LA VIDA ES BELLA TÚ VERÁS!!!...A NUESTROS HIJOS!

PALABRAS PARA JULIA

Tú no puedes volver atrás
porque la vida ya te empuja
como un aullido interminable.

Hija mía es mejor vivir
con la alegría de los hombres
que llorar ante el muro ciego.

Te sentirás acorralada
te sentirás perdida o sola
tal vez querrás no haber nacido.

Yo sé muy bien que te dirán
que la vida no tiene objeto
que es un asunto desgraciado.

Entonces siempre acuérdate
de lo que un día yo escribí
pensando en ti como ahora pienso.

La vida es bella, ya verás
como a pesar de los pesares
tendrás amigos, tendrás amor.

Un hombre solo, una mujer
así tomados, de uno en uno
son como polvo, no son nada.

Pero yo cuando te hablo a ti
cuando te escribo estas palabras
pienso también en otra gente.

Tu destino está en los demás
tu futuro es tu propia vida
tu dignidad es la de todos.

Otros esperan que resistas
que les ayude tu alegría
tu canción entre sus canciones.

Entonces siempre acuérdate
de lo que un día yo escribí
pensando en ti
como ahora pienso.

Nunca te entregues ni te apartes
junto al camino, nunca digas
no puedo más y aquí me quedo.

La vida es bella, tú verás
como a pesar de los pesares
tendrás amor, tendrás amigos.

Por lo demás no hay elección
y este mundo tal como es
será todo tu patrimonio.

Perdóname no sé decirte
nada más pero tú comprende
que yo aún estoy en el camino.

Y siempre siempre acuérdate
de lo que un día yo escribí
pensando en ti como ahora pienso.

S U S A N A !...TO YOU!...mil beijos...e mais cem e...novamente mil e mais cem...e depois mais mil e mais cem..

Suzanne
by Leonard Cohen
Suzanne takes you down to
her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body
with your mind.

And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body
with his mind.

Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body
with her mind.

LADIES and GENTLEMEN...here to my Primaço ALBERTO!!!...JIM MORRISON!...THE DOORS!!! THE POETRY IS A NUCLEAR ARM! SAVE THE WORLD!

THE DOORS
"The End"
This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end


Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again


Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land


Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah


There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the King's highway, baby
Weird scenes inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west, baby


Ride the snake, ride the snake
To the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long, seven miles
Ride the snake...he's old, and his skin is cold


The west is the best
The west is the best
Get here, and we'll do the rest


The blue bus is callin' us
The blue bus is callin' us
Driver, where you taken' us


The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went into the room where his sister lived, and...then he
Paid a visit to his brother, and then he
He walked on down the hall, and
And he came to a door...and he looked inside
Father, yes son, I want to kill you
Mother...I want to...fuck you


C'mon baby, take a chance with us
C'mon baby, take a chance with us
C'mon baby, take a chance with us
And meet me at the back of the blue bus
Doin' a blue rock
On a blue bus
Doin' a blue rock
C'mon, yeah


Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill


This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end


It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die


This is the end

LOVE STORY!...TO YOU...MY GODFATHER(António R. Antunes)!!!...AKHENATEN - NEFERTITI..THANKS.

You arise beauteous in the horizon of the heavens
Oh living Aten who creates life.
When you shine forth in the Eastern horizon you fill every land with your beauty.
You are so beautiful: you are great; gleaming and high over every land.
Your rays embrace the lands and all you have created;
You are Re and reach out to all your creations, and hold them for your beloved Son.
You are afar, but your rays touch the earth;
Men see you, but know not your ways.

When you set in the Western horizon of the sky
The earth is in darkness like the dead.
People sleep in their rooms with covered heads;
They do not see each other.
If all their possessions were stolen
They would know it not.
Every lion leaves its lair;
All snakes bite;
Darkness covers all.
The world is silent
For the creator rests in his horizon.

When you rise from the horizon the earth grows bright;
You shine as the Aten in the sky and drive away the darkness;
When your rays gleam forth, the whole of Egypt is festive.
People wake and stand on their feet
For you have lifted them up.
They wash their limbs and take up their clothes and dress;
They raise their arms to you in adoration.

