ladouce2005
Primus registratum
Re: Dedikime
P.S. paskam harru te them qe eshte nga Charles Baudelaire
P.S. paskam harru te them qe eshte nga Charles Baudelaire
Dedikime
- Thread starter Ema
- Data e fillimit
Re: Dedikime
Dalle braccia di un amore
-Charles Bukowski
dalle braccia di un amore
nelle braccia di un altro
m'ha salvato dal morire sulla croce
una signora che fuma marijuana
e scrive canzoni e storie,
ed è molto più gentile dell' ultima,
molto molto più gentile,
e a letto è altrettanto brava o addirittura migliore.
non è piacevole essere messi in croce e lasciati là,
è molto più piacevole dimenticare un amore che
non funziona
come ogni amore
alla fine
non funziona...
è molto più piacevole far l'amore
davanti alla spiaggia di Del Mar
nella camera 42, e dopo
stare a letto, seduti,
e bere del buon vino, chiacchierare e toccarsi
fumare
ascoltare il rumore delle onde...
sono motro troppe volte
credendo e aspettando, aspettando
in una stanza
fissando il soffitto scalcinato
aspettando il telefono, una lettera, un colpo all'uscio, un squillo...
impazzendo
mentre lei ballava con sconosciuti nei locali notturni...
dalle braccia di un amore
nelle braccia di un altro
non è piacevole morire sulla croce
è molto più piacevole sentire il tuo nome sussurrato
nel buio.
:kiss:
Per Wall! :kiss:
Dalle braccia di un amore
-Charles Bukowski
dalle braccia di un amore
nelle braccia di un altro
m'ha salvato dal morire sulla croce
una signora che fuma marijuana
e scrive canzoni e storie,
ed è molto più gentile dell' ultima,
molto molto più gentile,
e a letto è altrettanto brava o addirittura migliore.
non è piacevole essere messi in croce e lasciati là,
è molto più piacevole dimenticare un amore che
non funziona
come ogni amore
alla fine
non funziona...
è molto più piacevole far l'amore
davanti alla spiaggia di Del Mar
nella camera 42, e dopo
stare a letto, seduti,
e bere del buon vino, chiacchierare e toccarsi
fumare
ascoltare il rumore delle onde...
sono motro troppe volte
credendo e aspettando, aspettando
in una stanza
fissando il soffitto scalcinato
aspettando il telefono, una lettera, un colpo all'uscio, un squillo...
impazzendo
mentre lei ballava con sconosciuti nei locali notturni...
dalle braccia di un amore
nelle braccia di un altro
non è piacevole morire sulla croce
è molto più piacevole sentire il tuo nome sussurrato
nel buio.
:kiss:
Per Wall! :kiss: Re: Dedikime
Rifletto: il mondo è breve
-Emily Dickinson
Rifletto: il mondo è breve
e l'angoscia - assoluta -
molti soffrono.
E con questo?
Rifletto: potremmo morire -
la vitalità più intensa
non può impedire il decadimento.
E con questo?
Rifletto: un giorno in cielo
in qualche modo sarà tutto uguale -
qualche nuova equazione sarà data.
E con questo?
Te gjithve!
Rifletto: il mondo è breve
-Emily Dickinson
Rifletto: il mondo è breve
e l'angoscia - assoluta -
molti soffrono.
E con questo?
Rifletto: potremmo morire -
la vitalità più intensa
non può impedire il decadimento.
E con questo?
Rifletto: un giorno in cielo
in qualche modo sarà tutto uguale -
qualche nuova equazione sarà data.
E con questo?
Te gjithve!
Re: Dedikime
Dickinson eshte nga ato poete qe kurre nuk u arriten te kuptoheshin, edhe sot. Por, e verteta eshte qe koha e merr gjithnje me vete, si nje nga firmat e madheshtise se vet.
P.S. Une poshte kam bere nje perkthim te poezise, per ata qe nuk mund ta shijojne ne anglisht. Ka te meta, por te pakten flet ca shqip /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
HEART, WE WILL FORGET HIM!
by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
EART, we will forget him!
You and I, to-night!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.
When you have done, pray tell me,
That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you're lagging,
I may remember him!
ZEMER, DO TA HARROJME ATE!
nga: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
ZEMER, do ta harrojme ate!
