Roses are lightning of thoughts,
they are arrows of love.
Their beauty is like a magic potion,
and when you drink it, you slip into the poetry ocean.
Roses are like a language of love in the scrapbook of happiness,
the silent song which is heard in the evening.
They are like a fresh flash of the morning light in the clear well,
the breathtaking sight of a magical spell.
Oh, Aphrodite, tell me, how am I supposed to extol
your roses by human tongue?
Don't be offended if I try with my own words
with a little help of nightingales, and other heavenly birds.
The Transience of Life
Oh man, remember who you are!
Carried by the waves and wind
you're a small boat in a wild storm,
and you do not see the end of the sea,
and then you realize how small you are.
Then you realize you're a grain of sand
in the shoe, which was removed and thrown
and not taking care of where you'll be left,
removed like an insignificant thing
in the already threadbare old coat.
This world doesn't lose anything with your death,
your trace will be replaced and every step you make
will be covered by the white cloak.
And while walking through the fog you can not see,
that you're wandering on the wrong path and you're going to darkness.
Through prayer get closer to your Lord,
do not exalt yourself in front of others, and don't show your scars.
Remember you are only a passenger with a return ticket in hand,
and at the end of your journey, you'll put down the heavy suitcases
and peacefully fall asleep, under the sparkling stars.
Soldiers In The Hell Of War
Oh, soldier, where are you going?
Who are you fighting and dying for?
Your path leads you through hell while wearing your cross
and wearily you're striding to destiny's door.
Your house without you has long been bleak.
Your mother has lost her son a thousand times
While sitting and waiting for you to knock on her door
she is crying of mourning while praying, kneeling on the floor.
Your mother is tired, tired from heavily concerns,
from insomnia and prayers for her only son.
Oh soldier, why do you shed your blood in this war
Who are you fighting and dying for?
White roses are spilled with blood on the unknown land
and no one knows where your grave is
and the church bells of your city are quietly sobbing
in the silence without end, in the silence without end.
The Magnificent Death
Everything that has a beginning, has its end.
Everything that grows from dust, returns to the dust.
Do I have to live my life in a fear of death?
Do I have to be afraid of the new beginning, new breath?
Death is not outside of me
It lives in me, and as I'm slowly getting older
It reminds me that it has a key
And someday it will overtake me.
Everything disappears with me
The sorrow and love
Yet, my poems will stay.
I'll live in them till the old paper fades away.
I'll continue to live in another world
I'll continue to sail like a weary sailor
Exhausted from the salt and sea foam
I'll continue to follow the compass, to find my home.
Day after day I'm slowly getting infatuated with
her breasts and scented hair.
My dreams have become
more beautiful when I realized she's there
hiding and shedding tears,
while I'm writing her a love poem and whisper her name.
I'm looking for the right verses to comfort her but I can not.
She covered her face with ghostly fog,
so I could not see at once all her grandeur and magic,
so that I don't see her crying face.
Autumn blushed from my kisses and my verses.
Autumn blushed and she couldn't hide,
so She put a white veil on the red face
and hastily crossed my room, in a couple of strides.
Nature is dying and you can feel
how on the street, autumn's tears resound,
falling slowly and pensively just like autumn leaves.
On the old road, I stepped on the mud and thought,
everything is being melted from chilly autumn tears.
Laura on November 02, 2020:
Amazing! You are a great poet!