Datasets:

VidaEdco

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OPT-350-dataset-raw-poetry-20240920_131458

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"The windows of my room Open to the moment When you will arrive"

"Fairies live far from here, Near the blue spring of light, At the end of the dark night"

"The secret was revealed But nobody understood The secret remained a secret."

"The key To the prison door Is in the prisoner's pocket And the prison Is in his mind."

"In this dead-end They smell your mouth To find out if you have told someone: I love you. They smell your heart. These are strange times, my dear And they flog Love At the roadblock."

"Vida's birthday is far, everyone is happy that's life in its bright light"

"Vida is laughing, and that's all the need so far"

"Vida will run this world, with joy in her eyes"

"Vida will laugh to your stories, that's all you need for today, that's all"

"Vida is brave in the heart, who said that's not all you want for this afternoon and moon in the skyline?"

"A secret was with me; I told the mountain. A secret was with me; I told the well. On the lengthy path, Alone and lonesome, I told the black horse I told the stones…  With my old secret At last I arrived. I uttered no words You uttered no words; I was shedding tears You were shedding tears. Then I sealed my lips You read from my eyes..."

"Never has been my heart, I think, So crimson and warm: At the worst seconds Of this deadly night, I feel, Thousands of founts of sun Spout with certitude in my heart. In every corner Of this salt-desert of despair, Thousands of vivacious woods, I feel, Grow sudden out of ground. You! My lost certitude! You runaway fish! Slipping in and out Of lakes of mirror! A filtering pond am I; Now with the sorcery of love, Seek a way towards I From the lakes of mirror! Never has been my hand, I think, This gay and grand: With a waterfall of crimson tear in my eye I feel, Breathes a dusk-less sun of an anthem. In every vein of mine With every beat of my heart, I feel, Chimes now the awakening of a caravan. She entered through the door one night Nude as the water’s soul; Her breasts: two fish, Hands, holding a mirror, Her hair: moss-smelling, Twisted as moss. At the threshold of despair, Cried I: “My found certitude! Of you, I will not let go of you.”"

"On a moon-lit night Moon is in my dream It takes me with it Alley to alley, Into the vineyards Into the plum trees. Valley to valley Meadow to meadow Behind the thickets Where a night fairy Fearing and trembling Steps into the spring; Her unruly hair She begins combing… On a moon-lit night Moon is in my dream It takes me to the End of that valley Where at night, the sole Weeping willow tree With her grace and charm Stretches out her hand So that drips a star Like a raining drop, Hanging from her branch Instead of her crop… On a moon-lit night Moon is in my dream It takes me with it Out of the prison Like a little moth Into the dark night. It takes me where the Martyrs of the town With lanterns of blood * In the squares and streets Cry until the dawn: “Hey! Mr. Uncle! Mr. vengeful man! Are you drunk or dry?! Wakened or asleep?!” We are drunk and not Martyrs of our town! Asleep and awake Martyrs of our town! In the end one night Moon will be rising Over that mountain Over the valley And into the square, Passing happily. One night moon will come… One night moon will come…"

"They sniff your breath lest you have said: I love you. They sniff your heart-- (such strange times, my sweet) and they flog love at every checkpoint. We must hide love in the backroom. In the cold of this dead-end crooked road they stoke their pyres with our poems and songs. Don’t risk thinking, for these are strange times, my sweet. The man who beats at the door in the nadir of night, has come to kill the lamp. We must hide light in the backroom. Those are butchers in passageways with their chopping blocks and bloodies cleavers. (Such strange times, my sweet) They carve smiles off faces and sever songs from mouths. We must hide pleasure in the back room. Canaries are barbequed on flames of lilies and jasmines… (such strange times, my sweet) and the devil, drunk on victory, feasts at the table set for our wake. We must hide God in the back room"