1. info@www.kalomerkarukaj.com : PENCRAFT : PENCRAFT PENCRAFT
  2. sadikurrahmanrumen55@gmail.com : Sadiqur Rahman Rumen : Sadiqur Rahman Rumen
āĻŽāĻ™ā§āĻ—āϞāĻŦāĻžāϰ, ā§§ā§­ āϜ⧁āύ ⧍ā§Ļ⧍ā§Ģ, ā§Ļā§Ģ:ā§§ā§Ž āĻ…āĻĒāϰāĻžāĻšā§āύ

🕌Eid special poetry arrangement-āψāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļ⧇āώ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āφāϝāĻŧā§‹āϜāĻ¨đŸ•Œ

Md. Sadiqur Rahman Rumen
  • āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļāĻŋāϤ: āĻŦ⧁āϧāĻŦāĻžāϰ, ā§§ā§Ļ āĻāĻĒā§āϰāĻŋāϞ, ⧍ā§Ļ⧍ā§Ē
  • ā§­ā§§ā§Ģ āĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĒ⧜āĻž āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇

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āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻ…āĻĻā§āϭ⧁āϤ āĻĻ⧇āĻļ

 

āĻ…āĻšā§‡āύāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻļ⧇āϰ āύ⧀āϞ āφāĻ•āĻžāĻļ⧇āϰ āύāĻŋāĻšā§‡, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϖ⧁āρāϜāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϤāσāĻ¸ā§āĻĨāϞ⧇āϰ āĻ—āĻ­ā§€āϰ⧇, āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āύāĻžāϰ⧀āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āϝ⧇ āĻāχ āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇āϰ āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āĻ˜ā§āϰāĻžāϪ⧇, āĻšāĻžāϏāĻŋāϤ⧇, āĻŦāĻž āϜāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻ—āĻžāϝāĻŧ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϖ⧁āρāϜāĻŋāĨ¤

 

āĻļ⧇āώ āĻĒāĻ°ā§āϝāĻ¨ā§āϤ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āϞāĻŦāĻŖ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϜāĻžāύāĻŋ āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻšāĻžāϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ, āĻāχ āĻ–āĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ­ā§‚āϤāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύāϕ⧇ āĻāĻžāρāϕ⧁āύāĻŋ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§āĻ–āϟāĻŋ āĻšāĻžāĻšāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤

 

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āϞāĻŽā§āĻŦāĻž āϚ⧁āϞ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§€āϚ āϏ⧁āĻ—āĻ¨ā§āϧ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§āϖ⧇āϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϞ āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϚāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻž āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻļāĻŋāĻ–āĻŦāĨ¤

 

āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽ āĻāĻ–āύ āϰāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻāĻ•āĻž āĻšā§‡āρāĻŸā§‡ āϚāϞāĻž āĻāϤāĻŋāĻŽāĨ¤

 

āϚāĻžāϰāĻŋ āϗ⧁āĻŽā§‡āϟāĻž (āϚāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϏ, āĻŽā§‡āĻ•ā§āϏāĻŋāϕ⧋)

 

A STRANGE COUNTRY

 

Under the blue sky of a strange country, I look for you in the depths of my insides in every woman that passes through this forest of eyes in every scent, smile, or place, I look for you.

 

In the end, with salt between my hands I know that I have lost you, this empty feeling skims my mind and your face crumbles making a quiet sound like a moan.

 

I’ll learn to stop thinking about your long hair with its peach aroma and where the afternoon rests on your face.

 

Love is now an orphan walking alone through the streets.

