Incipit Liber Quintus.

Aprochen gan the fatal destinee
That Ioves hath in disposicioun,
And to yow, angry Parcas, sustren three,
Committeth, to don execucioun;
For which Criseyde moste out of the toun,  
And Troilus shal dwelle forth in pyne
Til Lachesis his threed no lenger twyne. --

The golden-tressed Phebus heighe on-lofte
Thryes hadde alle with his bemes shene
The snowes molte, and Zephirus as ofte  
Y-brought ayein the tendre leves grene,
Sin that the sone of Ecuba the quene
Bigan to love hir first, for whom his sorwe
Was al, that she departe sholde a-morwe.

Ful redy was at pryme Dyomede,  
Criseyde un-to the Grekes ost to lede,
For sorwe of which she felt hir herte blede,
As she that niste what was best to rede.
And trewely, as men in bokes rede,
Men wiste never womman han the care,  
Ne was so looth out of a toun to fare.

This Troilus, with-outen reed or lore,
As man that hath his Ioyes eek forlore,
Was waytinge on his lady ever-more
As she that was the soothfast crop and more  
Of al his lust, or Ioyes here-tofore.
But Troilus, now farewel al thy Ioye,
For shaltow never seen hir eft in Troye!

Soth is, that whyl he bood in this manere,
He gan his wo ful manly for to hyde.  
That wel unnethe it seen was in his chere;
But at the yate ther she sholde oute ryde
With certeyn folk, he hoved hir tabyde,
So wo bigoon, al wolde he nought him pleyne,
That on his hors unnethe he sat for peyne.  

For ire he quook, so gan his herte gnawe,
Whan Diomede on horse gan him dresse,
And seyde un-to him-self this ilke sawe,
'Allas,' quod he, 'thus foul a wrecchednesse
Why suffre ich it, why nil ich it redresse?  
Were it not bet at ones for to dye
Than ever-more in langour thus to drye?

'Why nil I make at ones riche and pore
To have y-nough to done, er that she go?
Why nil I bringe al Troye upon a rore?  
Why nil I sleen this Diomede also?
Why nil I rather with a man or two
Stele hir a-way? Why wol I this endure?
Why nil I helpen to myn owene cure?'

But why he nolde doon so fel a dede,  
That shal I seyn, and why him liste it spare;
He hadde in herte alweyes a maner drede,
Lest that Criseyde, in rumour of this fare,
Sholde han ben slayn; lo, this was al his care.
And ellis, certeyn, as I seyde yore,  
He hadde it doon, with-outen wordes more.

Criseyde, whan she redy was to ryde,
Ful sorwfully she sighte, and seyde 'Allas!'
But forth she moot, for ought that may bityde,
And forth she rit ful sorwfully a pas.  
Ther nis non other remedie in this cas.
What wonder is though that hir sore smerte,
Whan she forgoth hir owene swete herte?

This Troilus, in wyse of curteisye,
With hauke on hond, and with an huge route  
Of knightes, rood and dide hir companye,
Passinge al the valey fer with-oute,
And ferther wolde han riden, out of doute,
Ful fayn, and wo was him to goon so sone;
But torne he moste, and it was eek to done.  

And right with that was Antenor y-come
Out of the Grekes ost, and every wight
Was of it glad, and seyde he was wel-come.
And Troilus, al nere his herte light,
He peyned him with al his fulle might  
Him to with-holde of wepinge at the leste,
And Antenor he kiste, and made feste.

And ther-with-al he moste his leve take,
And caste his eye upon hir pitously,
And neer he rood, his cause for to make,  
To take hir by the honde al sobrely.
And lord! So she gan wepen tendrely!
And he ful softe and sleighly gan hir seye,
'Now hold your day, and dooth me not to deye.'

With that his courser torned he a-boute  
With face pale, and un-to Diomede
No word he spak, ne noon of al his route;
Of which the sone of Tydeus took hede,
As he that coude more than the crede
In swich a craft, and by the reyne hir hente;  
And Troilus to Troye homwarde he wente.

This Diomede, that ladde hir by the brydel,
Whan that he saw the folk of Troye aweye,
Thoughte, 'Al my labour shal not been on ydel,
If that I may, for somwhat shal I seye,  
For at the worste it may yet shorte our weye.
I have herd seyd, eek tymes twyes twelve,
"He is a fool that wol for-yete him-selve."'

But natheles this thoughte he wel ynough,
'That certaynly I am aboute nought,  
If that I speke of love, or make it tough;
For douteles, if she have in hir thought
Him that I gesse, he may not been y-brought
So sone awey; but I shal finde a mene,
That she not wite as yet shal what I mene.'  

