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Many years ago I was living with depression
And all I wanted was just to be alone
But now I found myself smiling with no reason
Funny that sometimes you're in my imagination
Ma. Cristina Colima
It maybe just one word to hear
But so effective like a medicine
Imagine if a person is sad, a smile
could turn his whole day around
Ma. Cristina Colima
The room is full of you!-As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!-
Edna St. Vincent Millay
What language do you speak
To instruct the sky to stay meek,
With which you sweeten the lovely air.
Wouldst thou be taught, when sleep has taken flight,
By a sure voice that can most sweetly tell,
How far off yet a glimpse of morning light,
And if to lure the truant back be well,
Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
Listen keenly and you will hear the words of my song.
Look closely and you will see the beauty within me.
Great White Buffalo
I am at a crossroads.
Surrounded with people, yet alone.
Ambiguous and confused, for sure.
Not clear about my future,
10 years experience in carpentry, could speak it now,
Believed by every customer like Dulla mapajero the mechanic,
Formalities give us too many theories to tell, than what reality world is
Don't deny it’s helpful to majority, professorial of Shivji once quoted Sokoine the PM
An Eastern Ballad
I speak of love that comes to mind:
The moon is faithful, although blind;
She moves in thought she cannot speak.
Perfect care has made her bleak.
What I Miss
I miss the taste of wine,
Cakes with cherries on top.
I miss the dust on a line
Which never seemed enough.
The Norman Boy
High on a broad unfertile tract of forest-skirted Down,
Nor kept by Nature for herself, nor made by man his own,
From home and company remote and every playful joy,
Served, tending a few sheep and goats, a ragged Norman Boy.
Now while my lips are living
Their words must stay unsaid,
And will my soul remember
To speak when I am dead?
IT is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
Among the dwellers in the silent fields
The natural heart is touched, and public way
And crowded street resound with ballad strains,
Inspired by one whose very name bespeaks
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
55 Years Of His Existence.
There is blood, There is blood.
In that blood he sees 55 years of his existence.
Blood graces the white floor just as failure graces his existence.
He look long back in his life, He sees a 16 year old to love his loved ones forever.
My death is an excuse,
Some sleepy sleeping people have to wake up.
Mother, do not think that the red will hang on you hanging on the hanging, you just see how many young people will bleed the cold by watching them hang on a hanging trap.
Even after my death, Iqbalab will speak every stroke of my blood's blood.
Lost Ln My Loneliness
loneliness, oh loneliness,
There is one word I want to say
But who to listen to me is my problem.
People say I have nothing important to say
I Wish I Could
I wish I could Get you,
I don't know how much this heart wants you all the time,
Feel Your Presence Everywhere,Where you are not there,
Always think to See you Again with that Shiny little Rain,
Speak loud speak speak speak
Don’t speak at all
Breathe out breathe breathe breathe
Don’t breathe at all
Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too,
And the daft sun-assaulter, he
That frightened thee so oft, is fled or dead:
Save only me
Mama, Our teacher taught us A to Z
And Papa bought me a pen and paper
And our letter to you, papa's and mine
I write as my first test of writing
WHAT does it all mean anyway,
Noise of cannon and boom of gun,
Deafening, colorful fire display
Starting in with the rising sun?
Edgar Albert Guest
My wife is beautiful
Beautiful not in appearance,
Appearance can be beautify,
Beautify with surgery.
The forest ended. Glad I was
To feel the light, and hear the hum
Of bees, and smell the drying grass
And the sweet mint, because I had come
Why I'm Glad
I'M glad I have a wife at home
That's patient, kind and true;
I 'm glad a little tot of three
At home waits for me, too;
Edgar Albert Guest
Venus And Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
I Thought You Were Mine
On the first day we met
I knew that you were my soulmate
Everytime you look into my eyes,
I couldn't speak I'd feel butterflies in my tummy....
The anniversary of great heroes were observed,
For their unwavering service,
Thinking for the good causes,
Scarifying ones happiness on others.
She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is wound in mine,
She has the form of my hands,
She has the colour of my eyes,
Song At Sunset
Splendor of ended day, floating and filling me!
Hour prophetic-hour resuming the past!
Inflating my throat-you, divine average!
You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing.