Love Is...
Nowadays,
love is like a snail
moving toward a cabbage leaf.
Hate Is...
Your date, the mouse,
with his hand inching
down your blouse.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Life.....before and after meeting her.....
Life.....before and after meeting her.....
Before meeting her.....
Na gali ko daekh na gali walon ko daekh,
Sirf us ghar ko aur us may galnay walay chiragh ko daekh.
Ye chiragh tou kab se bhuja hua hai,
Wo tou sirf tera muntazir hai,
kay tou aag ban kar us kay pass aai,
aur us ko roshan kar jai.
After meeting her.......
Na gali ko daekh na gali walon ko daekh,
Sirf us ghar ko aur us may galnay walay chiragh ko daekh.
Ye chiragh tou bus bhujnay ko hai,
Wo tou sirf tera muntazir hai,
Kay tou hawa ka jhonka ban kay aai,
Aur us ko bhuja kay chali jai.
Na gali ko daekh na gali walon ko daekh,
Sirf us ghar ko aur us may galnay walay chiragh ko daekh.
Ye chiragh tou kab se bhuja hua hai,
Wo tou sirf tera muntazir hai,
kay tou aag ban kar us kay pass aai,
aur us ko roshan kar jai.
After meeting her.......
Na gali ko daekh na gali walon ko daekh,
Sirf us ghar ko aur us may galnay walay chiragh ko daekh.
Ye chiragh tou bus bhujnay ko hai,
Wo tou sirf tera muntazir hai,
Kay tou hawa ka jhonka ban kay aai,
Aur us ko bhuja kay chali jai.
Maybe just maybe.
Maybe just maybe.
The Frame
on the left table
appeared to be white
as she played
centipede in a forbidden site,
and the vines crept up!
with no one in sight!
I was dearly in fright,
for there was no one to fight!
Maybe i should be the one
in muscular tights!?
After all! my pet pup
needs to show his Might!
on the left table
appeared to be white
as she played
centipede in a forbidden site,
and the vines crept up!
with no one in sight!
I was dearly in fright,
for there was no one to fight!
Maybe i should be the one
in muscular tights!?
After all! my pet pup
needs to show his Might!
Nothing But Death
Nothing But Death
Poet: Pablo Neruda
There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.
And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.
Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.
Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.
I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.
But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.
Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.
And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.
Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.
Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.
I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.
But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.
Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.
A Prayer
A Prayer
Her name is Emily Nicole
Lord protect her from every evil
She’s special.
Her favorite colour is black and red
Lord never make her sad
Fill her with your grace
And be with her always.
Yeah, you know every night I pray
Lord make her every morning a brand new day
Give her the power to fight against all her enemies
Take away all her troubles & worries.
When she’s falling, hold her hand & lift her up
Lord make her life easy and not tough
I don’t wanna see her hurt, just don’t let it be set her free
And if you got no choice then protect her and put that on me.
Wipe off her tears (when she’s crying) I don’t wanna see her cry
Lord spread out her wings let her fly
Make all her dreams come true
In your name I pray lord I love you.
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