POEM: ADVICE OF A FATHER

POEM: ADVICE OF A FATHER
His April 1997, my one child was facing a problem at the beginning of his working life, απ’ what all children face, due to malicious competitive behavior of some colleagues in the workplace.
That night, I was thinking how I could empower my child and arm him with courage and confidence. Then I thought that the best way would be to speak from the heart and that's how the poem came about this:

If a beast roars beside you
you to continue the road without fear.
Don't stand, don't look away.
Straight body, with cloves as high as you can make it.

And’ if walking is difficult for you
and’ antara and blackness envelop you,
the road from’ your eyes if you lose,
like a nut shell if the storm shakes you ,

the eyes of your soul to close
on streets, that your spirit carves
and we pushed the finish line through them,
sure that whatever you desire there you will find it

Courage draw from your mind the springs,
iomates as above ap’ the water of knowledge
Lean on branches woven from experiences,
which in your life you collect little by little.

Don't be misled by other people's criticisms,
which they shamelessly utter without hesitation
Don't get carried away by’ the blunt,
that the older the more stupid thoughts.

Stay away from such people,
don't give in, do not feed them
to continue strung n’ they roar,
to rejoice because they are first ap’ everyone

M’ these are pure joy, unsatisfied,
because deep down they know how much they are worth
and they try their means to hide
with silver dust, and’ she is fake.

POEM: ADVICE OF A FATHER

POEM: ADVICE OF A FATHER
His April 1997, my one child was having a problem at
beginning of his professional life, απ’ the ones that all children
face, due to the malicious competitive behavior of some
colleagues at work.
That night, I was thinking how
I could empower my child and arm him with courage and
confidence. Then I thought the best way would be to talk
from the heart and that's how this poem came about:


If a beast roars beside you
you to continue the road without fear.
Don't stand, don't look away.
Straight body, with cloves as high as you can make it.

And’ if walking is difficult for you
and’ antara and blackness envelop you,
the road from’ your eyes if you lose,
like a nut shell if the storm shakes you ,

the eyes of your soul to close
on streets, that your spirit carves
and we pushed the finish line through them,
sure that whatever you desire there you will find it

Courage draw from your mind the springs,
iomates as above ap’ the water of knowledge
Lean on branches woven from experiences,
which in your life you collect little by little.

Don't be misled by other people's criticisms,
which they shamelessly utter without hesitation
Don't get carried away by’ the blunt,
that the older the more stupid thoughts.

Stay away from such people,
don't give in, do not feed them
to continue strung n’ they roar,
to rejoice because they are first ap’ everyone

M’ these are pure joy, unsatisfied,
because deep down they know how much they are worth
and they try their means to hide
with silver dust, and’ she is fake.


Bastas Haris: << Επιστρέφοντας >>

An excerpt from my unpublished paper << Returning >> …

I tried to distinguish from the difference in their presentation, the importance they had on the particular level of stairs.
I wondered what their difference was with hern need to coexist here on the first landing after three steps and in opposite direction from each other, as if they wanted their backs turned.
My dilemma with the web that stretched across the soles pursuing the inertia of my stride, who was trying to stop me, was growing up.
My feeling of impatience was intense’ I discovered what I was looking for. It thus gave me the corresponding determination to turn and strode towards the corridor to my right, where as I got closer, it was getting the coloring it wanted to have in my eyes.
Vibrations, I thought.
Energy vibrations from temporal pulse frequencies will create diagrams with corresponding coloring, trying to reveal to me a part of what I was looking for.
The corridor I had decided to walk in an attempt to uncover its raison d'être, it was paved with blue tiles and joints that glowed giving the impression, that each slab of the corridor is independent from one another.
Perhaps in this way they wanted to give an interpretation in my view, that my every step, it had some separate significance from that of the simple corridor.
To the right I could see a door that did not touch the corridor, as independent from everything I was going through.
All as separate, but they were showing one.
Like a series of events dependent on each other to reveal the final result.
It was half open with lighting inside as well, that I could barely distinguish the colors.
I gently pushed it open, I tried to discern something I should look out for inside the protected area.
My gaze fell upon a figure standing with her back to me as if avoiding the revelation of her face.
Which allowed me to assume in my temporary thinking, it was that she wanted me to notice her presence knowing that I was ignorant of her truth.
He urged me to sharpen my attention by acknowledging my ignorance.
– In a village somewhere once upon a time, I heard her starting to tell me.
– There was a cave where anyone who had a serious problem could visit and report their problem, they were getting an answer to solve it with wisdom. Everyone heard a voice, but no one had ever seen the face that spoke to them. They knew that someone lived in there and they took care to bring him food every day for his survival, respecting his advice.
One day all those who had consulted his voice gathered in the square and on the pretext of their interest – for the existence of this man – they decided to solve their curiosity about his appearance. They all gathered outside the cave asking him to appear and embrace him for the good he had done them. The caveman did not deny them, just as he had not refused to listen to their every problem with patience when they went to consult it. When he appeared at the entrance of the cave everyone turned their faces away from his ugliness and left disappointed at what they saw. This man, knowing beforehand their reaction, calmly re-entered the cave without being surprised. He knew each of them individually, since much more had been confided to him than they would have told him if they had not only listened to his voice.
He knew them far better than they knew themselves, since his only occupation was them, έχοντας λυμένο το πρόβλημα της δική του επιβίωσης.
So he waited patiently for his end without protesting the reaction they had. Not visiting the cave to consult him, but also without food to live.
Her silence told me she had accomplished what she wanted me to hear by insisting on hiding her face and challenging me to make up my own mind..
Sometimes by trusting our senses more we exclude the contact with the deeper that the emotion offers you.
The feeling always having the intermediate path that ends in the stimulation of the feeling sometimes brings opposite results from those corresponding to it.
Reason in its attempt to balance legitimate reality fails as an intermediate factor of correct conclusions by distorting the truth.
I did not know whether the face of this figure was ugly or beautiful, but somehow it had revealed to me that each sensation had a separate meaning.
That perhaps the most useful thing is to balance them with each other, rather than allowing one to prevail over the other.
In this search I had decided through this woman's gaze, I definitely had to not jump to conclusions.
Like a collector to collect what would be given to me and after exhibiting it all together somewhere, to give all my attention and arrive at the truth I discern.

