Ci sono matrimoni ipnotizzante e poi ci sono i matrimoni ipnotizzante.Una giornata così magico che si deve letteralmente smettere di tutti gli altri obblighi per immergersi in ogni ultimo istante della bella .Questo è uno di quei matrimoni.A chiudere la porta .il silenzio al telefono .sollevare i talloni dal tipo di scrivania vicenda che merita veramente la vostra attenzione .Un matrimonio che brilla dalla testa



ai piedi con dettagli contemporanei Fleurs \u0026Coriandoli e stelle filanti .yummy tratta di Sug'art e un Centro des sciences de l'impostazione Montreal che vi toglierà il fiato .Vedi tutto catturato da Isabelle Paille proprio qui.nella piena galleria .
Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSeasonsSpringSettingsMuseumUrban SpaceStylesModernWhimsical

Da Isabelle Paille .Questo particolare matrimonio primaverile amo.perché l'equilibrio della città e del verde .di un luogo industriale decorato con calore in tutte le cose capriccio .di una storia d'amore che è tutto molto urbano .ma con tutto il fascino classico ad esso .E ' così equilibrato come questa coppia è .e la preparazione di questo matrimonio con loro è stato a dir poco un sogno !

Lo spazio moderno e industriale era la tela perfetta bianca .con .di notte .una vista mozzafiato sulla abiti da sposa on line città .Gli inviti sono stati fatti in uno stile moderno ma con colori sorbetto aggiunti .giallo.verde e un po 'di pesca !Tavoli da refettorio sono stati abiti da sposa on line utilizzati drappeggiato in bianco .con sedie pieghevoli bianche pure .per dare un aspetto festoso e fresco .Fiori di primavera gialli come i tulipani sono stati usati abbondantemente.così come lo zucchero coperto i limoni .come segnaposto .Gli elementi di arredo sono semplici e freschi sui tavoli degli ospiti.richiamando l'attenzione sulla sposa e dello sposo tabella che è stata decorata abbondantemente .La tabella dolce è stato un enorme successo too.This matrimonio era assolutamente incantevole .dall'inizio alla fine .con tanti dettagli e rifiniture che ha reso gli ospiti giallo con invidia !E un anno dopo .i clienti sono ancora riferendosi ad esso come il matrimonio Science Center.

Fotografia : vestiti da sposa Isabelle Paille | Floral Design : Fleurs \u0026 Confetti | Abito da sposa : Anne Jean Michel | Cake: Dolci Pi | Cupcakes : Itsi Bitsi | Inviti : Fleurs \u0026 Confetti | Scarpe : Tenere Renfrew | Rosticcerie : Robert Alexis | Cookies :Sug'art | Event Design + Pianificazione : Fleurs \u0026 Confetti | Albergo : w hotel Montreal | vacanze : Bravo | Wedding Venue : Centre des Sciences de
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She cried herself
To sleep at night,
Trying so hard
To find the light.

Her sister went to parties
Rarely feeling lonely,
Leaving a hurting Isabelle
Quietly hiding in her shell.

A fire raged within her
But afraid of going unheard,
She kept away,
Ran far away.

Her daddy went to strip clubs
And always came home drunk,
Her skin bore bruises
Only thorns, no roses.

Her mama went to church
For, she was also hurt;
The man she loved
Beat her up.

Her friends were all so pretty
They caught everyone's eye;
But she was so lonely
Caught in a web of lies.

The ones who said
They loved her,
Only built her walls
Up higher.

She felt betrayed,
Unwanted waste;
Tears in her eyes,
She was asking "Why?"

I found a crouching Isabelle,
She was going through hell.
I picked her up
And gave her hope.

Now she's strong,
She was wrong;
She's not worthless
She's not a mess.

Somewhere in there,
In love I fell;
Now she is my Isabelle.

Isang karangalan ang pagiging *** laude para sa isang mag aaral. Karangalan na siyang hinahangad ng karamihan ngunit iilan lamang ang nagkakamit. Isa sa mga nagkamit nito ay si Hannah Isabelle D. Mendez. Ngunit sino nga ba si Hannah?Isang mag-aaral mula sa URSC na kumukuha ng kursong BSIT. Gusto mo bang mas kilalanin pa natin siya? Halina’t samahan mo ko.
Kanyang pinanggalingan...
Si Hannah ay ipinanganak noong Agosto 21, 1997. Bunsong anak sa dalawang magkakapatid nina Cristeo at Girlie Mendez. Simple lang ang naging buhay ni Hannah. Lumaking mabait, masipag at may takot sa Diyos kahit na mula siya sa isang 'broken family'. Naghiwalay ang kanyang mga magulang nang siya ay nasa ikatlong baitang. Masasabing hindi madali ito para sa kanya dahil nais niya ay buo at masayang pamilya ang makakasama niya ngunit sa pagsisikap at pagtitiyaga ng kanyang ina, naging matatag at matapang si Hannah.
Kanyang hilig…
Si Hannah ay mahilig magsulat, manuod ng mga pelikula at magbasa lalo na ang mga libro na akda ni Colleen Hoover. Ang pagbabasa ang naging pampalipas oras niya at nakakapagpasaya sa kanya. Maraming bagay ang kanyang natutunan bunga ng kanyang pagbabasa at isa ito sa naging dahilan ng kanyang mga kaalaman na nagdala sa kanya ngayon bilang *** laude.
Simula ng hamon bilang mag-aaral…
Noong bata pa si hannah, wala siyang interes sa pag-aaral. Tulad ng ibang kabataan, kasiyahan lang ang kanyang hinangad pero dahil sa kanyang naging **** noong elementarya, naging bukas ang kanyang isipan sa pag-aaral.
Nakapagtapos siya ng elementarya ng may medalya bilang ikalawang karangalang banggit, sumali sa iba't ibang kompetisyon tulad ng Nutri Quiz Bee - 4th place, Hekasi Quiz Bee -2nd place (Elementary, District level) at sa Highschool 15th place sa Sports Page (RSPC) 1st place Drama fest (School level) journalist at naging presidente ng isang organisasyon noong hayskul.
Sa pagtuntong ng kolehiyo, naipagpatuloy niya ang kanyang pagiging aktibo. Nahalal siya bilang kalihim (S.Y.2015-2016), pangalawang pangulo (S.Y. 2016-2017) at 4th year representative (S.Y. 2017-2018) ng BITS Organization. Naging miyembro din siya ng KASALI Organization taong 2014-2018.
Nang tanungin siya kung paano niya nagagawang pagsabayin school activities at academics, simple lang ang naging sagot niya, “Basta masaya ka sa ginagawa mo, magagawa mo lahat at naniniwala kase ako sa ibinigay sayo yung bagay na yun dahil kaya mo".
*** laude…
Hindi naging madali kay Hannah ang maabot kung anong mayroon siya ngayon. Dumating siya sa puntong hindi na niya alam kung ano ang uunahin. Nariyan ang school works, church duties, family problems at dagdag pa ang mga nagsasabing hindi niya kaya ang kursong IT pero kalaunan napamahal na siya dito. Goal na ni Hannah maging *** laude pero hindi niya ineexpect na makukuha niya ang karangalang ito.
“Sobrang saya dahil ipinagpanata ko ito sabi ko kung para po sa’ken ito, Kayo (Ama) na po ang bahala and then nung nalaman ko na isa ako sa *** laude, hindi ko alam gusto kong sumigaw sa galak, sobrang nakaka—overwhelm.”, wika niya.
Tanging inspirasyon niya ang kanyang pamilya para makapagtapos at maabot ang lahat ng kanyang pangarap.
"When the opportunity knocks on your door, always be willing to give it a chance, 'yan lagi nasa isip ko para wala akong pagsisisihan at always give your best shot sa lahat ng ginagawa mo", wika niya ng may halong ngiti sa kanyang labi.
Tunay ngang nakakagalak ang kanyang pagsusumikap upang makamit ang kanyang minimithi. Mula sa buong pamilya ng URSC, proud kami sa iyong pagdadala ng karangalan!

