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To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary. http://t.me/HidenChat_Bot?start=6760561053
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| Date | Subscriber Growth | Mentions | Channels | |
| 06 July | 0 |
Channel Posts
| 2 |  No text... | 13 |
| 3 | There's a bluebird in my heart that
Wants to get out but I'm too tough for him
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
To let anybody see you
There's a bluebird in my heart that
Wants to get out
But I pour whiskey on him and inhale
Cigarette smoke
And the whores and the bartenders
And the grocery clerks never know that
He's in there
There's a bluebird in my heart that
Wants to get out but I'm too tough for him
I say, Stay down, do you want to mess
Me up? You want to screw up the
Works? You want to blow my book sales in
Europe? There's a bluebird in my heart that
Wants to get out
But I'm too clever, I only let him out
At night sometimes when everybody's asleep
I say, I know that you're there
So don't be sad
Then I put him back
But he's singing a little
In there, I haven't quite let him die
And we sleep together like that
With our secret pact
And it's nice enough to make a man
Weep, but I don't weep, do
You?
— Charles Bukowski | 13 |
| 4 | Unknown.mp3 | 12 |
| 5 | +4 Cher - Dark Lady.mp3 | 39 |
| 6 | Farhad Aineh.mp3 | 72 |
| 7 | “Dearest, I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that - everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.
I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.”
— March 28, 1941 | Virginia Woolf's last letter to her husband, Leonard. | 77 |
| 8 | 3c97422f-88da-49ec-bce8-b70a541baeca | 70 |
| 9 | 111 - Yesterday (Remastered 2015) - The Beatles (320).mp3 | 73 |
| 10 | Deep Purple When A Blind Man Cries.mp3 | 74 |
| 11 | 01 Eagles - Hotel California (2013 Remaster).mp3 | 73 |
| 12 | از دوران کودکی مانند آنچه دیگران بودند، نبودم.
مانند آنچه دیگران میدیدند، ندیدم.
نمیتوانستم شور و شوقم را از یک چشمه بگیرم.
غم خود را از یک منشاء نگرفتهام
نمیتوانم قلبم را بیدار کنم
که از نوای یکسانی لذت ببرد
و هرچه عشق ورزیدم، به تنهایی بود.
سپس، در کودکیم، در سپیده دم یک زندگی پرتلاطم
از عمق هرچه خیر و شر است ،
معمایی سربرآورد که مرا بی حرکت نگاه میدارد.
از سیل یا از چشمه
از صخرهی سرخ رنگ کوه
از خورشیدی غلتان ، که با رنگ زرد و طلاییش به دور من میچرخد.
از برق آسمان ، هنگامی که از کنارم پرواز میکند.
از رعد و طوفان
و از ابری که در نظرم
هنگامی که بقیهی آسمان آبی رنگ است
به شکل دیو درآمده است.
متن اصلیِ شعر:
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—
— Alone, by Edgar Allan Poe | 110 |
| 13 | +1 John-Lennon-How-320.mp3 | 99 |
| 14 | +1 No text... | 123 |
| 15 | The_Raven_Christopher_Lee_.mp3 | 103 |
| 16 | The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe.pdf | 108 |
| 17 | I don’t want to sell my stories anymore, stop pushing me
I want to leave them underneath the nightstand to be forgotten
or remembered should my thoughts come upon them in the middle of the night after a long beach day
Or by you, some afternoon, to thumb through with your worn warm after-work hands
I love you, but you don’t understand me, I’m a real poet,
My life is my poetry. | 125 |
| 18 | Get out of my blood, salamander!
I can’t seem to blow off enough steam to get you out of my head
Soul cycle you to death, run you out of my blood to San Pedro
And yet, everywhere I go, it seems there you are,
And there I am. | 127 |
| 19 | Lana Del Rey - Salamander.mp3 | 122 |
| 20 | I don’t want to sell my stories anymore, stop pushing me
I want to leave them underneath the nightstand to be forgotten
or remembered should my thoughts come upon them in the middle of the night after a long beach day
Or by you, some afternoon, to thumb through with your worn warm after-work hands
I love you, but you don’t understand me, I’m a real poet!
My life is my poetry. | 127 |
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