 

CHARY GUMETA (CHIAPAS, MÉXICO)

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āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāϧ⧀āύāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻĻ

 

āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻāϟāĻž āĻļ⧁āύ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ

āϝāĻ–āύ āĻāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāĻ› āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϕ⧇āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āύ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ

āĻ…āĻĻ⧃āĻļā§āϝ āĻļāĻ¤ā§āϰ⧁āϰ āĻ•āĻžāĻ› āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇,

āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻĢāĻŋāωāĻŽ

āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ⧇ āĻāϟāĻŋ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ­āĻŦ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇āύ,

āϏ⧇ āĻŽāĻŋāĻˇā§āϟāĻŋ, āϏ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϤāĻžāϞ

āĻšā§ƒāĻĻāϝāĻŧ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĨāĻž āĻ•āϰāϛ⧇ ,

āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĢ⧁āϏāĻĢ⧁āϏ⧇āϰ āĻ¸ā§āϟāĻžāĻĢ āĻ•āϰāĻ›āĻŋ

āϏ⧇āχ āϏ⧁āĻŦāĻžāϏ⧇

āφāĻļāĻžāĻŦāĻžāĻĻ,

āϏ⧇āχ āχāĻšā§āϛ⧇āϰ

āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻ­āĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϤāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇,

āφāĻĻāϰ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇

āϘāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āϏ⧁āϤ⧋,

āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϏāĻžāĻĻāĻž āĻĢ⧁āϞ,

āĻ“āχ āϰ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ­āĻŦ āĻ•āϰāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ

āϤāĻĒā§āϤ āϰ⧋āĻĻ⧇āϰ

āĻ•āĻŋ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϟāĻžāĻ°ā§āύ āφāĻĒ āĻĒāϰ⧇

āĻāϟāĻž āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘ āĻļā§€āϤ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ

āĻŦāϏāĻ¨ā§āϤ

āĻ āϝ⧇āύ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻž

āĻāϟāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āφāϛ⧇

āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāϧ⧀āύāϤāĻžāϰ, āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ

āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇

āĻļā§€āϤ⧇āϰ āĻļā§€āϤ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇āĨ¤

 

Il gusto della libertÃĄ

 

L’abbiamo sentito Quando ci è stato tolto Dall’invisibile nemico, Il suo profumo Si sente nell’aria, È dolce, inebria Il cuore dolente, Riempie i polmoni Con quella fragranza Di ottimismo, Di quel desiderio Sotterrato nella mente, Di accarezzare Un filo d’erba, Un fiore bianco, Di sentire quel raggio Di sole caldo Che spunta dopo Un inverno lungo. La primavera È come l’amore Che sprigiona il senso Della libertà, della vita

Racchiuse

Dal freddo invernale.

Monica Neri-Romania.

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āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻļ⧁āύ…

 

āĻŽāύ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĄāĻžāĻ•āĻ›āĻŋ āĻļ⧁āύāĻŋ?

āĻ­āϝāĻŧāĻžāύāĻ• āφāĻ•āĻžāĻ™ā§āĻ•ā§āώāĻžāϝāĻŧ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšā§ƒāĻĻāϝāĻŧ āϭ⧇āϙ⧇ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇!

āĻĒ⧃āĻĨāĻŋāĻŦā§€ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇, āύāĻŋāĻ°ā§āĻĻāϝāĻŧāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϚāĻžāĻĒ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧ

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āύāĻĄāĻŧāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋ āύāĻž, āωāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āφāϏāϤāĻžāĻŽ!

 

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻļ⧁āύāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāĻšā§āϛ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĢāĻŋāϏāĻĢāĻŋāϏ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĄāĻžāĻ•āĻ›āĻŋ?

āϤāĻžāϜāĻž āĻ•āĻžāĻĻāĻžāĻŽāĻžāϟāĻŋāϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻ˛ā§āϝāĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϤ⧈āϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇

āĻšā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖ, āĻ­āĻžāĻ—ā§āϝ, āϚ⧁āϰāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽ

āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻ—āϤāĻ•āĻžāϞ āĻĒāĻ°ā§āϝāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ… āĻāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻšāĻžāϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤

 

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻ°ā§āĻ— āĻ“ āĻĸ⧇āω āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻĄāĻžāĻ•āĻŦ

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ…āĻŦāĻŋāϰāĻžāĻŽ āύ⧀āϞ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ¸ā§āϤ⧃āϤ āωāĻĒāϰ āĻšāĻŦ⧇.