In Hebrew, her name means devoted to God
She was consecrated,
An oath to God
But she never fulfilled her purpose, for she went astray
Endless and countless sins, undeniably a sinner
Living not according to the Almighty's will, but
Living according to her choice, so
Expect her to be, both good and bad


Imperfect she is, but it is what makes her human
Special, she may not be, but still out of the ordinary


Many times she was lost
Yet, still managed to be found


Not wanting to be astray, again she trusted the invisible hand
Afraid of what might she become, again she started to pray
Miserably she asked for His guidance,
E*nlightened, her faith restored, and now trying to serve her purpose

The wind grew chill on a summer’s day
And the clouds built up outside,
‘It looks like a storm is coming our way,’
Said the folk of Ezra’s Pride,
The sea rose up in a mighty swirl
And it swamped their coastal town,
‘I think there’s something wrong with the world,’
Said the blacksmith, Helmut Brown.

He left the forge as the fire went out
Under the tidal surge,
And looked to heaven as folk would shout
‘The sea and the sky have merged.’
For the clouds above were purple and gold
The horizon coloured the same,
The ground beneath had rumbled and groaned
As it came, the pelting rain.

He went to look for his Isabelle
In the cottage down by the shore,
The water there was draining away
Then it hit the eaves once more,
And she clung onto the cottage roof
Where it swept her there in fright,
She cried to Helmut, ‘Just get me down,
I fear for my life tonight.’

So he took her down in his brawny arms
And he waded through the flood,
‘I’ll keep you safe from the world’s alarms,’
As he walked through seas of mud,
He walked her up to the higher ground
As the lightning lit the sky,
‘I’ll not let anything happen to you
For in truth, I’d rather die.’

But then the ground had opened up
In a crevice, ten feet deep,
And he was parted from Isabelle,
Who stood on the side more steep,
‘How can I come on back to you,’
The love of his life had cried,
As he stood still as the crevice grew
So wide, on the other side.

‘The world is trying to tell us things,
It’s tearing us all apart,
Perhaps we haven’t been kind to it,
It’s punishing us, sweetheart.’
And she had moaned, his Isabelle,
Stood out in the pouring rain,
‘Well what have I ever done to it?
The planet is going insane.’

Then the thunder growled up overhead,
As if to refute a lie,
‘It’s you who are insane,’ it said,
‘Get ready to say goodbye.’
And a lava flow came down the hill
In a stream, and glowing red,
‘Don’t let it come near you, Isabelle,
Just a touch, and you’ll be dead.’

We’ll leave them there on that distant hill
Where the world keeps them apart,
‘Why should you be untouched,’ it said,
‘When you folk have broken my heart.
You have drilled through me, and spilled on me,
And have fouled my lakes and seas,
Why should I leave your perfect love
When I’m filled with your disease?’

David Lewis Paget

Oh Isabelle, by the time you have read this letter, I will be gone.
Don’t fill up Styx with your celestial tears, dolorous darling.
I was always the heavy volume between dark and light, never the heavens you imagined.
But the tiny fragments of shimmer you saw in space.
I was the Sun, Polaris, Sirius and Vega
You insist to give me a name and meaning
I was Orion, Taurus, Aries, Andromeda,
No longer the withered blossoms of stars

Sonorous darling, there is not much to say
but that I am no longer yours
No longer the array of constellations you made of me

I belong to another
Another Celeste, another Corona
Perhaps I never was the constant Sun
I was the shifting heavens, the voracious tides on Neptune

And now I’m no longer yours
Rising from my astral birth, Im no longer yours.

Oft in My Thought
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

So often in my busy mind I sought,
    Around the advent of the fledgling year,
For something pretty that I really ought
    To give my lady dear;
    But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear,
        Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay
    And robbed the world of all that's precious here—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

For me to keep my manner and my thought
    Acceptable, as suits my age's hour?
While proving that I never once forgot
    Her worth? It tests my power!
    I serve her now with masses and with prayer;
        For it would be a shame for me to stray
    Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost
and the cost of everything became so dear;
Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host,
    Take my good deeds, as many as there are,
    And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere,
        As heaven's truest maid! And may I say:
    Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

When I praise her, or hear her praises raised,
I recall how recently she brought me pleasure;
    Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay
And makes me wish to dress for my own bier—
    God keep her soul, I can no better say.



Le Primtemps (“Spring” or “Springtime”)
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Young lovers,
greeting the spring
fling themselves downhill,
making cobblestones ring
with their wild leaps and arcs,
like ecstatic sparks
struck from coal.

