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Thread: The Seasons

  1. #941

  2. #942
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    We are weaved together by our stories, our history
    Tales woven through our ancestry, when our parents talk of their younger days
    When their life was ahead of them, the future was anything and everything
    They speak of their old friends with ache in their soul
    Of times when their hearts were filled with fire and passion
    Running through fields growing memories planted by the world around them
    When they could sprint the wind in their hair, adventure ahead, hope in their heart
    They speak of the days behind with woe
    Because essentially just their ideas of the future as a young mind
    Was more exciting than reality
    As dreams failed and hope faded
    As their minds wear and their treasured stories that made them who they are fog over
    As threads begin to wear out
    As tales they once yelled to the world with pride frays at the details
    Your whole world slipping away as the thread unwinds
    But they get the joy of passing down the tapestry to their pride and joy
    To the life they made, every one of us

    Every moment we live with ease of no appreciation for every experience, every laugh
    Moments we take for granted
    Moments we will pine for when they run out
    Moments the elderly urge us with fire to be aware of the importance of
    Moments we'll wish we listened to them about
    There is a vast tapestry of memories behind you
    And infinite thread panning out in front of you connecting to other tapestries
    Visiting at friends, at enemies, joining with soul-mate future
    Some cut away, some ripped from the tapestries too soon before they could weave their own

    A loose thread cannot be fixed once more are made
    And the patterns will never be what you want them to be, savour each stitch
    Take time on every thread
    You don't want to be sitting there 50 thinking about the life you wasted
    About the memories faded
    About how every slipping memory never like the moment you made it
    Don't be sitting 90 filled with regret
    Filled with hatred for every opportunity you left
    Screaming into the voice about how much you hate what your life become

    Because they say time flies when your having fun
    Truth is time only flies when you're young


    September Rose

  3. #943
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    Nothing more to explain
    I know all that remains
    Is a piano that plays
    Adagio


  4. #944

  5. #945

  6. #946
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    Sao Băng đến một mình qua ô cửa kính vỡ. Buồn ngơ ngẩn.
    Hỏi tại sao buồn? Cô bạn nhỏ thường bay cùng đâu?

    - Dream bị mất ngủ. Đang trăn trở bên dòng thiên hà.
    - Mất ngủ thì không bay được ư?
    - Không. Definitely không.
    - Pourquoi?
    - Tên cô ấy là Dream. Cô ấy cần có những giấc mơ để bay.
    - Et toi?
    - Tôi không cần phải mơ. Sao Băng thì phải băng thôi.
    - Rồi làm sao quay về?
    - Hồn tôi sẽ bay về. Mang theo một điều ước nào đó cho lần băng hà sau. Cô có ước gì không?
    - Để nghĩ xem. Hình như nhiều lắm.
    - Oh, thế thì không được. Chỉ mỗi một thôi.
    - Ai bảo?
    - Tôi. Và điều ước ấy không thể nặng quá. Tôi sẽ không mang nổi.
    - Như thế nào là nặng?
    - Material stuff. Spiritual nhẹ nhàng hơn.
    - Love có thuộc về Spiritual không?
    - Còn tùy nó là loại tình yêu gì. Tôi vẫn hay nghe người ta suýt soa:"I love my car so much!". Nguyên một cái xe thì nặng lắm.
    - "I love my man", một người đàn ông có nặng lắm không?
    - Nặng. Nếu người đàn ông đó mang theo bên mình những hệ lụy.
    - Ví dụ như?
    - Vợ. Con. Nhân tình. Bạn. Nhà. Xe. Công danh. Stocks
    *.
    - Phiền nhỉ. How about "I love the love from my man"?
    - Thế thì được. Are you in love?
    - Now and then.
    - And that man, does he love you?
    - Now and here.
    - Thế thì không được. "Here" and "Then" don't match.
    - But we both have "Now".
    - Ngày mai có phải là "Now" không?
    - Khi ngày mai tới, we will have "Now" also.
    - Đồng ý. Nhưng "Now" của ngày mai chưa chắc đã là "Now" của ngày hôm nay. Cuộc đời là một dòng sông trôi đưa ta đi từ quá khứ qua hiện tại để đến tương lai. Muốn chúng "connect" được với nhau, ta cần phải có một chếc cầu. "Then" là nhịp cầu nối. "Here" đã là "Bến".
    - Thế trong tương lai không có bến à?
    - Bến đó vẫn là "Now and here". Không có nhịp cầu nối.
    - Vậy phải làm sao?
    - Xây cầu.
    - Tôi không thể xây nó một mình.
    - Vậy đừng ước. Hãy để mọi sự xuôi theo định số của nó.
    - Tôi muốn gặp Dream.
    - Dream còn đang bận tìm giấc ngủ.
    - Những viên Valium có nặng lắm không?


    Sao Băng quay mặt đi, cố nén một tiếng thở dài...
    Hãy giữ những viên Valium xinh xẻo ấy lại cho cô, little girl** ạ!
    Valium không tạo ra những giấc mơ.
    Chúng mang đến những ác mộng.
    Và có thể...
    Một dấu chấm hết.
    Real hết.

    Pink

    **Every female human being is always a "little girl" to an immortal shooting star (as a Turritopsis dohrnii?). Why so? Ah, don't know why so!
    *Optional

  7. #947
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    There was a garden*
    Il y avait un jardin
    Georges Moustaki


    It's a song for the kids
    Who are born and who lives between steel
    And bitumen between concrete and asphalt
    And who might never know
    That the land was a garden

    There was a garden that we called an earth
    It shined under the sun like a forbidden fruit
    No, it was not paradise nor hell
    Nor something that we already seen or heard

    There was a garden, a house, trees
    With a little bed of foam to make love
    And a little creek rolling without waves
    Coming to refreshing it and continued on his course

    There was a garden like a valley
    We could feed ourselves on all the seasons
    On the hot land or on the frozen grass
    And discover flowers that didn't have name

    There was a garden that we called an earth
    It was big enough for millions of kids
    It was inhabited by our grandfathers
    Who kept it themselves with their grandparents

    Where is this garden where we could have been born
    Where we could live carefree and naked?
    Where is this house with all her doors open
    That I look for again and that I no longer find?


    *La la land that's what we'd keep yearning for, my love!

  8. #948

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    Mist to mist, drops to drops
    For water thou art
    And unto water shalt thou return


    Kamand Kojouri

    ...mưa đôi khi là những giọt lệ cần thiết trên mái tình ta...

  10. #950
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    ...to the one who possesses only half of the heart...


    “In the end, we all become stories.”
    Margaret Atwood


 

 

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