This Diomede, as he that coude his good,
Whan this was doon, gan fallen forth in speche
Of this and that, and asked why she stood
In swich disese, and gan hir eek biseche,
That if that he encrese mighte or eche  
With any thing hir ese, that she sholde
Comaunde it him, and seyde he doon it wolde.

For trewely he swoor hir, as a knight,
That ther nas thing with whiche he mighte hir plese,
That he nolde doon his peyne and al his might  
To doon it, for to doon hir herte an ese.
And preyede hir, she wolde hir sorwe apese,
And seyde, 'Y-wis, we Grekes con have Ioye
To honouren yow, as wel as folk of Troye.'

He seyde eek thus, 'I woot, yow thinketh straunge,  
No wonder is, for it is to yow newe,
Thaqueintaunce of these Troianis to chaunge,
For folk of Grece, that ye never knewe.
But wolde never god but-if as trewe
A Greek ye shulde among us alle finde  
As any Troian is, and eek as kinde.

'And by the cause I swoor yow right, lo, now,
To been your freend, and helply, to my might,
And for that more aqueintaunce eek of yow
Have ich had than another straunger wight,  
So fro this forth, I pray yow, day and night,
Comaundeth me, how sore that me smerte,
To doon al that may lyke un-to your herte;

'And that ye me wolde as your brother trete,
And taketh not my frendship in despyt;  
And though your sorwes be for thinges grete,
Noot I not why, but out of more respyt,
Myn herte hath for to amende it greet delyt.
And if I may your harmes not redresse,
I am right sory for your hevinesse,  

'And though ye Troians with us Grekes wrothe
Han many a day be, alwey yet, pardee,
O god of love in sooth we serven bothe.
And, for the love of god, my lady free,
Whom so ye hate, as beth not wroth with me.  
For trewely, ther can no wight yow serve,
That half so looth your wraththe wolde deserve.

'And nere it that we been so neigh the tente
Of Calkas, which that seen us bothe may,
I wolde of this yow telle al myn entente;  
But this enseled til another day.
Yeve me your hond, I am, and shal ben ay,
God help me so, whyl that my lyf may dure,
Your owene aboven every creature.

'Thus seyde I never er now to womman born;  
For god myn herte as wisly glade so,
I lovede never womman here-biforn
As paramours, ne never shal no mo.
And, for the love of god, beth not my fo;
Al can I not to yow, my lady dere,  
Compleyne aright, for I am yet to lere.

'And wondreth not, myn owene lady bright,
Though that I speke of love to you thus blyve;
For I have herd or this of many a wight,
Hath loved thing he never saugh his lyve.  
Eek I am not of power for to stryve
Ayens the god of love, but him obeye
I wol alwey, and mercy I yow preye.

'Ther been so worthy knightes in this place,
And ye so fair, that everich of hem alle  
Wol peynen him to stonden in your grace.
But mighte me so fair a grace falle,
That ye me for your servaunt wolde calle,
So lowly ne so trewely you serve
Nil noon of hem, as I shal, til I sterve.'  

Criseide un-to that purpos lyte answerde,
As she that was with sorwe oppressed so
That, in effect, she nought his tales herde,
But here and there, now here a word or two.
Hir thoughte hir sorwful herte brast a-two.  
For whan she gan hir fader fer aspye,
Wel neigh doun of hir hors she gan to sye.

But natheles she thonked Diomede
Of al his travaile, and his goode chere,
And that him liste his friendship hir to bede;  
And she accepteth it in good manere,
And wolde do fayn that is him leef and dere;
And trusten him she wolde, and wel she mighte,
As seyde she, and from hir hors she alighte.

Hir fader hath hir in his armes nome,  
And tweynty tyme he kiste his doughter swete,
And seyde, 'O dere doughter myn, wel-come!'
She seyde eek, she was fayn with him to mete,
And stood forth mewet, milde, and mansuete.
But here I leve hir with hir fader dwelle,  
And forth I wol of Troilus yow telle.

To Troye is come this woful Troilus,
In sorwe aboven alle sorwes smerte,
With felon look, and face dispitous.
Tho sodeinly doun from his hors he sterte,  
And thorugh his paleys, with a swollen herte,
To chambre he wente; of no-thing took he hede,
Ne noon to him dar speke a word for drede.

And there his sorwes that he spared hadde
He yaf an issue large, and 'Deeth!' he cryde;  
And in his throwes frenetyk and madde
He cursed Iove, Appollo, and eek Cupyde,
He cursed Ceres, Bacus, and Cipryde,
His burthe, him-self, his fate, and eek nature,
And, save his lady, every creature.  

