Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
My satchels are mismatched
Its deer doesn't laugh
No pencil sharpener ever

کیف های مدرسه ام لنگه به لنگه اند
گوزن اش نمی خندد
هیچوقت تراش نداشت
take my color pencils
my hands are passing your smiles...

مداد رنگی هایم را بگیر
...دست های من از خنده های تو می گذرد
leafing
through the old album
I stop
where grandma had scribbled
get me the rainbow you nut

Written by
Kumarendra Mallick
Hello.
Autumn
The sequence of my illusion
comes to you
Even if it doesn't, do not tell me

Written by
Keikavoos Yakideh
Cynicism momentum
Throughout the valley
A gloomy blanket of dust
Blinding the truthfulness
Singing a sad song

by Jean C Bertrand
Troublesome at dawn
Ridiculing the pavement
Targeting the mind
Heatwave trembling the veins

Right there doctor
Feeling the pain
Endless pain barking shadows
Each breath is painstaking

How do you feel right now
Gaze at him holding my head
Another powerful dosage
Taking some nameless painkillers

Right away doctor
Dangerous games sky falling
Earthquake in the chamber
A repetitious mockery darken sky

Being so stupid gosh gosh
Intellect neglect no dialectics
Uncontrollable of the mind
Quenching for the physical senses

Seating on the bench waiting
Sweating eyeballs dancing
Another prescription
Nameless painkillers

O doctor so grateful
Please listen to me
Living in the wilderness
The world of pain
It would be easy to be
On top of the games
As I speak
I'll use my PEN
P
E
N
KILLS THE PAIN

by
Jean C Bertrand
The intertwined branches of the
woods are brown...
There is not a song in far away lands
The scarf has pain
Knitting veil from my hair
The trees are repetitive to me
I see a man, green
Having no woman next to him

شاخه هاشان در هم تنیده
...چوب ها قهوه ایست
دوردست ها آوازی ندارد
روسری درد می کشد
از موهایم حجاب می بافد
درختان برایم تکرار اند
من
مردی سبز را می بینم
...که زنی در کنارش ندارد
The world is a beautiful place
To live and die
Anything contrary to this is a lie
There is no abundant life on earth

Written by
Martin Ijir
I want you to raise your hands to the sky and prayer ''OH GOD PLEASE MAKE ME A MIRACLE WHERE THERE IS WANT, LACK AND DEBACLE''

Written by
Joey Percival Ikechukwu
Jasmine dances
Jasmine laughs
Jasmine will die
In plain blue jasmine will die


یاسمن می رقصد
یاسمن می خندد
یاسمن خواهد مرد
یاسمن در دشت های آبی خواهد مرد
Flirting rain
Catching my eyes
The wind movement
Bursting into tears
O sweet purple eyes
Follow the fountain
O my being beauty
Quenching for love
A king kneeling in the name of love heaven trembling
Causing rivers to follow
Steady rain soften the heart
Waiting for sunshine

Written by
Jean C Bertrand
objective below
geese braking wings
setting onto pond

Written by
Alec Kowalczyk
A poet
Needs a pure heart
Backing all sentiments and negative energy
Evil thoughts of tarnishing
One's reputation

A poet needs a pure heart
burning unending flames of love,
peace and unity

As he sprouts his words
As a plant growing
in the vineyard of men

Plants never dies
words never dies
Words are immortal
so is a poet

Dying in sadness is abundance muse in joy
Gradually we all shall empty ourselves into
The basket that contains a lot of water

Giving us milky way as our soul faced our body
It gets a lasting rest in this a pure heart I so incline
To be one with the Great Architect of universe

Written by
Martin Ijir
1/December/1996
About ten in the morning
With a city that was registered
only in my birth certificate
I...
1st of December
-In calendar-
It could not have been there
It was not its fault
Its mother is a *****

The joy of my childhood songs
Missing the balloons
How was the sky so blue?!!!
White clouds ran slowly
They didn't see my childhood ?!
The loneliness of my doll ?!
Perhaps her left hand
has fallen here

daddy
beat my head firmly
That's why
all my dolls
were made without head
Mommy...
You did not even look like
a scream

Oh my little beloved !
Close your eyes instead of me
because
Open eyes are staring
drying
dying...
I whisper again
I wish I was blind
Why am I to be seen?
Oh my little beloved !
goodbye
I'm growing up...
I don't need you anymore
And I still love my childhood
My sister...
She is dancing with me
like her clockwork doll
What is her crime ?
Her thought is pink

How much the window and I are alike !
only when I look to the sky
from this framework
to be in the arms of God
I am not
a bird
to stay in the cage
Death
or
The rescue of flight
Freedom has no meaning...

