Пишите сюда стихи которые вам нравятся Опции

[bercut]

***

Счастлив я, когда ты голубые
Очи поднимаешь на меня:
Светят в них надежды молодые-
Небеса безоблачного дня.

Горько мне , когда ты, опуская
Темные ресницы, замолчишь:
Любишь ты, сама того не зная,
И любовь застенчиво таишь.

Но всегда, везде и неизменно
Близ тебя светла душа моя...
Милый друг! О, будь благословенна
Красота и молодость твоя!

Сообщение отредактировал bercut - Sep 8 2007, 20:22

[Slash]

Эти стихи в прозе написаны солистом группы System Of A Down Сержем Танкяном. Это лишь некоторые стихи, кому нужны все обращайтесь ко мне. Переводы найти никак не могу, некоторые перевожу сама.

ART
Art is the way to heart.
The hearts of man can and will change.
That change changes the world.
We can bomb you with love and you cannot resist.
We can kill you with compassion if you don't assist.
We can assassinate your ego with the knowledge and Awarness
Of oneness, allness, onlyness,
Opening darkness into its vibratory reality,
The super string theory
And its resultant simplification of purity.
Explode or implode,
External is eternally internal,
And internal creates the external in eternity.
Planets arise from chaos
Into an experimentation of order,
Then are lost again to another stepping pod
In our solar system.
The universe is trying to create eternal energy.
The flesh as a part in the assembly
Of the investiture of order, balance, Peace.

DEATH
You will live death, in your life,
If all you do with your life, is avoid death.
My goal is to stop reacting in life,
While reacting more in sports.
It is great work to strip man from his home,
Clothes, education, social cicle, and job,
In order to preserve his freedom and individuality,
Giving him his own dreams,
Rather than those of society.
Life's cruelty is in its forced forfeit
of all worldly possessions
In trade for one's life.
Death should only be the reward,
The aftermath, not the focus of life.
The world lives according to death,
Rather than in accordance to life.

SALIVATION
I have resolved to salivate
On your favourite salad dressing,
Or your dear held principles,
Who run ahead of their respective schools.
My form is that of a butterfly frozen in mid air,
En route to the jungles, Thawed by escapism,
Nourished by self preservation.
My stride is that of a guitar string
In the hands of a drunk gypsy courting a fair lady,
Making love with the ascending and descending
Frequencies of the heart.
Time is the father of existence,
Rhyme is the brother of the word,
Words that define the world,
Worlds that refine my words.
Natural water no longer exist,
We must now create what was initially abundant,
And destroy that which took its abundance away.
Is the garden clear for the new plants?
Is the soil still rich enough to support life?
My fears are shadows behind the edge of dark buildings,
The howls in the night.

PRENATAL FAMILIARITIES
Devotion is focusing on the sound in every action.
Life is rhythm, and its fluidity is dependant on the Tempo.
In harmonies we find unity in diversity.
In harmonies we find prenatal familiarities.
Our true voice is our true colour, character.
The consensus is a misguided body of cencus information.
Though the tides seem to be slowly turning
In organizing true resistance to globalistic economic totalitarianism,
It might to be too late to save man's night.
Remember the child of innocence resides in cool Gardens,
Though the heat can be used to create the stimulus.
Our physical sences only report the portion
Of the actual motion in our universe.
The rest require extrasensory skills attained
Through the veils of the sacred silence.


MY WORDS
My words escape me,
As I escape them,
To define me, As not refined,
mimed release expressions,
Of continuous thoughts
Pouring out like red wine
From a dark green bottle on a creme carpet,
Or white sand.
My words escape me,
As I escape them,
For love is beauty,
And beauty is love,
As diabolical dreams
Of intestines on a platter,
As kidneys, lungs and livers,
Rushing the blood, my blood, winded, noisey.
My words escape me,
As I escape the world.

PEN
A pen is but a pen,
When the time has come
For its retirement.
A career is but a job,
Modern indentured servitude,
If not for the challenge
And dreams.

And a day is just a
Collection of hours,
If not for that one
Sparking, coaxing
Loving smile on your
Face.