weapons in the form of words
to defend ourselves or maybe offend others.
and with these words,
we are like gods.
we have the total control of it.
by speaking or do it with writing.
we may build or destroy one person.
build a person with the words of
encouragement and wisdom
and able to build what we called Life
to live this life with hope and faith
we may destroy a person
their dreams, their future
that maybe be their burden


This entry was published on 10.01.09 at 3:42 am and is filed under In Which I Think About Random Things. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

3 thoughts on “BLAH. BLAH. BLAH.

  1. danmihalache on said:

    So, you are new, at least on this site. I’m glad to be the first to coment. But, as I’m neither a poet nor a critic, I’ll send you a poem by Thomas Dylan:
    Not for the proud man apart
    From the raging moon I write
    On these spindrift pages
    Nor for the towering dead
    With their nightingales and psalms
    But for the lovers, their arms
    Round the griefs of the ages
    Who pay no praise or wages
    Nor heed my craft or art.

    And death shall have no dominion
    Dead men naked they shall be one
    With the man in the wind and the west moon
    When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone
    They shall have stars at elbow and foot
    Though they go mad they shall be sane
    Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again
    Though lovers be lost love shall not
    And death shall have no dominion.
    best regards,
    Dan, Romaania, htpp://

  2. danmihalache on said:

    Do you like it?
    well, Dylan is famous, but I’ll give you something almost unknown: oane of the greatest greek poets; I’ll give you the original too, thou I think you do not know greek; nither I know:

    Ionian Song
    Just because we have broken their statues,
    just because we have driven them out of their temples,
    the gods did not die because of this at all.
    O Ionian land, it is you they still love,
    it is you their souls still remember.
    When an August morning dawns upon you
    a vigor from their life moves through your air;
    and at times an ethereal youthful figure,
    indistinct, in rapid stride,
    crosses over your hills.

    Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)

    Γιατί τα σπάσαμε τ’ αγάλματά των,
    γιατί τους διώξαμε απ’ τους ναούς των,
    διόλου δεν πέθαναν γι’ αυτό οι θεοί.
    Ω γη της Ιωνίας, σένα αγαπούν ακόμη,
    σένα η ψυχές των ενθυμούνται ακόμη.
    Σαν ξημερώνει επάνω σου πρωί αυγουστιάτικο
    την ατμοσφαίρα σου περνά σφρίγος απ’ την ζωή των•
    και κάποτ’ αιθέρια εφηβική μορφή,
    αόριστη, με διάβα γρήγορο,
    επάνω από τους λόφους σου περνά.

    Κωνσταντίνος Π. Καβάφης (1911)

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