A true poet (sang penyair) does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses. An artist cannot speak about his art any more than a plant can discuss horticulture.
The extreme limit of wisdom, that’s what the public calls madness. The instinct of nearly all societies is to lock up anybody who is truly free. First, society begins by trying to beat you up. If this fails, they try to poison you. If this fails too, they finish by loading honors on your head. (Ini lah yang sedang berlaku di negara kita ini dan juga benar kepada insan yang sedang menempuh persimpangan (crossroad). They try to poison you and later they nail the coffin by offering money and honors and you suddenly lost your principles and values.. Does the justice prevails after that? I don't think so, justice will not prevail, it will corrupt absolutely until all the new born will never hear again the word "kebenaran dan jalan lurus". Mereka akan mencari jalan bagaimana harus menghalalkan cara, bila hendoisma menutup ruang fikir.
Sang Penyair (the poet) never asks for admiration; he wants to be believed.
Art produces ugly things which frequently become more beautiful with time. Fashion and design on the other hand, produces beautiful things which always become ugly with time. Take a commonplace, clean it up and polish it from raw, light it so that it produces the same effect of youth and freshness and originality and spontaneity as it did originally, and you have done a poet’s job. The rest is literature.
When a work appears to be ahead of its time, it is only the time that is behind the work.(I learnt this from David Gilmour of Pink Floyd) The actual tragedies of life bear no relation to one’s preconceived ideas. In the event, one is always bewildered by their simplicity, their grandeur of design, and by that element of the bizarre which seems inherent in them. Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal.
Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort.
I am a lie who always speaks the truth
Tambah sedikit lagi ayat power. "Don't be sorry the moment ended. Be grateful it happened. Even the shortest chapters have valuable lessons"
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Nampak tak kearah mana cerita "Raya Kedua" ini menghala? Aku ingin sekali menyatakan semua yang tertulis diatas dalam tajuk "Raya Kedua" (rasa macam tajuk ini tak betul je, macam ada janggal je) Don't worry about the tajuk, tajuk tuu dah betul dah. Remember the last sentance above the doted line... Even the shortest chapters have valuable lessons. This is the point that I want to bring home. Appreciate it while you can.
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Najib decided to go in search of some new meditation techniques. He saddled his donkey, went to India, China and Mongolia, talked to the great masters, but found nothing.
He heard tell of a wise man in Nepal: he journeyed there, but as he was climbing the mountain to meet him, his donkey died of exhaustion. Najib buried him there and then, and wept sadly. Someone passed by and commented:
- You came in search of a saint, this must be his tomb and you are lamenting his death.
- No, this is the place where I buried my donkey, who died of exhaustion.
- I don’t believe it – said the new arrival. – No one weeps over a dead donkey. This must be a place where miracles occur, and you want to keep them for yourself.
Although Najib explained again and again, it was no use. The man went to the next village and spread the story of a great master who cured people at his tomb, and soon the pilgrims began to arrive.
Gradually, news of the discovery of the Wise Man of Silent Mourning spread throughout Nepal – and crowds rushed to the place. A wealthy man came, thought his prayers had been answered, and built an imposing monument where Najib had buried his “master”.
In view of everything, Nalib decided to leave things as they were. But he learned once and for all, that when someone wants to believe a lie, no one can convince him otherwise.
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panjang umur kita sambung
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