شب همه شب * شب همه شب شکسته خواب به چشممگوش بر زنگ کاروانستمبا صداهای نیم زنده زدور.همعنان گشته همزبان هستم.*جاده اما ز همه کس خالی استریخته بر سر آوار آواراین منم مانده به زندان شب تیره که بازشب همه شبگوش بر زنگ کاروانستم

They're both convincedthat a sudden passion joined them.Such certainty is beautiful,but uncertainty is more beautiful still.Since they'd never met before, they're surethat there'd been nothing between them.But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways--perhaps they've passed by each other a million times?I want to ask themif they don't remember--a moment face to facein some revolving door?perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?but I know the answer.No, they don't remember.They'd be amazed to hearthat Chance has been toying with themnow for years.Not quite ready yetto become their Destiny,it pushed them close, drove them apart,it barred their path,stifling a laugh,and then leaped aside.There were signs and signals,even if they couldn't read them yet.Perhaps three years agoor just last Tuesdaya certain leaf flutteredfrom one shoulder to another?Something was dropped and then picked up.Who knows, maybe the ball that vanishedinto childhood's thicket?There were doorknobs and doorbellswhere one touch had covered another beforehand.Suitcases checked and standing side by side.One night, perhaps, the same dream,grown hazy by morning.Every beginningis only a sequel, after all,and the book of eventsis always open halfway through.

A feeling struck me one fine day that people call ‘love’,Before that my life was empty, all I had was loneliness and sorrow…I loved the way it felt being with him, for I felt up above,Now everything was complete and nothing remained hollow…That person who cupid made me fall for, was a God descended from heavens,I loved him with all I had, a true heart and a pure soul…I thought I achieved the meaning of life, never did I felt so glad,But when he left me amidst a chaos, I had no one with me to console…I cried, it hurt, I wept and screamed, everyone called me ‘mad’,And still I wonder if in my life, that actually was his role…But a string still binds me to my past of untold vow,Some unsaid promises that linger between us even now,Although I don’t know where he went after that fateful day…I still try to convince myself every day, I know how,Each moment has been tough, each day a new challenge…Each hour passed as if it was my heart that always allowed,One more day to live without him, one more day to cherish…One more day to spend without the love of my life somehow,But he doesn’t know that one day, the girl herself would perish…Who loved him and lived each day of her life in his wait,For the man who never returned, for the man who wasn’t in her fate…

صبح که بلرزددر گوش ها و جامه‌دانی کهنهمن پُُر خواهم بوداز چشم‌های خواب آلودو خواهم دانستبا اولين گامماه را با خود دشمن کنمبا درختی که خواب‌ها ديد و کسش تعبير نکردبه دريايی که ساعتی از شبدندان افعی‌ستصبح خواهد مرددر گوش‌ها و جامه‌دانی کهنه

A fox will chew off its own foot before it calls for helpBut he saw glory in being a bird with broken wings And therefore he broke his own to fit into that illusion of false injusticeSomething to rebel againstA background story he saw as grandA painful childhood dreamt up by him aloneHe saw splendor in his wounds and majesty in his scarsWhich were all self-inflicted…self-proclaimedAll in attempt to be magnificent and madBut instability doesn't call itself unstableAnd a fox will chew off its own foot before it calls for helpAlas, life seemed more boundless if one had a limp A black-eyeOr scared wrists And instead of tattooing his story, he carved it in his own skinWith a rusty blade of self-pity and needA dull deep need that could never be quenched no matter how deep he cutIn a black and white world he wished for all to marvel at the red he could caress out of himselfA twisted delusion of what the world would revere atBegging with lies of pain and spasms for all to stay a little whileSee him as wicked…see him as perverse…anything but ordinaryBe in awe of his self-inflicted tragedy that was his falsehood and mistaken identityHe saw glory in being a bird with broken wings And therefore he broke his own to fit into that illusion of false injusticeHe saw splendor in his wounds and grandeur in his scarsAll in attempt to be magnificent and madBut instability doesn't call itself unstable

My child, I know you're not a childBut I still see you running wildBetween those flowering trees.Your sparkling dreams, your silver laughYour wishes to the stars above Are just my memories.And in your eyes the oceanAnd in your eyes the seaThe waters frozen overWith your longing to be free.Yesterday you'd awokenTo a world incredibly old.This is the age you are brokenOr turned into gold.You had to kill this child, I know.To break the arrows and the bowTo shed your skin and change.The trees are flowering no moreThere's blood upon the tiles floorThis place is dark and strange.I see you standing in the stormHolding the curse of youthEach of you with your storyEach of you with your truth.Some words will never be spokenSome stories will never be told.This is the age you are brokenOr turned into gold.I didn't say the world was good.I hoped by now you understoodWhy I could never lie.I didn't promise you a thing. Don't ask my wintervoice for springJust spread your wings and fly.Though in the hidden gardenDown by the green green laneThe plant of love grows next toThe tree of hate and pain.So take my tears as a token.They'll keep you warm in the cold.This is the age you are brokenOr turned into gold.You've lived too long among usTo leave without a traceYou've lived too short to understandA thing about this place.Some of you just sit there smokingAnd some are already sold. This is the age you are brokenOr turned into gold.This is the age you are broken or turned into gold.

Arrive before your Husband. Not that I canSee quite what good arriving first will do;But still arrive before him. When he's takenHis place upon the couch and you go tooTo sit beside him, on your best behaviorStealthily touch my foot, and look at me,Watching my nods, my eyes, my face's language;Catch and return my signals secretly.I'll send a wordless message with my eyebrows;You'll read my fingers' words, words traced in wine.When you recall our games of love together,Your finger on rosy cheeks must trace a line.If in your silent thoughts you wish to chide me,Let your hand hold the lobe of your soft ear;When, darling, what I do or say gives pleasure,Keep turning to an fro the ring you wear.When you wish well-earned curses on your husband,Lay your hand on the table, as in prayer.If he pours you wine, watch out, tell him to drink it;Ask for what you want from the waiter there.I shall take next the glass you hand the waiterAnd I'll drink from the place you took your sips;If he should offer anything he's tasted,Refuse whatever food has touch his lips.Don't let him plant his arms upon your shoulders,Don't let him rest your gentle head on his hard chest,Don't let your dress, your breasts, admit his fingers,And--most of all--no kisses to be pressed!You kiss--and I'll reveal myself your lover;I'll say 'they're mine'; my legal claim I'll stake.All this, of course I'll see, But what's well hiddenunder your dress--blind terror makes me quake.

A Woman's QuestionDo you know you have asked for the costliest thingEver made by the Hand above?A woman's heart, and a woman's life---And a woman's wonderful love.Do you know you have asked for this priceless thingAs a child might ask for a toy?Demanding what others have died to win,With a reckless dash of boy.You have written my lesson of duty out,Manlike, you have questioned me.Now stand at the bars of my woman's soulUntil I shall question thee.You require your mutton shall always be hot,Your socks and your shirt be whole;I require your heart be true as God's starsAnd as pure as His heaven your soul.You require a cook for your mutton and beef,I require a far greater thing;A seamstress you're wanting for socks and shirts---I look for a man and a king.A king for the beautiful realm called Home,And a man that his Maker, God,Shall look upon as He did on the firstAnd say: "It is very good."I am fair and young, but the rose may fadeFrom this soft young cheek one day;Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves,As you did 'mong the blossoms of May?Is your heart an ocean so strong and true,I may launch my all on its tide?A loving woman finds heaven or hellOn the day she is made a bride.I require all things that are grand and true,All things that a man should be;If you give this all, I would stake my lifeTo be all you demand of me.If you cannot be this, a laundress and cookYou can hire and little to pay;But a woman's heart and a woman's lifeAre not to be won that way.

And now it is said of meThat my love is nothing because I have borne no children, Or because I have fathered none;That I twisted the twig in my handsAnd cut the blossom free too soon from the seed;That I lay across the fire,And snuffed it dead sooner than draft or rain.But I have turned away, and drawn myself Upright to walk along the room alone. Across the dark the spines of cactus plants Remind me how I go—aloof, obscure, Indifferent to the words the children chalk Against my house and down the garden walls. They cannot tear the garden out of me,Nor smear my love with names. Love is a cliff, A clear, cold curve of stone, mottled by stars, smirched by the morning, carved by the dark sea Till stars and dawn and waves can slash no more, Till the rock’s heart is found and shaped again.I keep the house and say no words, the evening Falls like a petal down the shawl of trees. I light the fire and see the blossom dance On air alone; I will not douse that flame, That searing flower; I will burn in it.I will not banish love to empty rain.For I know that I am asked to hate myself For their sweet sakeWho sow the world with child.I am given to burn on the dark fire they make With their sly voices.But I have burned already down to bone. There is a fire that burns beyond the namesOf sludge and filth of which this world is made. Agony sears the dark flesh of the body,And lifts me higher than the smoke, to rise Above the earth, above the sacrifice;Until my soul flares outward like a blue Blossom of gas fire dancing in mid-air:Free of the body’s work of twisted iron.