What is their brazen goal?

They grab at whatever passes,
so we can only hazard guesses.
But they rear like prancing steeds
raked by brilliant spurs of need,
Young lovers.



Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains,
Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain,
Your little feet—please, what more can I say?

It is my fetish when you’re far away
To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain—
Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains.

So would I beg you, if I only may,
To see such sights as I before have seen,
Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene?
I’ll be obsessed until my dying day
By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains!



In My Imagined Book
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In my imagined Book
my heart endeavored to explain
its history of grief, and pain,
illuminated by the tears
that welled to blur those well-loved years
of former happiness's gains,
in my imagined Book.

Alas, where should the reader look
beyond these drops of sweat, their stains,
all the effort & pain it took
& which I recorded night and day
in my imagined Book?



The next three poems are interpretations of "Le temps a laissé son manteau" ("The season has cast off his mantle"). This famous rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his Trois chansons de France.

The season has cast its coat aside
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

The season has cast its coat aside
of wind and cold and rain,
to dress in embroidered light again:
bright sunlight, fit for a bride!

There isn't a bird or beast astride
that fails to sing this sweet refrain:
"The season has cast its coat aside!"

Now rivers, fountains, springs and tides
dressed in their summer best
with silver beads impressed
in a fine display now glide:
the season has cast its coat aside!

Winter has cast his cloak away
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Winter has cast his cloak away
of wind and cold and chilling rain
to dress in embroidered light again:
the light of day—bright, festive, gay!

Each bird and beast, without delay,
in its own tongue, sings this refrain:
"Winter has cast his cloak away!"

Brooks, fountains, rivers, streams at play,
wear, with their summer livery,
bright beads of silver jewelry.
All the Earth has a new and fresh display:
Winter has cast his cloak away!

The year lays down his mantle cold
by Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

The year lays down his mantle cold
of wind, chill rain and bitter air,
and now goes clad in clothes of gold
of smiling suns and seasons fair,

while birds and beasts of wood and fold
now with each cry and song declare:
"The year lays down his mantle cold!"

All brooks, springs, rivers, seaward rolled,
now pleasant summer livery wear
with silver beads embroidered where
the world puts off its raiment old.
The year lays down his mantle cold.



Confession of a Stolen Kiss
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you,
That at a window (you know how)
I stole a kiss of great sweetness,
Which was done out of avidness—
But it is done, not undone, now.

My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you.

But I shall restore it, doubtless,
Again, if it may be that I know how;
And thus to God I make a vow,
And always I ask forgiveness.

My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you.



Fair Lady Without Peer
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fair Lady, without peer, my plea,
Is that your grace will pardon me,
Since I implore, on bended knee.
           No longer can I, privately,
Keep this from you: my deep distress,
When only you can comfort me,
For I consider you my only mistress.

This powerful love demands, I fear,
That I confess things openly,
Since to your service I came here
And my helpless eyes were forced to see
Such beauty gods and angels cheer,
Which brought me joy in such excess
That I became your servant, gladly,
For I consider you my only mistress.

Please grant me this great gift most dear:
to be your vassal, willingly.
May it please you that, now, year by year,
I shall serve you as my only Liege.
I bend the knee here—true, sincere—
Unfit to beg one royal kiss,
Although none other offers cheer,
For I consider you my only mistress.



Chanson: Let Him Refrain from Loving, Who Can
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let him refrain from loving, who can.
I can no longer hover.
I must become a lover.
What will become of me, I know not.

Although I’ve heard the distant thought
that those who love all suffer,
I must become a lover.
I can no longer refrain.

My heart must risk almost certain pain
and trust in Beauty, however distraught.
For if a man does not love, then what?
Let him refrain from loving, who can.



Chanson: The Summer's Heralds
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers
And carpet fields once brown and sere
With lush green grasses and fresh flowers.

Now over gleaming lawns appear
The bright sun-dappled lengthening hours.

The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers.

Faint hearts once chained by sullen fear
No longer shiver, tremble, cower.
North winds no longer storm and glower.
For winter has no business here.



Her Beauty
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Her beauty, to the world so plain,
Still intimately held my heart in thrall
And so established her sole reign:
She was, of Good, the cascading fountain.
Thus of my Love, lost recently,
I say, while weeping bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”

In ages past when angels fell
The world grew darker with the stain
Of their dear blood, then became hell
While poets wept a tearful strain.
Yet, to his dark and drear domain
Death took his victims, piteously,
So that we bards write bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”

Death comes to claim our angels, all,
as well we know, and spares no pain.
          Over our pleasures, Death casts his pall,
Then without joy we “living” remain.
Death treats all Love with such disdain!
What use is this world? For it seems to me,
It has neither Love, nor Pity.
Thus, “We cleave to this strange world in vain.”



Traitorous Eye
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do you have in view?
Without civil warning, you spy,
And no one ever knows why!

Who understands anything you do?
You’re rash and crass in your boldness too,
And your lewdness is hard to subdue.
Change your crude ways, can’t you?

Traitorous eye, what’s new?
You should be beaten through and through
With a stripling birch strap or two.
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do have you in view?



The First Valentine Poem

Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465), a French royal, the grandchild of Charles V, and the Duke of Orleans, has been credited with writing the first Valentine card, in the form of a poem for his wife. Charles wrote the poem in 1415 at age 21, in the first year of his captivity while being held prisoner in the Tower of London after having been captured by the British at the Battle of Agincourt.

My Very Gentle Valentine
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My very gentle Valentine,
Alas, for me you were born too soon,
As I was born too late for you!
May God forgive my jailer
Who has kept me from you this entire year.
I am sick without your love, my dear,
My very gentle Valentine.



BIO: Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465) was a French royal born into an aristocratic family: his grandfather was Charles V of France and his uncle was Charles VI. His father, Louis I, Duke of Orleans, was a patron of poets and artists. The poet Christine de Pizan dedicated poems to his mother, Valentina Visconti. He became the Duke of Orleans at age 13 after his father was murdered by John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. He was captured at age 21 in the battle of Agincourt and taken to England, where he remained a prisoner for the next quarter century. While imprisoned there he learned English and wrote poetry of a high order in his second language. A master of poetic forms, he wrote primarily ballades, chansons, complaints and rondeaux. He has been called the “father of French lyric poetry” and has also been credited with writing the first Valentine’s Day poem.



