Krijimtari te ndryshme ne gjuhe te huaj

[StormAngel]

Ketu mund te postoni cfaredo poezish ne gjuhe te huaja,poezi qe ju kane lene mbrese dhe poezi qe i preferoni.;)

[bunny]

The last resort

What if the test confirms my worst fear?
What if I’m sick and somebody hears?
What if it shows and they start to suspect?
What if I lose their love and respect?
What if I’m faced with seeing their pain?
What if I’ll never feel loved again?
What if we’ve spurned by the rest of our own race?
What if they make me become his wife?
What if I don’t want commitment for life?
What if my thoughts don’t find a voice?
What if I’m left without any chances?
What if I’m commended and have to abort?
What if I’ve no strength for this last resort?

[bunny]

When u grow up

If u are beautiful when u grow up we will be pleased.
And if you look like your father we will still be quite pleased.
If you are angry at the world we will understand.
If you fight us we will try not to fight you back.
If you grow up to be an artist, an airline pilot or an import-export expert that will be fine.
Shop assistant, sheep farmer, professor of palaeontology will be great.
Anything you want to be will be fine.
If you become rich and famous don’t worry. We will not be too proud to live on your money.
If you marry, marry anybody you want to, we will not mind it. It will be your decision, you will be absolutely free.
Nobody will be good enough for you anyway. Only don’t marry somebody we don’t like.
If you realise one day that your parents are idiots we hope you will tell us in the nicest possible way.
Have a good life.

Your parents.

[StormAngel]

Beauty
TV pageants had shown us
how to line up, be sorted.
I pitied the boys who had to pick us.
They must've seen those contests too.
What we saw had everything to do
with love, the promise of it.
The screen was a greedy mirror
withholding the goods,
reflecting our hunger.
Desire and denial, at once, our ration.
At school, we learned those adult dramas,
learned that our bodies could betray us.
Our teacher urging each one,
the boys chose eagerly,
shiny lips, their accusing eyes.

Kanssa Tmiri

[StormAngel]

Ice Age


The sharp face of Mt. Olympus rises
above the glacial cape wrapped around
its neck: a climber's paradise, which I'm not
skilled enough to ascend. So I hike on
a ridge on the other side of the valley,
at a lesser though still great height, balanced
between the green and white — the rain forest
below me on my left, and on my right
a glacier, blinding in the August sun.
I stop to drink and, because I'm living
a clumsy life, drop my water-bottle cap
into the bergshrund — the gap where the ice
has pulled away from the mountain wall.
What happens next? Do I go in thirst among
the rocks, or walk carefully holding my water
upright? No. Instead, I lower myself
down into the real abyss. This happened.
I down-climbed through the day. The light turned blue,
then milky white, then a dark gray. The rock
in my hands was slick from the melting glacier.
I slipped, and fell, and clung, then slipped again
and stuck. Thirty or forty feet below the surface,
the snow was black with dirt and hard. Years,
millenniums, of weather were piled above me.
Who comes back from these places? Alive, down
there I thought old world, new world, and so,
this is where the time goes. But, mostly:
what, exactly, is the stupidest thing
I've ever done? Just what was beneath me?
A frozen field, with small, unnamed flowers,
caught in the summer when the snow fell
and didn't melt. Ever. As though at the ocean
a wave came in and stayed. And then another.
And so. The water walking up its own steps.
Is it better to freeze or drown? I up-climbed;
but even in the heat and green life of the rain
forest, where mosses hang on all the trees,
I still felt cold. In my mind, snow was falling
and sticking. It starts. Again. It's starting now.

Andrew Feld

[*~Rexhina~*]

Alone
Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

[bunny]

Weather forecast!

Tomorrow if it rains. I will dance in the rain with you.
If it snows, we will make snow pancakes and eat them together.
If it is cold. I will warm myself with your smile.
If it’s hot. I will cool myself with your slow clear voice.
If there is fog. I will be happy to lose myself for a short while

[*~Rexhina~*]

A Little Girl Lost
William Blake

Children of the future age,
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time
Love, sweet love, was thought a crime.