To bedde he goth, and weyleth there and torneth
In furie, as dooth he, Ixion in helle;
And in this wyse he neigh til day soiorneth.
But tho bigan his herte a lyte unswelle
Thorugh teres which that gonnen up to welle;  
And pitously he cryde up-on Criseyde,
And to him-self right thus he spak, and seyde: --

'Wher is myn owene lady lief and dere,
Wher is hir whyte brest, wher is it, where?
Wher ben hir armes and hir eyen clere,  
That yesternight this tyme with me were?
Now may I wepe allone many a tere,
And graspe aboute I may, but in this place,
Save a pilowe, I finde nought tenbrace.

'How shal I do? Whan shal she com ayeyn?  
I noot, allas! Why leet ich hir to go?
As wolde god, ich hadde as tho be sleyn!
O herte myn, Criseyde, O swete fo!
O lady myn, that I love and no mo!
To whom for ever-mo myn herte I dowe;  
See how I deye, ye nil me not rescowe!

'Who seeth yow now, my righte lode-sterre?
Who sit right now or stant in your presence?
Who can conforten now your hertes werre?
Now I am gon, whom yeve ye audience?  
Who speketh for me right now in myn absence?
Allas, no wight; and that is al my care;
For wel wot I, as yvel as I ye fare.

'How sholde I thus ten dayes ful endure,
Whan I the firste night have al this tene?  
How shal she doon eek, sorwful creature?
For tendernesse, how shal she this sustene,
Swich wo for me? O pitous, pale, and grene
Shal been your fresshe wommanliche face
For langour, er ye torne un-to this place.'  

And whan he fil in any slomeringes,
Anoon biginne he sholde for to grone,
And dremen of the dredfulleste thinges
That mighte been; as, mete he were allone
In place horrible, makinge ay his mone,  
Or meten that he was amonges alle
His enemys, and in hir hondes falle.

And ther-with-al his body sholde sterte,
And with the stert al sodeinliche awake,
And swich a tremour fele aboute his herte,  
That of the feer his body sholde quake;
And there-with-al he sholde a noyse make,
And seme as though he sholde falle depe
From heighe a-lofte; and than he wolde wepe,

And rewen on him-self so pitously,  
That wonder was to here his fantasye.
Another tyme he sholde mightily
Conforte him-self, and seyn it was folye,
So causeles swich drede for to drye,
And eft biginne his aspre sorwes newe,  
That every man mighte on his sorwes rewe.

Who coude telle aright or ful discryve
His wo, his pleynt, his langour, and his pyne?
Nought al the men that han or been on-lyve.
Thou, redere, mayst thy-self ful wel devyne  
That swich a wo my wit can not defyne.
On ydel for to wryte it sholde I swinke,
Whan that my wit is wery it to thinke.

On hevene yet the sterres were sene,
Al-though ful pale y-waxen was the mone;  
And whyten gan the orisonte shene
Al estward, as it woned is for to done.
And Phebus with his rosy carte sone
Gan after that to dresse him up to fare,
Whan Troilus hath sent after Pandare.  

This Pandare, that of al the day biforn
Ne mighte han comen Troilus to see,
Al-though he on his heed it hadde y-sworn,
For with the king Pryam alday was he,
So that it lay not in his libertee  
No-wher to gon, but on the morwe he wente
To Troilus, whan that he for him sente.

For in his herte he coude wel devyne,
That Troilus al night for sorwe wook;
And that he wolde telle him of his pyne,  
This knew he wel y-nough, with-oute book.
For which to chaumbre streight the wey he took,
And Troilus tho sobreliche he grette,
And on the bed ful sone he gan him sette.

'My Pandarus,' quod Troilus, 'the sorwe  
Which that I drye, I may not longe endure.
I trowe I shal not liven til to-morwe;
For whiche I wolde alwey, on aventure,
To thee devysen of my sepulture
The forme, and of my moeble thou dispone  
Right as thee semeth best is for to done.

'But of the fyr and flaumbe funeral
In whiche my body brenne shal to glede,
And of the feste and pleyes palestral
At my vigile, I prey thee tak good hede  
That be wel; and offre Mars my stede,
My swerd, myn helm, and, leve brother dere,
My sheld to Pallas yef, that shyneth clere.

'The poudre in which myn herte y-brend shal torne,
That preye I thee thou take and it conserve  
In a vessel, that men clepeth an urne,
Of gold, and to my lady that I serve,
For love of whom thus pitously I sterve,
So yeve it hir, and do me this plesaunce,
To preye hir kepe it for a remembraunce.  