Une e ti kete, nate!
Ti mund te harrosh ngrohtesine qe dha
Une do harroj driten e arte.
Kur ta kesh bere, me thuaj, pergjerohem,
Qe mendimet une t’i le;
Nxito! Se ndwrsa ti mbulohesh,
Une mund ta kujtoj ate!
Dickinson eshte nga ato poete qe kurre nuk u arriten te kuptoheshin, edhe sot. Por, e verteta eshte qe koha e merr gjithnje me vete, si nje nga firmat e madheshtise se vet.
P.S. Une poshte kam bere nje perkthim te poezise, per ata qe nuk mund ta shijojne ne anglisht. Ka te meta, por te pakten flet ca shqip /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
HEART, WE WILL FORGET HIM!
by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
EART, we will forget him!
You and I, to-night!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.
When you have done, pray tell me,
That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you're lagging,
I may remember him!
ZEMER, DO TA HARROJME ATE!
nga: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
ZEMER, do ta harrojme ate!
Une e ti kete, nate!
Ti mund te harrosh ngrohtesine qe dha
Une do harroj driten e arte.
Kur ta kesh bere, me thuaj, pergjerohem,
Qe mendimet une t’i le;
Nxito! Se ndwrsa ti mbulohesh,
Une mund ta kujtoj ate!
Re: Dedikime
For you Shiraz, the piece is amazing /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif . Dickinson says "I drank a liquor never brewed". Her life she might have meant, but who on earth knows? I get drunk o'er dreams, on silver jugs containing wine, on poetry, the art of so finely speaking, the hopes which make me push ahead, of disappointments, whose bitter taste a remedy for the soul make, as heals what rotten is inside (Gibram said that). Always drunk... Always living... /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:
To-morrow!-Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend-ourselves to make a Couch-for whom?
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!
For you Shiraz, the piece is amazing /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif . Dickinson says "I drank a liquor never brewed". Her life she might have meant, but who on earth knows? I get drunk o'er dreams, on silver jugs containing wine, on poetry, the art of so finely speaking, the hopes which make me push ahead, of disappointments, whose bitter taste a remedy for the soul make, as heals what rotten is inside (Gibram said that). Always drunk... Always living... /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:
To-morrow!-Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend-ourselves to make a Couch-for whom?
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!
ladouce2005
Primus registratum
Re: Dedikime
faleminderit ENIAD
faleminderit ENIAD
alinos
Forumium maestatis
Re: Dedikime
per eniad me shkronja te vogla :tipsy:
take this as a thank you note :kiss:
![url] jpg](/proxy.php?image=http%3A%2F%2F%5Burl%3D%22http%3A%2F%2Fmembers.iinet.net.au%2F%7Eezi-gro%2Fvia%2520del%2520player%2520x%2520terama%2520%27cherry%2520blossom%27.%22%5Dhttp%3A%2F%2Fmembers.iinet.net.au%2F%7Eezi-gro%2Fvia%2520del%2520player%2520x%2520terama%2520%27cherry%2520blossom%27.%5B%2Furl%5D+jpg&hash=615d05957163b636b791df15d3ca32cc)
The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
Yeats
per eniad me shkronja te vogla :tipsy:
take this as a thank you note :kiss:
The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
Yeats
Re: Dedikime
For you Al, with the letters-font you like to have... decide upon the phases of the spirit... the soul's moon crescent... never round it does become. Too much imposive the capitals aren't they, and so unnecessary most of the time. Even the voice of a child with pigeon singing could be heard, enough you lend an ear to catch the sounds. But, grab delusions as fearful of being so small. ....Myself changing at words (Yeats says that, and I trust him). Who cares if others do not understand. Reading the greatest art of human intelligence is, then read what not yet written has been... it has so much to say and give. But, is one able to bear and absorb all those infinite combination of letters? This I don't know, not supposed to... Am only supposed to rest a bit... my neurons stuggling for survival and revival... lack of energy sources... I might read something not yet written... who shall the next author be....? Writing too long...?
The Phases of the Moon (Yeats)
...Because you are forgotten, half out of life,
And never wrote a book your thought is clear.
