Cyan(log)

اگه فردا نقاشیم رو تموم نکنم خودم رو منفجر میکنم.

کلاه میخوام

من

ترجمه ش میکردم اگه فارسی بلد بودم...

why the pills

جدید نیست ولی فکر نمیکنم که بیشتر از این بهش دست بزنم دیگه. شعر فایدی شماره سه.

#Poem Bent o'er me asked the merry golden wheat, "What became of your lyric and lyre, Of the melody Hyacinth danced with, That reconciled Apollo and Zephyr? The song so sweet scattered by the West Wind, Through the silken hair of the Nymphs it ran, Mirthful notes in their flowing curls it pinned, They swayed so gay as to the pipe of Pan. Why is now your string a hostage to dust? Your rhythm and rhyme what rival did raid? Its festivity air the field has lost, Went the Nightingale with the tune you played." O curious company of my boyhood, The tongue's too weak to bear this wrecking news. The dearly spoken lyre never would Sing to poets forsaken by their Muse. His farewell blade reaped the spirit of mine, A crescent hollow his mark on my chest. Emptied my cup of Dionysian wine That lovely Muse who breathed into me best. Ask not the barren soul to burst in song, Nor ask the stale fingers to stroke the string-- The passion within me still burns as strong, Though none to him my love letter can bring. The yonder field is but a savage war, Deafened by the fierce cry of sword and spear. My balladry only reaches so far, No verse of mine would ever touch his ear. Heard my excuse the merry golden wheat, Caressed my cheek with her motherly hand, "So long as your hearth keeps the fiery heat, Is your love's herald all that dwells in land." All that dwells in land and the heavens high, To the song of heart every soul will yield, And on their lips carry the lover's sigh From one wheatfield to the far battlefield."

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#myphai #モスファイ 🔗 みや緒 (@380_miyao) 📲 @twittervid_bot

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