āĻ•āĻžāϞ⧋ āϚāĻžāρāĻĻāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϜāϰāĻž, āϤ⧀āϰ⧇ āĻļā§āϰāĻĻā§āϧāĻž āĻĻāĻžāĻŦāĻŋ āĻ•āϰāϛ⧇

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻŦ āϏāĻ°ā§āĻŦāĻ¤ā§āϰ, āĻ…āĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖ āφāĻ•āĻžāĻ™ā§āĻ–āĻžāϝāĻŧ!

 

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻā§‚āϰ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāρāĻĻāϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻļ⧁āύ⧁āύ āĻŦ⧃āĻˇā§āϟāĻŋāϰ āĻ•āĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻļā§€āϤāϞ āĻ•āϰāĻŦāĨ¤

 āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϚāĻŋāύāĻŦ⧇, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĢāĻŋāϏāĻĢāĻŋāϏ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāχāĻŦ

āĻ—ā§āϰ⧀āĻˇā§āĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻŦ⧃āĻˇā§āϟāĻŋāϤ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻšāĻŦ⧇!

āĻ•ā§āϝāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻž āĻ­ā§āϞāĻžāϏ⧇āύ⧁

HEAR ME OUT…

Do you hear me calling you with my mind?

My heart is broken by the terrible longing!

The earth presses hard on me, mercilessly

I can’t move, I’d come flying!

 

Do you hear me calling you in murmured whispers?

I am closed in the newly built clay wall

Crushed, doomed, but stolen love

We were both until yesterday,… now we are lost.

 

I will call you from the heavens and the waves

I will be in the endless blue sky

Black publicans, demanding tribute on the banks

I will be everywhere, in an unfulfilled longing!

 

listen to me when i cry

In the weeping of the rains, I will cool you with my tear

You will recognize me, I will sing to you in a whisper, at the window

In the summer rains, we will meet again!

Camelia Vlasceanu.🕌

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lubite

lubite, știi ce mi-a spus lumina care anunŪă un ÃŽnceput al unei adorate zi? Mi-a perorat că tu ești soarele și undeva pe cerul vieții ÃŽntr-un fantastic ÃŽmi vei apărea şi străluci.

 

lubite, știi ce mi-a spus ÃŽntunecimea care anunță mereu venirea nopÅŖii? Oh, mi-a şoptit că eu sunt luna care-și reflectă gingășia și amorul printre construcții ferme ale realității.

āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧāϤāĻŽ

āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧāϤāĻŽ, āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋ āϜāĻžāύ⧋ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁āϤ⧇ āϝ⧇ āφāϞ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ?

 

āĻāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āĻ­ā§‹āϰ āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇ āϝ⧇ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āφāĻ•āĻžāĻļ⧇ āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžāĻ“ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϚāĻŽā§ŽāĻ•āĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĻāĻ°ā§āĻļāĻŋāϤ āĻšāĻŦ⧇ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āωāĻœā§āĻœā§āĻŦāϞ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤

 

āϜāĻžāύ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋ āϜāĻžāύ⧋ āϝ⧇ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϧāĻ•āĻžāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϏāĻŦāϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āϰāĻžāϤ āφāϏāĻžāϰ āĻ˜ā§‹āώāĻŖāĻž āĻĻā§‡ā§Ÿ? āĻ“āĻš āϏ⧇ āĻĢāĻŋāϏāĻĢāĻŋāϏ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϚāĻžāρāĻĻ āϤāĻžāϰ āϕ⧋āĻŽāϞāϤāĻž āφāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻĢāϞāύ āĻŦāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŦ⧇āϰ āĻĻā§ƒā§ āĻ—āĻ āύ⧇āĨ¤