If I die, what happens next?
My sister is still dancing !
Will my mother laugh?!
The flowers are still fragrant?!
The trees are tall !
The waters are flowing !
And still, when his people pass by
are they greeting happily ?

What happened to me?!
You were such a kind person
that the birds
made their nests on your hands
I wonder...
Calling me lady these days
Happy birthday !
Please do not swear at me


یازدهم آذرماه
سال یک هزار و سیصد و هفتاد و پنج
حوالی ده صبح
با شهری که فقط به اسم در شناسنامه ام ثبت شد
...من
یازدهم آذرماه
-در تقویم-
می توانست نباشد
تقصیر خودش نبود
مادرش هرز است
شادی ترانه های بچگیم
بادبادک ها را گم می کند
چگونه آسمان آنقدر آبی بود!؟
ابرهای سفید به آرامی دویدند
مگر کودکی های مرا نمی دیدند!؟
تنهایی عروسکم را
شاید دست چپش همین جا افتاده باشد
بابا
محکم به سرم می کوبد
برای همین است
که تمام عروسک هایم بدون سر ساخته شده اند
...مامان
شبیه جیغ هم نبودی
محبوب کوچکم
تو به جای من چشمانت را ببند
چشمان باز
خیره می مانند
خشک می شوند
می میرند
باز با خودم می گویم
کاش من کور می بودم
چرا من بودم که باید می دیدم!؟
محبوب کوچکم
خداحافظ
من دارم بزرگ می شوم
و دیگر به تو نیازی ندارم
...خواهرم
مثل عروسک کوکی اش با من می رقصد
او چه گناهی دارد
فکرش صورتیست
چه قدر من و پنجره شبیه به هم هستیم
تنها وقتی از این چهارچوب
به آسمان نگاه می کنم
که در آغوش خدا باشم
من پرنده ای نیستم
که در قفس بمانم
یا مرگ
یا رهایی پرواز
آزادی معنایی ندارد
اگر بمیرم
فردایش چه می شود!؟
خواهرم هنوز می رقصد
مادرم خواهد خندید
گل ها هنوز خوشبو اند
درختان بلند اند
آب ها جاری هستند
و هنوز وقتی آدم هایش از کنار هم می گذرند
با روی خوش به هم سلام می کنند!؟
چه اتفاقی برایم افتاد
تو آنقدر مهربان بودی
که پرنده ها روی دستانت آشیانه ساخته اند
تعجب می کنم
تازگی ها
مرا خانم صدا می زنند
تولدت مبارک
خواهش می کنم به من فحش ندهید
first of all, i should apologize for the bad translation. i was 18 when i wrote this,now i don't have this view and i forgive my father,and i don't like this poem,but i want to share my thoughts to you
When my hands were feeling
jealous of the fondling of the grain field,
I was being satisfied by each tree
Thinking of water...
It has free thought
I love my always naked body in it

وقتی دستانم
به نوازش گندم زار
حسادت می کرد
من با هر درختی ارضاء می شدم
...می اندیشم به آب
فکری آزاد دارد
تن همیشه لختم را درآن دوست دارم
this is a very old poem... :-)
until now i had not seen the beautiful laughing,,,

...من تا به حال خنده هایی به این زیبایی ندیده بودم
Season curves your lips
In endless beauty your face
Possesses, sky clouds
Alighting rains to pour in my heart

Written by
Martin Ijir
I remember that spring
That summer
I was asked for color
You have forgotten your gloves...

