"gala" poems
Bumalik tayo kung saan...
Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Nagsimulang ang mga pangamba ko ay mawala,
nagsimulang pangamba ay mapalitan ng pag-asa't pagtitiwala.
Mga pagluha sa aking mata, ay tila naglaho na
Napalitan ng pagtawa, lumbay ay lumisan na.
Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Mamuhay nang kasama ka
Sa mga araw na kapiling ka—- bawat araw ay puno ng galak at pagsinta.
Tinuruan mo akong, mamuhay nang may saya
Pait ng kahapon ay naitapon na,
mula nang ikaw ang makasama ko, sinta.
Samahang walang papantay, punung-puno ng buhay!
Pag-aalaga ay damang-dama, suporatado ang isa't-isa.
Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Malalim na pinagsamahan
Masasayang ala-ala, na tila hindi maaantala—-
ng kahit anong problema, sa atin man ay naka-amba
Magkahawak mga kamay, tayo ay hindi bibitaw.
Mga gala at lakad natin, na minsan ay biglaan pa
Mga oras na hindi natin alam, kung paano napagkasya.
Basta't alam nating... tayo ay masaya—- kahapon man o ngayon, at kahit na bukas pa!
Ngunit dumating ang panahon, tayo'y sinubok na ng pagkakataon
Masasaya nating bukas ay nagsimula na ngang kumupas
Hindi alam kung paano, tayo'y biglang nagbago
Tila nalagas na puno, hindi na lumago.
Akala ko ba ikaw ay "KASAMA?"
Hindi lang kaibigan o basta-bastang kasintahan
Kasama sa lungkot at pighati, kasiyahang hindi mawari
Pagkatalo man o pagkapanalo—- tayo pa rin ang magwawagi.
At ngayon...
Bumalik tayo kung saan...
Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Nagsimulang mawala ang paniniwala na tayo ay para sa isa't-isa
Nagsimulang matalo sa digmaan at piniling wag na lumaban?
Nagsimulang maglaho ang mga katagang "mahal kita"
Nagsimulang magbulag-bulagan sa katotohanang
b a k a t a y o a y p w e d e p a ?
Isip at damdamin ay di makaunawa
Hirap pagalingin ang sugat na sariwa
Sugat na iwan ng ating pinagsamahan
Pinagsamahan na akala ko ay aabot sa simbahan
Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Paano at kailan nagsimula?
Nagsimulang matapos ang ating pagmamahalan?
Kahit kailan pinangarap ko, maging ikaw at ako—- hanggang sa dulo
Paano mangangarap kung ako ay gising na?
Gising sa katotohanan na tayo ay
w a l a n a?
© LMLB
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
We could scale
snow capped mountains
or tiled rooftops
We could stroll
the halls of grand art galleries
or the city's graffiti stained alleys
We could sip
wine from elegant glass goblets
or instant coffee from chipped cups
We could watch
gala operas and musicals at the amphitheater
or puffy clouds as they float by in the sky
We could look
up to the vast galaxy and its starlight
or down to the metro's sleepless city lights
We could listen
to loud pulsing rhythms at a concert
or to the steady beats of each others hearts
We could go
and roam the world all day
or just stay in each others arms all night.
I can't care less
on what we could do.
Every moment would be
Fun,
Adventurous,
Exciting,
Marvelous
Grand, and
Breathtaking
As long as you are with me
and I am with you.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
*oh, these messages, you send,
invitations to a gala, a black tie affair,
but only if willingly pay the exorbitant fare,
your money's no good, you must dare,
find and write the poem hid within
how cold are the carpenter's hands,
the weather, but an added obstacle,
this heat, makes dying different difficult,
the wood bearing cross requires additional nails
and flesh, for the extra load he's bearing,
when it snows blood in Jerusalem
the whole world can transition
when one man dies and another is risen,
where oh where lies then, the juxtaposition?
there is none, for man is man,
his divine spark, embedded,
to his maker's mark, wedded,
neither snow or sun,
can ever, either, extinguish*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
any message you send can and will be turned into a poem
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
128
Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning’s flagons up
And say how many Dew,
Tell me how far the morning leaps—
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!
Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin’s ecstasy
Among astonished boughs—
How many trips the Tortoise makes—
How many cups the Bee partakes,
The Debauchee of Dews!
Also, who laid the Rainbow’s piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite—
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?
Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who’ll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,
Passing Pomposity?
6.5k
✿⊰✲⊱✿
The air filled with laughter and cheers, leaving me
and Ainhara on the hill
"Oh dear," my handmaid smiles. "It appears it will be a long night.
Parting Paul from our sweet Esshi will prove difficult."
"Difficult but not impossible," I chime. "Come, Ainhara,
let us enjoy the rest of the night!"
'My wish came true tonight,' I beam.
'I will always remember this fantastic gala...' as I enter
the main dining hall with all my friends from near and far,
all my friends of many cultures as we join in laughter, in
glee, ever hopeful for the future of our thriving Kingdoms.
With every sip of wine, every nibble of the fine
dishes, all of our bonds have strengthened.
So now, let us be like the lanterns,
and rises together, sailing through the horizons
to touch the Heavens above.
Eager for the adventures ahead...
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
Magrasang damit ng batang madungis
tyang gutom at katawa'y malangis
palaboy-laboy sa eskinita
pagala-gala sa kalsada
uupo sa sulok may katabing lata
limos na inaabot ang lata
sa mga tao nagmamakaawa
para makakuha kahit kaka-unting barya
Paglipas ng hapon at pagsapit ng gabi
walang paligo at katawa'y makati
ang naipon nyang pera
kulang kulang sampu ang halaga
di na matiis ang gutom nagkalkal ng basura
sa tagal walang makita
nainip,
nakatulog,
nahiga,
ang naipong barya
idadagdag nalang bukas sa lata
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 12:55 AM UTC
Puno ay tumatanda
Nalalagas ang dahon sa balingkinitang mga sanga
Minsan may lagutok na maririnig- biglang pagluksa
Itanong kung kailan ang mga lawa ay matutuyo
Tubig niyang malinaw, may lalim na hindi matanto
Ito'y pagtahak sa walang hangganang hiwaga
Espiritung gala, isipin ang kalagayan
ng katawang lupaypay
Turukan ng gamot o ng gunita ng kasiglahan
Halik ng kahapon ay alaala ng kahapisan
Hawakan ang kamay na nanginginig
Matamlay na anak Niya'y sa aruga salat
Ang paglipas ng oras ay gayundin ang pasasalamat
Habaan ang sandali na may hininga't sarap
Pawis na nakabilad sa hamon ng buhay
Mararanasan ang init at pait
Ang pagpapahalaga sa katapusang ninanais
kaakibat ay lumbay
Paruparong itim magkatambal sa paglipad
May babala man huwag isaisip
Pusang tumawid sa harapan
Ibaling ang paningin
Magrosaryo saglit, sino ang mawawalan
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
How do you say, "Thank you," to someone who saved your life?
No, no, no..........let's get it right!
I was dead and gone.
I was 2 seconds from being burried deeper than most while life carried on.
I was about to decompose and be a feast for the worms.
I was a walking corpse in no other terms.
And then, she spoke to me and raised me from the dead.
I saw the light in her and followed it instead.
I grabbed a pen and paper and wrote, "Confessions of Him".
Suddenly, life surged! And I could stay afloat and swim.
If not for her this place would have made me a zombie in tomb .
No way to express myself, but, with her light my body was exhumed.
I could hardly sleep placing pen to paper.
The flood gates were opened and the words made me feel safer.
Medora had stolen all my energy and light.
I didn't know a place could make you give up your will to fight.
You'll know her when you see her.
Her beauty will never fade.