'For wel I fele, by my maladye,
And by my dremes now and yore ago,
Al certeinly, that I mot nedes dye.
The owle eek, which that hight Ascaphilo,
Hath after me shright alle thise nightes two.  
And, god Mercurie! Of me now, woful wrecche,
The soule gyde, and, whan thee list, it fecche!'

Pandare answerde, and seyde, 'Troilus,
My dere freend, as I have told thee yore,
That it is folye for to sorwen thus,  
And causeles, for whiche I can no-more.
But who-so wol not trowen reed ne lore,
I can not seen in him no remedye,
But lete him worthen with his fantasye.

'But Troilus, I pray thee tel me now,  
If that thou trowe, er this, that any wight
Hath loved paramours as wel as thou?
Ye, god wot, and fro many a worthy knight
Hath his lady goon a fourtenight,
And he not yet made halvendel the fare.  
What nede is thee to maken al this care?

'Sin day by day thou mayst thy-selven see
That from his love, or elles from his wyf,
A man mot twinnen of necessitee,
Ye, though he love hir as his owene lyf;  
Yet nil he with him-self thus maken stryf.
For wel thow wost, my leve brother dere,
That alwey freendes may nought been y-fere.

'How doon this folk that seen hir loves wedded
By freendes might, as it bi-*** ful ofte,  
And seen hem in hir spouses bed y-bedded?
God woot, they take it wysly, faire and softe.
For-why good hope halt up hir herte on-lofte,
And for they can a tyme of sorwe endure;
As tyme hem hurt, a tyme doth hem cure.  

'So sholdestow endure, and late slyde
The tyme, and fonde to ben glad and light.
Ten dayes nis so longe not tabyde.
And sin she thee to comen hath bihight,
She nil hir hestes breken for no wight.  
For dred thee not that she nil finden weye
To come ayein, my lyf that dorste I leye.

'Thy swevenes eek and al swich fantasye
Dryf out, and lat hem faren to mischaunce;
For they procede of thy malencolye,  
That doth thee fele in sleep al this penaunce.
A straw for alle swevenes signifiaunce!
God helpe me so, I counte hem not a bene,
Ther woot no man aright what dremes mene.

'For prestes of the temple tellen this,  
That dremes been the revelaciouns
Of goddes, and as wel they telle, y-wis,
That they ben infernals illusiouns;
And leches seyn, that of complexiouns
Proceden they, or fast, or glotonye.  
Who woot in sooth thus what they signifye?

'Eek othere seyn that thorugh impressiouns,
As if a wight hath faste a thing in minde,
That ther-of cometh swiche avisiouns;
And othere seyn, as they in bokes finde,  
That, after tymes of the yeer by kinde,
Men dreme, and that theffect goth by the mone;
But leve no dreem, for it is nought to done.

'Wel worth o

Laments and shouts
Harsh words and strangled throuts
Slamed doors, hurting doubts...

This is how I will always remember you.

Green irises on blankets of red veins
Fighting, denying, throwing blames
I see you walking before my eyes
Smoking, cursing...then despise
The morbid silence in me,
All the truths I began to see.

Torned,I turn my look around
On these ***** dishes,
My real thoughts will never be found;
My foolish dreams, my childish wishes.

Please, don't wake up now
I'm almost at the door-
On fighting, I've withdrawn.
A thirst for tireness, always for more.

You used to have a spirit
Of glee and perseverance,
That's been long forgotten
In my childhood rememberence.

Life became life...
But you had to stir it!

Stir all its issues with a three-bladed knife
Abandon all the good we had
On departed kites,
Keep ur pride on exorbitant hights,
Which chained my life with no rights
Of change and reabilitation,
My eyes dried of solitude and depression
Since I was born.
You've become a white shadow
In a black mind whose thoughts
Lie in storms.

And if these could be my last
few words to the world,
And if this could be my last
poem to be written,
Torned out entirely, but rigid inside
Sad by looking, but happy inside,
I would write, one word, "Companion".

Petit à petit,
je rentre
dans mon cercueil en fer.

Essoufflée,
à bout de larmes,
épuisée par l'attente,
ce souhait impossible
de le voir
en courant
pour me retrouver,
je chavire
en rêvant
de son sourire.

A bout de larmes,
étourdie
par cette peine aiguillée,
je bégaie,
sûre que mes mots
ne servent plus à rien.
Je rentre dans mon cercueil,
tout en disposant du barbelé
autour.