Reformer, merchant, statesman, learned man,
Dutiful husband, honest wife by turn, 105
Cradle upon cradle, and all in flight and all
Deformed because there is no deformity
But saves us from a dream.
Aherne
And what of those
That the last servile crescent has set free? 110
Robartes
Because all dark, like those that are all light,
They are cast beyond the verge, and in a cloud,
Crying to one another like the bats;
And having no desire they cannot tell
What’s good or bad, or what it is to triumph 115
At the perfection of one’s own obedience;
And yet they speak what’s blown into the mind;
Deformed beyond deformity, unformed,
Insipid as the dough before it is baked,
They change their bodies at a word.
For you Al, with the letters-font you like to have... decide upon the phases of the spirit... the soul's moon crescent... never round it does become. Too much imposive the capitals aren't they, and so unnecessary most of the time. Even the voice of a child with pigeon singing could be heard, enough you lend an ear to catch the sounds. But, grab delusions as fearful of being so small. ....Myself changing at words (Yeats says that, and I trust him). Who cares if others do not understand. Reading the greatest art of human intelligence is, then read what not yet written has been... it has so much to say and give. But, is one able to bear and absorb all those infinite combination of letters? This I don't know, not supposed to... Am only supposed to rest a bit... my neurons stuggling for survival and revival... lack of energy sources... I might read something not yet written... who shall the next author be....? Writing too long...?
The Phases of the Moon (Yeats)
...Because you are forgotten, half out of life,
And never wrote a book your thought is clear.
Reformer, merchant, statesman, learned man,
Dutiful husband, honest wife by turn, 105
Cradle upon cradle, and all in flight and all
Deformed because there is no deformity
But saves us from a dream.
Aherne
And what of those
That the last servile crescent has set free? 110
Robartes
Because all dark, like those that are all light,
They are cast beyond the verge, and in a cloud,
Crying to one another like the bats;
And having no desire they cannot tell
What’s good or bad, or what it is to triumph 115
At the perfection of one’s own obedience;
And yet they speak what’s blown into the mind;
Deformed beyond deformity, unformed,
Insipid as the dough before it is baked,
They change their bodies at a word.
Re: Dedikime
Since our first day breathing, the truths of life we strive to seek, although untruthful to the core the latter seems, putting questions to every answers we happen self-illuded to find. Descriptive... prescriptive... no medicine... no remedy to the living... it aches, doesn't it? And further we go streching our beings to the infinite universe of uknowns, no simple equations here, theories with more than one alternative to prove... But we still cross the deserts of thought and, while raining, try to drink its hints to forget about thirst...
Selections from 'The Prophet' (Khalil GIBRAM)
THEN a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter
rises was oftentimes filled with yourtears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your
being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very
cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes yourspirit,
the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart
and you shall find it is only thatwhich has given
you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,
and you shall see that in truth you are weeping
for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow,"
and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with
you at your board, remember that the other is
asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales
between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at
standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh
his gold and his silver, needs mustyour joy
or your sorrow rise or fall.
********************************************
AND a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break,that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder
at the daily miracles of your life, your pain
would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your
heart, even as you have always accepted
the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity
through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the
physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink
his remedy in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided
by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter
has moistened with His own sacred tears.
Dedicated to all of us, all in need of answers leading to more questions... /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
Since our first day breathing, the truths of life we strive to seek, although untruthful to the core the latter seems, putting questions to every answers we happen self-illuded to find. Descriptive... prescriptive... no medicine... no remedy to the living... it aches, doesn't it? And further we go streching our beings to the infinite universe of uknowns, no simple equations here, theories with more than one alternative to prove... But we still cross the deserts of thought and, while raining, try to drink its hints to forget about thirst...
Selections from 'The Prophet' (Khalil GIBRAM)
THEN a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter
rises was oftentimes filled with yourtears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your
being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very
cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes yourspirit,
the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart
and you shall find it is only thatwhich has given
you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,
and you shall see that in truth you are weeping
for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow,"
and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with
you at your board, remember that the other is
asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales
between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at
standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh
his gold and his silver, needs mustyour joy
or your sorrow rise or fall.
********************************************
AND a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break,that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder
at the daily miracles of your life, your pain
would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your
heart, even as you have always accepted
the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity
through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the
physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink
his remedy in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided
by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter
has moistened with His own sacred tears.
