Letters II
Visual arts and its acts,
Why take up the fibrous character when the cock crows at dawn?
For prevention is better than cure! !
And better to be very sure in this world than sorry.
Arabic letters,
And like the expectations of my mind;
Of Hebrew, Greek and Latin to learn as well!
But the English language came in later to pick up the pieces.
Hot chocolates! !
Trembling about life with excitements;
And a man killed his friend because of 'cat-meat',
But the epistle of an adult is like the muse of the bush.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Related quotes
It Was Written
It was written in Hebrew, Greek and Latin!
Because, the English language was not spoken by then;
And like the muse of your love which is now exposed to all.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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oh yes, Mr. Shaun, the Bible was not written in English
The Gospel of Christ and, in general,
the Holy Bible are written with the inspiration of God.
The Prophets and the Apostles
have recorded in written form
a portion of the oral teaching of the Old Testament
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
These are the original languages of the Holy Bible from' which all the translations have been derived. God's inspiration is confined to the original languages and utterances, not the many translations. There are 1,300 languages and dialects into which the Holy Bible, in its entirety or in portions, has been
translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.
This does not mean that the translations do not convey the meaning of the Bible for spiritual uprightness of the readers in their own language. On the contrary the Bible should be spread and preached to 'all nations'. The missionaries in foreign lands learn the language or the dialect of. the new area into which they bring the Bible and other religious teachings. For example, the missionaries from Constantinople, Saints Cyril and Methodios, sent to Christianize the Slavic peoples in the 9th century, first translated the Bible and the ritual books into the language of the people.
yes, Mr. Shaun, my friend the Bible was not written in English.IT was written in HEBREW, ARAMAIC, and GREEK....
But i like it written in English too, how i wish it were written in such a
language,
with a sense of class
and fashionable disguise,
for without it, how could i ever understand, God,
oh, my, God!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pick Up The Pieces
Pick up the pieces and learn from your mistakes,
For the sound of light is now seen across the ocean view;
And my brain will rest for a while to see to your joy.
Catching melodies,
With the muse of the state of your mind;
But love is like the heat-wave when it touches you!
Sunrise,
With love on your muse to take care of your mistakes;
So pick up the pieces and learn for a better future.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Finglish
I am from Finland and i speak 'Finglish'!
Because i am learning the English language and,
It always infuses with my Finnish.
I am learning to keep me going but,
I do speak my English like 'Finglish'! !
And i always try to enforce the truth of my peace like,
The subconscious act from my mind to muse up things:
But i am unaware of your love.
Try to keep me informed on this love and,
Try to teach me the English language so that i cam be with you;
For the heavens and the earth do know how i do speak.
Keep me on the tracks of your love and teach me more!
For one day i will learn the English language very well;
And i will be ready to teach you my Finnish language as well.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Dream of a Perfect School
I dream of much,
For my child,
They should be trained,
And not run wild.
They should learn French,
And Arabic too,
They should learn English,
It’s long overdue.
They should learn karate,
And self-defense,
Gymnastics, Soccer,
Not sit on a bench.
They should learn Art,
To sing and perform,
They should learn drama,
For this is the norm.
They should be taught,
A hobby or two,
Cooking, sewing,
Or how to cure flu.
They should learn Science,
An –ology or two,
Geology, Radiology,
Yes, any will do.
They should be taught,
All this and much more,
They should not simply,
Stare at the floor.
When asked the square root,
Of four sixty three,
Their heads should be high,
At the ripe age of three.
Rocket Science,
Math and Astronomy,
The state of the world,
It’s economy.
And, by SK,
They should know all this,
If it’s not done,
Something is amiss.
After all, am I,
Not doing my part?
I’m sending them daily,
Surely that’s a good start?
I dream of so much,
For my little one,
Now Principal, can you tell me,
When will it be done?
poem by Aisha Sherazi
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Winter In The Artic
There is winter in the Artic and,
I do mix up daily with people around to learn a lot;
But loaded with excitements in the muse of your lov,
And playing with the cunning tricks of the sky-line is my muse.