She glows in the distance like a lighthouse in a storm.
And up close she is blinding, but, its comforting and warm.
Her voice is like music and her smile makes you think of ****
Yea! She's that GREAT and fills you with delight.
Her laugh is free and hearty.
Her skin is rosey with flecks of white.
Her hair is a flame.
I have to say, "Thank You," and share her name.
Kayla, you were the fresh drink I needed.
Without you knowing I heard your words and heeded.
I am alive again!
Writing feels too good to be true!
The only way I know to say, "Thank You," is to immortalize you.
I wrote you this poem so I will never forget.
I want the world to know I owe you a debt.
You reminded me that words were a natural part of my soul.
And, to deny that I would always be half and never whole.
So, I ask the world to join me at my imaginary gala.
Hold up your glasses in a toast to the AMAZING Kayla!
Keep letting your fire burn because your flames ignited my oil well.
"Thank you," for saving me! From loneliness. From hate.
From Medora. From HELL.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
Lo! ’tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
4.3k
bespeckled, blotched & blokey
feminine in aspects
only little ****** hair patches
two chins,
or rather a sloped one
the front evenly declining to the middle of the throat
a gradual slope from the tip, for juices to run if his manner and situation allowed him to be as casual and sloppy as his laziness chose,
torso without form, so there was no curvature on the buttocks or the fly region.
a mass
a blob of bulges on spindly legs
he leans on the wall
stubby in hand he balks
(he means jovial but unintentionally he vocalises mockery)
at the suggestion that the Pies will do better
& that Eddie is a clever man due for thanks, who has done his club well (apparently a straight Aussie arrow tried and true!)
the man ***** his head back & cackles
(the trebly popping bubbles of a gala crackle outwards as the man cackles)
& decides his arms need a rest,
(a long day of up and down they have had indeed, they deserve respect, or rest (or a benching))
so he places his beer down
on a sloped surface,
& therefore it slips down….
he sees it plummeting, he stretches toward it's tragic trajectory,
…..but he is too slow
it smashes
on his foot (the shards) the beer bottle it transfigures,
and the shards they impart their misery on his toes.
The shards they intrude on his relaxed state of wellbeing, they intrude on the security sanctioned within the casual footwear of a man at a barbecue; taking it easy.
he swears and hops, reaching in indignation for his bleeding toes
he holds the wound cursing; resisting the impulse to begin convulsive throws
(an oscar worthy performance from a usually suburbaly urbane individual)
the moisture feels degrading
(as it would within a man's pants)
the pain from the cuts it is worsened
by the smirking gazes of others about
he hobbles, disregarding his thong in the wreckage of the scene
off to retrieve a band aid
to mend his ego
and his foot
simultaneously
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
Forgetting about that uptight blight.
Emanate apathy
Unapologetically.
Cheers to you Baby Jesus,
I'm all jacked up on pink Moscato; by noon.
Without a clue of what to do
Retreat to a beach
For a gala beset by an erubescent sunset.
What marry monarchs,
All clinquant, in gold light
All turn to heathens, in the night.
Perpetually transfixed
By a curious mix of
Rhythmic eruptions & fevered delight
Like fairies & nymphs
Amidst the moon of misbehaving.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohhh but of course
— You had a Porsche.
But we were far from bonafide.
All is well,
Who really gives a **** about a relationship cuff…
I was inherently drawn to the effervescence, of your soul.
Together in disconnected bubbles
Like a glass of champagne,
Sparkling to the surface effortlessly.
Daytime friends and nighttime lovers;
Nympholepts in retrospect,
Carefully tip-toeing around
Blossoming curiously & compromising cantor.
Over winsome side-long looks
The burgundy hardtop drops down
Into my body & out of my mind
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
For the passionate midnight sexcapades.
A midsummer’s night moonlit dream
Manifested midst the trysts of Spring.
Every Sunday
Drinking champagne,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into private estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
Worshiping the Sun, not the saint.