Then the whole of the land does its work;
All cattle enjoy their pastures,
Trees and plants grow green,
Birds fly up from their nests
And raise their wings in praise of your spirit.
Goats frisk on their feet,
And all fluttering and flying things come alive
Because you shine on them.
Boats sail up and downstream,
All ways are opened because you have appeared.
The fish in the river leap up to you
Your rays are in the deep of the sea.

You are the creator of the issue in woman,
The seed in men;
You give life to the son in his mother's womb
Soothing him so he does not cry
Oh nurse within the womb.

You give the breath of life to all your creations
From the day they are born.
You open their mouths and give them sustenance.
To the chick that cries "tweet" while still in the egg
You give breath in the shell to let him live,
And make the time for him to break the shell
And come out of the egg at the moment for him to chirp
And patter on his two feet.

How manifold are your works: they are secret from our sight
Oh unique god, no other is like you.
You made the earth after your own heart
When you were alone. All men, herds
And flocks, all on the earth that goes on its feet;
and all that is in the sky and flies with its wings.
The land of Egypt, the foreign lands of Syria and Nubia too -
You put every man in his place and fulfil his needs;
Each one with his sustenance and the days of his life counted,
Their language is different,
And they look different;
Their complexions are different,
For you have distinguished the nations.
You make the seasons to bring into being all your creatures;
Winter to cool them,
And the heat of summer to come from you.
You have made the sky afar off
So when you rise you can see all you have made.
You alone rise in the form of the living Aten
Shining afar, yet close at hand.
You make millions of forms out of you alone,
Towns and villages, fields, roads and river.
All eyes see you before them
For you are the Aten of the day, over all the earth.

You are in my heart and none other knows thee
But your son "Akhenaten";
You have given him understanding of your designs and your power.
The people of the world are in your hand
Just as you have created them.
All men since you have made the earth you have raised for your son
Who came forth from your body,
The King of Egypt who lives in truth,
Lord of Diadems, Akhenaten, whose life is long:
And for his beloved wife
Mistress of Two Lands, NefernefruatenNefertiti
May she live and flourish in eternity.

Akhenaten (pronounced /ˌɑːkəˈnɑːtən/;[1] often also spelled Echnaton, Akhnaton, or rarely Ikhnaton; meaning Effective spirit of Aten) was known before the fifth year of his reign as Amenhotep IV (sometimes given its Greek form, Amenophis IV, and meaning Amun is Satisfied), a Pharaoh of the Eighteenth dynasty of Egypt, ruled for 17 years and died in 1336 BC or 1334 BC. He is especially noted for abandoning traditional Egyptian polytheism and introducing worship centered on the Aten, which is sometimes described as monotheistic or henotheistic. An early inscription likens him to the sun as compared to stars, and later official language avoids calling the Aten a god, giving the solar deity a status above mere gods.

...eres como un poema de Miguel Hernandez!...

LAS MANOS

Dos especies de manos se enfrentan en la vida,
brotan del corazón, irrumpen por los brazos,
saltan, y desembocan sobre la luz herida
a golpes, a zarpazos.

La mano es la herramienta del alma, su mensaje,
y el cuerpo tiene en ella su rama combatiente.
Alzad, moved las manos en un gran oleaje,
hombres de mi simiente.

Ante la aurora veo surgir las manos puras
de los trabajadores terrestres y marinos,
como una primavera de alegres dentaduras,
de dedos matutinos.

Endurecidamente pobladas de sudores,
retumbantes las venas desde las uñas rotas,
constelan los espacios de andamios y clamores,
relámpagos y gotas.

Conducen herrerías, azadas y telares,
muerden metales, montes, raptan hachas, encinas,
y construyen, si quieren, hasta en los mismos mares
fábricas, pueblos, minas.

Estas sonoras manos oscuras y lucientes
las reviste una piel de invencible corteza,
y son inagotables y generosas fuentes
de vida y de riqueza.

Como si con los astros el polvo peleara,
como si los planetas lucharan con gusanos,
la especie de las manos trabajadora y clara
lucha con otras manos.

Feroces y reunidas en un bando sangriento
avanzan al hundirse los cielos vespertinos
unas manos de hueso lívido y avariento,
paisaje de asesinos.

No han sonado: no cantan. Sus dedos vagan roncos,
mudamente aletean, se ciernen, se propagan.
Ni tejieron la pana, ni mecieron los troncos,
y blandas de ocio vagan.

Empuñan crucifijos y acaparan tesoros
que a nadie corresponden sino a quien los labora,
y sus mudos crepúsculos absorben los sonoros
caudales de la aurora.

Orgullo de puñales, arma de bombardeos
con un cáliz, un crimen y un muerto en cada uña:
ejecutoras pálidas de los negros deseos
que la avaricia empuña.

¿Quién lavará estas manos fangosas que se extienden
al agua y la deshonran, enrojecen y estragan?
Nadie lavará manos que en el puñal se encienden
y en el amor se apagan.

Las laboriosas manos de los trabajadores
caerán sobre vosotras con dientes y cuchillas.
Y las verán cortadas tantos explotadores
en sus mismas rodillas.

15 de febrero de 1937


Miguel Hernández, Poeta español nacido en Orihuela, Alicante, en 1910.
Hijo de campesinos, desempeñó entre otros oficios, el de pastor de cabras. Guiado por su amigo Ramón Sijé,
se inició en la poesía desde los veinte años; publicó su primer libro «Perito en lunas» en 1933 y posteriormente,
los sonetos agrupados en «El rayo que no cesa», marcaron la experiencia amorosa del poeta.
Durante la guerra civil militó muy activamente en el bando republicano como Comisario de Cultura, siendo encarcelado
y condenado a muerte al terminar el conflicto. Antes de morir, enfermo y detenido, publicó su última obra, «Cancionero
y romancero de ausencias».
Falleció en 1942. ©









--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Viento

Love is THE MASTER...Conversemos através da alma...ao Ti Jaquim Xapa e á Ti Mari Rapada!...revelemos o que é secreto aos olhos e ouvidos...Rumi !!!

LOVE IS THE MASTER

Love is the One who masters all things;
I am mastered totally by Love.
By my passion of love for Love
I have ground sweet as sugar.
O furious Wind, I am only a straw before you;
How could I know where I will be blown next?
Whoever claims to have made a pact with Destiny
Reveals himself a liar and a fool;
What is any of us but a straw in a storm?
How could anyone make a pact with a hurricane?
God is working everywhere his massive Resurrection;
How can we pretend to act on our own?
In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack;
Sometimes Love hoists me into the air,
Sometimes Love flings me into the air,
Love swings me round and round His head;
I have no peace, in this world or any other.
The lovers of God have fallen in a furious river;
They have surrendered themselves to Love's commands.
Like mill wheels they turn, day and night, day and night,
Constantly turning and turning, and crying out.



Başka Yarınlar

İmrûz cemâl-i tü sîmâ-yı diger dâred
İmrûz leb-î nûşet helvâ-yı diger dâred

Bugün yüzünde bir başka güzellik var senin,
bugün dudağında başka bir tad var,
boyunda başka bir yücelik
Bugün kırmızı gülün bir başka daldan

Ayın gökyüzüne bugün sığmamış
Göklere benzeyen göğsün bugün daha geniş
Hangi yanından kalktın bu sabah, söyle,
bir başka kavga var dünyada senin yüzünden,
dünyada bir başka gidiş

Biz senin gözlerinden gördük
arslanlara meydan okuyan o ceylanı,
Başka bir ovası var o ceylanın bugün
iki cihandan da dışarı

Seven insanın ayağı mı yok,
işte ona ölümsüzlük kapandı
Yukarlarda onunla uçar gider

Gözlerinin denizinde onu arama
Oinci bir başka denizde

Bakarsın bugün sever bu yürek,
yarın sevilir bakarsın

Yüreğimin özünde başka yarınlar var

Mevlana Celaleddin Rumi



Mavlana Rumi, 30.09.1207, Balkh, Persian.

"ROSE IS A ROSE IS A ROSE IS A ROSE" SAPPHÓ !!!

Song of the Rose
For Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.

Poem by Sappho, Lesbo, Ereso, 640 a.c.circ.