In mir
Hier ist kein Schmerz,
tief in mir.
Hier ist kein Gefühl,
tief in mir,
unter meiner Haut.
Hier ist keine Glut,
tief in mir,
unter meiner Haut,
in meinen Venen.
Hier ist kein Herz,
tief in mir,
unter meiner Haut,
in meiner Brust.
Hier bin nicht mal ich,
tief in mir,
in meinem Kopf,
in meinem Blut.
Nein, nicht ich.
Nicht mal in mir.
______________
In me
There's no pain
deep inside me.
There's no emotion
deep inside me
under my skin.
There's no blaze
deep inside me
under my skin
in my veins.
There's no heart
deep inside me
under my skin
in my breast.
There's not even me
deep inside me
in my head
in my blood.
No, not me,
not even in me.
Poem's From Around The World
Wednesday 23 January 2013
Monday 21 January 2013
Scent (matthew18 version) by matthew18 (Interpals)
Inside desire awakens
Sunset hovering closely needing wanting
Scent of skin
Sunset hovering closely needing wanting
Scent of skin
In The Park by Hadenough (Interpals)
Walking under trees
solitary seabird cries
so far from the shore
cease the struggle and let go
weary in the falling dark
solitary seabird cries
so far from the shore
cease the struggle and let go
weary in the falling dark
My World by Stylebreed (Interpals)
Meine Welt
Wie finde ich das Wort
Den Anfang
Dir zu erklären
Wie wundervoll du bist
Du schiebst die Wolken beiseite
Bist mein Schirm im schlimmsten Sturm
Hältst mich trocken und warm
Jeden Tag
Bist der Klang meiner Musik
Die beste Note in jedem Stück
Wiegst mich zärtlich in den Schlaf
Jede Nacht
Ich verliere mich
Jeden Tag
Den du nicht bei mir bist
Fehlst du mir
In deinen Augen
Sehe ich die Welt
Wie sie sein soll
Wie sie mich glücklich macht
Du bist der Fels
Die Luft
Die mich umgibt
Jeden Tag
Bist du nicht da
Halte ich dich im Herzen
Nehme dich mit mir
Für immer
In meiner Welt
Bist du die Achse
Um die sich alles dreht
Bist meine Liebe
Für immer
_________________
My World
How can I find the word
The Beginning
To explain to you
How wonderful you are
You push the clouds aside
You're my umbrella in the hardest storm
Keep me dry and warm
Every day
You're the sound of my music
The best note in every song
Rock me tenderly to sleep
Every night
I lose myself
Every day
that you're not with me
I miss you
In your eyes
I see the world
As it should be
How it makes me happy
You are the rock
The air
that surrounds me
Every day
If you're not here
I hold you in my heart
Take you with me
Forever
In my world
You are the center
That everything rotates about
Are my Love
Forever
Wie finde ich das Wort
Den Anfang
Dir zu erklären
Wie wundervoll du bist
Du schiebst die Wolken beiseite
Bist mein Schirm im schlimmsten Sturm
Hältst mich trocken und warm
Jeden Tag
Bist der Klang meiner Musik
Die beste Note in jedem Stück
Wiegst mich zärtlich in den Schlaf
Jede Nacht
Ich verliere mich
Jeden Tag
Den du nicht bei mir bist
Fehlst du mir
In deinen Augen
Sehe ich die Welt
Wie sie sein soll
Wie sie mich glücklich macht
Du bist der Fels
Die Luft
Die mich umgibt
Jeden Tag
Bist du nicht da
Halte ich dich im Herzen
Nehme dich mit mir
Für immer
In meiner Welt
Bist du die Achse
Um die sich alles dreht
Bist meine Liebe
Für immer
_________________
My World
How can I find the word
The Beginning
To explain to you
How wonderful you are
You push the clouds aside
You're my umbrella in the hardest storm
Keep me dry and warm
Every day
You're the sound of my music
The best note in every song
Rock me tenderly to sleep
Every night
I lose myself
Every day
that you're not with me
I miss you
In your eyes
I see the world
As it should be
How it makes me happy
You are the rock
The air
that surrounds me
Every day
If you're not here
I hold you in my heart
Take you with me
Forever
In my world
You are the center
That everything rotates about
Are my Love
Forever
By The Sea by catharsis07 (Interpals)
The sea waves beneath
Rumbling and roaring
Launching on stones
In sprays of white foam.
Their sleepless murmur
Breaking the silence
As ancient as land
That now is washed
By tireless water.
