Day

Whispers

Today we shouldn’t talk

We should whisper

Make sure the words don’t wither

From too much noise 

And don’t scorch

From the heat of our tongues.

Our voices should linger

Between one mouth and the other

Linking lips into invisible threads

Because today is the kiss we waited

Decades to gives birth to.

Ruins

There is a little girl 

Living in the ruins

Peeking out of what’s remained 

Of broken windows.

The wind moves the curtains

And rain washes the windowsills 

As seasons pass 

-trains in stations.

The night drapes every corner 

into ghostly nothingness,

A sunless defeat of day by night

When thoughts hammer on 

the doors of reason

And dust falls in silence

On shapeless ruins.