یادم می آمد
آن بهار را
آن تابستان را
از من می خواستند رنگ بزنم
...دستکش هایت یادت نبود
above wasteland
swarming birds in sky
black smoke billows

Written by
Ute Sonja Medley
why doesn't God wear any dress....?!
smiley sun shines
her image fill my spirit
carnality ****** my soul avouch
an intricate night our soul intersects
distance become not a barrier
for I am the waves to sail her through
for she is the wind to make the waves flow
together we are the four elements that make the universe

Written by
Martin Ijir
از شلوار مشکی پدرم می ترسم
...کفش های رنگارنگم نبود

I'm afraid of my father's black pants
There wasn't my colorful shoes...
night after night
greeting the pale clouds
multitude of stars
celestial army angels sky

night after night
leading to another laughter
affection easygoing breeze
rainbows of the night

night after night
beginning a new story
the wisdom of the night
Unfading fragrance

by Jean C Bertrand
My mom is kind
I want the sky either
In my room, I draw birds
I love your small eyes
I love my mom's hands
I play with mommy's scarves
I can feel the smell of her bag
I remember my childhood dresses
She bought me colorful shoes
somedays
Our hands reach the sky
I hold my mom's hand in my tummy
I'm pregnant with my mom's hands
Mommy is not like granny
And I'll like my mom's ******* in a ****** relation


مادرم مهربان است
من هم آسمان می خواهم
من پرنده ها را در اتاقم نقاشی می کشم
چشم های کوچک تو را دوست دارم
دست های مادرم را دوست دارم
با روسری های مادرم بازی می کنم
بوی کیفش را هنوز احساس می کنم
لباس های کودکی هایم را به یاد دارم
بعضی از روزها برایم کفش های رنگارنگ می خرید
دست های ما به آسمان می رسد
من دست های مادرم را در شکمم نگه می دارم
من دست های مادرم را حامله ام
مادر من شبیه مادربزرگش نیست
و من
در رابطه ای جنسی
...سینه های مادرم را دوست خواهم داشت
i love my mother... :)
old soldier
he struggles to free myself
from his memories

Written by
Gennady Nov
sky azure...
vivacious kites
no letters

Written by
Godhooli Dinesh
as i walk trough the valley
watching the faces
faces of melancholy
gosh even the green leaves
needless to look at the sky
all greyish river tears within
a blanket of greedilous
perilously dancing in darkness
heaven why the sun behind
the thickest grimacing shadows
will the rain vising the garden
is it the end of the time

Jean C Bertrand
bent rice stalks
as far as the eyes can see
the golden sun

Written by
Willie Bongky
arms control balance
two eyes coordinate view
always double check

Written by
Ute Sonja Medley
good morning
good afternoon
good evening
good night
all across the sea
always remember
the poem inside of you
can change the world
it's time to express
it's time to share
it's time to speak for
the voice of voicelessness

thank you for your contribution
the almighty God will bless you
starting from here to there
blessings blessings blessings

Jean C Bertrand
Short feet
Thin pants
Leaving my hair elastic some where
You laugh
Its sky wasn't hot

پاهایم کوتاه بود
شلوارم لاغر
کش سرم جا می ماند
تو می خندی
آسمانش گرم نبود
Swim like bird in the sky
Lie on earth of water
Smile as Sun in the sky
Eat the cloud dust
And gain undying breathe

Written by
Martin Ijir
when heaven reject me hell embraces me
when my soul refuses to burn in hell
indeed i chose to serve Moloch
when my portions of darkness gives void a light
at least I shall be call light bringer
when I swim in lake of flames I become as a bulb with gadfly qualities
illuminating demon's path
as the devour those who forbade just way

Written by
Martin Ijir
A heartless maestro
Forbidden the chorus
Outburst storming wind
In the ravens of dust
Vocal of bitterness escalating
hardship heartbeats
Bleeding tears
Chilly days colding nights
Stillness of sweetness
Sparkling stars murmuring
Outbreak calling sky
surrenderous rain
Pounding boom boom echoing
Deepening into the cavernous building
Tears falling the birds watching
Wondering when will we sing
A loving song

by
Jean C Bertrand
piercingly cold
stepping on my dead wife's comb
in the bedroom

Written by
Yosa Buson
Do you think haiku should be written from personal experience only? This is a powerful haiku by Yosa Buson (1716-1784)
The sadness and grief is palpable and more so because the image of the man stepping on his dead wife's comb is such a small, domestic image, but one which explodes whit emotion the more we look at the other words in the haiku : the piercing cold, the previously shared comforting bedroom which is now a place of dark grief.
However Buson did not write this form personal experience. His own wife was still alive and well when he composed this haiku.
Does it matter? In my opinion, I don't think so. It's the finished haiku that matters, not the source of its inspiration.