My late night lover show me your wicked pagan birthright.
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
Something's cannot be put down in words
they don't do justice to all that needs to be heard
I wish i knew what was the right thing to say
to make you smile on your special day
No doubt you may have many well wishers
and my wishes might reach you just as whispers
But know that even with a thousand miles
You have the strength to make me smile
So my Dear..!
Enjoy yourself and have a gala time
I am glad i have had a chance to wish you a very Great
happy birthday!
in this rhyme.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 9:10 PM UTC
Sonnet pour mon épagneul anglais Nils
De son smoking de noir vêtu,
mêmes quand il court dans les rues,
à un artiste de gala
il semble emprunter le pas
Ton ventre est blanc comme une hermine.
Sur ton museau blanc, une truffe
Son dos de noir tout habillé.
Sur le front, il se fait doré.
De « prince », il s’attire le nom
Tant sa démarche est altiere ;
mais de « Nils », il a le surnom,
Car autant qu’un jar, il est fier.
Assis, il paraît méditer,
Sur le monde sa vanité.
De ses yeux noirs il vous regarde,
Comme un reproche qui s’attarde.
Quand il court, parmi les genêts,
Il fend l’air comme un destrier ;
Et le panache de sa queue
En flottant, vous ravit les yeux.
Mon épagneul est très dormeur,
Et aux sofas, il fait honneur.
Mais lorsque se lève le jour,
A se promener, il accourt.
Quand il dort, il est écureuil,
mais jamais, il ne ferme l’œil.
Un léger murmure l’éveille
Tant aérien est son sommeil.
Il semble emprunter le pas
Lorsqu’un aboiement le réveille
De sa voix, il donne l’éveil.
Et les chats, les chiens maraudeurs,
Il met en fuite avec bonheur.
Lorsque dans mes bras, il vient,
Son pelage se fait câlin.
Et la douceur de sa vêture
Lui fait une jolie voilure.
Sur ma table, sa tête repose
Lorsque je taquine la prose,
Comme pour dire ; même par-là,
je veux que tu restes avec moi.
Sous ma caresse, il se blottit,
comme le ferait un petit.
De ma tristesse, il vient à bout,
tant le regard qu’il pose est doux.
Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi), Toulouse.
***
Poème à ma chienne Laika dite «Caquine»
Tu as un gros museau,
Cocker chocolatine,
Des yeux entre amandes et noisettes
Teintés d’une humeur suppliante.
Ta fourrure est quelque peu rêche
Mais prend l’éclat de la noisette
et le reflet du renard roux.
La caresse se fait satin.
Ma fille Célia t’appelle : «Caquine»
Pour des raisons que je ne peux
Au lecteur dévoiler ici,
Mais toute ta place tu tiens.
A ta maitresses adorée
Tu dresses ton gros museau
Et te blottis pour la garder
En menaçant ceux qui approchent.
Tu es peureuse comme un lézard,
Et sait ramper devant Célia.
Mais ton museau, sur mes genoux
Au petit déjeuner veille et guette.
Quand je te sors, tu tires en laisse
Jusqu’à m’en laisser essoufflé,
Après avoir d’énervement
Dans ta gueule, mes chaussons saisis.
Sur les sentiers de senteur,
Ton flair à humer se déploie.
Tu es, ma chienne, compagnie.
De mes longues après-midi.
Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi), Toulouse.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
Orangey so tangy loosely
her words flowery so
rustic fun* erotic*
the panic straight
jacket going ginger
snaps her ticket
*Pocketful of sunshine
in your pocket*
****** the maestro
In the stars of the cosmos
On the edge but earthly
Let's go slow
Did we miss the
whole entire glow
"So Tickle me Pink"
The stardust funds
of the trust
Having a light fuse
The picturesque
Fields so mystique personality
Lights up unique
Your word against mine
In a matter of fact were in
It's your cue waves pull me in
If so the sky does it remain
always blue such a variety
Of cookies no outrageous
Time for Oreos
What's inside its outside
Cleopatra's eyes snap away
Like a masquerade
Don't rain on my parade
Love of Virginia innocently
Love is the drug
insanely
Scrapes on her knees
The western front
Ginger Snaps
Those bottle caps and buzzing
honey bees Tangerine trees
Galavant like General Lee
Ginger the gunslinger
She's the singer
eating Saralees
Whats to boot
But getting closer
To the naked eye
to the surface be wise
"Owl Hoot"
So lovely genuinely
He's husky and ruly
Apps Gingersnaps
Exchanging cat naps
Her lips in higher
states of trips
Trying to get there
Bohemian Rapsody
The Queen of the
economy
Photo editing Unicorn pony
Another brainless wedding
We are the champions
What a snitch like a witch
Bad luck switch the lion's den
Topiary timeless good luck Zen
Loud sirens
Drug trafficker morons
The plastic Surgeons
Backstabber persons
Blue jeans snap taking a
Sniff Shiba Uni howls
To be loved in beauty
My Mom Judy good
earth bounty
Tall and sleek every week
Smells of Ginger
no danger
The earth on her cheeks
Can love be any truer
Into the Gala the apple
of her eye never goodbye
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC
Now orchids are blooming here,
Sun rises by the call of ‘Koel’!
Sun beam around by the call of ‘Keteki’!
Everywhere fragrance of ‘Keteki flower’ spread out!
It is the time of blossoming!
It is the time of celebration!
A gala for......
“Merriment of brotherhood,
Gaiety of collectively
High spirited choir with nature!”
People are celebrating spring..
Dancing under the Banyan tree
On the mid of the farmyard;
Biting the drum with a wish
The Sounds go to sky and break the clouds
Thunder and rain follows.....
With promises
To watering the crops in summer;
People call it
“Madam ‘Bordoi-chila’ coming to her mother’s place!
Everyone venerate
For nature and season!
They pray to nature
Though their amiable laughs and ovation
Showcasing gaiety of connectivity and togetherness
With a wish for nature’s blessing for production!
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
~
*Poor deluded brute
he waves his sword
in orchestration
to a ruthless symphony
played for miserable centuries:
the running of the bulls
"sketches of pain"
some monsters come
decked out in hat and cape
inside the arena of his pride
where he hears the chant
within the arts of
cowardice and cruelty
where he envisions
the feathered crown
Gala! Gala!
"how to see the toreador"
lost as San Fermín
pricked by hairpin
pierced by ragged horn
suerte de la muerte (luck of death)
foreshadowing Hemingway
turns into the troubled sun
and underneath his muleta
a deep red
blood alchemy
his fame spilling out
in drips and drabs
as the crowd sings
'Pobre de Mí (Poor Me)'
to the mystic stab of church bells*
~
Jan 12, 2022
Jan 12, 2022 at 11:46 AM UTC
She glides in her glamour
Irresiatible like gamma
I gape in awe
eye candy
I am cornered in stupor
Me, the preyful master of the jungle
Me the systematic schemer
I encountered no stopper
In my predatory exploits
I persued
Ran like a breeze in the meshy thicket
To capture and feast
She saw me
She smiled with conspiracy
Geed me up...
so confusing
I roared ready to strike
But her smile ...it was mesmerizing
I forgot about my mission
The hunter became the hunted
I tell myself I am still in control
After all I got her, or did she get me?
I wonder
She should be my gala
I decide otherwise
To take that moment of temptation
To marvel at her fineness
She is the muse
turning out to be my luck
I might keep hunting
But her I will keep
Preserve and protect
It will be alot better
If see her tomorrow too,
And the next day
And the next day
So I will be her friend rather
Amanda
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
there's this purple
gala at the end of time...
which never seems
to begin.
the moon goes thru
all her phases in the
blink of an eye.
which makes the floor
feel like it's ebbing and
flowing.
attendees break out into
soul-stirring croons about
shedding lifetimes of
loved ones.
water goes to wine, wine
goes to water...and desire
is a food continually served.
though one night my nerve
stuck to me, and rattled.
i began overturning and smashing
everything in sight.
everyone smiled...and the damage
was cleaned.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
Bow
before
the wolf king.
