the poem... is an image of life...

[scythe]

Codice:

good morning Valm Neira..who likes poems ...who wants to share with us their poems ...come on …..we were written here our poems that beloved and wanted to share …...I had even begin…

Crying
It is as easy as forgetting, believe me
Be happy if you can cry
Be happy if you cry
Smile because you can cry
Smile because you cry
I can't help you
If you can't cry

ozdemir asaf

Ultima modifica di scythe il gio mar 31, 2005 09:25, modificato 2 volte in totale.

[Dandelion]

I wanna to share with you a "song" that I wrote some months ago..

Try

My thinks are like stone that rolling away,
a landslide that breaks my safe..

I know.. I understand...

It is the only way but I know it's the wrong..

I wanna try, try and try...

I crawl in silence..I got angry with you..
I kick myself.. I destroy my dreams

I wanna try, I wanna dry my tears

In every cry, in every breath.. you're here

You could touch my heart, you wispered in my ears but
your words weren't this of love; I felt only scorn but

I try, I want to try, I stop to cry.. I stay.. only stay.

I fall into an ocean of you.. I'm drowning

[scythe]

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.



William SHAKESPEARE

[scythe]

Your lips are red,
Your hands are white
Take my hands, child,
Hold them a while.

In the village where I was born
There were no walnut trees
That's why I yearn for coolness.
Fondle me a while.

In the village where I was born
There were no cornfields
so scatter your hair, child,
Flaunt it a while.

In the village where I was born
Bandits struck by night.
That's why I hate to be alone
Speak with me a while.

In the village where I was born
Men did not know how to laugh.
That's why I am still so wretched
Make me laugh a while.

In the village where I was born
The north winds blew.
That's why my lips are cracked
Kiss them a while.

You are light and beauty, like my country,
The village where I was born was beautiful too.
Now tell me of the place where you were born
Tell me a while.

Cahit Kulebi

[scythe]

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed:
At first there is a gentle breeze
And the leaves on the trees
Softly sway;
Out there, far away,
The bells of water-carriers unceasingly ring;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed;
Then suddenly birds fly by,
Flocks of birds, high up, with a hue and cry,
While the nets are drawn in the fishing grounds
And a woman's feet begin to dabble in the water.
I am Iistening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
The Grand Bazaar's serene and cool,
An uproar at the hub of the Market,
Mosque yards are full of pigeons.
While hammers bang and clang at the docks
Spring winds bear the smell of sweat;
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intetnt, my eyes closed;
Still giddy from the revelries of the past,
A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep.
Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed,
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
A pretty girl walks by on the sidewalk:
Four-letter words, whistles and songs, rude remarks;
Something falls out of her hand
It is a rose, I guess.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
A bird flutters round your skirt;
On your brow, is there sweat? Or not? I know.
Are your lips wet? Or not? I know.
A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees:
I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.

Orhan Veli KANIK

[scythe]

All dreams come true one day
Never let go of your hopes
If you have anything to say,
If your land is full of crops,
It will be heard in some way.

Ümit Kilislioğlu Özger



[/code]

[Jhaelrnya Abaeir di Irush]

Bloody Angel...to my sister Vanessa...

In the light I see the darkness,
I listen the sound of the tree
it moves like the sweet wind...
my Little Lady,
your skin is like a snow
and your lips are red like the flower into my hands...
one bloody tears on your face
and all around the scream's birds...
Your heart is broken
but this is not your life...
please, take my hands and come up...
You can't die for Her,
'cause She's now your angel and you are mine...
this is the time of salvation!
My blood is for you
and only with this
you can still alive...
I miss you My Love...
You are My Bloody Angel.