OANA ILEANA NOORANI-ROMANIA

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🕌āĻ­ā§‹āĻœđŸ•Œ

āωāĻĻāϝāĻžāĻĒāύ⧇āϰ āĻ­ā§‹āϰ⧇, āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻžāĻĻ⧇āĻļ⧇ āĻœā§āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻ“āϠ⧇,

āψāĻĻ-āωāϞ-āĻĢāĻŋāϤāϰ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻ“ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāϏ⧇, āĻŽāύ āĻ­āϰ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧāĨ¤

āφāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāύāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŽāĻ™ā§āĻ—āϞ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āϜāĻĄāĻŧā§‹ āĻšāϝāĻŧāĨ¤

 

āĻāχ āĻĒāĻŦāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇, āϝ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ¨ā§āϟ āĻļ⧇āώ āĻšāϝāĻŧ,

āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āωāĻĒāĻšā§‡ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻšā§ƒāĻĻāϝāĻŧ āϏ⧁āϖ⧇āϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āωāĻ¨ā§āĻŽā§āĻ•ā§āϤāĨ¤

āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻžāĻĻ⧇āĻļ⧇āϰ āψāĻĻ, āφāϞ⧋āϰ āωāĻĻāϝāĻžāĻĒāύ,

āĻāĻ•āϤāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻœā§āĻžāϤāĻž, āĻšā§ƒāĻĻāϝāĻŧ⧇ āύāĻŋāσāĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻ⧇ āϜāĻĄāĻŧā§‹ āĻšāϝāĻŧāĨ¤

 

āĻ—āϰ⧀āĻŦ āĻ“ āĻ…āĻ­āĻžāĻŦā§€āĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻ–āĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŽāĻŋāĻˇā§āϟāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāĻ— āĻ•āϰāĻž,

āωāĻĻāĻžāϰāϤāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŽāĻŽāϤāĻž āĻ–āĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻšāĻžāϏāĻŋ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϏ⧁āĻ– āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāϏ⧇āĨ¤

āψāĻĻ-āωāϞ-āĻĢāĻŋāϤāϰ, āωāĻĻāϝāĻžāĻĒāύ āĻ“ āĻŽāĻŋāϞāύ⧇āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāύ,

āϝāĻžāϰ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϤāϰ āĻāĻ• āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŽāĻŋāϞāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧāĨ¤

 

āψāĻĻ āωāĻĻāϝāĻžāĻĒāύ, āĻŦāĻžāĻ‚āϞāĻžāĻĻ⧇āĻļ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ—ā§āϰāĻšā§‡ āωāĻœā§āĻœā§āĻŦāϞ,

 āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋ, āωāĻĒāĻšāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ°ā§āĻŦāĻ¤ā§āϰ āĻ›āĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇.

āĻāχ āĻĒāĻŦāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇, āφāϏ⧁āύ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻ…āĻ­āĻžāĻŦā§€āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ,

āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĻŦāĻžāϏāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āύāĻžāĻŽā§‡ āĻĻāϝāĻŧāĻžāϞ⧁ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āωāĻĻāĻžāϰ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύāĨ¤

🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌

🕌Sărbătoare 🕌

În zori de sărbătoare, ÃŽn Bangladesh strălucește,

Eid-ul-Fitr aduce bucurie și pace, inimile ÃŽmplinește.

Rugile și bunătatea ÃŽn suflete se adună cu drag.

 

În această zi sfÃĸntă, ÃŽn care postul se ÃŽncheie,

Bucuria se revarsă, iar inimile se deschid spre fericire.

Eid-ul Bangladeshului, o sărbătoare de lumină,

Unitate și recunoștință, ÃŽn inimi se strÃĸng cu tihnă.

 

Împărtășind bucate și dulciuri, cu cei săraci și nevoiași,

Generozitatea și compasiunea, aduc zÃĸmbete și fericire ÃŽn casele goale.