I stood a little longer hoping that I would find something more in this room to aid my search.
Out of the corner of my eye and turning my body to leave, I noticed her sideways glance.
He had heard me, he had smelled me , but she hadn't seen me since it was impossible for her to touch or taste me, he couldn't resist the temptation to glance sideways.
The balance of the senses, have their own distinct degree of difficulty, even in conceptual entities.
Everything that is produced by us, it is vulnerable by having weaknesses and thus betray, that it originates as a creation of the human mind.
Returning to the landing didn't give me much time to think as I watched in awe as the slabs beneath my feet pulsated., as if they sensed the presence of my every step and swayed perhaps trying to balance my load.

Charalambos Bastas
Research writer

Bastas Haris: << Επιστρέφοντας >>

An excerpt from my unpublished paper << Returning >> …

I tried to distinguish from the difference in their presentation, the importance they had on the particular level of stairs.
I wondered what their difference was with her
need for coexistence here on the first landing after three steps and
in opposite direction from each other, as if they wanted her upside down
their backs.
My dilemma with the webbing that stretched across the soles
pursuing the inertia of my stride, who was trying to me
hinder, was growing up.
The feeling of impatience was intense
my n’ I discovered what I was looking for. He was thus giving me the equivalent
determination to turn by striding down the corridor to the right
my, where as I got closer, he was getting the coloring he wanted to have on
my eyes.
Vibrations, I thought.
Energy vibrations from time
pulse frequencies will generate diagrams with the analog
coloring, trying to reveal to me a part of what
I was looking for.
The corridor I had decided to walk in a
attempt to uncover its raison d'être, it was paved with slabs
blue and joints that glowed giving the impression, that each
slabs of the corridor are independent of each other.
Maybe me
this way they wanted in my view to give an interpretation, that each
my press, it had some separate significance from that of the simple corridor.
To the right I could see a door that did not touch the corridor, as independent from everything I was going through.
All as separate, but they were showing one.
Like a series of events dependent on each other to reveal the final result.
It was half open with lighting inside as well, that I could barely distinguish the colors.
I gently pushed it open, I tried to discern something that would
I had to be careful inside the protected area.
The look
I fell upon a figure standing with its back turned to
me as if avoiding the revelation of her face.
What my
allowed me to surmise in my tentative thought, was what he wanted me to notice
her presence knowing that I am ignorant of her truth.
He urged me to sharpen my attention by acknowledging my ignorance.
– In a village somewhere once upon a time, I heard her starting to tell me.
– There was a cave where everyone who had some serious problem
they could also visit by reporting their problem, they were receiving one
answer to solve it with wisdom. Everyone heard a voice, ma
no one had ever seen the face that spoke to them. They knew that someone
lived in there and they took care to bring him food for her every day
his survival, respecting his advice.
One day they got together
all who had consulted his voice in the square and under the pretext of it
their interest – for the existence of this man – they decided to
solve their curiosity about his appearance. They all gathered outside
cave asking him to appear and embrace him for their good
had done. The caveman did not deny them, as not his
he had refused to listen to their every problem with patience when they went to
consult it. When he appeared at the entrance of the cave everyone turned around
their faces elsewhere avoiding his ugliness and they left disappointed
for what they saw. This man already knowing her
their reaction he calmly entered the cave again without being
surprised. He knew each of them individually, since they had him
confided much more than they would have told him if they hadn't listened
only his voice.
He knew them far more than they knew him
themselves, since his only occupation was them, having solved it
problem of his own survival.
So he waited patiently for the end
of him without protesting the reaction they had. Non
visiting the cave to consult him, but also without
food to live.
Her silence told me she was done
what she wanted me to hear insisting on hiding her face and
challenging me to make my own thoughts.
Sometimes
by trusting more to our senses we exclude contact with it
deeper that emotion offers you.
The feeling of always having
the intermediate path that results in the arousal of emotion
sometimes it brings the opposite results from those attributed to it.
Logic in its attempt to balance legitimate reality
fails as an intermediary agent of correct conclusions
distorting the truth.
I did not know if the face of the form
this one was ugly or beautiful, but somehow he had revealed to me that the
each sense had a separate meaning.
That perhaps the most useful thing is to balance them with each other, rather than allowing one to prevail over the other.
In this search I had decided through this woman's gaze, I definitely had to not jump to conclusions.
Like a collector to collect what would be given to me and after exhibiting it all somewhere
together, to give all my attention and arrive at the truth that
distinguish.

