To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
(Vaktin varken gül goncalarını topla,
Eski zamanlar hâlâ uçup gidiyor;
Ve bugün gülümseyen bu çiçek
Yarın ölüyor olabilir.)
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
(Gökyüzünün görkemli lambası, güneş,
Ne kadar yükselirse,
Yarışı ne kadar çabuk biterse,
Ve batmaya daha da yaklaşıyor.)
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
(En uygun yaş, ilk yaştır.
Gençlik ve kan daha sıcakken;
Ama tükenmiş olmak, daha da kötüsü, en kötüsü.
0-30p: Kontrollü okuyucu 📖
40-70p: Hafif bağımlı 👀
80p+: Geçmiş olsun, kitaplar seni ele geçirmiş 😅
Ez ditirsim bibim aşiq ji bo evînekî ne diyar,Yê go xiyanetê li dilê min bike însan e.
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Korkuyorum aşık olmaktan belirsiz bir aşk yüzünden,Kalbime ihanet edecek olan İNSANDIR.
FIG TREE
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
- Sylvia Plath
Memedê Torî-siya teKurdî
Slav Slav Slav ji wê çavên reş belêk re
Ji bejnê teye zirav
ji behna teye Kurdistanî re
Hebûna siya te, besê jî dîlemin re
Ez, bi roje keyf xweşîm Lêê
Dilemin ,dilemin şevê siya te digere
Go tê zanîbe ez be siya te belengazîm
Ez meraq dikim, tê çi bikira
Te çi anîbe serê min!