Planeta Srbija

Малопре поменути Махатма морао је “по задатку” да напише и баладу. Опет, толико сам се одушевио дотичном Махатмином умотворином да сам решио да и њу турим код себе, у блог. Опет, дело је на енглеском. Ево баладе (без убадања на крају - алузија на Сирана де Бержерака).

Балада (ритам: 8/6/8/6, сликовна форма abcb)

The Ballad of Art

Story goes that one warm summer Wonderful music was made By Grasshopper, who was talented, And wished some accolade.

Instead he was reproached by ants, Who said: “However bright, You may be, for making music, The time is never right.”

Grasshopper could not understand, And therefore didn’t dread That such fine artwork as his was Would not earn him some bread.

When winter came he realized: No matter how he cried, All ants remained quite merciless, And so Grasshopper died.

Since that sad story, whenever ‘Fore me an ant is put, Knowing there’s no ear for music, I stamp on it my foot.

Мој драги познаник Махатма је, стицајем околности, морао да напише сонет. Пошто ми се исти допао “на прво читање”, решио сам да га ‘турим у блог. Аутору одајем свако признање што је успео да се поетски изрази на не-матерњем (енглеском) језику. Дакле, Махатмина поезија:

COHET (љубавни) (десетерац, сликовна форма ababcdcdefefgg):

Love Song

Numerous people love beautiful things, Jewels and flowers, porcelain tea sets, Expensive dresses and diamond rings, Nice furniture and carefully groomed pets. Others love matter nutritively good, Juicy sausages, hamburgers, whipped cream, Buttered buns, cakes, beer or Coke and junk food, Things that impose dangers to their blood stream. Some, more ascetic and bodily wise, Being afraid of illness or early death, Love mostly and above all to exercise, And they do so to the last breath. As for myself, it is painfully true: The only thing I love really is You.