Charles d'Orleans Timeline/Chronology

1394 - Charles is born in Paris on Nov. 24, 1394, the first son to survive infancy of Louis of Orleans, the brother of Charles VI, and Valentina Visconti of Milan.
1406 - Charles, age 11, marries his cousin Isabelle, age 16, the daughter of Charles VI and Queen Isabeau of France, and the widow of Richard II of England.
1407 - The day before Charles's 13th birthday his father Louis d'Orleans is assassinated in Paris by Burgundians under John the Fearless, on Nov. 23, 1407.
1408 - Charles's mother dies at Blois at age 38 on December 4, 1408; Charles becomes Duke of Orleans at age 14.
1409 - Isabelle bears Charles a daughter, Jeanne, but dies within a few days on Sept. 13, 1409; Charles turns 15 the next month.
1410 - Charles marries Bonne, age 11, the daughter of Bernard, count of Armagnac, and niece of the duke of Berry, on August 15, 1410.
1412 - Charles sends his brother Jean, age 12, to England as a hostage in the custody of the duke of Clarence, on November 14, 1412.
1415 - Charles is captured at the battle of Agincourt on Oct. 25, 1415 and is taken prisoner to England, just in time for his 21st birthday.
1416 - Charles is initially held in the Tower of London.
1417 - In June Charles is sent to Pontefract (Yorks), in custody of Robert Waterton.
1427 - Joan of Arc, supported by Charles's brother Jean, the Count of Dunois, takes up the cause of freeing France from English control.
1429 - Henry VI of England is crowned at age eight.
1431 - Henry VI is crowned king of France in the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris; Joan of Arc is burned at the stake.
1432 - Charles's daughter Jeanne dies at age 23; his wife Bonne dies sometime between 1430 and 1435.
1440 - Charles is formally released from captivity on October 28, 1440. Charles, now 46, marries Marie of Cleves, niece of Isabelle and duchess of Burgundy, age 14.
1445 - Charles's brother, Jean of Angouleme, is released from English captivity after 33 years.
1457 - After 17 years of marriage, Marie of Cleves bears Charles a daughter, Marie. Francois Villon, a guest at Blois, writes a poem to celebrate the birth.
1461 - Charles VII dies; Louis XI ascends the throne.
1462 - Marie bears Charles a son, the future Louis XII, known during his reign as the "Father of his People."
1464 - Marie bears Charles a daughter, Anne.
1465 - Charles of Orleans dies at age 70 on January 4, 1465. His poetry will still be read 500 years later.

Keywords/Tags: France, French, translation, Charles, Orleans, Duke, first Valentine, rondeau, chanson, rondel, roundel, ballade, ballad, lyric, Middle English, Medieval English, rondeaus, rondeaux, rondels, roundels, ballades, ballads, chansons, royal, noble, prisoner, hostage, ransom

THE LIGHT OF LIBERTY
Matloob Bokhari


Peace be upon you, O daughter of the Chief of prophets.
Peace be upon you, O daughter of God's friend.
Peace be upon you, O daughter of the lady of Jannah.
Peace be upon you, who inherited bravery, fluency from Ali.
Peace be upon you, who became a symbol of liberty.
Peace be upon you, who is the lady of knowledge, patience.
Peace be upon you, who practiced what she taught.
Peace be upon you, who spoke against despotic institutions.
Peace be upon you, who challenged miseries with a message.
Peace be upon you, who remained entangled in tribulations.
Peace be upon you, who was paraded from place to place.
Peace be upon you, who  completed  mission when  all were dead.
Peace be upon you, who un-masked Godless regime.
Peace be upon you, who sowed seeds of awareness.
Peace be upon you, who delivered sermons on freedom.
Peace be upon you, who rescued the spirit of Islam.
Peace be upon you, who criticized terror in courts.
Peace be upon you, who prayed;" Lord! Accept sacrifice."
Peace be upon you, who in the  sad night remained in   prayers.
Peace be upon you, whose speeches silenced crafty intriguers.
Peace be upon you, whose name will remain eternal in history
Peace be upon you, whose lifestyle inspires   generations.
Peace be upon you, who said "God's curse on tyrants"
Peace be upon you, who forced tyranny to take refuge.
Peace be upon you, who said, "Our memory will never die."
Peace be upon you, who won battle of human rights.
Peace be upon you, who is a sun in history of humanity.

Michele Vizzotti-White: Hazrat Zainab challenged miseries with a message, if only more people had this gift eh there is always tomorrow :She  is a sun in history of humanity, yea def.
God bless the smart, beautiful and brave spirits in the world. ( na na three cheers to Hazrat Zainab :)




Kevin M. Hibshman : You are a light, Matloob!

Isabelle Black Smith: I have read parts of Quran. I need to read more. The Quran is indeed a holy text, filled with much wisdom. Thank you for telling about Hazrat Zainab . It is most interesting. I love the study of
history. The story of where we have been as people is fascinating to me. I do feel that in order for us to be successful in our future and avoid
  repeating the mistakes of our past we must truly have an understanding of where it is that we have been. Such a courageous woman this Hazrat Zainab was to speak out so boldly against tyranny in her time. Truly inspiring! You've given me some more reading to find out more about this remarkable woman, I think. Thank you for the introduction of this lady .  And such a wonderful meditation in your poem. A fitting tribute to this holy and inspiring woman of justice and peace.




Neil Perry:  I'd never heard of Hazrat Zainab  before, but she seemed an interesting person who was against injustice.



Em Meilė : This is a beautiful story plucked from history...and you have paid great honor and homage to our brave predecessor Hazrat Zainab, with your wise and beautiful words.  I stand beside you, Matloob, as we plant the seeds together.




Satyender ParkashAas: Peace be upon you, who prayed, mindful,idealistic,inspiring the human fully. I love this too.


Tina Farnworth : I am an atheist but Hazrat Zainab  sounds like an interesting lady! A strong woman indeed!

Tod McNeal: Beautiful Matloob! Had a guy friend me and begin posting all kind of hateful spew against Muslims on my page. That sort of thing is divisive and not in Unity. There are Muslims who can't stand Christians and Christians who can't stand Muslims. Both are not living in the light of LOVE that both religions place at the highest order of importance. Sadly both Holy books associated with the respective religions have plenty of quotable fodder (and even more sadly actionable fodder) for those whom wish to be divisive and hateful to others. ONE LOVE is not just Christian to Christian or Muslim to Muslim...it is UNITY with all. That is how I feel.


