"gipsies" poems - Hello Poetry

Africa my Africa The giant rock on the river bank Yes! Africa the lover of her nations The giant of all continent Africa the lover of culture In Africa, culture communicates… beauty and love. Have you seen our wrappers? The magnitude of her colours is so adhering See the beauty of our caravan The movement from place to place, Yes we're gipsies! The momentum of our brotherhood And love in our diversity Africa the lover of all tribes And giver of livestocks Mama, the best in humanity and culture Let's talk about art... Have a look at our vast nature That my dear is art itself The beautiful seas of green The alluring spirits of the canvas The beauty in the artist pen Bringing out the best images in art, beauty and culture When you talk about culture and heritage, I call for your hearing... Africa Mother that won't give up her brotherhood You speak about peace and love? I'll tell you about Africa… which after many wars, still keeps her children She's a plate that dish out love and affection in her own language not minding your understanding Yes we're Africans. And we know humanity, love and culture. I don't know what part of the world you are from. But here in Africa, we speak in culture and style. Bellah.

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Dec 21, 2022

Dec 21, 2022 at 12:24 PM UTC

Bellah

Home soil

Africa my Africa The giant rock on the river bank Yes! Africa the lover of her nations The giant of all continent Africa the lover of culture In Africa, culture communicates… beauty and love. Have you seen our wrappers? The magnitude of her colours is so adhering See the beauty of our caravan The movement from place to place, Yes we're gipsies! The momentum of our brotherhood And love in our diversity Africa the lover of all tribes And giver of livestocks Mama, the best in humanity and culture Let's talk about art... Have a look at our vast nature That my dear is art itself The beautiful seas of green The alluring spirits of the canvas The beauty in the artist pen Bringing out the best images in art, beauty and culture When you talk about culture and heritage, I call for your hearing... Africa Mother that won't give up her brotherhood You speak about peace and love? I'll tell you about Africa… which after many wars, still keeps her children She's a plate that dish out love and affection in her own language not minding your understanding Yes we're Africans. And we know humanity, love and culture. I don't know what part of the world you are from. But here in Africa, we speak in culture and style. Bellah.

35

I passed the new york in your eyes notriously before ever really speaking the language that they shrieked the rigourus dimensions the pale fingers speak Im crisp as the apple giving birth to her death send your signals to me fly seas dance in breeze remember the ****** when in her blackened tongue she speaks fragility giving birth to her gritty skeletons came to me one night and begged me to breathe poetically told me it was me the universe seeks not who they said I was but to shed the hiding technique the ill and sly words in my tongue raging to leak the ordained freak and the memories laying in the back of my mind somewhere, those those real antiques Im a princess in the world of words itself and the universe is my boutique I brush the pink smile upon my cheek and I grab what I want with the strength of ease to my side I kick those ordinary bullies and now Im watching them burn in the lowest average of these cities I let my hair grow wear bright colors and dance the dance of the gipsies I take life back further than the fifties then further then the thirties I run to the cemetary and mingle with that one zombie the one who I let go of and let him explain to me the details of my hidden worries he tells me to let them go I shoot the fatigued oldness in the heart with the spine of my arrow I make loves to all my shadows I hallow in my very mellow state of mind my intrinsic phsyco my cronic rainbow I dont need your superfiality because as human I have won the mental lotto

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Oct 30, 2010

Oct 30, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC

midnight-prague

a lucky hand

I passed the new york in your eyes notriously before ever really speaking the language that they shrieked the rigourus dimensions the pale fingers speak Im crisp as the apple giving birth to her death send your signals to me fly seas dance in breeze remember the ****** when in her blackened tongue she speaks fragility giving birth to her gritty skeletons came to me one night and begged me to breathe poetically told me it was me the universe seeks not who they said I was but to shed the hiding technique the ill and sly words in my tongue raging to leak the ordained freak and the memories laying in the back of my mind somewhere, those those real antiques Im a princess in the world of words itself and the universe is my boutique I brush the pink smile upon my cheek and I grab what I want with the strength of ease to my side I kick those ordinary bullies and now Im watching them burn in the lowest average of these cities I let my hair grow wear bright colors and dance the dance of the gipsies I take life back further than the fifties then further then the thirties I run to the cemetary and mingle with that one zombie the one who I let go of and let him explain to me the details of my hidden worries he tells me to let them go I shoot the fatigued oldness in the heart with the spine of my arrow I make loves to all my shadows I hallow in my very mellow state of mind my intrinsic phsyco my cronic rainbow I dont need your superfiality because as human I have won the mental lotto

43

An artists life is blue When its mind is red A gipsies say is true When you're already dead. A smiley can be sad and crying can be good A life can be pointless If you can't see where you stood. A world can be square and a line can be straight. It's a neverending line, because you are affraid. Affraid of the face of blue And the colour of red Affraid to see you Affraid of the dead.

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Nov 7, 2019

Nov 7, 2019 at 11:36 PM UTC

Keiri

Red and Blue

An artists life is blue When its mind is red A gipsies say is true When you're already dead. A smiley can be sad and crying can be good A life can be pointless If you can't see where you stood. A world can be square and a line can be straight. It's a neverending line, because you are affraid. Affraid of the face of blue And the colour of red Affraid to see you Affraid of the dead.

16