Et je ne regrette que
cette brillance
dans mon coeur,
son sourire,
qui est venu
sans que je ne l'attende
me rendre amoureuse
à jamais.

~~~~~~~

ON THE EDGE OF TEARS

Little by little,
I go back
into my iron box.

Breathless,
on the edge of tears,
torned by the waiting,
this impossible wish
to see him
running
to meet me,
I sink
dreaming
of his smile.

On the edge of tears,
dizzy
by this stinging pain,
I stutter,
certain that my words
are no longer meaningful.
I go back
into my iron box,
barbwiring
all around.

And all I will miss
is that glow
in my heart,
his smile,
that came unexpectedly
making me fall
forever in love.

Do you know?
For you
I was wandering
i still remember those days
When I was wandering
When  I travelled by barefooted miles away
When I was lost in the world of selfishness
People i faced hardly had kindness.
Do you know?
For you.
I was wandering to & fro to find you
With out food and without boots
Torned cloths and a stiched blanket
Being Wrapped to hide my face
In cloudy weather or sunny days
Seemed everyday to be same
Do you know?
For you
I was wandering
Just like streets were mine.
But Strange places & strange people
cause of staggering while walking was tiredness not wine.
People started staring at me
& scared by me.
They fled distance away from me.
I stumbled 'fell down & scraped my knee.
Do you know?
for you
I was wandering
I was too much hungry
I leaned to touch a muddy loaf
That threw somebody from roof
Eventually I visted close to your house
I tried to knock your door
Instead of welcome
You pushed me and yelled to go
I concealed my face & hid my tears
Likewise I was unknown to you for many years.
Do u know?
For you
I was wandering
Cuz I was too much gloomy & sad
I didn't care people spit upon me or kicked me out
But was not expecting this
You failed to know me & my love
My insanity condition
My rambling as wayfarer
Behind my crazyness
Reason was you
Cuz I love you.
Do you know?
For you
I was wandering
In the sands
Wonderful lands
Now I always pray to GOD
Give me patience & save me
Never lead me astray
I returned back to home
Caring me my dad & mom
& now I am normal
Thank you
Do you know
Reason is only you....

By Shaffu...

sleep may possibly be the only way
to get to know how your touch feels like.
it is quite upsetting and blissful; both at the same time,
because i often wake up at thirteen twenty three to realise
that i'd much prefer to skip lunch just to be able to let our pupils meet.

and i would be more than glad to tell you of
how our reflections dance in each other's chocolate iris,
—it made me believe that fairies do exist, for in my eyes, you'd witness how these pixie dust melt all over you
or how your warm hands felt like with our fingers intertwined
—my palms were similar to torned maps with these lines as broken paths and yours had the missing pieces, it's like these lines had a certain destination and they were meant to meet yours

but then again thirteen twenty three calls for me and i have nothing but ocean eyes and broken miles.

What is it in poems that burn?
Possesses me to twist and turn?
Pulls out the soul to let it soar,
To let it frolic to the core?

Is it the meter, sound, and rhyme?
The intricate weaves of words each line?
The charming couplet weaved with sense,
The playful paradox, soft and tense?

Is it the passion, bare and wild?
The Lust entangled with the child?
The artist's soul put into page,
The torned-up papers drowned in rage?

Is it the after, once it's read?
The moment's message stuck in head?
The "I understand." The "Hmm, indeed."
The conceited wisdom we all feed?

Is it the question beyond the ink,
The philosophies we're bound  to think,
The things we'll never view one way,
Which we debate o'er everyday?

Or is it the boldness of the art,
Ripping out the veins from the heart,
And placed in view of public eye,
Either to be noticed or passed by?

The dauntless effort of a soul,
To speak his mind and reach his goal,
Without fear of slander, death, or sin
Is that why poems burn my skin?

[Dedicated to our fellowpoet, The DedPoet]

Horror.
Evilness.

We throw up,
our heart
we hang in a rope of tears.

All the gods
are silent.

And blind.

We watch
ourselves,
torned,
a full pain
turning us
into
a punishing fury,
apocalyptical riders.

And then
we see them,
the children.
So restless,
fearfull,
sorrowed...

But they fell asleep.

We watch over them.

And love,
unconditional love,
a forever love kind,
overwhelming love,
makes us understand
we are needed
and we must stay
and we must be able
to learn them,
our children, our own blood,
to trust again.

And we cry
and our tears
are their protection.

And they awaken,
stirred, first,
but we hug them,
the two at a time.
No words are needed.
Just love.
They will know
it is the real thing.

Have you seen the tremble of the gust?
that blows the land without any mercy,
Putting the damage on the lives of lonely people,
Uncontrolled acts that made the wind whistle.

Have you seen the earth shatter,
Mad rumbled and roared like a monster beast,
shivering with extreme grin and violence,
Lands torned apart caring on no one's presence.

Have you seen the water flowing from heaven,
on heavy volumes and unexpected occurence,
killing the lives of the stabled occupations
stumbled upon floods of the dying nation

Have you seen the giant waves of the coast?
or the fatal mud flows from volcanoes,