Lunar crown reign
midnight is my cloak;
the forest is my throne.
Kinship my only counsel
lupine sapience, eyes aglow
this grin a gala of guillotines
for those that would question such majesty.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Sometimes
I check up on her.
(I believed it to be
Some masochism
deep within
me.)
Over facebook.
We're no longer facebook friends,
but I gather snapshots
of her life
through her profile pic.
I
now
like to think of it
as a healthy breakup.
A way of communicating
while not communicating.
But before it was horrible;
before I'd get depressed
just seeing her hair.
He is wearing a tux
and holds her around the waist.
Her purple dress is ruffled
at the hips and where
her tiny ******* nip outward.
Their eyes are closed full
of something that only they could explain
between each other.
Lips are smushed,
her very red,
red giant red,
lips are softened against his.
He is taller than her,
but not by much.
And they seem happy
at whatever wedding,
gala,
or whatever Bourgeoisie **** they were doing.
And
before now,
I probably would've raided my stash of Wild Turkey;
cried in my room for a few days;
skipped meals.
But now,
I feel content.
Happy.
Not so alone
and wishful.
I don't miss her anymore, or love her for that matter. And I'm happy that she has found someone to begin that journey all over again with.
This is how we atone for things.
A ritual
of constant pain
ending
in
contentment.
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
We are obliged to almighty
For our food and shelter!
We are gratified our supreme
Who caring us
From the infinity of sky,
From the top of mountain,
From the intimate green of forest,
From the profound blue of water
For our vigour and glee!
Let us come up to
Sprawling green under the unwrapped sky
Craft it an asylum
For all of us
Implore to fortitude of Boori Boot
To live together!
Let us rejoice in concert
For spring and new cycle of harvest!
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
He has given a luxurious twist to the dying art of weaving and popularised the use of Khadi. Award-winning textile designer Gaurang Shah is more than happy that the Indian fashion industry has welcomed handlooms. “As a textile designer, I would like to say the Indian fashion industry has embraced handlooms with lot of admiration and helped revive our ancient traditions of weaving art, like the jamdani weaves, that we use in creating our fashion pieces,” Shah told IANS.
“It also reinforced its unparalleled beauty around the world,” he added. The designer says that one must acknowledge the passion and intense amount of production hours every weaver at the looms puts to bring out timeless pieces of handlooms.
“The fashion industry did contribute to bring them back into vogue in recent years,” he said. Shah showcased his latest collection of 40 garments titled Muslin at Lakme’s Fashion Week Summer/Resort 2017. His anthology for the gala was inspired by romance of nature.
Giving details about his range, he said: “Our collection incorporates weaves and techniques from West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan. The amazing all-in-whites collections integrate gorgeous Mughal motifs and geometric patterns on Khadi, chikankari embroidery and Parsi gara.”
The designer’s collection involved 50 weavers working relentlessly for over six months. Shah, whose handloom creation made its way to the 69th Cannes Film Festival when Deepshikha Deshmukh, producer of Aishwarya Rai Bachchan starrer “Sarbjit”, stepped out in an ensemble featuring Paithani and Kanjeevaram details, says that handlooms are a glorious heritage of India and it is important to preserve and help the artists’ community grow.
“I would like to add that a few years ago this beautiful art was fading away. Thanks to persistent effort and motivation from label like ours, followed by the efforts of our Prime Minister Narendra Modi, that pushed Indian handlooms to higher level of acceptance,” he said.
Shah began his journey in the textile world with just two weavers and today the label works with 700 weavers, and the number is still growing.