Dedicated to all of us, all in need of answers leading to more questions... /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
ladouce2005
Primus registratum
Re: Dedikime
Thank you ENIAD /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
Thank you ENIAD /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
alinos
Forumium maestatis
Re: Dedikime
when i read what you say, it rings a bell, mostly like that of Fred's livin on his own, though i suppose you already know it's not easy...
when i read what you say, it rings a bell, mostly like that of Fred's livin on his own, though i suppose you already know it's not easy...
and yet, i think about it, about the long trail behind and ahead and i cannot stop thinking. suppose it is the thing i do best in life, but it doesn't always help, i am afraid, to give answers that produce more questions. things just seem vain, and dull, and colorless, and soundless, and voiceless, and thoughtless. all these less-es sort of fall onto our souls causing hidden wounds that are hard to heal, especially if you are scratching your head, because your back is itching. and yet, sometimes if you massage your feet, your headache will stop and the two of them seem so far away and so poorly connected that you would reasonably doubt wether healing is for real, or a result of hypnosis, or mere coincidence. however,
after life there must be life, otherwise what life would it be?! :shrug:
Re: Dedikime
On the spur of the moment, is it so? My moments of thinking, of trying, of persevering, of contemplation and madness altogether, of pain, sorrow, joy, craziness... madness of living. Grasping myself the utmost of the elusive minutes, rejoicing their existence, although sometimes not wanted... Us beings conceived of momentanous cells, hard to give a name to millions of slipping time frames... our moments.
Moments of Vision
That mirror
Which makes of men a transparency,
Who holds that mirror
And bids us such a breast-bare spectacle see
Of you and me?
That mirror
Whose magic penetrates like a dart,
Who lifts that mirror
And throws our mind back on us, and our heart,
until we start?
That mirror
Works well in these night hours of ache;
Why in that mirror
Are tincts we never see ourselves once take
When the world is awake?
That mirror
Can test each mortal when unaware;
Yea, that strange mirror
May catch his last thoughts, whole life foul or fair,
Glassing it -- where?
Thomas Hardy
Dedicated to... forgot in a moment... /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif
On the spur of the moment, is it so? My moments of thinking, of trying, of persevering, of contemplation and madness altogether, of pain, sorrow, joy, craziness... madness of living. Grasping myself the utmost of the elusive minutes, rejoicing their existence, although sometimes not wanted... Us beings conceived of momentanous cells, hard to give a name to millions of slipping time frames... our moments.
Moments of Vision
That mirror
Which makes of men a transparency,
Who holds that mirror
And bids us such a breast-bare spectacle see
Of you and me?
That mirror
Whose magic penetrates like a dart,
Who lifts that mirror
And throws our mind back on us, and our heart,
until we start?
That mirror
Works well in these night hours of ache;
Why in that mirror
Are tincts we never see ourselves once take
When the world is awake?
That mirror
Can test each mortal when unaware;
Yea, that strange mirror
May catch his last thoughts, whole life foul or fair,
Glassing it -- where?
Thomas Hardy
Dedicated to... forgot in a moment... /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif
Re: Dedikime
To....whom it may concern: /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif
Lady,i will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene
(lady i will
touch you with my mind.)Touch
you,that is all,
lightly and you utterly will become
with infinite care
the poem which i do not write.
-e.e. cummings
To....whom it may concern: /pf/images/graemlins/wink.gif
Lady,i will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene
(lady i will
touch you with my mind.)Touch
you,that is all,
lightly and you utterly will become
with infinite care
the poem which i do not write.
-e.e. cummings
Re: Dedikime
if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one
one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we go who)
one's everyanything so
so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now
now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we
we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one
- e.e. cummings
`cause nobody but us loves without saying "I love"
if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one
one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we go who)
one's everyanything so
so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now
now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we
we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one
- e.e. cummings
`cause nobody but us loves without saying "I love"
William Wallas
Forumium maestatis
Re: Dedikime
Pa Titull ... !!!
Mes territ ngjitem kodrës fill i vetëm,
mundimin shtyj më kot dhe me përtim.
Po lehin rrotull qentë… U lehin yjeve.
Unë territ çaj e ngjitem me nxitim.