In the age of gold,
Free from winter's cold,
Youth and maiden bright,
To the holy light,
Naked in the sunny beams delight.

Once a youthful pair,
Filled with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just removed the curtains of the night.

Then, in rising day,
On the grass they play;
Parents were afar,
Strangers came not near,
And the maiden soon forgot her fear.

Tired with kisses sweet,
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o'er heaven's deep,
And the weary tired wanderers weep.

To her father white
Came the maiden bright;
But his loving look,
Like the holy book
All her tender limbs with terror shook.

"Ona, pale and weak,
To thy father speak!
Oh the trembling fear!
Oh the dismal care
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!"

[bunny]

Amazing

Jaclyn R. Svaren

It's Amazing...
How one person can change your life
How a smile from you can erase everything bad
How life seems less scary when you're holding my hand.

It's Phenomenal...
How fate brings two strangers together
How I survived before I knew you
How, whenever I'm with you it's like a great new adventure.

It's Beautiful...
How love can be so unconditional
How learning about you is like reading my favorite story.
How loving you is so easy.

[[xeni]]

İnsan

Ya hayrandır sana
ya düşman
Ya hiç yokmuş gibi
unutulursun
Ya da bir dakka bile
çıkmazsın akıldan


Nazım Hikmet Ran

[bunny]

A PASSIONATE KISS

Gabriela

A passionate night between me and you
I can't begin to tell you the things I want to do.
First we can dim the lights and get closer.....
No, wait, that's too fast, let's go back
and move a little slower.

I'll kiss your lips that are so soft and sweet,
then move on to your cheek that's so smooth and unique.
Then I'll move right along that little ear of yours...
Whoa... my, my... let me move along your chest...
Uh, oh I missed a spot, let me move back up to the neck
As I move my tounge around and around
you start to feel it as I go down slowly
and as I kiss your chest your hands go up
...but I'm not finished yet....
I go further down towards your navel...
As I move down past your waist line I begin to kiss ....

Oh, I just wake up to realize it's a dream !
A passionate dream fueled by my deep love for you.

[bunny]

A TEAR ON MY PILLOW

David G Teves

When I lay and think, in my bed at night,
the day you'll arrive, seems nowhere in sight.
I toss and I turn, dreaming of you,
opening my eye's... checking if my dream came true.
It didn't, again, and a tear starts to roll,
weeping quietly... my pillow I hold.

Many sleepless nights I've prayed for you, my love.
God touched my soul from heaven above
He's answered my prayers for my bride to be.
I've never felt this lucky, God did this for me.
That's a question I asked each and every night.

He must think your special, Joy, and I know he's right.
No other has made me feel so complete,
my whole life was lived, just so we could meet.
All these thoughts and more going through my head.
I fall asleep not worrying, but dreaming of you... instead

[bunny]

BUTTERFLIES

Suddenly I get this feeling
My mind draws a blank
My hands are slightly shaking
My heart begins to race

I feel like I'm losing control
I'm nervous inside and out
I have an unexplainable feeling
I wish I could figure this out

These butterflies inside of me
Keep fluttering all throughout
I thought they were gone for good
I didn't know they could come out

It must be the way
You get to me like you do
The way you make me feel
The way I love you like I do...

[StormAngel]

The Gardener XI: Come As You Are


Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
If your braided hair has loosened if
the parting of your hair be not straight,
if the ribbons of your bodice be not
fastened, do not mind.
Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
Come, with quick steps over the
grass.
If the raddle come from your feet
because of the dew, of the rings of bells
upon your feet slacken, if pearls drop
out of your chain, do not mind.
Come, with quick steps over the
grass.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the
sky?
Flocks of cranes fly up from the
further river-bank and fitful gusts of
wind rush over the heath.
The anxious cattle run to their stalls
in the village.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the
sky?
In vain you light your toilet lamp
--it flickers and goes out in the
wind.
Who can know that your eyelids
have not been touched with lamp-
black? For your eyes are darker
than rain-clouds.
In vain you light your toilet lamp--
it goes out.
Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
If the wreath is not woven, who
cares; if the wrist-chain had not been
linked, let it be.
The sky is overcast with clouds--it
is late.
Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.

