Krijimtari te ndryshme ne gjuhe te huaj

[KoTeLja_VL]

Mi sentivo perso in questo mare della vita, le onde s'infrangevano contro gli scogli del mio orgoglio, volevo fuggire lontano dal mare, lontano dalla terra, lontano da tutto, ma una voce mi chiamò e mi disse:"Resta con me, anch\'io mi sento sola!" Rimasi un istante a pensare, tentennando non sapevo cosa fare, ma la voce mi prese per mano e, scaldandomi il cuore, mi portò in un luogo dove vi era la pace. Mi sentii rinascere e non volevo più fuggire via, volevo solo restare lì.Allora compresi che quella era la voce dell'AMORE

[KoTeLja_VL]

I hold a feeling deep inside,
A feeling I must always hide.

A wish that you would love me, too,
The way that I do love you.

But this emotion must never be told,
Because you have someone you hold...

Someone you love and care for deeply,
While I long for you discreetly.

So I will put this love away and seal it,
And hope that someday you will feel it...

What I feel for you, my love,
And then I'll thank the stars above.

I'll thank them for making me as happy as can be,
And for making the one I love, love me!

[Era1]

PABLO NERUDA

ME FALTA tiempo para celebrar tus cabellos.
Uno por uno debo contarlos y alabarlos:
otros amantes quieren vivir con ciertos ojos,
yo sólo quiero ser tu peluquero.

En Italia te bautizaron Medusa
por la encrespada y alta luz de tu cabellera.
Yo te llamo chascona mía y enmarañada:
mi corazón conoce las puertas de tu pelo.

Cuando tú te extravíes en tus propios cabellos,
no me olvides, acuérdate que te amo,
no me dejes perdido ir sin tu cabellera

por el mundo sombrío de todos los caminos
que sólo tiene sombra, transitorios dolores,
hasta que el sol sube a la torre de tu pelo.


AMIGA NO TE MUERES

Amiga, no te mueras.
Oyeme estas palabras que me salen ardiendo,
y que nadie diria si yo no las dijera.
Amiga, no te mueras.
Yo soy el que te espera en la estrellada noche.
El que bajo el sangriento sol poniente te espera.
Miro caer los frutos en la tierra sombria.
Miro bailar las gotas del rocio en las hierbas.
En la noche al espeso perfume de las rosas,
cuando danza la ronda de las sombras inmensas.
Bajo el cielo del Sur, el que te espera cuando
el aire de la tarde como una boca besa.
Amiga, no te mueras.
Yo soy el que corto las guirnaldas rebeldes
para el lecho selvatico fragante a sol y a selva.
El que trajo en los brazos jacintos amarillos.
Y rosas desgarradas. Y amapolas sangrientas.
El que cruzo los brazos por esperarte, ahora.
El que quebro sus arcos. El que doblo sus flechas.
Yo soy el que en los labios guarda sabor de uvas.
Racimos refregados. Mordeduras bermejas.
El que te llama desde las llanuras brotadas.
Yo soy el que en la hora del amor te desea.
El aire de la tarde cimbra las ramas altas.
Ebrio, mi corazon. bajo Dios, tambalea.
El rio desatado rompe a llorar y a veces
se adelgaza su voz y se hace pura y tremula.
Retumba, atardecida, la queja azul del agua.
Amiga, no te mueras!
Yo soy el que te espera en la estrellada noche,
sobre las playas aureas, sobre las rubias eras.
El que corto jacintos para tu lecho, y rosas.
Tendido entre las hierbas yo soy el que te espera!
Es cierto, amada mia, hermana mia, es cierto!
Como las bestias grises que en los potreros pastan,
y en los potreros se aman, como las bestias grises!
Como las castas ebrias que poblaron la tierra
matandose y amandose, como las castas ebrias!
Como el latido de las corolas abiertas
dividiendo la joya futura de la siembra,
como el latido de las corolas abiertas!
Empujado por los designios de la tierra
como una ola en el mar hacia ti va mi cuerpo.
Y tu, en tu carne, encierras
las pupilas sedientas con que mirare cuando
estos ojos que tengo se me llenen de tierra.

[StormAngel]

Edgar Alan Poe-The Tell-Tale Heart

TRUE! - nervous - very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses - not destroyed - not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily - how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture - a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees - very gradually - I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded - with what caution - with what foresight - with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it - oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly - very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously - cautiously (for the hinges creaked) - I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights - every night just at midnight - but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

[StormAngel]

Edgar Alan Poe-Berenice


Dicebant mihi sodales, si sepulchrum amicae visitarem, curas meas aliquantulum forelevatas.

- Ebn Zaiat.

MISERY is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is multiform. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow, its hues are as various as the hues of that arch - as distinct too, yet as intimately blended. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow! How is it that from beauty I have derived a type of unloveliness? - from the covenant of peace, a simile of sorrow? But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are, have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been.