Can we know the point or we are so blind not to fear
that we are paying our tolls and the apocalypse is getting near.

I was thinking about what you are to me.
How would I draw you, what would you be.

You'd be a bird.
But not just an ordinary, typical that everyone knows.

You'd be a beautiful,  black bird with three wings and a heart that's torn.

Beautiful because you are.
Your flaws are the most perfect out of all.

Black because you are.
Your eyes, your soul, they own this color the most.

Three winged because you are.
Something new I've discovered for the very first time.

Heart torned because you are.
These people who torn it are gone and I want you to know that I'll try and try until it's whole.

-Tereza Balatkova

The hurt a girl must feel.
When you take her against her will.
Shattered and torned deep within.
From the attack of a stranger.
Or from someone she thought was a friend.

Secluded in thoughts of pondering why?
Finding no answers to your response.
While he has wrecked your world.
And walking around without feeling guilt

Or he saying you tempted him.
But you're the one feeling hurt.
And what makes it worst.
Some in society's agrees with him.

Yes, the hurt a girl must feel.
Even , if you hear a guilty verdict.

In the world
of words,
and poems
I am nothing
but the tip
Of a broken wing,
a broken pencil.

In the world of art and paint
Im a torned and broken page
that only you with your love and likes
can mend...

---------------------------------
Book Poems from a Gypsy Soul , Amazon.com
www.evaluna0.blogspot.com
www.evelynrdz.wordpress.com

you said you loved me, but the eyes was disgust,  
i felt the kisses warm, but tasted hate thrown up,
i held your hand, but your nails dug in my skin, gave me cuts,
i shown you my wrist to let you know ive been already torned up.
you will never get to hurt me like how i hurt my reflection,
you can say you ******* but cant crack my shattered reflection.
you can hate to love me but neglect my reflection, to understand me you have  to stand as my reflection.
to see me how i see you, you have shadow my reflection, you cant love me,cause i cant love my reflection.
my esteem is lower than it can possibly, my self esteem is on  a hiatus away from me, so why you stay with me????? why is my heart debris, why is my mind a disseas? why im a minor oddity uncommon, yet lost in  a common world of shadowed honesty, nothing is never true, but the heart that beats and the lungs that breathe,so why is my heart debris, why am i short of breath? cause i love you and that fillin my blood and arteries with my artistry...

BY: Emmanuel jv Hernandez
5/6/14

OUR MOTHER

1959 they took our mother away
Ever since then we are dying day by day
The huge collapse seems doesn't bother anyone
even the blood that runs from the merciless gun

Reds stole away the mother we had
And we are still fighting for that
She used to shine so bright
But now she has barely any light

We remember the catastrophic day of 1959
and I wonder why the world thinks we are still fine
Our mother says
"It shatters my heart to see my children
Children that have lost their lives
Children that have been killed by knives"

Our Mother is waiting for us
Waiting for the sun to burst
We have to try and try
Cause we cannot let her die

She have to live on and on with this pain
But I wish I could put her up in the frame
She can be healed
If only the world could feel

People asks me "WHO IS YOUR MOTHER?"
I hold my head high and say
"My mother is treasured with love
My mother lives high above
My mother lives where the mountains glows
My mother lives where the rivers flows

I am a child of the beautiful mother well known
I am a child of the beautiful mother that have been torned
And Promise me you will never forget
I am a child of the beautiful mother named TIBET"

Our mother will shows us the way
Till then my brothers and sisters do not give up anyway
The light of hope will come and glow
We will smile and say "BHOE GYALO,BHOE GYALO"

Wandering around the streets barefoot, picking up leftovers from the garbage piles to satisfy the hunger is mere part of a begger's myriad privations. No matter how talented he is born, begging is the only job which he has to perform.

Luxuries? They dont even know something like this.
Roaming around the road with their innocent smiles,
Getting a note of 10rs fills their world with joy.

When asked where they live,
Road was the answer that they give.
Do they own that road? Do they own that street?
Hardships don't scare them anymore,
As they are the free souls.

How strange is it that a smile always find its way on a face of a child who has born with no privilege. How can an eye which has seen only sadness can sparkle like a sunshine.
How can somebody have a carefree slumber knowing the fact that life will always remain cruel to him.

Maybe that is the irony of life, On one hand a person sleeping in king size bed cribs about the quality of his mattress and on the other side a  torned blanket is like bounty to
some.

Why our happiness has become so expensive? Why all of us have become so materialistic? Lets learn something from these innocent smiles. Lets not be a slave of money lets try to see life beyond luxuries.

From deep within our souls confide
The feelings of hatred a great divide
The unity became a war of hearts
Broken,tattered and torned apart

Like hell the anger burns silently strong