I have exaggerated figures in my mind to share with you,
And like the cold of the Artic to win your love;
But as cordial as my sheep in the land of my muse is your love,
For the winter in the Artic is all that you are used to.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My Own Language
it is not as sweet as English
neither romantic as French
neither lyrical like Spanish
nor authoritative as Greek
nor mystical as Latin
nor progressive as Chinese
nor deep as German nor
friendly as Thai and
neighborly as Bahasa
but my own language
lies inside my heart and so
lovely still that i speak it
as musical as the language of my soul
as lyrical as the movement of my body
as heavenly as my God that speaks to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Colloquial Is Your Rude Character
Colloquial Is Your Rude Character
I am the girl whom you call "hey"
As you continuously greet me with "hey" in my voice mail
Your rude colloquial messages and tone represent your vile character
For you are truly a vile POS
As Mandarin is like Greek to me
For the concept has no logic to speak in a language where one does not understand
For it bears no meaning to me
Futile
Fills the void for the dead spots
For I am not the standard Mandarin girl willing to tolerate your nonsense
Of whom you surround with
Think before you act
Point blank: I am a Cantonese girl
Eloquent properly to me in Cantonese or Tosian
For we can then converse in Chinese
Colloquial Is Your Rude Character
Reflection of your uncivilized lifestyle
Am I a friend or foe to you?
As you don't treat a friend so poorly like vermin
By articulating lies and name calling
For you are one ghastly imagine to a lady
Barbaric as a cave man
Implies ghetto background
Lacking class
Unpolished
As a lady needs to be treated with respect
Surely, you can handle respect in your demeanor
Colloquial Is Your Rude Character
To succeed in this world
Ineloquent does not bring the bread home
Disrespect will haunt you
As respect commands a gregarious worldwide presence
Disappointedly the English language does not cooperate with respect anymore
You can run, but cannot hide
From the cold hard truth of yourself
One Malaysia, One World
i say friend, look at the malay face
look at as many as possible
a wave of emotions
spilling from the mountains
and hills all over
so well blended they are
the real one malaysia brand
my friend, read through the malay scripts
a rain of tongues start falling from
mountains, hills, rivers, and shores
sanskrit, english, portuguese, germans
arabic, they inch their way from
some remotest part of history and world
they dance like the rarest form of dance
on the corridors of thoughts
a world language quietly taking root
One World, One Malaysia
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In the backyard a cock crows
In the backyard a cock crows
from a plot surrounded by walls of steel
while a dog lies in the sun where he is making a din.
In the backyard a cock crows
half astonished the hens peer at him
where in the early afternoon they how and peck.
In the backyard a cock crows
from a plot surrounded by walls of steel
poem by Gert Strydom
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The cock that crows at the wrong time is killed.
Im Falling
Im falling...
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Among the things that you left behind
A picture painted by our dreams
So now Im none, I become unreal
The world is closing in on me
Ga ga ga ga
Gotta learn, gotta learn to live
Without your love in my life (dont want me)
Gotta learn, gotta learn to live
Without your love in my life
Gotta learn, gotta learn to live
Without your love in my life (dont want me)
Gotta learn how to survive
We just got to learn how to forgive
You decide if I will die or live
cause I am falling
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Im falling
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Those days and nights, they went flying by
And still my love is wider than the sky
Picking em, picking em, picking em, pickin em
Picking up, picking up the bits
And the pieces of our love (dont want me)
Picking up, picking up the bits
And the pieces of our love
Picking up, picking up the bits
And the pieces of our love (dont want me)
Picking up bits of our love
We just got to learn how to survive
You decide if I will live or die
cause I am falling
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Im falling
Im falling to pieces inside my mind
Without you
Falling...
Falling
song performed by by E-type
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Isam
Kiss your girlfiend if you want to and,
Bath your husband if you like to;
For the 'pan' on the stove is like the 'nap' of your muse,
But be very wise to choose from the right things in life.
I will dance to your muse and i will jump over the fence for your love,
For my name is Isam and i know my way to your lovely home in the bush;
But be very wise to choose the right things in life.
There is 'spit' on the 'tips' of the pan but,
Why 'stab' the 'bats'? ! !
