I CAN NOT GIVE MORE – Poetry, by Pedro Salinas

IO NO PUEDO DARTE MAS > Yo no puedo darte más. No soy más que lo que soy. ¡Ay, cómo quisiera ser arena, sol, en estío! Que te tendieses descansada a dascansar. Que me dejaras tu cuerpo al marcharte, huella tierna, tibia, inolvidable. Y que contigo se fuese sobre ti, mi beso lento: color, desde la nuca al talón, moreno. …

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TIME LOVERS – FrantiÅ¡ek Hrubín Poetry

TIME LOVERS You wrap on the finger straw, there on the finger, where you dreamed a gold ring. I still conversed with the sun, and you already impallidivi in the moon. Behind us, suddenly he began to rustle. And posasti the shadow head, on its leaves. Capello after the hair, it took you. It only for the burning nettles, jealousy …

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HORIZONS OF GLORY – When a bell can save a city: Brno and the Petrov hill

One of the strengths of this city is its compact historical center, almost completely devoid of traffic congestion in our cities. Corner above the old city of Brno, in the south-west we can find the most quiet streets of the whole city. All these roads embrace the Petrov Hill, the one where we’re going, walking for Biskupska. As you see, …

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ONLY YOU – Spanish poetry, by anonimus

SOLO TU > Sólo tú le das brillo y amor a mi corazón. Sólo tú me miras con tanta pureza y belleza interior. Sólo tú llenas de alegría a mi alma. Sólo tú conoces mis secretos, deseos y anhelos. Sólo tú me transmites calor con tus manos. Sólo tú me das fuerzas para seguir viviendo. Sólo tú me hablas con …

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WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY – M83 ft HAIM: Holes In The Sky

HOLES IN THE SKY Arms to the ground, far from the rivers. Grace in our tears, high on a fever. Somebody heal me from my pain. I’m reaching closer, my stars have lowered, filling up lost memories. Holes in the sky, pierced by the fire. Somebody tell me this is real. Hands to the sky, I am a dreamer. We …

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THE HYENA AS A SURROGATE FOR HERSELF – Leonora Carrington, the woman that was drawn to this animal’s rebellious spirit

LEONORA CARRINGTON 1/4 – A woman who dies and is born in springtime, experiencing and creating – for almost seventy years – in Mexico. She was born into a wealthy family and moved to France, very young, fitting in the movement of the surrealist painters, where he met Max Ernst, her love, the man who was arrested by the Germans, …

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UNLEASH MEMORIES – Poetry by Yehuda Amichai

UNLEASH MEMORIES These days I think of the wind blowing through your hair, the years that I was in the world before you, and to eternity that before you go to meet, the bullets did not kill me in battle, but they killed my friends, me better because they did not live as well as I do, I think of …

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THE BORDER – Poetry, by Ana Blandiana

THE BORDER I am seeking the principle of evil, as a child I tried the margins of the rain. With all ran forces, to find the place where to sit on the ground, and contemplate the one part rain, on the one hand no rain. But always the rain stopped, before they found out the boundaries, and began again, first …

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