Emotions are overwhelming, a new breed is born
Out from the violence  chaos and dread
Fear is naked through the eyes of the dead

No matter how far the battle or which side the first blood draws
When the dust settles the war still rages within and so it goes
For centuries its been the same through history we can tell
There's no way a side of a coin meets the other, however it fell

Back to back they see different views but same cause same life
Are taken as blood splatters everywhere death will surely arrive
Cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself that keeps on giving
And so as a present.. We open another path to a merciless killing

What?
Do we know about Bill?
Nothing but what we heard.

We wasn't there.
Only the ladies and him.

And selected memory holds weight in various ways.
Especially when you're seeking to be paid..

Not that he is innocent.
This I can't say.
Anymore I can accuse him of being guilty.

A crafted image can always be torned apart.
Like trying to protect your wonderful heart.


But money and fame does attract.
If honest with yourself.
Some were attracted to his name.

Lawyers loves infamous cases.
Simply for the money they hold to gain.
Cause eventually they gonna get paid.

We must wonder down the line of our lives.
That after thirty years if we might be sued.
And the excuse will be I thought no one would believe me.

But truth holds a lot of weight.
If evidence points to the subject of your hurt.

ords spoken is simply that.
Until a court decides to convict you based on your past.

I see the hurt you feel.
When I look into your eyes.
I hear it within your voice.

I hear things you wish you had when you speak.
I personally can pick up on these things.
But I know hidden behind that facade is a true heart.

One that has been torned and ripped apart.
But in search of a sincere love.

One that's genuine.
One that I hope to eventually make mine.
But at the moment it's hidden behind a close door.
One, I hope one day you will open up and let me expore..

When light shines behind you once more.
I guarantee you.
I'll be the one to open that door.
And show you the best of the best love.

And it will never be hidden anymore.

Stories being kept,
Moments treasured buried under.
Chapters now filled with sadness,
Pages are torned into pieces.

Paragraphs formed by incomplete sentences,
No, I realized it was me. Just phrases.
Letters that had been my bridge are now missing its ropes of ink.

Maybe this is the true result of life.
Being forgotten as time goes by.
Maybe for the last time, no more breathing and hoping.
I'll just leave myself at rest waiting to be at peace.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

For your sake
I will not cross over from this side of my isolated world
Let me listen in peace
Spilling from a cracked glass marble
To the gentle sigh of this autumn night .....

For your sake, I could've left this world
I deceided to just stay behind .......

I didn't show my true feelings
Hence the vauge answers
I didn't want to get hurt
So I pushed away the idea of a relationship
I was too afraid to ask and touch
So I stayed away from the bottled emotions .......

Amongst all of this swirling chaos
I found your gaze
Kind and loving
Fixated on my lonesome self ..........

A fact that I couldn't have overcome the distance
With this ongoing cosmetic relatioship I've created
The distance I couldn't reach out to
Now broken and torn apart .......

We can never get back to the beginning
Repeat over and over again
Instead
Will you kiss me one last time?
While this halogen rain
Dissolve my endless regrets ...........

Tried to understand what piece was missing
I brought myself more closer to you
To avoid the pain of being left behind
Just wanted a perfect lie to cover the truth .......
Left behind, we collided
Intoxicated , we unmasked our claws and tore into each other's chest
Is it hard for you listen from the other side of the wall?
Forgive me, my words are slowly disappearing in this solitary space .....

Every moment is an eternity
My tired self gets worn out whenever I stopped walking
Come closer one more time
Bury me one last time and run away again
Help me overcome this flawless burden .......

In return I will give you back the treasure
I stole from your chest
Buried deep inside of your heart
All this time it was a part of me
Like a waning moon to a traveller of the ending night
Even if we've torned apart .....
Help me stay forever in this otherworld
Free yourself from the memories
Discard the trinkets we picked up from the shore
Help me, to take with me , all of your sorrow
Leave without a parting sigh
And breathe into your life a new tomorrow .......

I am just so, so sorry that from my part
I just can't say the last goodbye yet
Throw me away
But for one last time
Show me your old smile
In such a forgotten bliss
I will be swayed ............

This hallucinogenic isolation has frozen all the way to the edge of my molecules
While the night loves eternity
The last twilight dreams of a snowy night
Where the kingdom of frost illuminates with  flickering pale moonlight ......

From the hidden depth where nothing reaches
I will dream of our painted on canvas days
If I ever wake up
I will cling to a false hope
That the day of understanding comes around again .......

After all this time
I understood that I cannot overcome the distance
