WISH FOR PEACE  original poem by ( Sabrina Rubin)
Translate to lunguage Arabic by (Aziz Mountassir)

                                  

I am writing today
That i am not feeling inside,
Peace!
Where is mankind?
Naked criticism for you
Yes we are vagrants from here to there
Inner struggles are there
War, bullet, cry,  rape,  child abuse
Guilts are in my brain
Suffering a lot of this pain
Don’t let the world cry
Don't let the dove die
Where is serenity?
Path of beautiful lagoon
Where destiny welcomes
Surrender soul for humankind
No anger, no jealously
Walk in this radiant way
Live in love and harmony
Spread your hand for victims
Raise your hands for victory..

Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo
Written In the Stars

.                                                     

(Inspired by the movie “Winter’s Tale)
They say for each person
There is a certain Miracle from within
And you are meant to be just for one person
As time draws to a close to meeting the One,
The Universe and your Spirit Guides are on your side
To help you fulfill your One True Destiny.

It’s written in the stars
And before you know it, I am coming to hold your hand
You may not know now but soon you’ll get it somehow
I may have bumped into you along life’s journey,
But you were too preoccupied with your own story
That you didn’t notice me passing you by.

If in this life, we have to say goodbye
As my soul reincarnates, I’ll meet you again in the next,
When our eyes lock as we cross our paths once more
You will know in your heart that it was me – your Destiny,
Just look at the stars on a beautiful night such as this
And know that the time is near to feel eternal bliss.

It’s written in the stars
For even when True Love is lost,
Your soul will bleed for a meaning in your life
But though the inevitable happens, searching for your One True Destiny remains
If we are yet to discover our One True Miracle,
Even time may defeat itself in order for you to see me in another lifetime.

Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo
Copyright May 31, 2014
Philippines

I hope this would be fine. Thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity to share my work! 😊

THE GREEN ROSES
Joanna Svensson

                                            

A dreamed of
A bouquet of
Green roses
They were sent
To me
Last night
I don't know
Where They came from
Don't know
From where from whom
They just stood there
On my bedside table
Beaming
In lovely color green
Illuminated
By the full moon
Itself

Quite overwhelmed
For never I saw
Colors of green
So brightly shining

These colors of green
I had never seen
This fragrance
I had never felt
All was so peaceful
Made me feel so at ease
The calm of it all
Was enchanted

Maybe They came
From another world
From another reality
From a world
Where other
Colors may rule
A world
With different fragrance
A world
Yet not known
To us

The roses in
My dreams was
Maybe a message
To broaden
My views
Just a bit

To be able to tell
To really describe
To explain
Unexplainable things
To tell
What you really
Can't see

I dreamed
Of a bouquet
Of green roses
A most highly
Unlikely
Dream
But to me
Realistic
And never so sharp
And suddenly
Its message
Sunk in!

When I woke up
The roses
Were gone
Surprised I held
A green rose
In my hand
A shining rose
Beaming of love
It sparkled
With magic
Strong was its light
Shone ever so bright
Light of hope
Light of happiness
And joy!

©® Joanna Svensson

Swenstorp, Sweden

A passing
William s Peters sr

                                 

Sitting here reflecting,
Contemplating,
Examining,
Considering,
My experiential-ness
Being circumspectively careful
Not to get the foot
Of my consciousness ensnared
By that little impish me
Who lends himself to judgment

Looking back,
Looking ahead,
Looking at
Where I stand,
It is hard to be conclusive
As to what the meaning
Of my life is,
Should be,
Or what end I strive or pine
For

Inclusive versus exclusive
A presumptive preclusive oxymoron

I do know
That somewhere within the recesses
Of who I vainly perceive myself
To be
That I wish
To leave a few notes
Or clues
That I did come this way

Sure, I have children,
Two handfuls of grands
And a great grandson as well,
But what would they tell
To their own
Of what they have known
Of my existence?

He was a good guy ?
He was a poet, a writer,
A peacemaker, a fighter
He believed, he condemned
He condoned, he damned

He loved, he hated
He took chances, he waited . . .
Too long

What was that song he always hummed ?
Who knows, but he did hum . . .  along . . .
With some music
It appeared
That only he could hear

He was courageously
Filled with a fear
Of what he would become,
Of what we would become

To sum it all up
I am not quite so sure
If my cup
Was half empty,
Or half full,
Or if it makes a damn bit of difference,
But I do believe
I had,
And still have potential

The essential thing I attest
About living
Is in the giving
Of one’s self
To the effort of pretense,
Hence, why bother otherwise
If one can not surmise,
And persuade themselves
To engage
In the exploration
Of possibilities and potentialities

The surrealities and fiction
Has its own derelictions . . .
Darkness, light and . . .
Truths
That transform themselves
From the age of consciousness . . .

Conception to the grave
From our youth,
Until we save ourselves
From our selves . . .