Rabindranath Tagore

[StormAngel]

On Seeing Yehuda Pen's Painting, "Letter from America"
She looks like my grandmother: babushka wrapped,
Face stern with care not enmity,
Dark eyes hooded,
Protecting the last vestige of private dreams.

But it cannot be my grandmother.
The letter is from America,
The land of promises to which Grandma fled
So she would not have to wear her mother's face.

In her vagabond pack of rebellion,
Had Grandma mistakenly tucked her mother's face?
Had she taken from the old world age-old forbiddance
That thwarted dream-blossoming even in new soil?

Or was Grandma, like her mother, protecting a vision,
Distant but worthy of her patience,
That allowed her to glimpse herself
As the conduit to future care-free faces?

Sonya Oppenheimer

[StormAngel]

Diaspora Women
Like curbside urchins, litter strewn
Beneath bridges and Tramways of Wanchai
Tribal encampments of Filipino women
Potlatch "Valentine Romances", Religious
blather and soft secrets,
Played out each homeless Hong Kong Sunday.
Across from the Ritz Carlton
They share their Eucharist
In plastic boxes with plastic spoons.
Six days of scullery work and breaking bread
Reward them a seventh of sad freedom.

Jean-fondled hips caressing fingers
Holding hands with lovers gone
They learn to live without them now,
While jostling at washroom doors
To preen for absent male stares

Chater street womanhood marooned by contracts
And brief-cased bullies trample them underground.
Yet these bright colours a-jumble on dead Sunday streets
Are like posters ripped off walls and forgotten

Ani Soneji

[StormAngel]

Mickey-Shaun Van Tonder
Namibia, Africa

I've been writing since I was 12 and I'm a full-time poet, but studied for a chef and had my own successful pizza business at age 22. I've written more than 750 poems and had some published by "New Authors Journal", The National Library of Poetry, South African Anthology and others. I received an Editor's Choice Award from NLP for the first poem I submitted. I've been internationally nominated for Best Poet of the Year 1996 by The International Society of Poets, of which I am a member . Other writings include: "Poet's & Poetry", a book of dreams, short stories & two erotic novels. I love the sea, wood carving, engraving, music, cooking and videos.

Christmas Snow

In my dreams I wish to stray
to white covered green pastures
in which I would lay.
Press with hands in crystal snow;
the wonder out my soul'd flow.

The enchantment and mystique
of taking part in a white Christmas;
the snowmen and games
and fluffed cotton dunes
draws me into a fantasy:

One in which I live to see;
experience the magic when looking
outside to watch snowflakes
twirling down to the ground
to chat whispers in the corners.

One day I hope to be
able my reality dream to see;
And Christmas would be more
special as innocence falls
down to cover black with white.

Route To Loving Arms

A map will guide you
on the route to loving arms.
Dreams can become softly mine;
Where love can fly
on the wings of the sky.

The heart-shaped map
of my faithful soul;
the vains the route
that you can travel
to find love you crave...

Ripping the front of
my heart out for you,
I blow it in the wind
to let it drift to you;
To make you return to me...

Follow the drops of
a bleeding love - return
before half a heart dies.
But I'd rather live with half
a hoping heart, than an aching whole.

The Mystical Spell

In the heart that magic touches,
a mystical spell drifts through that
soul to urge and drive the hand
of craft to completeness in mind -
the finishing of one precious poem.