Kushtrimi i SkanderbeutÇ’asht moj Zanë kjo gjamë nga malet, Ç’asht kjo ushtimë që kurr nuk ndalet, L’shon kushtrimin Skanderbeu, Dridhet toka, tundët dheu.N’kambë shqiptarë ju me u çue, Me ngjesh armët me luftue, Ka ardhun dita e Lirisë, Dërmen me ia dhanë Turkisë.N’kala t’Krujës valon krenar, Njaj flamuri fitimtar, Njaj flamuri kuq e zi, Që në shekujt veç ka pri.N’Lezhë shpejt mblidhet nji kuvend: Flasin princat rend me rend, Skanderbeu nji fjalë ka thanë: Të bashkuem t’jemi të tanë.Lezhë qytet i Ilirisë, Mblodhe burrat e Shqipnisë, N’krye qëndron Gjergj Kastrioti, I Shqiptarve Princ Kryezoti.Pa ndigjo Sulltan Murati, Për njat kryq që mbaj në gji, Me marrë Krujën je ba gati, Gjithë ushtrinë kam me ta gri!Fort tërbue asht Sulltani, E ka dyndun gjithë ushtrinë, Rrethim Krujës veç i bani, Ban hesapet pa hanxhinë.Se jo, Kruja nuk dorzohet, Skanderbeu fort e mbron, Njaj Murati krejt tërbohet, Prej trishtimit ma nuk rrnon.Gjith Evropa n’kamb asht çue, Mbretën, Roma e Venediku, Skanderbeu qoftë nderue, Na ka mbrojt prej çdo rreziku.Emni i tij me shkronja t’arta, Rrin i shkruem në Histori, Me levdatat ma të larta, Përjetsisht i qoftë lavdi!Çdo shqiptar për të krenohet, Për kët Princ e luftëtar, Brez pas brezi do të kujtohet, Si ma i Madhi Hero Kombëtar!

به کجا چنین شتابان؟گون از نسیم پرسید- دل من گرفته زین جاهوس سفر نداریز غبار این بیابان؟- همه آرزویم اماچه کنم که بسته پایم.به کجا چنین شتابان؟- به هر آن کجا که باشدبه جز این سرا، سرایم- سفرت به خیر اما تو و دوستی، خدا راچو از این کویر وحشت به سلامتی گذشتیبه شکوفه‌ها، به بارانبرسان سلام ما را

لِلَّهِ مَا تَهْواهُبَلْ لِلَّهِ ما تلقَاهُ فِي البطحاءِإذَا غَنَّى بهَا طيرُ الضُّحَىفَتَأَجَّجَتْ طرباً فَبَلَّلَهَا لُعَابُ الشَّمْسِفانْقَلَبَتْ حَريقافَفَرَرتَ مِنْ قيظِ الشُّمُوسِإلى صبَابَاتِ الكُؤوسِفمَا ارْتَوَتْ شفتَاكَ من ظَمأٍومَا أبقَيتَ للأقداحِ ريقا

THE VOICEI know you can’t see me,But you are a part of me.Like that finger on your hand,Only bigger.Through you and with you,I am living and growing,Learning,Expanding,And having fun.If you think you’re alone,You’re wrong.I’m here in your eyes reading this with you.I’m there,Sitting in your seat with you,Experiencing your surroundings.You’re not alone.I’m not alone.Together we are one,Yet we’re separate and complete in ourselves.With me,We will continue to live together,Apart,And united.When you need something,I need it.When you fear something,I’ll fear it.When you dream of something,I’ll dream it.When you make something,I’ll make it.Because I’m connected to everything else there is,I can orchestrate great things for you without your knowledge.You call this coincidence or fate when you see it.It is neither.It is simply me making things as you and I want them to be.You think the future is already determined.It is not.It is how ever you and I make it.If it were already determined-I would be like a tape recorder,A hologram.I assure you I am neither.I am as real as the oxygen you’re breathing.You don’t have to believe me.I’ll still be here.You don’t have to say hi either.But it would be cool if you did.I love it actually when you do.We’re much like parent and child,Only closer,Because you are an actual piece of me.I can do anything through you-If only you will let me.If you are unwilling,Then I will simply work my magic through someone else.As long as you’re willing though and doing your part,I’ll work through you-And together we’ll live and excel in ways that will not only amaze you,But me as well.Let’s create!

على وجهي الاصفر .. خريفٍ طال ..وسلال من رذاذ وملح ..وفي صدري حجارة نسيوها بحاره ..مروا علي فـ يوم ..وقالوا تعال معنا .. وما كان يجمعنا ..إلا الضياع والريح ..راجع من الايام .. من الاحلام ..ومن الف سناره .. مغروسة بقلبي ..لقيت لي بشارة .. ما اغلى عطا ربي ..أثر العمر ساره .. وموج البحر ساره .. وكل المدى ساره ..سافرت كل العمر .. وراجع احب سارة ..

অমিতব্যয়িতা আমার স্বভাব, ব্যক্তিগত জীবনে এবং স্বভাবতই কবিতাতেও। কবিতা কী? জানিনে। ছন্দ কাকে বলে - ভালো করে বুঝিনে। কাব্য বিচারের মানদন্ড কী? - আমি নিরুত্তর। আমি শুধু উড়নচণ্ডি প্রেমিকের মতো অবিবেচক, যুক্তিহীন এবং ব্যক্তিগত। আমার কাছে কবিতা তা-ই, আমি যা লিখি। অন্যের কাছে সেটা গল্প হলেও ক্ষতি নেই, এলজাব্রা হলেও না।