With this ongoing cosmetic relatioship that I've created
The distance I couldn't reach out to
Now broken and torn apart .......

For your sake
I erased the distance
In time , you will ponder that if I even existed!  .......

Help me bury myself
So that I can never bring myself to the beginning
Instead
Will you kiss me one last time?
While this halogen rain
Dissolve my endless regrets ...........

                                           
THE END
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Killings that need to end
A healing process that needs to begin
There must be an end to all this hate
We need to come together in communicate and relate
We must do this before it's too late
There is enough wars in the world
This should not be United States swirl
We must put a stop to hatred and guns
Families are losing love one’s
They are separated from being among
Lives matters to everyone
It can’t be a conclusion and lives are done
Race comes in all physical shades
Yet the message must be strongly enforced
But there must be understanding in steering the course
But how can hatred be tossed
People’s attitudes must make a change
Hatred cannot become the theory of rearrange
Attitudes must become positive and not torned down
A loving personality must be established all around
Guns should only be used when another gun in harm that involved
Yet the gun situation needs to be resolved
Now Capitol Hill, what are you waiting for
Conditions alarm, perhaps or
We need a strong cause and effect
But better yet
Police Training in handling their job won’t be enough
A strong dialog that should be tough
You can’t be bias in being on force
Investigation practices must be added to the course
We can’t have Police continuing city after city in being racial rough
A new frontier of Police respect may not be enough
Once again, all lives matter
But movement must be swift and not so much chatter
Nation to nation and across the globe
Let’s embrace the loving and get along message
Achieve in enhance being the togetherness approach
Lives matter, are you ready?

Dear Lucille,
Come for me in the twilight of nocturnal hour
Close my eyes with soft kindness
The fading memories of you emerges from the night around me
Mist mingles its lamentation with the soft whispering of the sea
Deserted like a graveyard at the crack of dawn
In the hour of departure
Come for me
Oh my dear departed one! .......

Dear Lucille,
Cold frontier faces are now haunting the fragments of a lonesome heart
A king and queen now sit in an exiled throne
Old, alone in a forsaken kingdom
Friendless, forgotten and torned apart
In you the wars of old and the lust of the monarchs were originated
In you lost sailors struggle for a way out from the cave of shipwrecked
But Lucille, Oh! Lucille
You swallowed eternity whole!
Won't you come my way once more?
My self restraint is crumbling
My tainted trust , my betrayed love
You left me on the shore
Bound by grief , stunned by despair
Still you clung to desire
Like time you left me untouched
Yet swallowed eternity whole! ...........

Dear Lucille,
You satisfied me in the ambivalence of fury and dread
Came closer in the moist hours of dusk and dawn
Waited in silence as sorrow engulfed the horizon
Beyond love and carnal sins , you walked on ......

Dear Lucille,
Will you not come again?
Running along the rain soaked lane
Beautiful and pale
In the darkest of nights
Where so many a day
Made me blind , then grew gray
I count what I can't forget
And evetually fail
Oh my sweet Lucille!
Will you not come again?
For the one who gave up immortality to love you
Smiled and wept seasons through
Gave up his own flesh for the love he lost
Now raise his voice to you .......

Dear Lucille,
There was solemn solitude in our embrace
Intense passion in corner of our kisses
How deep did this desire of mine run!
You might never comprehend
Say, if I'm here no more
Will you come then?
Indeed I loved you; my dear friend!
I loved with my life and it came to an abrupt end
Indeed I loved you; I love you yet
But the swift judgement that departed us, now cannot be mend ........

You were the sweetest demise that led me into a valley of roses. Where you said that you are the only rose and the others are thorns. The sublime symphonies of your laughter echoes through out each quarter of that ****** field.

You are the serene before the calamity that once gave me calm, but now made me torned. The great yin and yang where they were the Bad inside the Good, and you were Good in spite you were bad.

You were the delicious flavour that permeates in my tongue, you melt my entirety and leave me with bitter aftertaste, desperately searching for sweetness that you once took.

You were the joy that now became my agony. That every word you said about the stars now resonate within my mind everytime I look at them. The stars resemble you oh so, you were dazzling yet you were already dead.

You familiarized me with your scent, that when you left, I still remember it. That those memories where our bodies intertwine and your sweat mixes with mine - leaving me longing for your touch.

You conditioned me to always follow you, now that when you’re now gone, I don’t know where to go. What I thought was my destination, was only meant to serve me a lesson - a lesson that came as a person.

Torned to pieces
This screaming heart pleads
Shattered wishes
Broken memories