Eid-ul Fitr, o zi de sărbătoare și comuniune,

În care inimile se unesc ÃŽntr-o singură rugăciune.

 

Sărbătoarea Eid-ului, ÃŽn Bangladesh strălucește cu har,

Bucuria și pacea, se răspÃĸndesc peste tot ÃŽn dar.

În această zi sfÃĸntă, să ne aducem aminte de cei ÃŽn nevoie,

Și să fim buni și generoși, ÃŽn numele iubirii și credinței noastre depline.

 

Claudia Băluță-Romania Currently Residents Turin Italy.

🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌

āϏāĻŦāϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ

 

          āχāϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāύāĻž āĻĒāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁

          āϰ⧋āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻž

          10.04.2024

 

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϝāĻžāĻĻ⧁āĻ•āϰ, āĻŦāϏāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧇āϰ āĻĢ⧁āϞ⧇

āĻŦāĻŋāϚāϰāĻŖāĻ•āĻžāϰ⧀ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āωāĻˇā§āĻŖ āĻšāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϝāĻŧ

āϘāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āĻļāĻŋāĻļāĻŋāϰ⧇, āĻ­ā§‹āϰāĻŦ⧇āϞāĻžāĨ¤

 āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϰāĻšāĻ¸ā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻŽā§āĻšā§‚āĻ°ā§āϤāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋāϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻŽā§‡ āϖ⧁āρāĻœā§‡ āĻĒāĻžāχ

āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻāχ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϘāĻŋāϰ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻž āϏāĻŽāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āϤ⧇āĨ¤

 āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϘ⧃āĻŖāĻž, āφāĻļāĻž, āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻžāĻŖ

āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻŽāĻŋāĻļ⧇ āφāϛ⧇

āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻšā§ƒāĻĻāϝāĻŧ āϞāĻžāĻĢāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ“āϠ⧇ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻāϟāĻŋ āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ­āĻŦ āĻ•āϰ⧇

āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻ•āϞāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āϰāĻŖāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻĒā§āύ

 āϝāĻž āĻāρāϕ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤

āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϰ⧀ āĻ•āĻžāĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ āĻŦāĻž āϏāĻŋāĻ˛ā§āϕ⧇āϰ āĻ“āĻĄāĻŧāύāĻž āĻĒāϰ⧇āύ

āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝ⧇āϰ āϰāĻļā§āĻŽāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϏāĻœā§āϜāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻžāρāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāĻ“

āĻĒ⧇āϟāĻžāύ⧋ āĻĒāĻžāĻĨ āωāĻĒāϰ āĻāĻ•āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇

 āĻ•ā§āϰāϏ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻŦāĻšāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĻŦāĻžāϏāĻž.

āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āωāĻĻāϝāĻžāĻĒāύ.

āĻŦāϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇, āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻšāĻžāϜāĻžāϰ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻĒāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āφāϛ⧇

āĻšā§‹āĻ– āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇, āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧌āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻ°ā§āϝ āωāĻĄāĻŧāϤ⧇ āĻĻāĻžāĻ“

āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇, āϞāĻœā§āϜāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ

āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāύāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻā§€āĨ¤

āĻŦ⧃āĻˇā§āϟāĻŋāϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻĒā§āĻ˛ā§āϝāĻžāĻļ, āϝāĻž āĻĒāĻžāϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϞāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϧāĻžāĻ•ā§āĻ•āĻž āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧ

āĻ¸ā§āύ⧋āĻĢā§āϞ⧇āĻ•ā§āϏ, āĻ­āĻžāϏāĻŽāĻžāύ āύāĻžāϚ,

āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻĒā§āύ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāϟāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āϤāĻžāϞ⧁āϤ⧇ āφāρāĻ•āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϧāϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ

āĻ…āϤāσāĻĒāϰ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ…āĻŽāϰāĻ¤ā§āĻŦ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϰ⧇āϖ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇āĨ¤

 

           Always close

 

         ILEANA PASCU

         ROMANIA

         10.04.2024

 

You are my muse, in spring flowers

In the warm breeze of the wandering wind

In the dew of the grass, early in the morning.

