I am a paintist, but I have a tendency towards writing poetry even English is not my native language, but sometime things come to my mind that I want them to remain... so I record them by words.
I wanted to share a bit of my works with you, hope you enjoy reading it.
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Halsho Zangana Poems
Those fireflies around the lantern... They know their fate. yet, they are in haste to burn and waste
A Dream Is Missing
For nights my dream is missing, till now I'm obsessed thinking, yet, no way to start looking for prints of a harmonic foot.
The Mood Of My Mornings
I get lazy when a dream of you is being delivered to me, I find awakening a difficult task, as I see you in the vision, bringing a flood of fire,
Red colors... Remind me of the forgotten sunsets. Red, like the cheeks of a shy flower, innocent. Floating on the Clouds, Swaying in the dark.
It Is 10 Pm
I sank the room in the dark, and lit the candles one by one, but the romance won't fill air, till the waiting is done.
A daylight sets off for fading and fading, and starts to make a poet wander dreaming. A rainbow, a poem, in my mind awakening, to remind me that you're my moonlight.
It Was Somewhere Under The Moonlight
It was somewhere under the moonlight, where I could see those eyes full of rhyme. Where I could rhythm those lips, by a flow of love, by tender and a kiss.
I hate Beauty!
Blue color is what I hate, even the feathery snowflakes. I despise the breeze that comes dulls the mind, cuddles the soul,
I have been waiting for you long enough inside my mind, Yet, I know not who you are, or which soul can save you from that rusty cage. You who I ever dreamt of...
A Tribute To The Light
The moon and the sun crept to me in an atmosphere of red sunset. I was amidst a terrible piece of writing...
I wandered in a garden alone, carrying a blunder on my own. Among the yellow and greens of God, shame was my glory and crown. Under a blue glassy sky, staring dumbly wondering why
You Delay The Down
Always waiting faced the gate that you might break through, yet you delay the dawn. There is not a vent in the walls,
The Story Of An Old Man
A ten years old, curious boy asked an old man: 'Hey mister, why have you grabbed, under your weak shoulder, a cane? ' The old man answered with eyes staring at the view of sun's abate: 'Son as there are no dears left for me, and every second I get older.
Why Don't You Shine?
Why don't you shine? I've been waiting for you for three long houred days. I miss the sweet redness of the sky.
Comments about Halsho Zangana
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Those fireflies around the lantern...
They know their fate.
yet, they are in haste
to burn and waste
themselves for warmth!
They tell the story of a lost poet,
that binds his days,
which like theirs are short,
just to make a slot
for his need and must,
to deliver his theme,
which is to consume himself,
to ignite his dream.