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inas essa Poems
The sinking boat
The sun had closed the winter day While the boat was shaking at the sight of nowhere, Waves were so high, made everything shudder, A burning ray of Fear pierced her heart; pushing life away,
The wrong track
In a moment of dismal despair I went to the shore, Leaving all behind, shut my door. None appeared in my sight, but
A Shy Smile
Yesterday, I sat by my friend side; Listening to her whimpering of the savage life, Tears filled her eyes, sobs gushed in her throat, I held her close whispering sweet consoling words to her ear,
The Rough Sea
The sea is so rough And its waves are so high, Every one drowns me mightily, Sends me far away to unknown depths,
Sing Or Cry!
Cannot determine sing or cry, Which is better? To some people, they are totally different To me, they are the same.
A winter night
Nothing compares, Loneliness in a winter night, Far away from your beloved, Missing his hug,
The Last Chance
Many people always wait for The last chance; To be good, To live their life well,
Teach me how to live, Tell me, where all past years are? Buried into the mud, or faded away into the air?
Tone of love
What can words add to meaningful glances? ! The whole story is briefed, in no word And still evident, Maintaining its whole shape and glow,
The truth forever lasts, Through vague and sooty cloud, It always emerges, In the evening sky, so proud.
In its turn, Luck chooses people According to its own notions, Not always considering efficiency. And without offering such explanation.
Speaking To The Moon
I spoke to the moon, all my mind and feeling, It listened so politely, Stars everywhere were sharing Our talk with no complaining.
On stormy winter nights or days When behind a sooty cloud the sun stays Pick a pen and paper, And before the rough sea
When your actions don't mirror Exactly who you are, Just look at your reflection And set your mind on;
(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)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
The sinking boat
The sun had closed the winter day
While the boat was shaking at the sight of nowhere,
Waves were so high, made everything shudder,
A burning ray of Fear pierced her heart; pushing life away,
Its likeness is not found in sea or air.
She grabbed the gunwale of the boat so close
With her trembling heart, both, in one hand,
Looked here and there; searching for a creature of any kind
To share her wounded feelings,
She was met with closed eyes of all around.
Before her eyes, life was near a close
Flashes of ruined life crossed her head,
Like the gray...