tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37442341490737976772024-03-13T12:23:27.006-07:00www.flamboyantbeggar.comAmiya chatterjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05200075628636381734noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3744234149073797677.post-33265072416586279382013-01-26T19:57:00.000-08:002013-01-26T19:57:50.125-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 9.333333015441895px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.38;">I don't know how many souls I have.<br />I've changed at every moment.<br />I always feel like a stranger.<br />I've never seen or found myself.<br />From being so much, I have only soul.<br /><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">A man who has soul has no calm.<br />A man who sees is just what he sees.<br />A man who feels is not who he is.<br /><br />Attentive to what I am and see,<br />I become them and stop being I.<br />Each of my dreams and each desire<br />Belongs to whoever had it, not me.<br />I am my own landscape,<br />I watch myself journey—<br />Various, mobile, and alone.<br />Here where I am I can't feel myself.<br /><br />That's why I read, as a stranger,<br />My being as if it were pages.<br />Not knowing what will come<br />And forgetting what has passed,<br />I note in the margin of my reading<br />What I thought I felt.<br />Rereading, I wonder: "Was that me?"<br />God knows, because he wrote it.<br /><br /><br />I Don't Know How Many Souls I Have<br />Fernando Pessoa</span></span></h5>
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<a ajaxify="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151397018231005&set=a.175633116004.159658.583146004&type=1&relevant_count=1&ref=nf&src=http%3A%2F%2Fsphotos-g.ak.fbcdn.net%2Fhphotos-ak-prn1%2F775626_10151397018231005_2010126802_o.jpg&smallsrc=http%3A%2F%2Fsphotos-g.ak.fbcdn.net%2Fhphotos-ak-snc7%2F319838_10151397018231005_2010126802_n.jpg&size=1000%2C1513&theater" class="uiPhotoThumb photoRedesignAspect" data-ft="{"type":41,"tn":"E"}" href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151397018231005&set=a.175633116004.159658.583146004&type=1&relevant_count=1&ref=nf" rel="theater" style="border: 0px; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; display: block; float: left; position: relative; text-decoration: initial;"><img alt="I don't know how many souls I have.
I've changed at every moment.
I always feel like a stranger.
I've never seen or found myself.
From being so much, I have only soul.
A man who has soul has no calm.
A man who sees is just what he sees.
A man who feels is not who he is.
Attentive to what I am and see,
I become them and stop being I.
Each of my dreams and each desire
Belongs to whoever had it, not me.
I am my own landscape,
I watch myself journey—
Various, mobile, and alone.
Here where I am I can't feel myself.
That's why I read, as a stranger,
My being as if it were pages.
Not knowing what will come
And forgetting what has passed,
I note in the margin of my reading
What I thought I felt.
Rereading, I wonder: "Was that me?"
God knows, because he wrote it.
I Don't Know How Many Souls I Have
Fernando Pessoa" class="img" height="398" src="http://sphotos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/s480x480/319838_10151397018231005_2010126802_n.jpg" style="border: 0px; display: block; margin: 0px; max-width: none;" width="262" /></a></div>
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Amiya chatterjeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05200075628636381734noreply@blogger.com2