tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68039323191909717372011-10-23T10:46:13.549-07:00it is always about that womanMNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607203498436477815noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125http://creativecommons.org/images/public/somerights20.gifIntutumhttp://feedburner.google.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803932319190971737.post-57967950529593351722011-08-01T23:23:00.001-07:002011-08-02T21:47:00.725-07:002011-08-02T21:47:00.725-07:00It is the second day. She sits by the window in the morning hours. Digital toxicology, famine, and too much theory suggest that peace remains a utopian construct that delays the species on its self-destruction path.<br /> Life, that she has seen. She has seen it all. It is boring these days for the one who has been searching for what was there all along. She is like the tired Buddha sitting under that famed tree of the legends. She needs a rest. Doing the dishes, taking a shower; anything will do. Just a rest. Just a break. She can not hear, much less listen to the lamentations of this world.<br /> It is the second day of Ramadan. She returns.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6803932319190971737-5796795052959335172?l=intutum.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Intutum/~4/WmpvgmhIZTs" height="1" width="1"/>MNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607203498436477815noreply@blogger.comhttp://intutum.blogspot.com/2011/08/returning.html