I stood a little longer hoping that I would find something more in this room to aid my search.
Out of the corner of my eye and turning my body to leave, I noticed her sideways glance.
He had heard me, he had smelled me , but she hadn't seen me since
it was impossible for him to touch or taste me, did not resist the
tempted to cast a sideways glance.
The balance of the senses, have their own distinct degree of difficulty, even in conceptual entities.
Everything that is produced by us, is vulnerable having
weaknesses and thus betray, that it originates as his creation
human mind.
Going back to the landing didn't do much for me
thought space as I gazed in awe at the slabs below
my legs are throbbing, as if they felt each one's presence
my step and they were swaying maybe trying to balance it
my load.

Charalambos Bastas
Research writer

Come on baby don't cry calm down and stop give me your little hand to put out your fire.

I again pulled out a little poem from my old notes, and I want to publish it, since I am in a period of soul opening and confessions. I also write a few words about the circumstances under which it was written, to remind my own people and to share my feelings with those affected.
It was his summer 1983. I was in our summer house with my wife Pepi and my two children, little ones, 8 Maria and 3 Kostas is years old.
That night I was very distressed, because Maria had fallen ill and the thermometer had struck the 40. Pepi was all worried even though it was one of the usual situations that small children go through, the situation had affected us a lot. We all know it's one thing to rationalize a situation involving other children and another to experience it in your own children.
My inability to do anything, to relieve my child and calm Pepi led me to write the little poem that I present to you today.

Come on baby don't cry
calm down and stop
give me your little hand
to put out your fire.

And’ if something hurts you now
my heart, don't be a shadow
I'm here, your mother.
Egg, don't scratch it,

give me time to look
sweet hazel eyes
to lose myself in their gaze
to erase all meaning

My pride, the fever
it burns you, it drugs you
your lips are tight
and my heart melts

How t’ hold on my doll
let the illness knock you down
and’ απ’ your body is life
with guile to suck;

Good luck running
scatter old myrrh
n’ open his eyes
to shine all around

 

Come on baby don't cry calm down and stop give me your little hand to put out your fire.

I pulled up
again from my old notes a little poem, and i want to
publish, since I am in a period of soul opening and
certifications. I also write a couple of words about the circumstances under which
was written, to remind my people and to share them
my feelings with those affected by the matter.
It was his summer
1983. I was in our summer house with my wife Pepi, both of us
my children, little ones, 8 Maria and 3 Kostas is years old.
That one
in the evening I was very distressed, for Maria had fallen ill and the
thermometer had hit the 40. Pepi was all worry and despite that
it was one of the common situations that young children go through,
the situation had affected us a lot. We all know it's another thing
to rationalize a situation involving other children and another to it
you experience in your own children.
My inability to do anything, in order to
comforting my child and calming Pepi led me to write
the little poem that I present to you today.


Come on baby don't cry
calm down and stop
give me your little hand
to put out your fire.

And’ if something hurts you now
my heart, don't be a shadow
I'm here, your mother.
Egg, don't scratch it,

give me time to look
sweet hazel eyes
to lose myself in their gaze
to erase all meaning

My pride, the fever
it burns you, it drugs you
your lips are tight
and my heart melts

How t’ hold on my doll
let the illness knock you down
and’ απ’ your body is life
with guile to suck;

Good luck running
scatter old myrrh
n’ open his eyes
to shine all around

 

our breath, Your review