Thursday, 22 December 2016

The Dream

Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past—they speak
Like sibyls of the future; they have power—
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
They make us what we were not—what they will,
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanished shadows—Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow?—What are they?
Creations of the mind?—The mind can make
Substances, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
-George (Lord) Byron
[complete poem @]

Monday, 5 December 2016

O Lisboa!

This one is dedicated to one great city -Lisbon and also to lots of those foreigners who have been here and stayed way longer than they had planned. With love and regards to the great city!!

And also one great poem that i just found by Fernando Pessoa

O que me dói não é
O que há no coração
Mas essas coisas lindas
Que nunca existirão…

São as formas sem forma
Que passam sem que a dor
As possa conhecer
Ou as sonhar o amor.

São como se a tristeza
Fosse árvore e uma a uma,
Caíssem suas folhas
Entre o vestígio e a bruma


What hurts me is not
What is in the heart
But those beautiful things
Which will never be.

They are the forms without form
That go by without pain
Being able to know
Or love to dream them

They are as if sadness
Were a tree and one by one,
Its leaves were falling
Between the trace and the mist.

Thursday, 10 March 2016

Missing Connection

From beginning till the end
Life makes us want to 
And often in between
Lost in-
Missing Connections