Poppy, Dancing Flame Dance, by J. W. Cassandra. This poem I wrote in May yet, but couldn’t share here since I lost all my writings from the computer in a minute and now I’m working on re-typing and re-copying all of them. It will take a long time, unfortunately. But in the meantime, I found some of them and share them here in a short time. This poem isn’t taken into any of my volumes yet. I give it through both in English and Hungarian.
Poppy, Dancing Flame Dance, by J. W. Cassandra. This poem I wrote in May yet, but couldn’t share here since I lost all my writings from the computer in a minute and now I’m working on re-typing and re-copying all of them. It will take a long time, unfortunately. But in the meantime, I found some of them and share them here in a short time. This poem isn’t taken into any of my volumes yet. I give it through both in English and Hungarian.
The only true spoil of war is that the victorious can bury their dead, Apocalypse by capitalism, what a century to be
I am a lone standing tree, who still wants to be free. My roots are so deep , as are the coral reefs. leaves are now history for me, Liberty is still a mystery for…
New Hampshire is a poem that describes Robert Frost’s love for the city of New Hampshire and its natural beauty, love for arts, and unbusinesslike nature. It also discusses the shallowness of people who measure everything based on its commercial value.
I have chased rainbows a lot of times, After the rain when the sun shines, I ran across fields soaked and muddy, But these are rainbows, It is what makes me happy! I chased rainbows a hundred times more…
Clock is ticking incessantlyThe world seems asleepWhile here I amLying supineBeneath the naked realm of sky. I found myselfIndulging the wordsthat overflowthrough my mindAs I whisper my secretsto the zephyr that passes by. The clouds…
We’ve been allured andbecame blinded by the colorful realities of life.Because wenever learn the art of using the white crayon. Save
I loathed the flowers thatI’ve planted on the backyard. I did water on it every single day. I’ve cultivated it as soon as its roots sprouted. But why? Why did you bloom for someone else?…
Some arts aren’t meant to be understood.Sometimes, it is only meant to be expressed by an artist. Save
This poem is about a person who saw the moonlight in a different color that crept in his room. I got inspired to write this after seeing the strawberry moon for myself last night and…
Colour-echo of Almighty, by J. W. Cassandra, my newest poem. This time I share the poem only in English. I share with you my poem for my friends in the USA without any kind of distinction. I feel for all of my friends, who suffer. I wish you all, my friends, with entire my heart to live in peace and in love again. Every lives matter ever.