The remnants of light
Lavender and timid
Unevenly scattered
Across misty skies.
Rumbling and roaring
Launching on stones
In sprays of white foam.
Their sleepless murmur
Breaking the silence
As ancient as land
That now is washed
By tireless water.
The remnants of light
Lavender and timid
Unevenly scattered
Across misty skies.
Trigger by Kendra_B (Interpals)
Stop screaming to your god,
You’ll be screaming in vain,
He has nothing to do with the pain,
and the violence,
that was force fed through your lips,
and ripped through your eyelids
The love that was grown has been demolished
through vicious grumbles,
and backwards glares.
Because the man that soldier just shot through the head
Screamed
For Allah just moments before shot dead.
Hot and red,
His blood on the floor was no more than a stain
of cheap,
red,
wine.
A pain to clean up,
but no more than a liquid that leaves a bitter taste to the tongue.
Because he was no brother,
a lover of another god,
Another color of skin
that has never been associated with
clean.
So unlike the pristine white
of you and I.
You are not entirely to blame.
This is how you were raised.
Rewind to age five,
your mind still pliable to build
monuments of understanding,
or mountains of compassion.
But it was around this age that Daddy taught you
that if a man is the color of the dirt beneath your feet,
then that is how
you will treat him.
It was around this age that Mother told you
that if a woman keeps her body sacred
in swaths
of black,
if a woman holds a sickle and star,
not a cross,
to her chest,
then she does not belong
in Western Civilization
because she is a backwards threat,
A danger to the modern woman.
It was around this age,
that any time you would turn on the TV
you would see
the bloody depictions
of broken bodies
and burning buildings
and whether it be fact,
or fiction,
it did not matter.
Because this was a time for nationalism.
Your young mind,
unable of rationalism
only saw
the clench of Daddy’s jaw,
Heard the gasp from Mother’s lips,
and all you knew,
was fear.
You were raised to hate.
It was a fate inescapable.
How could you have known any better,
when all you have ever known is that
white
is right
that your god is more powerful than any other
and it is a sin to think otherwise.
But the man that soldier just shot through the head
Screamed
for Allah just moments before shot dead.
Hot and red
his blood hit the floor.
But the blood of another god.
So why,
should it matter?
But if there is to be only one god,
Who is to say that your god is not my god?
That my god is not your god?
That God is not Allah,
And Allah is not God
One is not each other and each other is not one.
And the blood on the floor is the blood of your own brother,
A lover of another word,
but belief all the same.
Who is say,
that we made a mistake?
That in the wake of our false power
and fake pride,
we focused our time on the wrong ideas.
That we are just victims of pride and revenge gone wild,
and the blood on the floor
is the blood of a child of your own god.
And yet,
we find ourselves flinching on airplanes,
crossing to other sides of the street,
Spitting,
throwing fits,
blowing ideas out of proportion.
But we blindly validate these actions because
Don’t you remember?
It was the Muslims who collapsed us to fractions of our previous glory.
Because it was the Muslims
who murdered our brave men,
who fight
for our rights
But quietly
out of sight,
someone forgot to mention the seven civilian women caught in an
“unfortunate US bombing”.
Someone forgot to mention
that we took the lives
of seven wives
and seven mothers
just to get a reaction.
Because clearly,
all Muslims plan
to bomb our country
and burn our stripes
Except for the 99.7% that don’t.
Was it worth those odds?
When I grow up
and have a child of five,
I will sit her down
and shape her pliable mind.
I will tell her that if a man is the color
of the dirt beneath her feet
then that is how
she will treat him.
With honor and respect.
Because the dirt beneath your feet is the foundation
of the food you eat
It is what holds you straight
when you feel as if
you could fall to pieces.
I will tell her that a woman dressed in black
with a sickle and star against her chest
does not belong
in Western Civilization
Because we are a threat
to her sacred body
and sacred skin
hidden so carefully from our Western sins.
And I will let her mold her own young mind into
monuments of understand
and mountains of compassion
In hopes to combat the irrational
and absurd idea
that the color of her skin
or the word she calls her god
makes her any better
than anyone else.
And maybe someday,
through the eyes of a child,
we may resist the all too human desire
to hate.
And coexist as one in the same.
Maybe someday we may purge the urge of our pride and revenge gone wild
but what do I know?
these are only the thoughts of a child perhaps to optimistic
for her own good.
You know,
I’ve heard that change comes from the voice of one
but I have been choking on the bile of the words
I never said.
but I am fed up
with keeping my lips shut
I know there are people willing to listen.