Ann Carruth Donoghue: Very powerful write, bravo x
John Castellenas : I like your thoughts and the purpose of this poem.




Kristine Nicholson: Yes, it is the people with goodness in their hearts who make Spirit shine through the words & institutions of religion! Your Ode to Hazrat  Zainab is glorious! :) Ken


Flora Vasconcelos : Peace be upon the suffering flesh , the suffocated souls , the barbed-wired hearts , the walled eyes , the forbidden breath!





Kriston Scott:I didn't know this lady. It is enlightening. Thank you so much for telling  the story of Hazrat Zainab, Peace be upon her ~   inspiring and beautiful.


Sandra Delussu: Where are those bold people gone dwell?

You once told me sarsaparilla
was your favorite word.
I always thought it was a novel choice,
but I suppose I see the appeal of a word
with such delicious lightness.
And a crisp, definite end.
The word does not wander or linger,
but it simply concludes.
A final 'a'.
So many syllables for
a moderate number of letters, really.
They do not stumble over each other
but rather bubble softly,
bumping each other softly,
nonthreatening and soft.
As if just to make sure
the others are still there.
Comforted by what they find
they sink back into their place in line.
Sar-sa-pa-ril-a
The lazy sprawl of a word
that understands the importance
of understatement
and subtle complexity.
The silent letters
promising to keep our secrets safe
locked in with a whisper
only a word like this can offer.

Why her I ask, my bestfriend gone.
Why her I ask, life not so long.
Why her I ask, no where to turn.
Why her I ask, repeating curse.
Why her I ask, she’s in a hearse.
Why her I ask, she was the first.
Why her I ask,
Why her
Why

Know until we meet
my heart will never be
complete without you

(Written in 8th Grade)

As I grew up along-side of memories, I realized that my name grew with me; shaping and morphing itself into who I am today. But wouldn’t it be fun to not be me for a single day? Not have the name, Alice? I could be someone smiling bright, maybe Melina. Or might I try on the name Jessie. Nah, too laid back and chill; so I take the name off and put it back on it’s hanger. I could be haughty and proud, with my nose in the air; I could be a Penelope. I window-shop for more names, browsing among all the different personalities. Fern seems fun, friendly and cordial. Or I might stick around and act as a Sam. Boyish? Aw yeah. Just maybe not for me. I’ll be Stella, all book-sharp for a day or I could be a Chloé, exotic and beautiful. Or switch my style into the retro girly Natalie. What would it be, to have the name Katie, just for a day? Zoey, Liana, Stacy, Diane. Isabelle, Marilyn, Delia, Hannah. Maybe give my name an exotic twist, Alyssa? After trying on names of all kind, some just weren’t for me. Too ‘krazy’? Shy? Ecstatic? Cool? Like a huge circus parade with different costumes, the loud gaudy colors blinding me. Like all the different shoes at Aldo’s; sky-high heels, wedges, sandals, boots. I slip out the shoes, I peel off the names. Because for now, I’d like to stay in my own skin; as a plain old Alice.

.
"That there Is'belle's house stinks wunderful turr'ble,"croaked Emma Beiler at their quilting bee.
"Jah...vell," sighed Rosanna Yoder. "All them there katzes , ain't so?"
Accordingly the two ladies set out to pay Travis and Isabella Salter a visit, only to be politely told that they had were in the process of taking some cats to a local shelter.
Two weeks passed and to the Amish folks' disgust the odour had merely intensified.
"Them there Englisch are chust liars!" Potato Sam spat the words out along with a *** of chewing tobacco.
" Ach, vell," sighed  his wife Rosanna, unaware of her heavily sweating underarms. The Ordnung  strictly forbade deodorant as well as perfume. "Reckon I best  mosey over and see fur myself."
Travis opened the door with a tired sigh.
'Chust thought I'de ask vhat fur stinks yer house up so vonderful tur'ble...Izzy tells us youse gettin' rid of them but-"
A puzzled look crossed Travis weary face as he glanced toward the kitchen. Irritation gripped him, not lessened as Rosanna glowered at Tabby washing her face on the couch. Then a waft of a familiar scent, overpowering, drifted toward him from the kitchen. Brussel sprouts enhanced by -.
With all the stress, Isabelle was increasing her calming herbs, mixing the powders.... Valerian?
"Good evening, Mrs. Yoder." He motioned her toward the door, locking it firmly behind her. For a long time after she was gone he stood staring out the window.

LINES WRITTEN WITH TEARS
Gp Capt Matloob Bokhari



In the midst of corpses without arms,
In the midst of corpses without heads,
In the midst of corpses, drenched in blood,
In the midst of corpses, without coffins,
In the midst of corpses, stood the pride of Islam.
On a corpse pierced with arrows, Zainab  screamed:
“I cannot identify, are  you  my brother Hussain?”
My friends, Have you read a tragedy  darker than this?
A sister unable to recognize her brother, so ruthlessly slain!


