the light had shone...

alrite, i guess the light had shone on me..
at least tats wat i tink..
maybe it was a choice of despair or maybe tats the rite path..
but whichever it is..
it had happened..
let's juz hope it's the right one..
but it's definately not the same decision i made the previous time round..
it made me tink as though im experimenting for future references..
but i dun like tat thought...
damn...

anyway below is a poem by Wislawa Szymborska called Love at First Sight...
it's an easily understood yet meaningful n deep...
it's hard for me to describe wat i feel abt it..
but it's everything gd..

the line "Fate has been playing with them. Not quite yet ready to change into destiny, "
bring abt wat i wrote in my previous post...
fate is playing wif me..
maybe it's juz tat the time aint rite for it to change into destiny..
my destiny..
would there be a day where it actually does, i dunno..
but at least i noe it would..
not for me, at least for others...
cos i see it but i dun realise it...

anyway here goes the poem for appreciation...
=)


Love at First Sight
by Wislawa Szymborska

They both thought
that a sudden feeling had united them
This certainty is beautiful,
Even more beautiful than uncertainty.

They thought they didn't know each other,
nothing had ever happened between them,
These streets, these stairs, this corridors,
Where they could have met so long ago?

I would like to ask them,
if they can remember -
perhaps in a revolving door
face to face one day?
A "sorry" in the crowd?
"Wrong number" on the 'phone?
- but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember.

How surprised they would be
For such a long time already
Fate has been playing with them.

Not quite yet ready
to change into destiny,
which brings them nearer and yet further,
cutting their path
and stifling a laugh,
escaping ever further;
There were sings, indications,
undecipherable, what does in matter.
Three years ago, perhaps
or even last Tuesday,
this leaf flying
from one shoulder to another?
Something lost and gathered.
Who knows, perhaps a ball already
in the bushes, in childhood?

There were handles, door bells,
where, on the trace of a hand,
another hand was placed;
suitcases next to one another in the
left luggage.
And maybe one night the same dream
forgotten on walking;

But every beginning
is only a continuation
and the book of fate is
always open in the middle.

Translation from Polish by Roman Gren