But try to learn from the 'tar' in your room to overcome the 'rat'.
The 'tip' of your pen is towards the 'pit'!
But the 'bus' moving along is like the 'sub' of your mind on this muse,
And like the lovely muse of your lover nearby.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Harmony is an obscure and difficult musical science, but most difficult to those who are not acquainted with the Greek language; because it is necessary to use many Greek words to which there are none corresponding in Latin.
quote by Marcus V. Pollio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?
you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before
that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God
of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly
but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?
well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important
and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,
albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,
yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,
but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound
so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....
dear God
do you really...not speak english?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Diamonds In The Mine
The woman in blue, shes asking for revenge,
Man in white -- thats you -- says he has no friends.
The river is swollen up with rusty cans
And the trees are burning in your promised land.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in the mine.
Well, you tell me that your lover has a broken limb,
You say youre kind of restless now and its on account of him.
Well, I saw the man in question, it was just the other night,
He was eating up a lady where the lions and christians fight.
And there are no letters in the mailbox
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in the mine.
(you tell them now)
Ah, there is no comfort in the covens of the witch,
Some very clever doctor went and sterilized the bitch,
And the only man of energy, yes the revolutions pride,
He trained a hundred women just to kill an unborn child.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
Oh no, there are no, no grapes upon your vine,
And there are, there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in your mine,
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in your mine.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Is A Box Of Chocolates
love is a box of chocolates,
white chocolates,
milk chocolates,
dark chocolates,
mixed chocolates,
each chocolate gives you a different experience.
poem by Keelie Morgan
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The 7th Edition Of My Love
This poem is about the muse of your love,
But many will still wonder why?
Because i was in the bush last night and i saw your tears.
The dog became a god and the rat became a tar!
But war was very raw on your side;
And to leap for joy was like the peal of your muse.
I saw you tears yesterday,
But you can't repel the leper and come to me;
For the heavens know who i am,
But this poem will say it all.
This poem is about the muse of your love,
But what have they done to you my love? !
For i have seen the tears in your eyes.
I have now won the race and,
I will come and save you from this cold;
So put your clothes on without any clues on my muse,
For this era of your love is like the net over ten houses!
But i need a nap for you to use the pan on my stove.
The gel is now on your left leg,
And the dam is now visited by a mad man;
But a man at war is like the sorrows of your muse.
This is the 7th Edition of my love,
But i will come and save you from the heat!
And like shiny leaves with sharp points,
But try to abide in me and live with me in my abode.
Abreast yourself to the matters of love,
And leave your door ajar and let me meet Raja my friend;
For the anagram of my life is all about you,
Because Elvis lives in the land of your muse!
Append to my works to enhance your love,
But things around you are like the era of war!
So live up to the expectations of this poem,
And i will be there to save you with my sweet love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ambushed
Ha-ha-ha-ha!
Zeus plus Krishna equals to Hesus Krishna;
But, i am ambushed by my sweet lover not to tell you the truth.
It is very sad,
Because many are they with PHDs;
But, they do not even know about the secrets of this world.
We do use the words 'Jesus Christ' a lot but,
He was an Hebrew born;
And there is no Hebrew born to date called 'Jesus Christ'.
Well, that is the truth and many are already confused;
But do read the VARIOUS VERSIONS of the BIBLES around,
There you will come to the truth like i did.
My defense is in heaven and i have learnt a lot,
But i have no PHD to desplay on my shoulders;
And i know more of the hidden codes of this life than others.
Why are you then confused?
For man was made on this Earth to LEARN.
Look at the names you give to your children,
They are your NATIVE NAMES;
So what was the native name of a CHILD born as an HEBREW?
The Son of the Creator was born in Israyl,
So go there to ask of the FIRST WRITTEN ORIGINAL BIBLE;
There you will come to the truth and know His Name.
'He-brews' like an Hebrew,
And i am ambushed by my lover;
But do take your mind slowly and ask yourself,
Where from this name?
Ha-ha-ha-ha! Many are confused already;
But my mind will always write for many to learn.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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