Yohanes Manhitu

Cada dia é uma nova graça. Todos os dias temos esperança. Sem esperança, a vida é vazia. Com ela, há sempre força. É essencial para manter a esperança todos os dias e em tudo o que

In this garden I walk among roses With a picture of face in my memory And I wish to ask the world Why your shadow lives in me. Not all of a sudden I declare the truth to you; I clearly say it

The wind is playing now with the leaves of the trees growing in this little place, where people come to pray. Today I am here again. And just like when I was here in the years that have

To A.A. Johanna I have begun a long journey to the ocean of words where from Monday to Sunday phrases come and go like boats. The sharp bends in the road are but a rainbow-like

“Everybody speaks English!” I don’t know whether it’s a wish or simply a sudden guess before a long journey by bus. Even in a global village proclaimed, the world is still colourful

Lord, to your holy temple, Today I thank you for the new day That comes without complaints To me, a small man. From the east, a light is coming out, Touching the face of the earth. Everything

Yes, here together we play According to a common rule. But often, like pirates, We seize glory with a sword. It is hard to play without hindrance and bother In this vast field with no

Gold in hand I have not But love in the heart I keep. If you love me unconditionally And forever without shackles, O woman, everyday I shall love you. And according to destiny, let us

My beauty, where are you going? Look, heaven is weeping And its pure tears Wash the village road. In the rain there is blessing: All plants rejoice And the wells are full. From tears I shall

Look! Today I am writing you again for I think you will spend your time reading these lines that will shine. I believe doing so is not a crime. All I can offer you is plain words drawn from

Like ants building houses before the rain comes, I have spent hours constructing imaginary palaces for you and me, my darling. Whenever dreams bore you, but you still want to see something like

I prefer not to have any copy of myself because I love to be the only masterpiece. All men should never be the same on earth in order that this life will look colourful. Looks can be similar,

Now I am standing here in a valley looking at steep hills surrounding it, speechless. I have named the valley \"the valley of self-betrayal\", and the hills \"the hills of suicide\". That’s

Your home is the universe, the sky is its eternal roof, the earth is its soft floor, a flat rock is your only bed, the night wind is your blanket, an outer space palace is your dream, a river

His name is Karol Jozef. He is more than eighty years old. Polska is his native land. The Vatican Hill is where he resides. 'Servus servorum' is his office. He writes verses of

What does coffee offer you besides the sweetness hidden in every swallow flowing slowly along the throat, where nothing is left but accumulating poison? And how long will such

The days pass quickly like the pages of a story book turned fast by a reader hoping for a happy ending for himself though the plot is uneasy, he knows He has opened the book like a blind The

My nights are now longer, dreams do not come soon, and my sleeps are shorter since every second is noon. But I feel nothing causing pain. I enjoy the rhythm of my words varying in its effect

Look, the night is falling now on the lands never with snow in the town in silence asleep like a child stopping to weep I walk on the nocturnal paths bathed in moonlight all alone recalling

Every year, in October, the Indonesian people hold what is called \"bulan bahasa\" (the language month), during which a number of language-related activities are carried out to appreciate Bahasa

He who knows earth’s matters, the secret ones He who knows true tales He who knows beautiful legends He who knows sharp and powerful words Your mind is as sharp as an arrow Your eyes are

You work in the morning and in the afternoon You don’t care about cold weather You don’t care about hot weather You never care about the rain and sun heat In the early morning you

And I felt that death was an arrow that flies from an unkown hand and in a wink of the eye we die. (Octavio Paz, The bird) Everything brings songs of pain Under the sky pouring the rain of

In the old days, you were fragrant; Today you are still fragrant; Tomorrow you will remain fragrant. In the old days, you grew nicely and protected the land; Today, you are cut into pieces like