'Eff'ing mofos

Just a moment ago a friend sent me a message saying that Katataknak is removed. Of course I was shocked. Who the 'eff'ing hell did it? Perplexed I tried to access my blog and sure enough it said that my blog has been removed.

What the 'eff'. So I did the needful and after filling in some forms and changing my password it has been restored. I would like to thank the people at Google for being very efficient, something that is alien in this country.

I have since activated comment moderation. Sorry for the inconvenience but I have to do it just in case this action could prevent further removal.

Anyway, I admit there have been something amiss with the blog. I do have people coming in making a nuisance of themselves, as if I care. To you mofos, 'eff' off.

Sorry for the not so sweet language but I am pissed off with these mofos.

Javed Bashir, he's fantastic.

This guy is fantastic. He stands almost equal with the legends Nusrat, Rahat and Ghulam Ali. Just give him a listen.

Cranky Old man

I received this from a dear friend and would like to share it with all those who care to read. Read it with your heart as well as your eyes. This poem really touches my heart and I sincerely hope that it touches yours. If it did then you should feel happy that something hard has not replaced your heart.
Thank you Mr. CG Tuan for sending me this.

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

 Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . . . .What do you see?

What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?

A cranky old man, . . . .. .not very wise,

Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . . with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food ... . .. . . . . and makes no reply.

When you say in a loud voice . . . . ... 'I do wish you'd try!'

Who seems not to notice . . . . .the things that you do.

And forever is losing . . . . . . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not .. . . . . . . . . . . lets you do as you will,

With bathing and feeding . . . . . .The long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking? . . . . . . Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . . you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am . . . . . . . As I sit here so still,

As I do at your bidding, . . . . . . as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of Ten . . . . . . . with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters .. . . . . . . . who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . . with wings on his feet

Dreaming that soon now . . . . ... ... . a lover he'll meet

A groom soon at Twenty . . . . ... . . my heart gives a leap.

Remembering, the vows .. . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . ... . I have young of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . And a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty . . . . . . . . .. My young now grown fast,

Bound to each other . . . . . . . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons .. . . . . have grown and are gone,

But my woman is beside me . . . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Fifty, once more, . . ... . . . ..Babies play 'round my knee,

Again, we know children . . . . . . . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . . ... . My wife is now dead.

I look at the future ... .. . . . . . . . . . . . I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing . . . . . . young of their own.

And I think of the years . . .. .. . . . And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man . . . . .. . . . and nature is cruel.

It's jest to make old age . . . . .. . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles .. . . . ... . . . . .. grace and vigour, depart.

There is now a stone .. . . . . .. . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . . . .. A young man still dwells,

And now and again . . . .. . . . my battered heart swells

I remember the joys . .. . . . . . . . .. . I remember the pain.

And I'm loving and living . . . . .. . . . .. . . . . life over again.

I think of the years . all too few . . .. . . . gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact . . . . . . . . that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people . . . . . . . . open and see.

Not a cranky old man . Look closer . . . . see . .. . . .... . ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within ... . . .

we will all, one day, be there, too!

PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM,

The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched.

They must be felt by the heart.

Hari Raya Greeting Card

Hari Raya Greeting Card

To all visitors, Selamat Hari Raya and Happy Holidays. Drive carefully ya hear!