And here I am,
Still attempting to drown out the dissent
Found in those whispering voices
That tell me
There are little choices
That I have
To be other than
What I am told
By that around me,
Which surrounds me
Within
And without

Somehow,
I have mastered the ability
To doubt myself
And all that
I could have been,
And still yet can be

Funny thing about contemplation and reflection,
The process of certitudinal detection
Of what truly is,
Is as kaleidoscopic
As it ever could be,
For thoughts
Have no boundaries . . . 
No, they can not be contained
As we would like them to be,
For they are only passing . . .
A passing through
Once again

© 9 December 2019 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

THE SECRETS OF THE MIRRORS
Joanna Svensson

.                                         

The secrets behind the mirrors
Hidden on the other side
Every reflection you see
Is already of time that's passed

And so it is stored
Every picture
Every moment
On the other side of the mirror
It's the mirror of time

It's your own unique picture
Just now - just then
Irrespective of what ever moment

No matter what you see
If you're glad
If you're happy
If you're sad, disappointed or angry

The mirror always reflects
Reflects your own reflection
Your outer reflection
Reinforced by your inner self

And so it is stored
Reflection by reflection
Picture by picture
Side by side
In your life's huge rollerdex
Wether you wish it or not

Sometimes I want to remove
All the mirrors in my life
Throw them all into the lake
To get rid of all reminders
That you actually have
Have just limited time

That time is unmerciful and ruthless
That time slowly but surely
Takes its toll
The toll that it thinks is right

You feel it more and more
The older you get - more and more
Indeed it is the way of nature
Clearly it is the nature's right

Just like in the closed circle
In the closed circle of life
Where everything has its beginning
And everything has its end

'Cause don't you be naive
Don't think that time will forget you
That you could hide from time
Somewhere

Although you will still live on
You will always remember
Through your deeds
Through your poems
Through your songs
Through all the pictures of your life
That have been stored on the other side
On the other side of the mirror
On the other side of time
In your huge rollerdex of life
On the other side of the mirror
On the other side of your own passed time

©® Joanna Svensson

© Private picture Joanna Svensson

Back in the Farm . . .

by NhülyaYILMAZ

                                                  

Back in the Farm . . .

as my beloved would say
to make heavy matters
not weigh me down
but we both know it too well
this sickness has its way
to stay deep in our psyche
because the white man
knows not to let it be
the urge to root for slavery
is etched in his DNA
history repeats itself indeed
his barbarism, his most addictive weed
as i write down these words in despair
i am filled with paralyzing thoughts
as i am acutely aware
this disease does not yield itself
to be an easy repair

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 11.20.2019

#SUNBIRD English by Ezhil Vendhan and Arabic Translation by Aziz Mountassir Aziz Mountassir and Greek by Zacharoula Gaitanaki
#أنا طائر صغير نحيف

                                      

فاتح اللون
ريشي من  قزحية الطيف
و جهاز صوتي
 ينادي الرحيق
في زمن سحيق
رحلتي طائرة سريعة
مستقيمة
 بأجنحتي القصيرة
 أحب الغابات المطيرة
أعيش بين الأعالي
بين خطوط العرض
سباقي  تجوال في الليل
الزهور لم تفلح
في منعي
 في وصولي لرحيقهم
لكنني ببساطة جثم وثقب
في قاعدتهم
 قُرب  الرحيق
علاقتي دائمة
سوف أختلط مع الجميع
استضيف الوقواق
ليبيض في أعشاش
بناها لي و لنظيري
ملقح مهم
أحكم النظم
أقاوم الموائل
إن عجزت عن التحليق
النورات وجهتي
هي الثبات

🐦
Δρ Ezhil Vendhan (Ινδία):  #SUNBIRD

#ΤΟ_ΠΟΥΛΙ_ΤΟΥ_ΗΛΙΟΥ
Είμαι ένα μικρό λεπτό πουλί,
με ζωηρά χρώματα,
γεμάτο με φτερά ιριδίζοντα,
έχοντας πολύ ανεπτυγμένο φωνητικό όργανο,
λόγω του τρόπου ζωής μου με νέκταρ,
από αμνημονεύτων χρόνων.

Η πτήση μου είναι γρήγορη και άμεση,
χάρη στα μικρά φτερά μου.
Αγαπώ τα δάση της βροχής,
ζω σε μεγάλα υψόμετρα ή γεωγραφικά πλάτη,
πέφτω σε νάρκη κατά τη διάρκεια της νύχτας.

Τα λουλούδια αποτυγχάνουν στην αποτροπή μου
να αποκτήσω πρόσβαση στο νέκταρ τους,
αλλά απλώς κουνάω και τρυπώ
στη βάση τους κοντά στους χυμούς τους.

Η σχέση μου είναι διαρκής,
θα μιλήσω με όλους.
Έχω το προνόμιο να φιλοξενώ κούκους,
να βάλουν τα αυγά τους στις φωλιές,
που κατασκευάστηκαν από μένα ή το ταίρι μου.

Όντας ένας σημαντικός επικονιαστής,
ένας συντηρητής των οικοσυστημάτων,
ανθεκτικός στις μεταβολές του οικοτόπου.

Επειδή δεν μπορώ να πετάξω,
οι προνομιακές ταξιανθίες μου είναι,
συνήθως, ποιο ανθεκτικές μόνο.

[Ελεύθερη απόδοση στα ελληνικά από τη Ζαχαρούλα Γαϊτανάκη.]

I'm a small slender bird,                                                       
brightly coloured,                                                                 
plumaged with iridescent feathers,                                         
having highly developed vocal organ,                                     
because of my nectar-feeding lifestyle,                               
from time immemorial.                                                       

My bird flight is fast and direct,                                       
thanks to my short wings.                                                   
I love rain-forests,
I live at high altitudes or latitudes,                                       
will enter torpor while roosting at night.

Flowers are unsuccessful,
in preventing me,                           
to access their nectar,                                                       
but I simply perch on and puncture,                                     
at their base near the nectaries. 
                                 
My relationship is enduring,                                           
will mingle with everyone.                                                     
I have the privilege of hosting cuckoos,                                         
to lay their eggs in the nests,                                                       
constructed by me or my counterpart.

Being an important pollinator,
a preserver of the ecosystems,
resistant to changes in habitat.

Since I cannot hover, 
my preferential inflorescences are,
typically the sturdier ones only. 
Copyright @