COMMENTS  :  LINES WRITTEN WITH TEARS

Farzana Altaf: Very touching indeed, a poet who can feel, taste, weep, laugh his poetry in his reader's heart and soul has accomplished much...
Kristine Nicholson: This is a poignant expression of sorrow, Matloob. War is always ugly. Sincerely,  Truth survives, although human life is ephemeral. Ken
Arkay Evans:This is truly beautiful; it reads as a river of tears begins - flowing and healing to the sea...I pray you are well, lifted and comforted on your journey. Blessings
Xpuaa : Indeed lines written with tears. Moving! and congrats this poem needs courage and sincerity to be written!!!!
Iulia Gherghei :very touching!!!!..that is the measure of humanity!!!
Kristen Scott: Zainab suffered and bore it with strength and dignity . it's amazing and heartfelt Matloob ~  K.
Sandra Delussu:  Matloob. you go on touching my heart..
Michael Edward Clearman: May the message of this poem water the earth with its truth.
Sandra Delussu: a knife in the heart! and it is but a drop in the ocean of suffering what we try to feel...  dear Matloob the figure of such a great woman comes shining in the souls of those who didn't know her! go on telling us! Enmity starts in frustration. frustration starts in ignorance! taking along pretending serving God's will!!!!...such blindness only can speak to blindness...but we're not blind!
Shareef Abdur-Rasheed: REEEEEAAALLLL!!!!This is no joke,WORLD!! This bloodshed, carnage got to stop!!How can the world turn their back and shut their eyes?? akhi This piece and others addressed to this critical issue are vital to raising awareness in a preoccupied world who are "Numb, deaf, dumb, blind to genocide until it knocks on their door! Jazak Allah Khair for raising consciousness!!
Alma Delacruz Gossman: We are not blind! We just simply refuse to really see! Excellent  your compassion and dignity are unshakable...and I so admire your conviction and belief in the greater good...we mustn't ever give up...and the messages of those who truly see, like you, must continue and we ALL need to hold that torch up high, as many remain in the dark by choice, often swayed in the wrong direction by those led by their ego, rather than their hearts and souls. Thank you for shedding your loving light and make so many aware that just refuse to see or who are shut off from the truth! Bravo! Thank you for writing the harsh reality, that many a man had truly blown it for far too many!  You create an awareness that truly needs to resonate in each of us! If only more would take their blinders off and really see!
Sophia Brownie :I CANT EVEN BEGIN TO IMAGINE SEEING THIS.
Shahzia Batool : though i always think that the best comment on any poem is "SPEECHLESS" ,but as i am the student and  teacher of poetry  so i always try to use words of appreciation and the just words...i read the poem twice and read the comments as well . it's a very consoling  and comforting thing that you have a strong voice ,and people listen to your voice...symbols  and allegory are your tools and you know how to weave images. You are loyal to the promise of existence...matloob sb  it is divinely ordained to expose the evil forces...by any substantial effort ! May you be blessed and heard !
Isabelle Black Smith:  Cannot even begin to imagine the depth of sorrow, loss and helplessness. You make us stop and think.
Maurin Alessandro :Good words my dear friend. So sad, but is a true history .. I am from Brazil and has a  musical group.  Can I sing this  awesome poem?
Gail Wolper :terribly sorrowful. I am sad.
Gary Leikas:  sounds like you were with Krishna and Arjuna at Kurukshetra .
Carole Semeniuk : NO.. I cannot imagine not being able to recognize my brother in life, or death............. very searing poem to the heart my friend . Your words cut through the heart... and make one appreciate the pain and agony of this moment................................... well done . Such a tender compassionate Soul you are!
Karyn Walker: Beautiful lines, Matloob  'Why good suffers and evil prospers?' It does for a reason Matloob. But you and I both have seen them fall. Sad part is that sometimes it takes so long. Evil provokes Evil that's a paradox in itself. That's why we pray so much because that is what it ends up taking: Prayer.
Jennifer Long: oh my..... So powerful the imagery and the punch of the rhythm, and the words. this is a great piece of writing!
Satyender ParkashAas:  Progressive, fine personification of darkness, cloud.  Matchless!
Lone-elisabeth Berg Jakobsen: I read it twice, and I love it so much I had tears in my eyes, I am very sensitive and it is very strong and beautiful.
Jeannette Mendoza Dalling : no words to describe the sadness this cause's me , that so many live like this .
Leo Riccio :sad. beyond words



Blessed-Heart - Hi my friend, may your day be filled with joy, peace, and much harmony. And your heart filled with love and kindness. Enjoy your rest of your day. Moved to read these moving lines!!!! Nancy

I’ve a lot go on throughout my lifetime.
But I’ll always remember my momma’s wind chimes.
The chimes were always hung where the light shines.
It is above my deck; hung the right size.
My momma always knew what to use the chimes for,
for there it held my families core.
The chimes were meant to hold my family together,
as we shall love each other forever.
My family may not always be so clever,
but in fact, we always stick together.
For those wind chimes, have helped my family through easy and hard,
so we will never be scarred.
We’ve always had a bonfire in our backyard,
to celebrate the times that were always hard.
I’d hope to see those chimes never come down,
I’d feel like my family had lost their crown.
Those chimes mean the world to me,
I will never let them be.
The chimes of the house shall always be hung,
to rise above the old and the young.
The chimes have always been a certain color ,
to represent our love for each other.
The chimes have no meaning to many others,
but to us it has all these great wonders.
On the wind chime, it may not mean love,
but to me the chime means all of the above.
Happiness, joyful, laughter, and care,
the wind chime is still hung high in the air.
Now that wind starts to blow,
the wind chime spins and spreads love below.
The wind chime holds my family together,
As we will always love each other forever.




-Isabelle M. Rhoads

28:
My one year-old laughter:*
(I still hear
what God said
when
she
spoke,
to me first;
that sound,
they tell me,
was my mother,
I remember
what God told me
when
she
held me first:
You are too young to be your own personal horror)

34.
What I know as a nine year-old:  
9/11 means
quiet,
and
look at my feet standing
on the solid fertile Earth and
be more quiet than the ground is quiet
don't point at Isabelle's mom because she is skinny like fence wire  
don't stare at Jake when he gets limp and speaks like a broken dog

42:
my twenty year-old morbidity,
minor self-inflicted injuries,
invented and self-sustained psychoses,
drink; drinking the whole thing;
i'm going to make myself red inside;
i am the fire, they said, and burned, all of us burned, and *they said this was love.

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GABBY Waller lives around the corner from Owen Wilson, down the road from Julia Roberts, walked past Seth Rogan at the grocery store last week and sat opposite Liam Hemsworth and Miley Cyrus at dinner the other night.

The LA lifestyle is a big change for the former Rockhampton girl who currently calls California home after leaving life in Australia to get her foot in the fashion industry door in one of the world's fashion capitals.

The 22-year-old packed up her life two months ago, sold her Australian clothing label and followed the gut instinct she said she always had to move to Los Angeles.

"I've always been drawn to America, I've always felt this pull towards it, LA in particular which is why I visited LA last year to hold an event here for my business at the time," she said.

Gabby In fashion week in Sydney in 2014.

"The event was a huge success and I got hooked on the creativity that screams from this city. I suppose I got a taste for the fashion scene here and decided to make the move here in May. I sold the business in January as I felt I got STR8 UP to exactly where it needed to be and it was time for me personally to move on to my next venture.