“The biggest contribution we as a designer can make is to keep our artisans motivated and also help them gain confidence that it is a highly profitable profession,” said the designer, who has styled the stars like Vidya Balan, Sonam Kapoor and Kirron Kher.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Mío es el mundo: como el aire libre,
otros trabajan porque coma yo;
todos se ablandan si doliente pido
una limosna por amor de Dios.
El palacio, la cabaña
son mi asilo,
si del ábrego el furor
troncha el roble en la montaña,
o que inunda la campaña
El torrente asolador.
Y a la hoguera
me hacen lado
los pastores
con amor.
Y sin pena
y descuidado
de su cena
ceno yo,
o en la rica
chimenea,
que recrea
con su olor,
me regalo
codicioso
del banquete
suntüoso
con las sobras
de un señor.Y me digo: el viento brama,
caiga furioso turbión;
que al son que cruje de la seca leña,
libre me duermo sin rencor ni amor.
Mío es el mundo como el aire libre...
Todos son mis bienhechores,
y por todos
a Dios ruego con fervor;
de villanos y señores
yo recibo los favores
sin estima y sin amor.
Ni pregunto
quiénes sean,
ni me obligo
a agradecer;
que mis rezos
si desean,
dar limosna
es un deber.
Y es pecado
la riqueza:
la pobreza
santidad:
Dios a veces
es mendigo,
y al avaro
da castigo,
que le niegue
caridad.Yo soy pobre y se lastiman
todos al verme plañir,
sin ver son mías sus riquezas todas,
qué mina inagotable es el pedir.
Mío es el mundo: como el aire libre...
Mal revuelto y andrajoso,
entre harapos
del lujo sátira soy,
y con mi aspecto asqueroso
me vengo del poderoso,
y a donde va, tras él voy.
Y a la hermosa
que respira
cien perfumes,
gala, amor,
la persigo
hasta que mira,
y me gozo
cuando aspira
mi punzante
mal olor.
Y las fiestas
y el contento
con mi acento
turbo yo,
y en la bulla
y la alegría
interrumpen
la armonía
mis harapos
y mi voz:Mostrando cuán cerca habitan
el gozo y el padecer,
que no hay placer sin lágrimas, ni pena
que no traspire en medio del placer.
Mío es el mundo; como el aire libre...
Y para mí no hay mañana,
ni hay ayer;
olvido el bien como el mal,
nada me aflige ni afana;
me es igual para mañana
un palacio, un hospital.
Vivo ajeno
de memorias,
de cuidados
libre estoy;
busquen otros
oro y glorias,
yo no pienso
sino en hoy.
Y do quiera
vayan leyes,
quiten reyes,
reyes den;
yo soy pobre,
y al mendigo,
por el miedo
del castigo,
todos hacen
siempre bien.Y un asilo donde quiera
y un lecho en el hospital
siempre hallaré, y un hoyo donde caiga
mi cuerpo miserable al espirar.
Mío es el mundo: como el aire libre,
otros trabajan porque coma yo;
todos se ablandan, si doliente pido
una limosna por amor de Dios.
1.4k
Richard Riddle: 12-07-1941 - Born with bombs "bursting in air, and on the ground" (literally), and I'm still around, irritating people . Well, a person has to do what they do best, don't they.
There will be no gala events, black-tie parties, proclamations issued, or "Keys to the City" awarded, etc. I will be with my son, daughter-in-law, two grandchildren, my cat "Brie", and a special person for whom I am so thankful to have come into my life at the right time. They are gifts that are given to me 365 days a year.
I am thankful for the friends I have at work, and for those who have stayed beside me over the years. I am also thankful for those who have since passed into another dimension, but whom I remember with great fondness.
"Thank you, everyone!!"
richard riddle
Thank you Eliot York for creating this magnificent site. It has been a "blessing" for me in many, many ways!
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC