Poezie

upraveno 6. listopadu 2010 v Literatura
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  • AvivAviv
    upraveno 15. července 2016
    Pojídali se citrónové, na počest Sansy, ale zezelenali plísní. To je taky houba, tak třeba kromě bolestí brucha vede i k blouznění ala lysohlávkový mejdan. :-D
  • Prosím, ať mi Krisa odpustí, ale myslím, že tyhle moje pokusy by překlad jen zhoršil.


    ANOTHER RIDE

    Just a little bit of lies,
    just a little bit of charm,
    to get what I want.
    I really mean no harm,
    just try to gain what I
    need and should've earned before.

    I know I sink into marsh,
    of spinning words and adrenaline rush.
    I sold my honor, put trust on stake,
    to steal long wasted time,
    to cover up my faults,
    to appear likable,
    to avoid deathly strikes,
    to feel I've got some power of mine.
    I do not feel remorse anymore,
    until I look into your pained eyes
    and I'd be rather for well deserved wrath,
    instead of your grief and bleeding, yet opening up heart.

    I feel I should leave you alone,
    for I can't make up for this slight.
    Only time soothes your aching, closes that gap between us.
    But then I cut you again with my shameless dirty lies.
    Straight face,
    boiling blood,
    acting is quite a fun,
    success a boost for my pride.
    Just don't get caught!
    Just don't get caught!

    I'd bid you farewell, say:
    "Get away, save yourself. There's no helping me.",
    but that roller-coaster without end takes me
    for another ride.
    And though I know I may crush down hard,
    a chance of flying seems worthy enough to try
    (and quite often actually is)
    and so I play, I play high again,

    again, again, again...

    ...just a little bit of lies,
    just a little bit of charm,
    to get what I want.
    I really mean no harm,
    just try to gain what I
    need and should've earned before.


    CLOCKWORK OF MY SELF

    Behind crystal mind
    resides empty heart
    a vast frozen realm
    dry whispers within.

    I look onto world,
    as it boils around,
    passion without reason,
    generous in its burst.
    And this perplexing irrationality,
    so often misplaced effort,
    though silly and ignorant from my point of view,
    attracts me beyond doubt.

    I claim to be curious,
    opportunistic in assimilation.
    But as I walk among them,
    cold pretense of sincere agitation,
    I devour every tingling glimpse
    like bottomless black hole.

    I don't love nor hate,
    there is no honest care.
    Just knowing without understanding.
    I drink from this well
    to escape numbing mildness.

    Now I know I am starved,
    for what I contempt.
    I've got precise clarity,
    sense for efficiency and mimicry,
    purposeless, collapsing in its hollowness,
    this clockwork of my self.
    I'll disintegrate once
    and I fear it not,
    the only sensation unsustainable hunger.


    IN THE CORNER OF MY EYE

    Do not leave me in dark,
    silence deafening.
    Please, give me at least spark
    to keep secure things.

    Do not leave me alone
    in this empty cell
    (for I won't be).
    Leave here at least guards,
    so terror stays at bay.

    I'm not afraid of shadows,
    but what lurks in.

    Swarming darkness,
    familiar steps,
    echo without former sound,
    a movement in the corner of my eye.
    I shudder at crawling touch on my skin,
    when no one is near.

    Second thoughts,
    a contradiction,
    foul urges beneath allowed feelings,
    a voice I know too well
    and alone only hear.

    Bars of cage are quickly breaking,
    a gleeful laugh at my anguished shriek.
    I'm gripped in choking embrace.
    I push outward, the other inward.
    Or is it other way?

    Web of cracks appears in mirror,
    on floor lie splinters of mask.
    Who was the one wearing it?
    Consumed by whirlwind maddening
    I beg you last time for ray merciful
    to find strength and regain dominance,
    because you wish even less than I to see taking over
    the other - the other me.


    BETWEEN SKY AND PITS

    Nothing is set in stone
    and I dream of blood.
    No more do I have home,
    just places, where I lied
    for a while.

    Wandering between sky and pits
    I stammer looking for an aim.
    But do I have any arrows?
    Do I have any bow?
    Few rocks in pocket would do,
    tough I would whine about getting stuck low.

    Blind, with nothing to contribute,
    barren, that's my fear.
    And so I stammer between sky and pits,
    seeking an inspiring thrill.
  • @Aviv můžu jeden dotaz? Proč oživuješ tyhle osm let starý témata?? (nic proti, jen mě to zajímá)
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