Shkodra në mëngjeseKendojnë bashkë në mengjese pesë kumbonare,kendojnë në ajri mbi Shkoder ende fjetë:mbi Maranaj qet vetllen kureshtareagimi e hjedh në liqe synin e qetë.Perhapë lajmin e zgjimit rrezja e parëtë parat përshëndetje dridhen në heshti të letë,e shpejt në at lavdi dielli, qi e veshë fareShkodra kumbon me zane, zhurmë e jetë.E ai diell prendvere i ri shprazet në shtepijaudha e lulishta tue ngjallë ngjyra e shkendija,tue mbshtjellë gjithshka si nji tis ari, i hollë:skaj në skaj si lum gzimi tue rreshqitënë syt e vashave, qeshë, e mbush me dritëkaçurrelat e tyne kur shkojnë në shkollë.

Strike, with hand of fire, O weird musician, thy harp strung with Apollo's golden hair; fill the vast cathedral aisles with symphonies sweet and dim, deft toucher of the organ keys; blow, bugler, blow, until thy silver notes do touch and kiss the moonlit waves, and charm the lovers wandering 'mid the vine-clad hills. But know, your sweetest strains are discords all, compared with childhood's happy laugh—the laugh that fills the eyes with light and every heart with joy. O rippling river of laughter, thou art the blessed boundary line between the beasts and men; and every wayward wave of thine doth drown some fretful fiend of care. O Laughter, rose-lipped daughter of Joy, there are dimples enough in thy cheeks to catch and hold and glorify all the tears of grief.

Mental illness People assume you aren’t sick unless they see the sickness on your skin like scars forming a map of all the ways you’re hurting. My heart is a prison of Have you tried?s Have you tried exercising? Have you tried eating better? Have you tried not being sad, not being sick? Have you tried being more like me? Have you tried shutting up? Yes, I have tried. Yes, I am still trying, and yes, I am still sick. Sometimes monsters are invisible, and sometimes demons attack you from the inside. Just because you cannot see the claws and the teeth does not mean they aren’t ripping through me. Pain does not need to be seen to be felt. Telling me there is no problem won’t solve the problem. This is not how miracles are born. This is not how sickness works.

And I Said To My Soul, Be LoudMadden me back to an afternoonI carry in menot like a woundbut like a will against a woundGive me again enough manto be the childchoosing my own annihilationsTo make of this severed limba wand to conjurea weapon to shatterdark matter of the dirt daubers' nestsgalaxies of glassWhacking glintsbash-dancing on the cellar's fireI am the sound the sun would makeif the sun could make a soundand the gasp of rotstabbed from the compost's lumpen living deathis meO my life my war in a jarI shake you and shake youand may the best ant winFor I am come a whirlwind of wasted thingsand I will ride this tantrum back to Goduntil my fixed self, my fluorescent selfmy grief–nibbling, unbewildered, wall–to–wall selfwithers in me like a salted slug

a woman's love is never conditionala man's love is never blinda woman's love is never careless a man's love never leaves you behinda woman's love is never gone a man's love is never fara woman's love is never afraid to love you for just being the way you area man's love see's no imperfectionsa woman's love see's no flaws because when it comes down to it love will always look past them alla man's love is unconditional a woman's love is always kinda man's love trys to be patienta woman's love loves you all the timea man's love doesn’t care if you’re not a size zeroa woman's love is not hard to finda man's love kills each doubt when you don’t feel beautifula woman's love makes you feel less left behind.

هی فلانی! زندگی شاید همین باشد؟یک فریب ساده و کوچکآن هم از دست عزیزی که تو دنیا راجز برای او و جز با او نمی خواهی.من گمانم زندگی باید همین باشد.

True storyThis morning I jumped on my horseAnd went for a ride,And some wild outlaws chased meAnd shot me in the side.So I crawled into a wildcats caveTo find a place to hideBut some pirates found me sleeping thereAnd soon they had me tiedTo a pole and built a fireUnder me---I almost criedTill a mermaid came and cut me looseAnd begged to be my brideSo I said id come back WednesdayBut I must admit I lied.Then I ran into a jungle swampBut I forgot my guide And I stepped into some quicksandAnd no matter how hard I triedI couldn’t get out, until I metA watersnake named ClydeWho pulled me to some cannibalsWho planned to have me friedBut an eagle came and swooped me upAnd through the air we fliedBut he dropped me in a boiling lakeA thousand miles wideAnd you’ll never guess what I did then---I DIED

Shall the dire day break when lifefinds us merely husband and wifewith passion not so much deniedas neatly laundered and put asideand the old joyous insistencetrimmed to placid coexistence?Shall we sometime arise from bedwith not a carnal thought in our headlook at each other without surpriseout of wide awake uncandid eyestouch and know no immediate urgewhere all mysteries converge?Speak for the sake of something to sayand now and then put on a displayof elaborate mimicry of the past to provethat ritual reigns where once ruled loveand calmly observe those bleak ritesthat once made splendour of our nights?Dear, when we stop being outrageousand no longer find contagiousthe innumerable ecstasies we findin rise of hand or leap of mind - not now or then, love, need we fear thus;those two sad people will not be us.

