crtice iz života iskrice i iskričara

"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That pearches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -
and on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.


Produžena metafora da bi se opisala nadanje kao uvijek prisutnu životinjicu u duši i nemoguće ju je otjerati-
Ptica pjeva svoju pjesmu, bez ijedne riječi, grije nas, bez obzira na okolnosti i ništa ne traži od nas.
Pjesma je napisana vjerojatno 1861..
Objavljena poslije njezine smrti.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keyes, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing faster;
places and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of this will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.And vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

Even losing you ( the joking voice a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keyes, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing faster;
places and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of this will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.And vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

Even losing you ( the joking voice a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Kad bi imalo smisla
živjeti
imalo bi smisla
živjeti

Kad bi imalo smisla
još se nadati
imalo bi smisla još se nadati

Kad bi imalo smisla
željeti umrijeti
imalo bi smisla
željeti imrijeti

Gotovo sve bi imalo smisla
kad bi imalo smisla

Sick exicitement

Love is like a sick excitement.
Like a virus.
You can never tell,
How you got it.

You took care, but it struck you,
Like a lightening,
But you survived,
The thunder of it..

As you have survived,
Many other times

Lie low,
Drink a lot of tea
Take vitamin C.

ž.K. 2020.

Noć
Svugdje sam išla,
Tražila sam i čekala,
U sjeni opasnosti,
U u uglu života-
Ja sam sama bila.
Ptestrašena.

Ž.K. 2020.

Noć

U gluho doba noći,
Ja tebi ću poći.
Sve te prazne ulice,
Bit će tihe,

U slavu gluhog doba noći,
Kad tebi ću doći,
Da me ugriješ.

Ž.K. 2020.

Allow the morning sun to warm
Your heart when you are young
And let the soft winds of noon
Cool your passion,
But beware the night
For death lurks there,
Waiting, waiting, waiting

Arthur Rimbaud

pošalje poruku, i onda me stavi na ignore. i to ne jednu, već više.
ako ne prestane, otkrit ću nick.

svatko tko je miserable, utjeha.
dobro je imati utjehu.

super pjesma i riječi. za sve koji mrze radno mjesto, blaga utjeha.
kad naiđete na utjehu, svakako si priuštite utjehu.
pjesma je stara. a i ja.
znam što je dobro.

Ne! baš ni za ćim
Ne, ni za čim ne žalim ja
Ni za dobrim što su mi činili,
Ni za lošim,
Potpuno sve jedno to!
Ne, baš ni za čim
Ne žalim ja,
To je otplaćeno,
Počišćeno,
Zaboravljeno,
Nije me briga za prošlost!
Svojim uspomenama
Zapalila sam vatru,
Moje boli
Moja zadovoljstva
Više mi nisu potrebni
Počišćene ljubavi,
I sve njihove treptaje,
,
Ponovo krećem od nule
Počišćene zauvijek.
i dalje se ponavlja.
pozornica, blago svjetlo, reflektor kod mikrofona. izlazi mala sitna ženica, obučena u crno, potpuno ne drečeće,krene orkestar i neobično jak glas, intenzivan, strastven, hrabar. da ti pokrenu suze. pjesma je vječna. ono što je vječno je vječno..
žalim li ja? Ne. Svijet i život imaju svoje traume, svatko ima traume. Ali taj glas zatitrat će sve u nama.. bar za jedan tren, postat ćemo vječni.

nisam završila svoj pregled, valjda postoji ograničenje u pisanju.

nisam završila svoj pregled, valjda postoji ograničenje u pisanju.

nisam završila svoj pregled, vjerojatno se radi da postoji ograničenje.