I know there are others whose hearts bleed
and eyes glisten.
I’ve heard that change comes
from the voice of one.
So believe in me.
You’ll be screaming in vain,
He has nothing to do with the pain,
and the violence,
that was force fed through your lips,
and ripped through your eyelids
The love that was grown has been demolished
through vicious grumbles,
and backwards glares.
Because the man that soldier just shot through the head
Screamed
For Allah just moments before shot dead.
Hot and red,
His blood on the floor was no more than a stain
of cheap,
red,
wine.
A pain to clean up,
but no more than a liquid that leaves a bitter taste to the tongue.
Because he was no brother,
a lover of another god,
Another color of skin
that has never been associated with
clean.
So unlike the pristine white
of you and I.
You are not entirely to blame.
This is how you were raised.
Rewind to age five,
your mind still pliable to build
monuments of understanding,
or mountains of compassion.
But it was around this age that Daddy taught you
that if a man is the color of the dirt beneath your feet,
then that is how
you will treat him.
It was around this age that Mother told you
that if a woman keeps her body sacred
in swaths
of black,
if a woman holds a sickle and star,
not a cross,
to her chest,
then she does not belong
in Western Civilization
because she is a backwards threat,
A danger to the modern woman.
It was around this age,
that any time you would turn on the TV
you would see
the bloody depictions
of broken bodies
and burning buildings
and whether it be fact,
or fiction,
it did not matter.
Because this was a time for nationalism.
Your young mind,
unable of rationalism
only saw
the clench of Daddy’s jaw,
Heard the gasp from Mother’s lips,
and all you knew,
was fear.
You were raised to hate.
It was a fate inescapable.
How could you have known any better,
when all you have ever known is that
white
is right
that your god is more powerful than any other
and it is a sin to think otherwise.
But the man that soldier just shot through the head
Screamed
for Allah just moments before shot dead.
Hot and red
his blood hit the floor.
But the blood of another god.
So why,
should it matter?
But if there is to be only one god,
Who is to say that your god is not my god?
That my god is not your god?
That God is not Allah,
And Allah is not God
One is not each other and each other is not one.
And the blood on the floor is the blood of your own brother,
A lover of another word,
but belief all the same.
Who is say,
that we made a mistake?
That in the wake of our false power
and fake pride,
we focused our time on the wrong ideas.
That we are just victims of pride and revenge gone wild,
and the blood on the floor
is the blood of a child of your own god.
And yet,
we find ourselves flinching on airplanes,
crossing to other sides of the street,
Spitting,
throwing fits,
blowing ideas out of proportion.
But we blindly validate these actions because
Don’t you remember?
It was the Muslims who collapsed us to fractions of our previous glory.
Because it was the Muslims
who murdered our brave men,
who fight
for our rights
But quietly
out of sight,
someone forgot to mention the seven civilian women caught in an
“unfortunate US bombing”.
Someone forgot to mention
that we took the lives
of seven wives
and seven mothers
just to get a reaction.
Because clearly,
all Muslims plan
to bomb our country
and burn our stripes
Except for the 99.7% that don’t.
Was it worth those odds?
When I grow up
and have a child of five,
I will sit her down
and shape her pliable mind.
I will tell her that if a man is the color
of the dirt beneath her feet
then that is how
she will treat him.
With honor and respect.
Because the dirt beneath your feet is the foundation
of the food you eat
It is what holds you straight
when you feel as if
you could fall to pieces.
I will tell her that a woman dressed in black
with a sickle and star against her chest
does not belong
in Western Civilization
Because we are a threat
to her sacred body
and sacred skin
hidden so carefully from our Western sins.
And I will let her mold her own young mind into
monuments of understand
and mountains of compassion
In hopes to combat the irrational
and absurd idea
that the color of her skin
or the word she calls her god
makes her any better
than anyone else.
And maybe someday,
through the eyes of a child,
we may resist the all too human desire
to hate.
And coexist as one in the same.
Maybe someday we may purge the urge of our pride and revenge gone wild
but what do I know?
these are only the thoughts of a child perhaps to optimistic
for her own good.
You know,
I’ve heard that change comes from the voice of one
but I have been choking on the bile of the words
I never said.
but I am fed up
with keeping my lips shut
I know there are people willing to listen.
I know there are others whose hearts bleed
and eyes glisten.
I’ve heard that change comes
from the voice of one.
So believe in me.
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