"I'm working as a designer's assistant with a brand based in Downtown LA called BILLY, a brand Justin Bieber regularly wears, and work closely with the designer who reminds me exactly why I do what I do and love this industry. I also do fashion styling on the side and am putting together my own photoshoot for the Australian label Isabelle Quinn. This is my year to really push my knowledge and get involved in as much as I can, LA makes you so hungry to work and I've never been more motivated to dig my claws in."

Although the former Cathedral College student thrives off the hustle and bustle of catching that big city break, Gabby admits to missing the small town 'hey mate' attitudes she grew up knowing and said she doesn't think she'll ever get used to seeing celebrities in their jeans buying milk and bread.

"I feel LA has a huge 'I don't care about you, I just want to know what you can do for me' kind of attitude and you'll very regularly get asked what you do before being asked your name," she said.

"I miss that small town community hub that Rocky has and I really miss how friendly us Aussies are but for now this is home for the next 12 months and I'm loving every minute of it.

"It was a scary leap to take moving here but I really do believe anything is possible if you put your mind to it.

"The absolute dream would be to work in the fashion houses in the design department of the big designer brands that you see on the runway.

"But I've still got a lot of learning to do.

"It's exciting to see what the future holds."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2016 | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney

I remember when we would both rest our star-crossed tresses on that mattress
When you were asleep I could never stay under long. There was something about rain on the windows and how I looked up to see water on the windowpanes, but mostly saw little plants and knick knacks you had collected, all lined up on your windowsill.
Mornings like those, you'd wake up and smoke sitting there in your underwear. And you never wore a bra. It's like they didn't exist when we were out there.
It was calming just to know that the house was filled with magic, with tea, with art and nature.
That Isabelle was always there, speaking rapid french outside your door.


I remember laying there in the middle of the night just looking at you fast asleep and thinking "I must be the luckiest girl in the world to be laying next to this gorgeous person right now. You are so remarkable." There's a lot about your mom's house that will always tug at my heartstrings, but it never would have meant anything if it weren't where I could find you.

I was in the back of my dad’s grey pickup truck, the summer sun stinging my skin through my favorite blue hoodie. My sisters sat on either side of me, fighting over an ice cream cone that had found its way to the floor. I shoved away their sticky hands as they grasped at each other and tried to find out who was to blame. My dad was complaining about the reek of our hockey gear, oblivious to the harassment I was being subjected to behind him. We were going about 60 down highway J back to Minocqua, sweaty and exhausted from a morning practice. I rested my head against the seat and let my sisters fade away, and my aching muscles stopped screaming long enough to let me fall asleep.


I woke up to a different atmosphere, both my sisters still and silent. My dad’s hands strangling the steering wheel, and the speedometer off the grid. I thought I was imagining the tension thick enough to sever with a sword, but when I tapped Suzi on the shoulder she put a finger to her lips. In the rearview mirror I saw a nightmare, in the form of salty tears. I’d never seen my dad’s green eyes stained like this before. The highway home was merciless; every red light held us up. I was anxious for the race to end although I didn’t know the finish line.


My heavy lids betrayed me and I fell asleep again, woken by a sudden jolt and a car door’s ruthless slam. The picture in the window was a pretty one, a sunset masterpiece with reds and yellows and every shade of beauty in between. It didn’t seem right that the sun was down, it wasn’t even noon when we’d left the rink and it was only a half an hour from home. I realized then that my seat was cold, and my sisters nowhere to be found. The ice cream on the floor had turned to a puddle of warm milk. I rubbed my eyes and looked out front, and my heart leaped to my throat. The windshield framed a neon sign that no one wants to see. I stumbled from my napping place wearing just one shoe, searching for the other in the red glow on the blacktop, eerie and unsettling in the hospital parking lot.


It didn’t take me long to find my grandpa’s van. I knocked on the window a few times before someone grabbed my wrist. “Don’t wake them.” My grandma Donna whispered. I couldn’t see anything through the tinted black glass.


“Don’t wake who?” I whispered back.


“Your sisters. And Luci, he’s here too. Your mom is on the helicopter, and your dad is leaving soon.” I couldn’t see my own expression, but I’m guessing it reflected the confusion that was clogging up my throat.


“Why? What do you mean on a helicopter? How long have I been sleeping? Where’s Nik?” At the sound of my older brother’s name a hot flow of tears washed her cheeks. My twelve year old mind started spinning, and I clutched at my grandma’s elbow, my ice cream stained fingers leaving tracks on her worn leather jacket.


“Listen, honey,” she said gently, her voice shaking like the thin evergreens lining the road behind her, “Nik was fishing with a group of his friends on the highway this morning.” I nodded. Nik always rode his bike home from his workout, and there was rarely a day that he didn’t stop at the bridge on 71 to play catch and release with his friends.


“What happened?” I asked. My voice seemed too loud in the cool air; it echoed off the grey buildings around me, seemingly taking forever to fade into the night. She cleared her throat.


“He was hit by a car, honey.” Everything went cold. “It was going really fast, he was dead when they found him. They managed to restart his heart, but there’s nothing more they can do for him here. Your mom is on the helicopter that’s taking him to Madison. You’re going to stay with us until your dad comes back.” I opened my mouth; shut it again. I stared at my untied shoes. Well, Nik’s untied shoes. I’d stolen them the night before. They didn’t fit me, and they were my least favorite colors. I hated the design on the sides; I hated the pointy toe and I hated the frayed laces. The last conversation I had with my brother was that morning, when I was lugging my hockey bag up the stairs to the parlor, and decided to swing it into his gut when I passed him in the hallway.


He proceeded to give my ponytail a solid tug, and use the momentum of my swinging bag to shove me down the stairs. I’d abandoned my gear on the floor and chased him into the kitchen, when both of us were dragged out by our ears.


"Is Nik going to come back too?" I locked eyes with my grandma, silently pleading her to be straight with me. The air was cool but I was sweating, I struggled to hold my hands steady. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my grandpa Barry emerge from the sliding glass doors at the entrance of the emergency room. His face was a blank slate, with no more emotion than the most dedicated of the guards outside the Vatican.