I find you through the moments of mystery

And in everything that surrounds me in this life.

You are love and hate, hope, salvation

Thought, what intertwines with yours

And the heart jumps when it feels you

You are the inspiration and the dream in the painting

What I painted in words, in words.

You wear heavy clothes or silk veils

You stand dressed in the sun’s rays

With the sole on beaten paths

Cross and time and weather and loves.

Every day is a celebration.

In the braids, you have laid a thousand stars

From the eyes, you let the beauty fly

With joy and shyness, I write you in poems

I am prayer and you are my altar.

Rain splashes, which run away, knock on the window

Snowflakes, dance afloat,

And every dream, I clutched it in the palm of my hand

Then, to leave him to immortality.

🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌🕌

āψāĻĻ⧇āϰ_āϚāĻžāρāĻĻ đŸŒ™

āĻŦāĻŋāϜ⧁āϰ⧀ āχāϏāϞāĻžāĻŽÂ 

 

āφāĻ•āĻžāĻļ āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāρāĻĻ āωāϠ⧇āϛ⧇

āĻ—ā§‹āϧ⧂āϞāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻšā§‡āϏ⧇,

āψāĻĻ āϖ⧁āĻļāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāύ āĻĄā§‡āϕ⧇āϛ⧇

āĻŽāĻžāĻšā§‡ āϰāĻŽāϜāĻžāύ āĻļ⧇āώ⧇āĨ¤

 

āĻŦāĻžāρāĻ•āĻž āϚāĻžāρāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻļ āĻŽā§‡āϖ⧇

āĻœā§āĻŦāĻžāϞāĻžāχ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻŋ,

āĻ—āϰāĻŋāĻŦ āĻ•āĻžāĻ™āĻžāϞ āĻāĻ• āĻ•āĻžāϤāĻžāϰ⧇

āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϤāĻŋāĨ¤

 

āψāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ°ā§āĻŽ āĻŦā§‹āĻāĻž āĻ•āĻ°ā§āĻŽ

āϏāĻ•āϞ āĻŽā§āĻŽāĻŋāύ āϜāύ⧇āϰ,

āϞ⧋āĻ• āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧋ āύāϝāĻŧ āϤ⧋ āĻŽāĻŋāϞāύ

āĻŽāĻŋāϞāύ āĻšāĻŦ⧇ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰāĨ¤

 

āϭ⧁āĻ–āĻž āĻĻ⧁āĻ–ā§€ āφāĻŽāĻŋāϰ āĻĢāĻ•āĻŋāϰ

āϏāĻŦāĻžāχ āϏāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļ⧇’

āĻ…āϟ⧁āϟ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧāύ āĻ—āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞāĻŋ

āϏāĻŦāĻžāχ āϝ⧇āύ āĻšāĻžāϏ⧇āĨ¤

 

 āψāĻĻ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ 

đŸŒē’āψāĻĻ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āϖ⧁āĻļāĻŋ’đŸŒē

🤲āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āĻ•āĻžāϟ⧁āĻ• āϏāĻžāϰāĻžāĻĻāĻŋāĻ¨đŸ¤˛

🌙āψāĻĻ āĻŽā§‹āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻ• 🌙

🌙 āψāĻĻ āĻŽā§‹āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻ• 🌙

       ā§Ļ⧝-ā§Ļā§­-⧍ā§Ļ⧍⧍

āϏāĻ‚āĻŦāĻžāĻĻāϟāĻŋ āĻļā§‡ā§ŸāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧁āύ

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Š āϏāĻ°ā§āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻ¤ā§āĻŦ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻ¤ā§āĻŦāĻžāϧāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϰ āϏāĻ‚āϰāĻ•ā§āώāĻŋāĻ¤Â ÂŠÂ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
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