/ex-yu/

Từ Công Phụng
What Month Is It?

Bây Giờ Tháng Mấy
Bây giờ tháng mấy rồi hỡi em ?
lênh đênh ngàn mây trôi êm đềm
Chiều nay nếu em đừng hờn dỗi,
trách nhau một lời thôi
Tâm hồn mình đâu lẻ đôi.

Bây giờ tháng mấy rồi hỡi em ?
Anh đi tìm màu hoa em cài
Chiều nay nhớ em rồi và nhớ
áo em đẹp màu thơ,
môi tràn đầy ước mơ

Mai đây anh đưa em đi về,
mưa giăng chiều nắng tàn
cho buốt lạnh chúng mình.
Em ơi, thôi đừng hờn anh nữa,
nhìn nhau buồn vời vợi,
để mùa đông buốt giá bờ vai mềm.

Bây giờ tháng mấy rồi hỡi em ?
Anh đi tìm mùa xuân trên đời
Mùa đông chết đi rồi mùa xuân
mắt em đẹp trời sao
cho mình thương nhớ nhau.

Từ Công Phụng

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Đêm qua mơ dáng em đang ôm đàn dìu muôn tiếng tơ
Không gian trầm lắng như âu yếm ru ai trong giấc mơ
Mái tóc nhẹ rung, trăng vờn làn gió
Yêu ai anh nắn cung đàn đầy vơi đôi mắt xa vời

Anh yêu tiếng hát êm như lời nguyền đẹp bao ước mơ
Anh như lầu vắng em như ánh trăng reo muôn ý thơ
Muốn nói cùng em đôi lời trìu mến....
Tim anh băng giá đang ngại ngùng câu năm tháng mong chờ

Hẹn em từ muôn kiếp trước
Nhớ em mấy thuở bạc đầu
Anh đã âu sầu vì đường tơ vương vấn
Em để cung đàn đưa anh về đâu ?

Dư âm tiếng hát reo lên trong lòng anh bao nhớ nhung
Đê mê lòng nhớ đêm qua giấc mơ môi em hé rung
Anh muốn thành mây nương nhờ làn gió
Đưa anh tới cõi mơ hồ nào đây muôn kiếp bên nàng.

Nguyễn Văn Tý
1949

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Pozdrav, braćo Iliri.

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ovo je dobra pesmica

Geneva in July
Finally
I surrender to the passing seasons
and life becomes like a book
(not a long one, certainly)
with numbered pages
to be turned one by one -

what if
that girl in Geneva
hadn't suddenly crossed the road
running, without paying attention
carefully holding flowers in her hands?

I clearly remember
the old woman in a black headscarf
passing the table with a basket of roses
and you asking simply,
‘Do you like flowers?'

As always
I replied after a long hesitation
and you cupped my chin and turned my face
fully towards you.

All promises
were defeated by a time
of windless days;
the roses would turn to dust
and the passionate Geneva nights
would leave us yawning.

There would be disturbance, nervousness, uncertainty
Who are you? Who am I?
You would probably have closed the window
on the train between Paris and Geneva
in case the wind ruffled my hair.

Or, when something untoward had happened,
you would have persuaded me to step off the train
to stay in a nameless town,
enjoy it together.

To travel
is to shed one's name, to become ungrounded,
a glistening object played with by the wind;

and what is more real - walking
with head bowed against the force of the wind,
or the dark lights of Amsterdam?

Flowers, night, towns and cities
slip in between things one wishes to remember
spread out, like words at dusk,
a deepening gulf between conflicting utterances.

What if
with a sudden flapping of wings
five white swans
had not flown slowly towards the moon
leaving the lake filled with solitude.
We remain silent.

Yes, there has always been
more meaning in what's left unspoken.

onu za koju se ozenim nakon sto dobijem njenu ruku od njenog oca

ne iznenađuje me da je žena odlučila slobodan stih
još i prevod juh

Nez sta da postam

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
sonet 18 shakespeare
klasik inace ga imam meoriziranog

dobre cifre

asgang pokidao veceras alal vera momci kreativnost na nivou

totally my type

Jebote pa ja imam jednu djocku na faksu isti cigo samo ima manju podbradinu i šubaru

odjebi poljak

želim da sav ironičan kancer neironično dobije kancer

daj sliku

ajmo u ovaj, tamo bar nema spamera

never post that pic again

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A neznam jel ćete moć izvor nać

screenaj, odes u paint malo ju ofarbas negdje i promjenis ime fajla

ovo ali svakako se moze izvaliti ako je iz albuma koji je vidljiv samo njegovim prijateljima

*ne moze

Jel ovo pravi thread na kraju?

heart piercing with arrow of sweetest poison
dear lover has it come to past?
like the graveyard of flies
i come to say goodbye to happiness

ovde smo

boards.Jow Forums.org/int/thread/87537195#bottom

no spam thread

stajao sam kraj mezara
i umrlu majku zvao
nosio joj dar od srca
ali joj ga nisam dao

Nismo. Ne može velikosrpski thread.

ubi se

Međusobno poštovanje i uvažavanje je temelj kvalitetnih društvenih odnosa i odlika civilizacije.

Jedan čas,
Klupka sto,
Drugi čas,
Gde ste, braćo?

jel moze onda sledeci ilirski?

umbilical noose of hell
mother oh mother
child's tears mating call to women
raging well polished commercial death in a bottle, box, bag whatever you need wrapped up with a pink bow and ready to sell to the chickens
the end destination to every relationship is a bullet in the brain
the nightmares i like most are the ones with you in them
somewhere in this prison there is room for you too
my guardian angel speaks a foreign language
telling me my body is trying to kill me
like a panic attack that feels good
so i stand there in sweet summer wind blowing ash from the lit tip of a Marlboro red

moze, magnum ilirikum edicija

Ovaj je prvi napravljen i to se jedino gleda ostalo me kurtzhina zaboli

ne nije lolara

Rimbaud is such a qt

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nije bitno jel vila il supa
bitno da smo skupa
i da tehno lupa
glupaco glupa

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Tu smo brate

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."

And so he was quiet, & that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black;

And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins & set them all free;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm;
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

Sranje dan moram priznat

>ook nikad neces izrabljivati djecu u industrisjkoj revoluciji
cemu zivot?

Из глoтки кpacит кpoвь пecoк
Кypcивoм aлым c блeднoй кoжи,
Cмepть eдкo липнeт нa caпoг,
Пeчaтaть шaг пoкa им мoжeм.