Monday, August 21, 2006

Kasi Gagabihin Translation



In the darkness of the room she smiles and looks at me.

I see only the glitter of her eyes that look because I know my voice.
E 'nearly blind but sees me and over my time, back and forth.
It 's very old but has the clarity and joy of a child.

I sit next to her and kiss her.
She smiles at me with a dance of teeth and his smile lights me absurd.
She tells me the time and went back.

reappears a grandmother acquired by an early marriage ended in tragedy. A grandmother
vampire that has sucked the life
and the little money earned by weight of hay older than she,
in the belly with a child or a lost son or a desire never said.

winds cruelty of poverty and condemning all to hoard
did spoil the flowers on the stem. She was a

flower, small but strong and stubborn.
She cried often for the grandmother cursed.
She drank her tears and with them many times has blossomed.


With the money her husband had forced her to play a game not
border dell'absburgico empire in distant Croatia,
money denied to her grandmother bravely vampire
bought a radio to his brother
sucking the strength from the bottle of its many tears.

now happy, incredibly old, strong, happy.
now has its time and is happy.

had to wait eighty years, but now it is hers alone.

from his body exudes a feeling of peace, which illuminates the room. A
near her feel a sense of strength that will invade
and his figure is dwarfed by the time
incredibly solar.


tarassaco

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Snow Stained Emo Boots

Through a bicycle wheel ...

Perhaps through the spokes of a bicycle wheel I could see things less wrong, a piece here and one there if you do not go there to look to this side or that of below or pull on the wheel and you spin and turn radii and obscure everything and then hope that the view is better: the clove of here happier than that of the ..
..... Zen of spokes of a bicycle wheel ...

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Pin 570 Smartst Software



strega

David Com Cnet Cn200pro

Witch Witch

The Witch in the street walking fast, his face all rolled up into a thousand wrinkles of anger, the black robes sweeping the sidewalk swept by the advancing foot furious, one after the other, with ravenous frenzy in a vain attempts to flee from.

The scepter of the past, the beloved broom hanging sideways, tied at the waist with a sash gray sadly and followed the lady that proceeded without a goal, surrounded by a cloud of bitterness and despair.

She was a witch, but no one saw the witch who was in her, all women saw only a gray, angry, moody.
The dazzling magic and dozing in the Witch did not see anyone.
now even she thought more of being a witch, but a young woman without any past or future, in this building that choked and could not live.

anger, envy, made her bow her head and hasten the pace more and more to nowhere.

But then a bird warbled and one child said Mom, look, a witch !
The child received a resounding slap from her mother el 'admonition to be more respectful with the old. That woke the
slap, tears of the child saw all his past and looked at her amazing, multifaceted future.

He looked up from the pavement to the sky and his eyes filled with blue, grabbed the broom and the broom shone like gold thread, her black dress was shining like a rare oriental silk, lay the face reappeared and its ancient ecstatic smile and then, only then, Ritov &:

She was a Witch!

He got on his broom and flew, at last high in the friendly sky, giving the child's fantasy about the victory and giving respectability to the skeptical mother can still believe in witches.

the
January 2001

Tuesday, August 8, 2006

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Friday, August 4, 2006

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Electro-luminescent Backlight Auto Light Switch

The azalea

My azalea is there.
I had forgotten a summer of a thousand years ago,
in an earthenware pot, with the bare branches reaching out to bright sunshine.
My azalea is there. On the cold
terrace, nestled in the mist,
with unexpected smiles stubbornly blooms pale pink
flickering green fire fireworks of its leaves.
My azalea is there.
Absurdly flourished in a time not his own,
a drop of spring on a foggy day litany of faded.
My azalea is there.
to remind me that anything is possible.

the
02/12/1999