Pse të nxitohem kur do kthehem prapë?
Një yll u dogj diku në gjithësi…
E ftoht' kjo mbrëmje vjeshte ...
Në të ngjitur
Unë po mendoj atë që s'di njeri ... !!!
Po kthehem… prush janë yjt' te qiell i lartë,
si vatër e madhe Durrsi tej po ndrin.
Kam ftohtë… te qielli nuk i ngroh dot duartë.
Të ngrohtët e qytetit s'më arrin ... !!!
Pa Emer ... !!!
Pa Titull ... !!!
Mes territ ngjitem kodrës fill i vetëm,
mundimin shtyj më kot dhe me përtim.
Po lehin rrotull qentë… U lehin yjeve.
Unë territ çaj e ngjitem me nxitim.
Pse të nxitohem kur do kthehem prapë?
Një yll u dogj diku në gjithësi…
E ftoht' kjo mbrëmje vjeshte ...
Në të ngjitur
Unë po mendoj atë që s'di njeri ... !!!
Po kthehem… prush janë yjt' te qiell i lartë,
si vatër e madhe Durrsi tej po ndrin.
Kam ftohtë… te qielli nuk i ngroh dot duartë.
Të ngrohtët e qytetit s'më arrin ... !!!
Pa Emer ... !!!
ladouce2005
Primus registratum
Re: Dedikime
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
A oublier les gens/t'i harroj njerezit
A pas les écouter/te mos i degjoj
Ou bien à faire semblant/ose te bej sikur...
Moi j'aime bien m'absenter/me pelqen te humbas
Je sais c'est énervant/e di qe s'eshte mire
J'peux pas vraiment lutter/por nuk e luftoj dot
Contre mon tempérament/temperamentin tim...
J'ai tendance à aimer/kam tendence te dashuroj
A me bercer d'illusions/te mbushem me iluzione
A m'laisser entraîner/e le veten te humbas
Sans me poser de questions/pa bere pyetje
Je veux juste oublier/dua vec te harroj
Etre toujours dans la lune/te jem gjithmone mbi hene
Croire que c'est arrivé/te besoj qe ka ndodhur
Quand je rame sur les dunes/kur notoj mbi duna
C'est vrai, c'est vrai/eshte e vertete
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
Alors je gâche des instants/dhe keshtu prish momente
Des occases de t'aimer/raste per te te dashuruar
C'est vrai, c'est vrai/eshte e vertete
J'suis vraiment tête en l'air/e kam vertete mendjen ne ere
Mais faut pas m'abandonner/por s'duhet t'me braktisesh
Dans les rues en hiver/ne rruge neper dimer...
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
Pour compenser le vide/per te mbushur boshllekun
A doucement m'esquiver/ngadale te evitoj
Pour ne pas prendre une ride/qe te mos me shtohet nje rrudhe
Oh j'ai la peur tu sais/oh kam shume frike e di
Qui me tenaille le ventre/qe me pickon barkun
Des entailles dans le cœur/dhimbje ne zemer
Et une flèche en plein centre/dhe nje shigjete mu ne qender
C'est vrai, c'est vrai/eshte e vertete
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
Alors je gâche des instants/dhe prish momente
Des occases de t'aimer/raste per te te dashur
C'est vrai, c'est vrai/eshte e vertete
J'oublie le plus important/harroj me te rendesishmen
Mais ça m'empêche pas de t'aimer/por s'me ndalon te te dashuroj
Ça j'en fais le serment/per kete betohem
Ça ne m'empêche pas de t'aimer/s'me ndalon te te dua
Ça j'en fais le serment/te betohem
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
A oublier les gens/t'i harroj njerezit
A pas les écouter/te mos i degjoj
Ou bien à faire semblant/ose te bej sikur...
Moi j'aime bien m'absenter/me pelqen te humbas
Je sais c'est énervant/e di qe s'eshte mire
J'peux pas vraiment lutter/por nuk e luftoj dot
Contre mon tempérament/temperamentin tim...
