Les roses de SaadiJ'ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses ;Mais j'en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closesQue les noeuds trop serrés n'ont pu les contenir.Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envoléesDans le vent, à la mer s'en sont toutes allées.Elles ont suivi l'eau pour ne plus revenir ;La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.Ce soir, ma robe encore en est tout embaumée...Respires-en sur moi l'odorant souvenir.
Le cancreIl dit non avec la têteMais il dit oui avec le coeurIl dit oui à ce qu'il aimeIl dit non au professeurIl est deboutOn le questionneEt tous les problèmes sont posésSoudain le fou rire le prendEt il efface toutLes chiffres et les motsLes dates et les nomsLes phrases et les piègesEt malgré les menaces du maîtreSous les huées des enfants prodigesAvec des craies de toutes les couleursSur le tableau noir du malheurIl dessine le visage du bonheu
Where the mind is without pain Where knowledge is gain; With you, life is not vain Where hate is a burdenFaith in humanity is not entwine The traces of you is meI am you and you are me Where dreams are not metWhere the sun set and yet;we still strive towards perfection;Where the clear stream of democracyhas not lost its way into a struggling nation frozen snow of dead end;The traces of you is found with in young soul that rise up with faith and knowing that positive activism is the way to create a just society.
I put my faith in something unknown, beyond the moon, sun, and stars, one day I will own. I put my faith in something, renew. Beyond the rivers, deserts, mountains and valleys.One day it shall become new. I cannot renounce the struggle But yes, it’s what this destiny holds The pain is worst. My heart is whole and will not burst.I live on sweet nothing.I am tired of hope, when this dream is not in the scope. I told the pope, he told me to hold on to life and use the rope.I put my faith in you, this is too good to be true.
MotivoEu canto porque o instante existee a minha vida está completa.Não sou alegre nem sou triste:sou poeta.Irmão das coisas fugidias,não sinto gozo nem tormento.Atravesso noites e diasno vento.Se desmorono ou se edifico,se permaneço ou me desfaço,— não sei, não sei. Não sei se ficoou passo.Sei que canto. E a canção é tudo.Tem sangue eterno a asa ritmada.E um dia sei que estarei mudo:— mais nada.”— Cecília Meireles
Twas noontide of summer,And mid-time of night;And stars, in their orbits,Shone pale, thro' the lightOf the brighter, cold moon,'Mid planets her slaves,Herself in the Heavens,Her beam on the waves.I gazed awhileOn her cold smile;Too cold–too cold for me-There pass'd, as a shroud,A fleecy cloud,And I turned away to thee,Proud Evening Star,In thy glory afar,And dearer thy beam shall be;For joy to my heartIs the proud partThou bearest in Heaven at night,And more I admireThy distant fire,Than that colder, lowly light.
Chúng ta đã nhiều lần chết đi dù vẫn đang tồn tại giữa bao ngườikhi nhìn thấy nhau nhưng không cách nào bước tớikhi lướt qua nhau và nghe rõ nhịp tim của người kia đau nhóikhi rời xa nhau mà ngay cả ánh mắt cũng không bước đi nổixót xa nào hơn…
Les hibouxSous les ifs noirs qui les abritent,Les hiboux se tiennent rangés,Ainsi que des dieux étrangers,Dardant leur oeil rouge. Ils méditent.Sans remuer ils se tiendrontJusqu'à l'heure mélancoliqueOù, poussant le soleil oblique,Les ténèbres s'établiront.Leur attitude au sage enseigneQu'il faut en ce monde qu'il craigneLe tumulte et le mouvement,L'homme ivre d'une ombre qui passePorte toujours le châtimentD'avoir voulu changer de place.
Yes You Are!Like the Blossoming rose,Like the Rays of hope.Like a deer in the forest,Like an athlete full of zest.Like a lamp in temple,Like the life feeling ample.Like the feel of the dawn,Like the grace of the swan.Like the melody of sitar,Like the rage of guitar.Like a group of angels in the sky,Like the pot that makes you high.Like the peacock's dance,Like she is the romance.Like the silent talk,Like the wine from Medoc.Like the colors of life,Like the music from the fife.Like the calmness of the cold windLike the beauty of the hind.
My religion consists of a dwelling admiration of illimitable spirit, with no hate in place, a whole heart to Love and care about the human race. There is lust within each of us, it's sometimes self center, that we call our heart. We were born with it. It is never completely grace, but the state to Love others and appreciates the human race in a unique way is left to "question". I am convinced that it is a fundamental energy of the human spirit that can create diversity, and can also stop the caste system, racism, segregation and sexism
Poetry was not meant to be a workhorse; it was not designed to paint pretty moral pictures of life; it was not brought into being to confuse us with cryptograms, or high platitudes, or pompous pretensions. The poet was meant to be a seer; he was designed to run toward the intensities and magnificences of life, to bathe his hands in reality. But where the mystic ran toward Reality in silence and lost himself in it, the poet as soon as he had experienced it, ran back toward humanity crying the good news and putting it into shimmering webs of words.
La terre est bleueLa terre est bleue comme une orangeJamais une erreur les mots ne mentent pasIls ne vous donnent plus à chanterAu tour des baisers de s’entendreLes fous et les amoursElle sa bouche d’allianceTous les secrets tous les souriresEt quels vêtements d’indulgenceÀ la croire toute nue.Les guêpes fleurissent vertL’aube se passe autour du couUn collier de fenêtresDes ailes couvrent les feuillesTu as toutes les joies solairesTout le soleil sur la terreSur les chemins de ta beauté.
شوقٌ يخضُّ دمي إليهِ , كأنَّ كُلَّ دَمي اشتهاءْجوعٌ إليهِ .. كجوعِ كلّ دمِ الغريقِ إلى الهَوَاءْ
She was resilientA brave soldier when life tested herIt didn't matter that she did strange thingslike stand tall under the rainletting the drops kiss her skinthinking the storm was romanticIt was hard to quiet hernot that you would want towhen she spoke, it was captivatingHer heart was like a candlewarm and delicatejust what you needed during darknessSometimes, she'd go off and explore the worldtest her limitslaugh too muchcry when humans were cruelIt wasn't hard to see why people envied herYou'd come to realize she was a lionand she could not be tamed.
When They Die We Change Our Minds About Them When they die we change our minds about them. While they live we see the plenty hard they’re trying,to be a star, or nice, or wise, and so we do not quite believe them. When they die, suddenly they are what they claimed. Turns out, that’s what one of those looks like. The cold war over manner of manly or mission is over. Same person, same facts and acts, just now a quiet brain stem. We no longer begrudge his or her stupid luck.When they die we change our minds about them. I will try to believe while you yet breathe.