My baptismal name is Egaeus; that of my family I will not mention. Yet there are no towers in the land more time-honored than my gloomy, gray, hereditary halls. Our line has been called a race of visionaries; and in many striking particulars - in the character of the family mansion - in the frescos of the chief saloon - in the tapestries of the dormitories - in the chiselling of some buttresses in the armory - but more especially in the gallery of antique paintings - in the fashion of the library chamber - and, lastly, in the very peculiar nature of the library's contents - there is more than sufficient evidence to warrant the belief.

The recollections of my earliest years are connected with that chamber, and with its volumes - of which latter I will say no more. Here died my mother. Herein was I born. But it is mere idleness to say that I had not lived before - that the soul has no previous existence. You deny it? - let us not argue the matter. Convinced myself, I seek not to convince. There is, however, a remembrance of aerial forms - of spiritual and meaning eyes - of sounds, musical yet sad - a remembrance which will not be excluded; a memory like a shadow - vague, variable, indefinite, unsteady; and like a shadow, too, in the impossibility of my getting rid of it while the sunlight of my reason shall exist.

[AngelGirl]

Northern Line

Some people might like to get a train to work
Or drive in, in a Beemer or a Merc
Some guys like to travel in by bus
But i can't be bothered with the fuss
Today i gotta take my bike
Cos once again the Tube's on strike
The greedy b*****ds want extra pay
for sitting on their a**e all day
Even though they earn 30k.
So im standing here in the pouring rain
where the fcuk is my fcuking train?!

London Underground!!! By Adam Kay and Suman Biswas (Tune by Paul Weller)

Kjo eshte nje poem e shkruar dhe kenduar nga ata me siper, dhe flet per trenat (underground) ne Londer, sepse transporti eshte jashtmase i poshter. Eshte e shkruar ne Metro Paper, por me pelqeu dhe me kujtoj kur po punoja vjet dhe me duhej te perdorja underground, mezor mund te zesh nje vend ne tren ngaqe platforma eshte e mbushur plot me njerez qe presin te shkojne ne pun. Neqofse 5min me vones te dalesh nga usual time dije se ne pun do shkosh 1 ore me vones, per arsye se do jesh mrapa te gjithve na platform dhe duhet te presesh te kalojn nja 3 trena per te kaput te 4-ertin i cili do ket ven per ty :D

[StormAngel]

Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the {AE}gean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

[Black`Angel]

Il aimait la mort, et ses sombres promesses,
Avenir incertain d'un garçon en détresse,
Il voulait mourir, laisser partir sa peine,
Oublier tous les jours à la même rengaine...

Elle aimait la vie, heureuse d'exister,
Voulais aider les gens et puis grandir en paix,
C'était un don du ciel, toujours souriante,
Fleurs et nature, qu'il pleuve ou qu'il vente.

Mais un beau jour, la chute commença,
Ils tombèrent amoureux, mauvais choix,
Elle aimait la vie et il aimait la mort,
Qui d'entre les deux allait être le plus fort ?

Ils s'aimaient tellement, ils auraient tout sacrifié,
Amis et famille, capables de tout renier,
Tout donner pour s'aimer, tel était leur or,
Mais elle aimait la vie et il aimait la mort...

Si différents et pourtant plus proches que tout,
Se comprenant pour protéger un amour fou,
L'un ne rêvait que de mourir et de s'envoler,
L'autre d'une vie avec lui, loin des atrocités...

Fin de l'histoire: obligés de se séparer,
Ils s'étaient promis leur éternelle fidélité,
Aujourd'hui, le garçon torturé vit pour elle,
Puisque la fille, pour lui, a rendu ses ailes...

Il aimait la mort,
Elle aimait la vie,
Il vivait pour elle,
Elle est morte pour lui.

[Soul`Silence]

Nice Black Angel Duket qe je Poete :D

[Black`Angel]

il n'y a pas plus lourds des poids pour mon ame que le fait de ne pas ou ne plus savoir ce que je dois faire...me voilà avec toutes mes idées noires qui me harcélent et qui ne veulent pas me quitter...j'attends avec tous ce qu'il me faut, avec mes faiblesses ainsi que toutes mes espérances sur le port de mes souffrances le voyage de mon ame.
là bas et pas trés loin, je vois la barque du bonheur qui me donne son dos et se dirige vers l'autre coté de la riviére en me laissant derriére elle sous un ciel gris sombre, dans mon silence qui ne fait qu'etouffer le plaisir de mon existance...donc j'ai ramassé toutes mes valises d'éspérances...j'ai donné aussi mon dos à l'autre coté de la riviére pour me diriger vers ma tristesse qui m'attendait depuis quelque temps sans impatience, on dirait qu'elle savait que je vais revenir...elle savait qu'elle est mon destin, mon univers....
alors je me suis dirigé vers elle et je lui ai dis:"salut chére tristesse, c'est à toi que je m'adresse..c'est toi qui me cherche et me voilà je te baise."