Life, he believes, is not a dream
As black as the wise men say they are.
Often a gray morning
Foreshadows a pleasant afternoon and soalhenta.
Sometimes there are dark clouds
But it is only on certain days;
If rain makes the गुलाब bloom
Why mourn and not smile?
Quickly, happily
The soalhentas hours of life go by
Thankfully, excitedly
Enjoy them as they go flying.
And sometimes when Death appears
And the best that आप have gone?
And when the pain deepens
And hope it sinks won?
Oh, even then, there is hope of rebirth
Unconquerable, never die.
Happy with his golden wing
Strong enough to make us feel good
Boldly, afraid of nothing
Face the Judgement दिन coming.
For gloriously, victoriously
Courage can overcome despair.
As black as the wise men say they are.
Often a gray morning
Foreshadows a pleasant afternoon and soalhenta.
Sometimes there are dark clouds
But it is only on certain days;
If rain makes the गुलाब bloom
Why mourn and not smile?
Quickly, happily
The soalhentas hours of life go by
Thankfully, excitedly
Enjoy them as they go flying.
And sometimes when Death appears
And the best that आप have gone?
And when the pain deepens
And hope it sinks won?
Oh, even then, there is hope of rebirth
Unconquerable, never die.
Happy with his golden wing
Strong enough to make us feel good
Boldly, afraid of nothing
Face the Judgement दिन coming.
For gloriously, victoriously
Courage can overcome despair.
January 15, 1815
Journal,
Its cold. My खाना is almost gone, I can’t feel my hands. I लॉस्ट my hat; my ears are frozen. My sisters are dying. Sasha has pneumonia, and Nastea’s लॉस्ट her कोट and shoes. My hair is falling out. I look at the broken down train behind us. Tree’s sleep soundlessly on चोटी, शीर्ष of it. I sit at a पेड़ trunk, with आप on my lap, and a scrawny pencil in my hand. Nastea sits beside Sasha, feeding her berries and herbs. I hope things get better, Journal. I hope things get better.
Bye Journal,
Nadia
Journal,
Its cold. My खाना is almost gone, I can’t feel my hands. I लॉस्ट my hat; my ears are frozen. My sisters are dying. Sasha has pneumonia, and Nastea’s लॉस्ट her कोट and shoes. My hair is falling out. I look at the broken down train behind us. Tree’s sleep soundlessly on चोटी, शीर्ष of it. I sit at a पेड़ trunk, with आप on my lap, and a scrawny pencil in my hand. Nastea sits beside Sasha, feeding her berries and herbs. I hope things get better, Journal. I hope things get better.
Bye Journal,
Nadia
she unloads his gun
She and he waits for this
he releases his love
In blue and green orbs
she gives him और and more
A million miles away
A million years girl
In a black woven chest
he digs his nails deep
She trusts in him for what he does
live in a house in the suburbs
He kisses the pain with blood and light
sleeping it off in the morning
A million miles away
A million years girl
In her world of his
she unloads his gun
In a world of his
she covers the sun
A million miles away
A million years
A million years girl