I share Bee Jay's post
...من هم خورشید زرد را می خواهم

i also want the yellow sun....
Abadan was small those days
Maybe my mother doesn't remember
Dolls dream too
In her flower designed skirt
She doesn't like the war
The sky of Isfahan is not blue
Doesn't know any dolls with
blossomed eyes
I wanted my red shoes
Mom
You take the weapon this time
Since it's not the war of Jasmine's eyes
It doesn't smell as Eglantines do
Demanding heads
A shining star in his open eyes
The sky of Isfahan is not blue
The city of turquoise domes
and livid mosques
The resonance of the song of
Azan at noon through those high skies
That doesn't know my mother
You just saw them as stars
Their skies are so high for wishes to reach
The city of the livid dames is said to be beautiful...
Your laughs were beautiful those days
This city
Doesn't know my mother
Her Abadan was so small


آبادان آن موقع کوچک بود
شاید مادرم یادش نمی آمد
عروسک ها هم خواب می بینند
دامنش طرحی گل دار را دارد
جنگ را دوست ندارد
اصفهان آسمانش آبی نیست
عروسکی نمی شناسد
... که چشمانش تازه شکوفه کرده
من کفش های قرمزام را می خواستم
مامان
این بار تو سلاح دستت بگیر
که جنگ
چشمان یاسمن نیست
بوی نسترن ها را نمی دهد
باز
سر می خواهند
چشم هایش باز
ستاره ای در گوشه ی چشمش بدرخشد
اصفهان آسمانش آبی نیست
شهر گنبدهای فیروزه ای
مسجدهای کبود
پیچش اذان های ظهر در آن آسمان های بلند
مادرم را نمی شناسد
که تو آن ها را ستاره می دیدی
آسمان هاشان بلند اند
آرزوها نمی رسند
شهر گنبدهای فیروزه ای
...که می گویند زیباست
خنده های تو در آن موقع زیبا بود
این شهر
مادرم را نمی شناسد
آبادانش
خیلی کوچک بود
in my country ( Persia) war took place in 1980
and because of that my mother had forced migration
she moved to Isfahan and she lost her land ( Abadan )
i love my mother :-)
This morning was so beautiful
I lost so much blood
April At 9:00am
It always has golden trees
The sky is too white...
I see so many lined shapes sitting
or bending
I won't sell my drawings
It loves its paintings
The color pencils are walking
The doll laughing
My hands were beautiful
I was pretty in your eyes...
My ****** does not blossom
It flew
Why shouldn't the Jasmine's
blossoms be red ?!
Their yelling is not concordat with me
I want my tears to be Eglantines
For the sun to laugh
My dance with God
Among watercolors
In my mother's ******* eyes is beautiful...
I am the same Jasmine
Yesterday in my mother's arms
And today a woman fondling your
ears by singing lullaby of her virginity
I will put a society to sleep
The wheat is sleeping with the grain field
A girl who the sun doesn't see her ******* will die
in the shining of blues
And my hands will not reach the
black hair of any man
The red beautiful Jasmine flower
doesn't belong to the freedom
I will not realize the illusion of freedom...