Ti si moj trenutak i moj san i sjajna moja reč u šumu i samo si lepota koliko si tajna i samo istina koliko si žudnja. Ostaj nedostižna, nema i daleka jer je san o sreći više nego sreća. Budi bespovratna, kao mladost. Neka tvoja sen i eho budu sve što seća. Srce ima povest u suzi što leva, u velikom bolu ljubav svoju metu. Istina je samo što duša prosneva. Poljubac je susret najlepši na svetu. Od mog priviđ0enja ti si cela tkana, tvoj plast sunčani od mog sna ispreden. Ti beše misao moja očarana, simbol svih taština, porazan i leden. A ti ne postojiš, nit' si postojala. Rođena u mojoj tišini i čami, na Suncu mog srca ti si samo sjala jer sve što ljubimo - stvorili smo sami.

We all wear masksto veil the truth.Truth is nakedness.Truth is fear.Truth is the gardener making you sit on his lapasking you tolight his cigarette.Truth is father— with a limp cigarette on his lips —telling you to never use his matches to light it for him.Truth is father yelling:"It is not nice for little girls to do so”.Truth is a curious girlwanting to ignite a matchlike a woman.Truth is the maid watching from the kitchen,knowing.But knowing isn’t truth.Truth is the maid calling:Come. Come.Truth is the gardener understanding. But understanding isn’t truth.Truth is the maid saying,"Stay away!"Truth is a girl thinking she is in control.That nothing happened, nothing bad.But the truest truthis a girl knowing, a girl understanding thaton that daysomeone stole a little piece of her truth.

Loving you is no more a beautiful memory, but now just a pain,I cry and weep every time I walk down the memory lane,Your love always completed me in every sense as a whole,But now it’s just emptiness and sorrow in my heart that drains,Of all the people in the world, you choose me to be hurt,Of all the hearts in the world, you choose mine to break…Why did you leave me I ask myself every morning and dawn?Why my love was incomplete tell me why you were gone?A silence surrounds my heart and fills it again with despair,Oh this pain is just too much, and the damage beyond repair,Please come back baby, just come back and bring that old smile,Or just come to see me every once in a while,So my heart no more bleeds, and no more my soul aches,So I can be peaceful after my death, in my ashes and burnt flakes…

The Wolf trots to and fro,The world lies deep in snow,The raven from the birch tree flies,But nowhere a hare, nowhere a roe,The roe -she is so dear, so sweet -If such a thing I might surpriseIn my embrace, my teeth would meet,What else is there beneath the skies?The lovely creature I would so treasure,And feast myself deep on her tender thigh,I would drink of her red blood full measure,Then howl till the night went by.Even a hare I would not despise;Sweet enough its warm flesh in the night.Is everything to be deniedThat could make life a little bright?The hair on my brush is getting grey.The sight is failing from my eyes.Years ago my dear mate died.And now I trot and dream of a roe.I trot and dream of a hare.I hear the wind of midnight howl.I cool with the snow my burning jowl,And on to the devil my wretched soul I bear.

Life, a miracle of nature, an evolved molecule of matter, blossomed in the vast expanse of oceans. Methane, ammonia, hydrogen and water vapor When joined under the radio-active sun, The molecules of non living matter underwent massive changes and became live. It's this accident that made the molecule of protein, Which even Stanley Miller reproduced in lab. Evolution went on, and on and changed , from amoeba to dinosaurs, from ape to man, It was an amazing architecture of nature , Which still continue improving human brain. The amazing creation nature, the man, kept on exploring the mysteries of nature, and succeeded in duplicating nature's marvel through his latest invention - the cloning, and succeeded in decoding even the genetic code. Still we have to salute the mother nature, which has many more mysteries in store!.

unaccountably we are aloneforever aloneand it was meant to bethat way,it was never meantto be any other way–and when the death strugglebeginsthe last thing I wish to seeisa ring of human faceshovering over me–better just my old friends,the walls of my self,let only them be there.I have been alone but seldomlonely.I have satisfied my thirstat the wellof my selfand that wine was good,the best I ever had,and tonightsittingstaring into the darkI now finally understandthe dark and thelight and everythingin between.peace of mind and heartarriveswhen we accept whatis:having beenborn into thisstrange lifewe must acceptthe wasted gamble of ourdaysand take some satisfaction inthe pleasure ofleaving it allbehind.cry not for me.grieve not for me.readwhat I’ve writtenthenforget itall.drink from the wellof your selfand beginagain.Mind and Heart

Hanged"I hung myself today. Hanged? Whatever,the point is I hanged myself today and I’m stillhanging.I feel fine. Just bored. I keep hoping thatsomeone will come home and cut me downbut then I keep remembering that if I knewsomeone like that I wouldn’t be up here. Bitironic, right? Or is that not ironic? I readsomewhere that, like, anything funny is,in some way, ironic. But I don’t know if it'sfunny or not. I don’t think my brain owns“funny”, you know?I feel taller. I like that.I’ve never been away from my shadow forthis long. It had always clung to my feet,parting momentarily for a quick dive intothe swimming pool. But never for fivehours. I like it. There’s three feet of spacebetween my two and the floor.I wanted something this morning. I may bestuck. But at least I’m three feet closer to it.