Pink Clouds/Алсу Болытлар/ Alsu Bolytlar
A bilingual poem in English and Tatar. The Tatar version of this poem will be written with both Cyrillic and Roman letters.
In English:
I see a lot of pink clouds.
They are dancing in the sky
like in a fairy tale.
They are like cotton candy,
soft and beautiful
as glittering flowers.
I see a lot of pink clouds.
They paint a picture
of a magical sky.
In Tatar (in Cyrillic):
Мин алсу болытларны бик күп күрәм.
Әй, күктә бииләр
мин әкияттә.
Эй, мамык конфетына охшаган,
бик матур һәм матур
ялтырап торган чәчәкләр.
Мин алсу болытларны бик күп күрәм.
Эй рәсем ясыйсыз
тылсымлы күк.
In Tatar (Romanized):
Min alsu bolytlarny bik kup kurem.
Ei, kukte biiler min ekiyatte.
Ei, mamyk konfetyna okhshagan
bik matur hem matur
yaltyrap torgan sheshekler.
Min alsu bolytlarny bik kup kurem.
Ei, resem yasyisyz tylsymly kuk.
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Talia Devora
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"An Orchestra of American Excellence"
In the core of the immense American spread, Where skies paint dreams with shades gigantic, There lies a vista, a sight divine, Where nature's beauty and workmanship join. In Yosemite's hug, the mountains take off, Their tough pinnacles, Grand from there, The sky is the limit, An orchestra of greens and gold’s, Where stories of old terrains unfurl. Through Fantastic Gorge's gap, Waterways wander, Cutting murmurs in stone, An old book, Layers of time revealed, Uncovered, in each cleft, a story forced. Along the shores of Acadia, waves dance, Their cadenced tides, a mesmerizing daze, Where bluffs meet ocean in quiet veneration, A work of art of seaside polish. In the core of Yellowstone's wild hug, Fountains emit, A heavenly elegance, Painting the sky with warm tones, A scene that eternity follows. From the moving slopes of Tuscany, California. To the blazing sparkle of Arizona's Sahara, America's vistas, each a material interesting, Welcome the spirit to meander and dare. So let us wander these terrains untamed, Where magnificence and marvel stay unchained, In each vista, a brief look at the heavenly, In the immortal scenes of the American line. In the core of the tremendous American region lies a perpetual embroidered artwork of magnificence, Woven with strings of miracle and painted with shades that oppose the creative mind. From the transcending pinnacles of the Rough Mountains to the peaceful shores of the Incomparable Lakes, Every vista murmurs privileged insights of the land, Welcoming investigation and consideration. In the hug of the Smoky Mountains, Fog grips to the valleys like a sweetheart's hug, Relaxing the rough edges of old pinnacles. Daylight channels through the overhang, Dappling the backwoods floor with brilliant kisses, While the tunes of birds weave songs that reverberation through the trees. Across the fields of the Midwest, Fields stretch to the skyline like an interwoven unique blanket, Sewed along with columns of corn and soybeans. The sky curves above, A huge territory of blue that appears to extend on everlastingly, Hindered simply by an intermittent surging cloud. In the deserts of the Southwest, The scene moves and changes like sand in the breeze, Etched by the hands of time into undulating rises and transcending plateaus. Here, the sun sets the sky burning with tints of orange and pink, Creating long shaded areas that dance across the desert floor. Furthermore, in the urban communities that ascent from the earth like landmarks to human resourcefulness, The lights of 1,000 windows sparkle like stars against the night sky. High rises go after the sky, Their glass exteriors mirroring the steadily changing horizon in a sparkling mosaic of steel and glass. In any case, maybe the genuine excellence of America lies in its scenes, However in the variety of its kin and societies. From the clamoring roads of New York City to the drowsy towns of the Profound South, Each side of this tremendous nation recounts an account of strength, imagination, and trust. So let us meander these scenes, both regular and man-made, With hearts open to the miracles that encompass us. For in each view, from the most noteworthy top to the humblest city intersection, There is magnificence to be found for those with eyes to see and hearts to feel.
By Nameless writer2 days ago in Poets
Comments (3)
Beautifully visual poem. Well done.
❤️❤️❤️ I barely understand English so anything bilingual is always impressive to me.
Beautiful poem! I love all the descriptions. I have always been reminded of cotton candy looking at clouds, too. Even when they aren’t pink.