J'ai tendance à aimer/kam tendence te dashuroj
A me bercer d'illusions/te mbushem me iluzione
A m'laisser entraîner/e le veten te humbas
Sans me poser de questions/pa bere pyetje
Je veux juste oublier/dua vec te harroj
Etre toujours dans la lune/te jem gjithmone mbi hene
Croire que c'est arrivé/te besoj qe ka ndodhur
Quand je rame sur les dunes/kur notoj mbi duna
C'est vrai, c'est vrai/eshte e vertete
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
Alors je gâche des instants/dhe keshtu prish momente
Des occases de t'aimer/raste per te te dashuruar
C'est vrai, c'est vrai/eshte e vertete
J'suis vraiment tête en l'air/e kam vertete mendjen ne ere
Mais faut pas m'abandonner/por s'duhet t'me braktisesh
Dans les rues en hiver/ne rruge neper dimer...
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
Pour compenser le vide/per te mbushur boshllekun
A doucement m'esquiver/ngadale te evitoj
Pour ne pas prendre une ride/qe te mos me shtohet nje rrudhe
Oh j'ai la peur tu sais/oh kam shume frike e di
Qui me tenaille le ventre/qe me pickon barkun
Des entailles dans le cœur/dhimbje ne zemer
Et une flèche en plein centre/dhe nje shigjete mu ne qender
C'est vrai, c'est vrai/eshte e vertete
J'ai tendance à rêver/kam tendence te enderroj
Alors je gâche des instants/dhe prish momente
Des occases de t'aimer/raste per te te dashur
C'est vrai, c'est vrai/eshte e vertete
J'oublie le plus important/harroj me te rendesishmen
Mais ça m'empêche pas de t'aimer/por s'me ndalon te te dashuroj
Ça j'en fais le serment/per kete betohem
Ça ne m'empêche pas de t'aimer/s'me ndalon te te dua
Ça j'en fais le serment/te betohem
ladouce2005
Primus registratum
Re: Dedikime
J' m'en fous pas mal/s'me behet shume vone
Je suis née, Passage de la Bonne Graine.
J'en ai pris d' la graine, et pour longtemps
J' travaille comme un chien toute la semaine
J' vous jure que l' patron, il est content
Mes amies se sont mises en colère :
"C'est pas bien malin, c' que tu fais là...
Faut c' qu'y faut, mais toi, tu exagères,
Tu verras qu'un jour, tu le regretteras..."
J' m'en fous pas mal.
Y peut m'arriver n'importe quoi,
J' m'en fous pas mal.
J'ai mon dimanche qui est à moi.
C'est p't'êt' banal,
Mais ce que les gens pensent de vous,
Ça m'est égal !
J' m'en fous !
Il y a les bords de la Seine.
Il y a l'avenue de l'Opéra.
Il y a le Bois de Vincennes.
Quel beau dimanche on a là
Et puis, y a l' bal
Qui vous flanque des frissons partout.
' y a des étoiles
Qui sont plus belles que les bijoux.
' y a les beaux mâles
Qui vous embrassent dans le cou.
L' reste, après tout,
J' m'en fous !
Ce fut par un de ces beaux dimanches
Que, tous deux, l'on se mit à danser.
De grands yeux noirs, de longues mains blanches,
Alors, j' me suis laissée embrasser.
Mes amies se sont mises en colère :
"C' type-lâ, c'est connu, il a pas d' cœur.
C'est un va-nu-pieds, un traîne-misère.
Y t'en fra voir de toutes les couleurs..."
J' m'en fous pas mal.
Il peut m'arriver n'importe quoi,
J' m'en fous pas mal.
J'ai mon amant qui est à moi.
C'est p't'êt' banal
Mais ce que les gens pensent de vous,
Ça m'est égal !
J' m'en fous !
Il y a ses bras qui m'enlacent.
Il y a son corps doux et chaud.
Il y a sa bouche qui m'embrasse.
Ha, mon amant, c' qu'il est beau !
Et puis ' y a l' bal.
Quand je suis dans ses bras, c'est fou.
J' me trouverais mal.
Quand il m' dit : "Viens ! Rentrons chez nous !"
Ah l'animal !
Avec lui, j'irais n'importe où.
L' reste après tout,
J' m'en fous !
J'ai vécu des heures si jolies
Quand il me tenait entre ses bras.
J' n'aurais jamais cru que, dans la vie,
On puisse être heureuse à ce point-là
Mais un jour où tout n'était que rires,
Un jour de printemps rempli de joie,
Il s'en est allé sans rien me dire,
Sans même m'embrasser une dernière fois...