This soul cannot live without writing,
write without living to inhale breaths
of splendor that moves not the physical,
but the spirit of the poet in his creating:
Hiding, but symbolizing the truth of fantasy

[StormAngel]

Pi Patel,a God-loving boy and the son of a zookeeper,has a fervent love of stories and practices not only his nativ Hinduism,but also Christianity and Islam.When Pi is 16,his family and their zook animals emigrate from India to North America aboard a japanese cargo ship.Alas,the ship sinks-and Pi finds himself in a lifeboat,his only companions a hyena,an orangutan,a wounded zebra and a 450-pound Bengal tiger.Soon the tiger has dispatched all but Pi.Can Pi and the tiger find their way to land?Can Pi's fear ,knowladge and cunning keep him alive till they do?

"Life of Pi could renew your faith in the ability of novelists to invest even most outrageous scenario with plausible life"- The New Yorker

"Life of Pi is a real adventure:brutal,tender,expressive,dramatic and disarmingly funny...Its difficult to stop reading when the pages run out."-San Francisco Chronicle

".......These people fail to realize that it is on the inside that God must be defend ,not on the outside.They should direct their anger at themselves.For evil in the open is but evil from within that has been let out.The main battlefield for good is not the open ground of the public arena but the small clearing of each heart.Meanwhile,the lot of windows and homless children is very hard,and it is to then defence,not God's,that the self-righteus should rush.
Once an oaf chased me away from the Great Mosque.When i went to church the priest glared at me so that i could not feel the peace of Christ.A Brahmin sometimes shooed me away form darshan.My religious doing were reported to my parents in the hushed,urgent tones of treason revealed.
As if small-mindedness did God any good.
To me,religion is about our dignity,not our depravity......"

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

[StormAngel]

From "Friday" by Robert A. Heinlein.

"It is a bad sign when the people of a country stop identifying themselves with the country and start identifying with a group. A racial group. Or a religion. Or a language. Anything, as long as it isn't the whole population."

"A very bad sign. Particularism. It was once considered a Spanish vice but any country can fall sick with it. Dominance of males over females seems to be one of the symptoms."

"Before a revolution can take place, the population must loose faith in both the police and the courts."

"... High taxation is important and so is inflation of the currency and the ratio of the productive to those on the public payroll. But that's old hat; everybody knows that a country is on the skids when its income and outgo get out of balance and stay that way - even though there are always endless attempts to wish it way by legislation. But I started looking for little signs and what some call silly-season symptoms."

"I want to mention one of the obvious symptoms: Violence. Muggings. Sniping. Arson. Bombing. Terrorism of any sort. Riots of course - but I suspect that little incidents of violence, pecking way at people day after day, damage a culture even more than riots that flare up and then die down. Oh, conscription and slavery and arbitrary compulsion of all sorts and imprisonment without bail and without speedy trial - but those things are obvious; all the histories list them."

"I think you have missed the most alarming symptom of all. This one I shall tell you. But go back and search for it. Examine it. Sick cultures show a complex of symptoms as you have named . . . But a dying culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than a riot."

"This symptom is especially serious in that an individual displaying it never thinks of it as a sign of ill health but as proof of his/her strength. Look for it. Study it. It is too late to save this culture - this worldwide culture, not just the freak show here in California. Therefore we must now prepare the monasteries for the coming Dark Age. Electronic records are too fragile; we must again have books, of stable inks and resistant paper."

[KoTeLja_VL]

Non cercatemi
nei miei silenzi
non cercatemi
se sono prigionera di un sogno
voglio restare li
dove le lacrime
si transformano in sorrisi.
Non cercatemi
fra le pagine del mio passato
sono li
per capire il mio futuro
scivolando in quei ricordi
vivo il mio presente
dove le mie parole
rimarranno i miei silenzi
dove le parole
si trovano e si perdono
ancor prima di essere
ascoltate.
Non cercatemi
Fra le lacrime del tempo
non saro piu li
Saro a vivere
il mio futuro.