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| the poem... is an image of life... http://www.valmneira.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=65&t=2244 |
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| Autore: | scythe [ lun mar 21, 2005 10:28 ] |
| Oggetto del messaggio: | the poem... is an image of life... |
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 |
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| Autore: | Dandelion [ lun mar 21, 2005 14:41 ] |
| Oggetto del messaggio: | |
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 |
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| Autore: | scythe [ gio mar 31, 2005 09:29 ] |
| Oggetto del messaggio: | SONNET LXVI |
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 |
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| Autore: | scythe [ gio mar 31, 2005 09:34 ] |
| Oggetto del messaggio: | SONG |
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 |
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| Autore: | scythe [ gio mar 31, 2005 09:39 ] |
| Oggetto del messaggio: | I AM LISTENING TO lSTANBUL |
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 |
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| Autore: | scythe [ lun nov 07, 2005 13:31 ] |
| Oggetto del messaggio: | |
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] |
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| Autore: | Jhaelrnya Abaeir di Irush [ gio nov 24, 2005 14:03 ] |
| Oggetto del messaggio: | |
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. |
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