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Rhianna

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                  Ravi Sathasivam                                                                                               by Rhianna Brant Poem- When I Walk Alone When I walk alone, I think of you my love When I walk alone, I walk with broken heart When I walk alone, I walk with sadness When I walk alone, I walk with my silent tears When I walk alone, I walk with my sorrow When I walk alone, I walk with my sad memories When I walk alone, I walk with my shattered dream When I walk alone, I walk with my hands lifeless Love never walk alone but you made me walk alone You promised me that you will walk with me forever but you made me walk alone with my tears forever When the heaven stolen you from me yesterday All your promises are gone with the wind Today, You made me walk alone with out you my love and I promise you, I will walk alone till my journey ends                https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-my-soul-loves-your-heart/#content Ravi Sathasivam has always lived
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Adam Melkamu

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The Farmer In Chaha O man who cultivates the field, how great is your merit! Wealth flows out from your fingers The sea gushes out in front of your home The crippled person comes to your house to beg You share with him your produce Because of this you receive blessing The orphan comes to your door to beg You share with him your produce Because of this you receive blessing The ants will not eat your fingers When you die you are destined for Paradise If you continue to live, you are destined for blessing https://commons.wikimedia.org Biographical information This poem is a folk song created by the Gurage people. They are a people group the lives in southwest Ethiopia . The Gurage invest a lot of time in cultivating their crops so it is a important part of their culture. This poem has no known author but rather is a well known folk song passed from generation to generation. On africanpoems.net  there are a colection of songs like this with similar topics c
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Maxwell Stecher

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Song about the mental clinic I told myself:-- you mustn't write! But stubborn hands will not comply, Oh, help me mother! Friends-- I’m in a fix! I lie in bed -- they grin at me, They might attack me terribly, I’m scared to sleep: they’re noiseless, hopeless freaks. The psychos vary here, and sure, Not all are rowdy, some impure, Receiving treatment -- getting starved and beat, But here is what surprises me: These madmen here are walking free, And all the food that I receive, they simply take and eat. Great Dostoyevsky’s fallen short (Russian Novelist) With the renowned, famous “Notes”! I wish the poor deceased could come and see! The famous Gogol I could tell (Russian Dramatist) Such stories of this life in hell That sure to God, this Gogol would most-boggled be! Can’t stand this! Spit on those baboons, ‘cause after all, they’re rowdy loons! They always aim to lick me on my face! In number seven, yesterday, Some loon, in utter disarr
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'Thoughts' by Alexander S. Pushkin Alexander Turner

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Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (1799-1837)  Александр Сергеевич Пушкин 'Thoughts' by Alexander Pushkin (1829) 'M ысли'*  от Александр Пушкин (1829) If I walk the noisy streets, O r enter a many thronged  church, Or sit among the wild young  generation, I give way to my thoughts I say to myself: the years are  fleeting, And however many there seem to  be, We must all go under the eternal v ault, And someone's hour is already at hand. When I look at the solitary oak I think: the patriarch of the woods. It will outlive my forgotten age As it outlived that of my grandfather's. If I caress a young child Immediately I think: farewell! I will yield my place to you, For I must fade while your flower blooms. Each day, every hour I habitually follow my thoughts, Trying to guess from their number The year which brings my death. And where will fate send death to me? In battle, in my travels, or on the seas? Or will the neighboring valley Rece
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Alexia Gonzalez

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Já, Marfiza cruel, me não maltrata Saber que usas comigo de cautelas, Qu'inda te espero ver, por causa d'elas, Arrependida de ter sido ingrata. Com o tempo, que tudo desbarata, Teus olhos deixarão de ser estrelas; Verás murchar no rosto as faces belas, E as tranças d'oiro converter-se em prata. Pois se sabes que a tua formosura Por força há de sofrer da idade os danos, Por que me negas hoje esta ventura? Guarda para seu tempo os desenganos, Gozemo-nos agora, enquanto dura, Já que dura tão pouco a flor dos anos https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-uma-senhora/    The symbol of the broken heart represents how the poet feels towards a person. It shows how he was left. File:Broken heart.svg - Wikimedia Commons The poet was born in the colony of Brazil. He studied at a Jesuit college His order was expelled from Brazil and all of Portuguese possessions, so he left to Rome. His fathers death was a hard time during his life.  He was also arrested for being clai
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Ali Smith

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  To Spend the Afternoon by Eugenio Montale To spend the afternoon, absorbed and pale, beside a burning garden wall; to hear, among the stubble and the thorns, the blackbirds cackling and the rustling snakes. On the cracked earth or in the vetch to spy on co lumns of red ants now crossing, now dispersing, atop their miniature heaps. To ponder, peering through the leaves, the heaving of the scaly sea while the cicadas' wavering screech goes up from balding peaks. And walking out into the sunlight's glare to feel with melancholy wonder how all of life and its travail is in this following a wall topped with the shards of broken bottles https://www.poemhunter.com/eugenio-montale/ BIOGRAPHY: Eugenio Montale was Born in Genoa, Italy in 1896 into a family of chemical products traders. He worked as an accountant but left to pursue literature. Mostly self- taught, he found his inspiration from other writers and landscapes. In 1975, he won the Nobel Prize in L
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Henry Lilly

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Kim Van Kieu  What tragedies take place within each circling space of years! ‘Rich in good looks’ appears to mean poor luck and tears of woe; which may sound strange, I know, but is not really so, I swear, since Heaven everywhere seems jealous of the fair of face. The first 4 stanzas of this poem are representing the main character Kim Van Kieu, who was made out to be very beautiful except she had ''poor luck and tears of woe". Nguyen Du then explains this by saying that it was because heaven seemed jealous of her good looks. Nguyen Du wrote about morals and humanism and his own suffering which could explain his interest in this story of Kim Van Kieu. He got the story after translating it from Chinese to Vietnamese during one of his military delegation missions. In the poem Nguyen Du describes Heaven with personification by saying "Heaven everywhere seems jealous of the fair of face. Using jealous to describe heaven personifies heaven to highlight how beautiful
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