J' m'en fous pas mal.
' y peut m'arriver n'importe quoi,
J' m'en fous pas mal.
J'ai mon passé qui est à moi.
C'est p't'êt' banal
Mais ce que les gens pensent de vous,
Ça m'est égal.
J' m'en fous !
Les souvenirs qui m'enlacent
Chantent au fond de mon cœur
Et tous les coins où je passe
Me rappellent mon bonheur,
Et puis ' y a l' bal.
Je danse, et je ferme les yeux.
Je crois que c'est encore nous deux.
Parfois, j'ai mal.
J'ai mon cœur qui frappe à grands coups.
Ça m'est égal.
J' m'en fous !...
per my lil pumpkin...again /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
t'a perkthej ne privat :kiss:
J' m'en fous pas mal/s'me behet shume vone
Je suis née, Passage de la Bonne Graine.
J'en ai pris d' la graine, et pour longtemps
J' travaille comme un chien toute la semaine
J' vous jure que l' patron, il est content
Mes amies se sont mises en colère :
"C'est pas bien malin, c' que tu fais là...
Faut c' qu'y faut, mais toi, tu exagères,
Tu verras qu'un jour, tu le regretteras..."
J' m'en fous pas mal.
Y peut m'arriver n'importe quoi,
J' m'en fous pas mal.
J'ai mon dimanche qui est à moi.
C'est p't'êt' banal,
Mais ce que les gens pensent de vous,
Ça m'est égal !
J' m'en fous !
Il y a les bords de la Seine.
Il y a l'avenue de l'Opéra.
Il y a le Bois de Vincennes.
Quel beau dimanche on a là
Et puis, y a l' bal
Qui vous flanque des frissons partout.
' y a des étoiles
Qui sont plus belles que les bijoux.
' y a les beaux mâles
Qui vous embrassent dans le cou.
L' reste, après tout,
J' m'en fous !
Ce fut par un de ces beaux dimanches
Que, tous deux, l'on se mit à danser.
De grands yeux noirs, de longues mains blanches,
Alors, j' me suis laissée embrasser.
Mes amies se sont mises en colère :
"C' type-lâ, c'est connu, il a pas d' cœur.
C'est un va-nu-pieds, un traîne-misère.
Y t'en fra voir de toutes les couleurs..."
J' m'en fous pas mal.
Il peut m'arriver n'importe quoi,
J' m'en fous pas mal.
J'ai mon amant qui est à moi.
C'est p't'êt' banal
Mais ce que les gens pensent de vous,
Ça m'est égal !
J' m'en fous !
Il y a ses bras qui m'enlacent.
Il y a son corps doux et chaud.
Il y a sa bouche qui m'embrasse.
Ha, mon amant, c' qu'il est beau !
Et puis ' y a l' bal.
Quand je suis dans ses bras, c'est fou.
J' me trouverais mal.
Quand il m' dit : "Viens ! Rentrons chez nous !"
Ah l'animal !
Avec lui, j'irais n'importe où.
L' reste après tout,
J' m'en fous !
J'ai vécu des heures si jolies
Quand il me tenait entre ses bras.
J' n'aurais jamais cru que, dans la vie,
On puisse être heureuse à ce point-là
Mais un jour où tout n'était que rires,
Un jour de printemps rempli de joie,
Il s'en est allé sans rien me dire,
Sans même m'embrasser une dernière fois...
J' m'en fous pas mal.
' y peut m'arriver n'importe quoi,
J' m'en fous pas mal.
J'ai mon passé qui est à moi.
C'est p't'êt' banal
Mais ce que les gens pensent de vous,
Ça m'est égal.
J' m'en fous !
Les souvenirs qui m'enlacent
Chantent au fond de mon cœur
Et tous les coins où je passe
Me rappellent mon bonheur,
Et puis ' y a l' bal.
Je danse, et je ferme les yeux.
Je crois que c'est encore nous deux.
Parfois, j'ai mal.
J'ai mon cœur qui frappe à grands coups.
Ça m'est égal.
J' m'en fous !...
per my lil pumpkin...again /pf/images/graemlins/smile.gif
t'a perkthej ne privat :kiss: