The Bridge

Between now and now,
between I am and you are,
the word bridge.

Entering it
you enter yourself:
the world connects
adn closes like a ring.

From one bank to another,
there is always
a body stretched:
a rainbow.

I'll sleep beneath its arches.

Octavio Paz

IN THE EVENING

Walking on different color of rainbow
Get the different feelings
Get the different beats
Every time I step on it
Every color has another story
Never enough, I still wish
Until the sky crying
And make the star falling
In the cold evening
Near on the darkness
I still watching
Uncertainty and impossible desire
Wishes for great happiness and eternity
It cannot all came true
Because it’s hard to understand
Life mystery, supremacy of the infinite
Glory of God
We cannot change destiny,
Just make it better

The color of the rainbow
Slow but surely disappearing with wind
I still watching
…
Still with my silence

Fee Cheen

Tip

Sylvia Plath

"I want to write because I have

the urge to excel in one medium of

 translation and expression of life.

I can't be satisfied with

the colossal job of merely living.

Oh, no, I must order life

in sonnets and sestinas

and provide a verbal reflector

 for my 60-watt lighted head."

PICASSO





૨τ 

"Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth."


P.P.

L.O.V.E.

For you...my darling you,

Your style, your smile, your scent,

A beautiful scent indeed,

I've experienced different things before,

But never have I experienced one such as you,

Your taste, your touch, your thoughts,

The way our lips were made to touch together,

Matching so perfectly like two birds of a feather,

We were made for each other,

My juice you drank,

And hypnotized me,

Weakness above all prevails,

I take comfort in your gentle ways,

The way you take my hand,

Love felt like none before,

Kisses of sweet bliss,

Smiles upon many,

Take me like no other for I am yours,

Yes, I give you this treasure,

For there is no measure for my love for you.

UN ESPEJO - CARLOS PINTADO

Un espejo cambiante es toda vida.
Un espejo que a ciegas lanza un lento
reflejo de reflejos, un momento
en que algo se repite y ya se olvida.

¿Por qué la sed no encuentra su perdida
transparencia en el agua o en el viento?
¿Quién osará copiar aquel sediento
fantasma que en el mar niega su huida?

¿Tendrá todo reflejo? ¿Qué silencio
podrá copiar siquiera tu silencio?
¿El mar del tiempo quién podrá copiarlo?

¿Y ese amor que nos llega sin llamarlo,
no será amor, quizás, de otros amores
o como el fuego, sueño de esplendores?

-Carlos Pintado (Tarkovsky)