امروز صبحی زیبا بود
خون زیادی از من رفت
اردیبهشت
در ساعت نه صبح
همیشه درخت هایی طلایی دارد
...آسمان بی اندازه سفید است
حجم های خطی زیادی می بینم
نشسته است
یا خم می شود
طراحی هایم را نخواهم فروخت
نقاشی هایش را دوست دارد
مداد رنگی ها راه می روند
عروسک می خندد
دست هایم زیبا بود
...من در چشم های تو زیبا بودم
واژن من گل نمی کند
پرواز کرد
چرا نباید گل های یاسمن سرخ باشند !؟
فریادهایشان با من یکی نیست
اشک هایم را
گل نسترن می خواهم
تا خورشید خندیده باشد
رقص من با خدا
میان آبرنگ ها
در چشم های سیاه درشت مادرم زیباست
من همان یاسمنی هستم
که دیروز در آغوش مادرم بودم
و امروز
زنی که صدای لالایی های پرده های بکارتش را
در گوش های شما نوازش می دهد
جامعه ای را خواهم خواباند
گندم با گندم زار خوابیده است
دختری که سینه های آفتاب نخورده ای دارد
در درخشش آبی ها خواهد مرد
دست هایم به موهای مشکی مردی نخواهد رسید
گل سرخ زیبای یاسمن به آزادی تعلق ندارد
...من توهم آزادی را نخواهم فهمید
...مادرم خیلی مهربان بود
دلم می خواهد به شکم مادرم بازگردم
!!! مادر من رحم ندارد
...کودکی می خواهم
از من متولد شود
...رحم نداشته باشد
یادت می آید
از ترس آنکه بزرگ نشوم
النگوهایم را زیر بالشتم قایم می کردم !؟
...مادرم خیلی مهربان بود
موهایش را شانه نمی کرد
خواهرم چه زیبا بود
با موهایی خرمایی رنگ
زیر نور خورشید
در باد می رقصید
با چشمانی درشت به رنگی سیاه
روسری ها نمی فهمند
موهایم را پوشانده اند
این همه گل های یاسمن را دیده ای !!؟
...از واژن من می رویند
دلم می خواهد به شکم مادرم بازگردم
رحم نداشته باشد
چرا این مردم صدای مرا نمی شنوند!؟
...آسمان ندارند
سرزمین شغال ها را نمی شناسم
قصه ای ندارد
...مادرم خیلی مهربان بود
خداوند
مادر همگی مان را رحمت کند
من کودکی می خواهم
...رحم نداشته باشد
I didn't buy flowers this morning
I don't have a smile
I see an old man in the green masses
His hair's white under the sun
This means...
I'm feeling bad!!!

امروز صبح
گل نخریدم
لبخند ندارم
در حجم هایی سبز
پیرمردی را می بینم
که موهایش در خورشید سفید است
...یعنی
!!! حال من دارد بد می شود
so I try
to dodge time
as time has fail me
rather I sleep not
in other to be one
with day, forgetting
Hectic days brings
insomnia
as my chores end up
to fail time

Written by
Martin Ijir
I see the sun in the sky blue yellow grandfather,,,,

...من خورشید را در آسمان آبی زرد می بینم پدربزرگ
i want my small ******* in colorful books,,,
Sometimes we try too hard to put smiles on people's face, only to discover our self is full of unhappiness

Written by
Joey Percival Ikechukwu
My mom sleeping in the mornings
Asleep in the mornings
Sitting in the car some days
Seeing the city in blue
I don't like the car seats
Smelling smoke and sweat
I Always vomiting in them as a child
Jasmine and mom
A mother and a daughter
Nastaran, a sister
I don't like scarves wearing by force
I love to live in a city having a sea...


مادرم صبح می خوابد
مادرم صبح ها خواب است
من بعضی از روزها در ماشین ها می نشینم
شهر را آبی می بینم
صندلی ماشین ها را دوست ندارم
بوی دود و عرق راننده را می دهند
وقتی بچه بودم
همیشه در آن ها استفراغ می کردم
یاسمن
و
مامان
یک مادر و دختر بودند
نسترن یک خواهر بود
من روسری های به زور نشسته را دوست ندارم
من دوست دارم
در شهری زندگی کنم
...که دریا داشته باشد
They say Africa has got no history
They know how to tell the story

by Joey Percival Ikechukwu
dried rose petals
after fifty years
scented memories

Written by
Ardelle Ray
home from the war
the phantom arm reaches
for lilacs

Written by
Earl Keener
As the world turns
Turns into bitterness
Bitterness enormous hatred
Hatred from here to there

As the world turns full of fear
fear in the eyes of the birds
Birds weeping plain-spoken no magnanimity
Magnanimity in the kingdom of darkness

As the world turns into fire
Fire covered the rays of the sun endless tears
Tears flooding broken bridges in the land
Land of greediness unholy garden

As the world turns into violence the fruits
Fruits in the garden missing the genuine sun
Sun to shine the eyes of dying birds
Birds weeping weeping weeping...

Written by
Jean C Bertrand
hopping dance
in a chained circle
we are robe together
fasten in an aurora chants
our lion clings as coins sound
the hopping dance of a bird
wears our heart in dewy sweat
dross of invocation rains
wizardry of mere gods invoking elements
suddenly it ceases
as void magic sparks light
moments of momentary weakness
rushes with joy
my life ceases to breathe
our life regain rebirth
into the hollow path
of unending road
i was the victim of undecorated dance hall
we are the victim of un-videoed dance step
lonely I stared at the moon
then I pregnant the elements to bear a shape
which only we understand the ways of God

Written by
Martin Ijir
Next page