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If you liked what you read from me, I tell you that I ve published all my books in http://rosana.bubok.com

I hope you like them!

rosana

Money

And this is a story taken from a book called " The million dollars middleaged money" written by an unknown solitary hermit.

One step and leaning forward, an obscured hollowy place, there was a room, which turn in the night into green, when the night was finished.

Being from 1777 in this beautiful place, these remembrances made me squirm.
A page from the book, above mentioned, haze me into a melanchololic feeling.

I had to admit it. Me and my dog ask for the blood of our old custom.
Homero and me used to move our bodies just to capture bats and bat humans.
We used to assist them and them, our plants were not so hungry.

Unfortunately the bats and the human bats were extinguished by the cause of us.

All we have now, is a new webcam stolen from the old Mercado de Abasto de Tunaspunco.

We all hope that old blood keep in our bodies, again, again and again.

With love

The conqueror of Montesquieu

Cinema

Six lamps, square in red
as a new place to imagine
how is this new reality.

Another time, another place.
Ghost in my left hand, head of the heart
behind a losing wasting time
whence I won peace.

___________________________________

Must I wonder if everything I ve done was a waste?
A time lost?

I think that melodies might tell me a new truth.


By the way, I daresay hi!
As a nevermind goodbye.

I think this could be the best farewell I could say to you.

Keep in touch.

The sea

You


You and your photograph
With this, your music
With your lovely voice,
Filling up every one of my fibs.

You, in a boat just to reach the sand,
Anxious and hopeful,
Waiting for something to happen.
Something to happen.

And me, softening myself in cherished times.
Tuning me up with every word, every gleam.

I could be a stranger on this land.

Closer, we are in the sand
Just for a loving tune
Into the meerschaum of love.

Let me wet my lips
My soul and being
Into your sea waves.

Meet me at the beginning of the sea...

The bottle

1. Sep 24 2004, 12:19 PM


Member


Group: Members
Posts: 10
Member No.: 11507
Joined: 15-April 04



The botlle

Down the sea beach she was standing. It seemed ages since she were sat onto that bench, always the same one, during some more than half a year.
Sometimes the tide was high, sometimes the water was calm, on the sand, waiting for something to happen.

The sand, the bench, some gusty trees and her; and beneath the scrolling ravine an empty boat, with some sailors staring at the sea, joking.

She stared. Biding her time expressed a sad smile, while the sun rays were illuminating her hair, and day by day, alone into the night as if she were standing apart.

One day after months, the sailors decided to approach to her. Why don´t we? -They discussed among themselves-. And slowly and gently they tried to catch her eye.
But she decided to go to another bench, far away from there she was before.
The sailors insisted.

After a while, they, looking into the tide and the wind blowing they have taken a bottle, and get into it a trapping message, sent by the sea, inviting her to answer.
And through the passing of the days she discovered that bottle on the sea with the message. She got scared.


It was nearly darken, she did not know what to say.
Her lonesome face was trying to decide how could herself to get near them.
And she decided to start an enigmatic story as this.

Only the sea, the ravine, the boat and themselves.

Only a story to tell them:

Thank you!
Let´s get near!

Pumpkinning smash

well, i hope of, turned out to be very sad

well, i hope you never understand me, nor me i understand myself

so, what s the new to picture if i start to cry, hopeless and chemistrily sad?

what s the real matter
None to fight for, except by you and meno sense to be real,

insert not to being this world by the sake of the lord.he doesn’t want us to be so sad

And while I m
pumpkining a tomato, freshy for my throat to sing
i wonder will we someday to become so strong to clear off our minds to dreams coming true?
i was glad to meet you,
and i ll always be
so
what’s the matter with the sad files,
hugging our mouth on a broken string
just for harming our fingers
with all the pain which its not on our fingers, indeed in our aura?

feel and lets act in consequence

Trap doors

I can touch the sky with our breathe
we re all just and only friends,and so we ll be standing together
playing with what is not for play.we can lose or we can seize,the choice is ours, yours and mine
i hope you re not trapped again into these... (TRAP DOORS)...I invented one
and you invented the othersmine is woolenyours are of broken glasses
Mine i can touch it,
your s its made of water..so tell me how can you keep water in your hand
without being wet and disappeared,
without being on the other side without being undiscovered?You re always on the same room, my dear sand you re not yet able to change the water into
steel!( for you to grab it and have the control of it...)what did you think?

love

Rosana

YOU ( plural)

Sea through the wind

Save your last wing.
It Hills up onto our skies.
And we´ll run to
Run to the most unwaking spirit.

You seem so quiet when you laugh,
And I know the matter of this meaning
But we`ll stop here, dying on that words
Of saying goodbye.

Saying goodbye.

And I shall not be so busy.
Ll´Learn to fly out to the sea.
When we ´ll cry out our last laugh
We`ll be entered to our filled haunting aside air.

Note.
Well I don `t know what it´s thrieve but it sorts out well in my rhyme.
(giggles). See you. At the moment of smoking,
It`s said, now. ( I wouldnt stop if you cant).

Hello Mr yellow men and women

The Sea

1. El poeta
   
   
   
   Un silencio acomodado se abrió sobre su breve sonrisa,
   sobre sus labios,
   labios de aquel que sólo recibe algún alimento maltratado
   en ese cansancio que enmascara sus días de lucha.
   Hombre que, enmascarado entre escamas, sin un atisbo de sordidez,
   pide dádivas a extraños.
   
   
   Su nombre es ignoto,
   como su sonrisa pculta;
   que al recibir las monedas contadas que otro hombre le brinda,
   casi sin cuidado,
   acepta.
   
   
   Él muestra su mas ansiada armonía
   encontrándose en la ayuda,
   en la ayuda que él mismo brinda sin sentir un porque.
   Sin desgano.
   
   
   Éste anciano gime esperanza,
   en una luz que asombra hasta los más despavoridos,
   sintiéndose acompañado en su soledad,
   partiendo sin partir,
   llorando sin gemir aún en el dolor,
   porque él siempre nos acompaña.
   
   

   
   Y sí, aunque no lo sepas aún es Él.
   Nuestra más clara y pacifica claridad de bienestar,
   amándonos eterno y suave,
   él siempre está.
   
   Y le agradezco.