"Is Nik going to come back too?" I asked again. I knew it wasn't fair to ask her. I was young but I understood that she had no way of knowing. She stared back at me, her chocolate eyes soaked with sadness. She never got the chance to answer. My grandpa grabbed me firmly by the wrist and led me back to my dad's truck to get my stuff.


"Don't say anything to Luci. Not until we know." He didn't need to explain himself. My 9 year old brother Luci was closest to Nik. In my mind's eye I could see him break down, his small heart forgetting to pump blood instead of wishes. I held his hand the whole car ride home. His eyes never opened but his fingers locked around mine, and squirmed a little every time one of my sisters moved their legs. My grandparents said nothing until we got to their house, then they shook everyone awake and led us downstairs. All four of us, Suzi, Isabelle, Luci, and I, piled into one of the guest rooms. We settled into one king bed, Luci snoring softly.


It wasn't until all of them were asleep that the tears really came. I stared at the ceiling and tried counting sheep but they all played too close to the road. When I woke up my phone was on fire and I think that's the worst of it, people that didn't even know him pretending to care. I threw it at the wall so I missed my mom's call, it wasn't until after lunch that I heard Nik's vitals were normal.


My grandma said there were pictures, but I wasn't allowed to see. When she was washing dishes i looked anyways. I ran outside shaking. Along with the pictures there was a list. 9 broken ribs, a shattered elbow, 2 cracked vertebrae, a broken spleen. I squeezed my eyes shut and knelt in the driveway, pretending that the colored stones didn't hurt my tiny knees. There were pieces of skull that had caved into nik's brain, and over 40% of his chest was a ****** mess. I guess my mom has nightmares about his screams when they pulled the gravel out.


Two weeks later he said his first words, when his spine let him sit up and the drugs subdued the worst of it. I was the only one allowed to see him. When I walked into the hospital room, he was playing with the chords hooked up to his chest. He smiled big and I lost it, running to his side. He promised he was fine and I shouldn't worry, all this with bandages on his head and a monitor in the corner. I watched the green lines jump on the screen, the same color as the veins on my big brother's wrist. I stared at his arm and wondered what it would be like if he were dead. If those veins had lost their color and his eyes their midnight blue.

"You okay, Em?" My mom was asleep in a chair but she woke at the sound of his voice. It was fragile and unnerving, Nik was never anything but strong. He remembered nothing of the accident except a brilliant golden light, and I wonder if it filled his dreams when I thought that he was gone. It's hard to explain what happened next, but eventually he came home.

We share a wall between our beds so in a way I shared his dreams. I think there was more scar tissue than anyone could see. I tried to help but he kept his door locked, so I sat with my back against the wood and talked to myself instead, his cold-sweat screams  burning me like sticky snow against bare feet.

He started lashing out, forgetting things, lying all the time. He snuck out at night and changed his mind and stopped eating like he should. He was trying to escape, and he thought if he slipped out after daybreak it would all start to make sense. I don't think he recognized that the world he wanted to leave was between his ears, lovely but so lonely. The only thing is he didn't want me close anymore. His sky blue eyes met thunder clouds and the rain was drowning him, I could see and I could've handled it but he wouldn't let anyone in. It's not that I'm not close to him. I mean he still pushes me down the stairs. But his heart was stopped for quite some time and since then it's been offbeat.

My mom said the part of his brain that was most damaged connects actions to consequence. That might be why yells at me, or why we haven't spoken since June.

I remember when we lived in Utah, before my dad died, there was a field that he would take us to to watch the mountains and the moon. One time Nik asked him why the moon moved and all he had to say was "just because." He said if everything beautiful stayed forever people would eventually stop caring. Reminiscence is so deceiving I wonder if it could be all be true. Maybe next time I see Nik he won't flinch when I ask how he's doing, and I can pretend that I don't notice that his head hurts all the time.


I don’t long for the things I know of him, but the things I’ll never understand. I think there are parts of him still on the pavement and I think he’s forgotten them. The best day of my life was finding out he was alive, but I think all the worst ones after that have been spent wondering if he's living.

Her name was this unforgettable charm
I was overwhelmed
By her sky like beauty
Ever widening
Into separate heavens,
Her voice
Will promise you
The song of forever
She is enigmatic,
Pressing into my ribs
Like a ghost does
When it flies back home,
She was firm
As two cantaloupes
Dripping and dripping
I love her;
Her core to her sky
Once, twice, into eternity
There’s a crater
That matches her hand
Scarred into my heart
Maybe and often entangled together
She appear as daydreams
But she is real,
I feel it more
Then I care to admit,
Like a Plath’s poem
She pinches the heart
Of her reader,
She can lick the truth
From your false face
O’ her eyes,
Can start a drama,
As her friend Isabelle says,
She reads books
Of only dead people,
So does she talks to their ghosts,
Slowly she moves
Like a never fading colour,
Filling up your tea cup
Maybe with something more than tea,
You’ll know her more
When her honey dripping voice fills your ears,
Nothing is new
Nothing is mystery
Apparently
She is
Fragile
Fervent
She is unskinned
And
Red

Assez dormir, ma belle !
Ta cavale isabelle
Hennit sous tes balcons.
Vois tes piqueurs alertes,
Et sur leurs manches vertes
Les pieds noirs des faucons.

Vois écuyers et pages,
En galants équipages,
Sans rochet ni pourpoint,
Têtes chaperonnées,
Traîner les haquenées,
Leur arbalète au poing.

Vois bondir dans les herbes
Les lévriers superbes,
Les chiens trapus crier.
En chasse, et chasse heureuse !
Allons, mon amoureuse,
Le pied dans l'étrier !

Et d'abord, sous la moire,
Avec ce bras d'ivoire
Enfermons ce beau sein,
Dont la forme divine,
Pour que l'oeil la devine,
Reste aux plis du coussin.

Oh ! sur ton front qui penche,
J'aime à voir ta main blanche
Peigner tes cheveux noirs ;
Beaux cheveux qu'on rassemble
Les matins, et qu'ensemble
Nous défaisons les soirs !

Allons, mon intrépide,
Ta cavale rapide
Frappe du pied le sol,
Et ton bouffon balance,
Comme un soldat sa lance,
Son joyeux parasol !

Mets ton écharpe blonde
Sur ton épaule ronde,
Sur ton corsage d'or,
Et je vais, ma charmante,
T'emporter dans ta mante,
Comme un enfant qui dort !