Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Mitta Xinindlu

Quote by Mitta Xinindlu

“Mindfulness (A poem) *** MINDFULNESS ****** We're sitting on a hill, reminiscing about our deeds. These are mesmerising moments of ease; scenes are harmonising in keys. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. We think about the nice days from our teens; the things that we did at our free will. We're in sync with the future and past tensions. Indeed, we could enjoy the present intentions. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. We envision our problems gone; with collisions exposed and pawned. Oh! We could enjoy this peaceful time, on this hill, watching the sunrise. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. The beautiful birds stride pass our face. Thick cuticles blurred, striped by hours of grace. They flap their wings, forming art; tail lamps for us, bleeding hearts. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. People of different cultures come to us. Simple, they offer their services; no Judas. Wave their hands with care; give their food to share. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. What a sad case this is; our mindfulness is butchered. Heads are swimming inbetween the past and the future. Opportunities to love others in truth are being missed. Communities could share love so true; limiting the rifts. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period.”

Quote by Mitta Xinindlu

Author

Mitta Xinindlu

Browse famous quotes and profile details for Mitta Xinindlu. more

You May Also Like

“آقای ویلسن من از شما می پرسم که اگر بومی ها شما را زندانی کنند، از زن و فرزندانتان جدایتان سازند و اگر وادارتان کنند که تا آخر عمر گندم آسیاب کنید، آیا اعتقاد خواهید داشت که باقی ماندن در چنین حالتی وظیفه ی شماست و باید به درخواست تقدیر تسلیم باشید؟؛ نه! من یقین دارم در آن حال شما نخستین اسبی را که در دسترس ببینید به عنوان فرستاده ی تقدیر برای نجات از چنان وضعی سوار می شوید و فرار می کنید. آیا جز این است؟”

“فکر می‌کردم زندگی مثل درخت انجیر است؛ هر شاخه‌اش راهی متفاوت، آینده‌ای متفاوت. اما وقتی به همه نگاه می‌کردم، نمی‌توانستم انتخاب کنم و انجیرها یکی‌یکی جلوی چشمم خشک می‌شدند و می‌افتادند.”

“At the Unity High School in the heart of Khartoum, a place pulsing with ease and luxury, I graduated with a Cambridge certificate. Though far from stupid, studying was simply not my passion at the time. I harboured no desire to become a doctor, a lawyer, or a chemist; my only wants were a home, a man who does not lie, a room in the shade of a tree, and a child to carry my name. However, upon drawing closer to examine everything at close range, I realised that I do not belong here. I have no place in a world that perfects the art of smiling to one's face, only to strike with stabs in the back the moment one turns away.”

“For two hours, she preached — and for two hours, people were getting up, shouting, jumping up and down, calling to Jesus for help and salvation, and falling out exhausted. Some of these Holy Rollers, as Dad called them, would fall to the floor and start trembling rapidly; some of them even began to slobber on themselves. When I asked Mama what was wrong with those people and what they were doing on the floor, she told me that the spirit had hit them. When Carole heard this, she began to cry and wanted to get out of there before the spirit hit us.”

“When you write a novel, you are alone in it. I wrote that book alone, sitting in airports and coffee shops and lying in bed. But when writing, there is always for me a hope that one day I will not be alone—not in this work and not in this world. It is a bit like that old children’s pool game Marco Polo, where one person closes their eyes and swims around the pool trying to tag someone else. “Marco,” the person with eyes closed says, and the other pool-goers have to answer, “Polo.” “Marco, Marco, Marco,” cries one kid, and the others reply: “Polo. Polo. Polo.” Writing is like that for me, like I’m typing “Marco, Marco, Marco” for years, and then finally the work is finished and someone reads it and says, “Polo.”