t-max paradise

Almost paradise
a-chimboda to nunbushin
nal hyanghan noye sarangi
on sesang da gajindeuthae

In my life
nae ji-chin salme kkum-chorom
tagawajun ni moseubeul
onjekkajina saranghal su it-damyon

noye so-neul jabkoso
sesan-geul hyanghae ggot sorichyo
ha-neureul goro yaksokhae
yong-wo-nhi ojing noma-neul saranghae
pam ha-neul bulbit gateun uri dulmanyi
a-reum-da-un ggum paradise
nowa hamkkehandamyon
odideun gal su isso to the my paradise

no deurot-don shigan-gwa
geu apeum modu da ijo-bwa
ije buto shijagiya nowa hamkke
ttonabo-neun goya tallyoga-neun goya
loving you forever

Almost paradise
tae-yangboda to ttaseuhan
nal bo-neun noye nunbi-cheun
on sesang ta gachindeuthae

In my life
nae ji-chin salme bit-chorom
tagawajun ni saran-geul
onjeggajina kanjighal su it-damyon

All of my love
All of my life
nae modeun kol goroso
na-neun nol saranghae

jo pureun batagateun uri dulmanyi
a-reum-da-un got paradise
nowa hamkke handamyon
odideun gal su isso to the my paradise

no deurot-don shigan-gwa
geu apeum modu da ijo-bwa
ijebuto shijagiya nowa hamkke
ttonabo-neun goya tallyoga-neun goya
loving you forever

Almost paradise
a-chimboda to nunbushin
nal hyanghan noye sarangi
on sesang ta gajindeut hae

In my life
nae ji-chin salme ggum-chorom
tagawa jun ni moseubeul
onjekkajina kanjighal su it-damyon

chonsagateun ni misoga
kadeukhan uri nagwone
noma-neul wihan kkotdeullo
yong-wo-nhi chaewodul-kkoya

Almost paradise
taeyangboda to ttaseuhan
nal bo-neun noye nunbi-cheun
on sesang ta kajindeut hae

In my life
nae ji-chin salme bit-chorom
tagawajun ni saran-geul
onjekkajina ganjighal su it-damyon
onjekkajina saranghal su it-damyon

about me

akku adaLah seorang anag SMA yang pinter tapi kurang berpikir
suka mengkhayaL
dan akku cinta dunia ini hohoho

Poem (puisi bahasa inggris)

Introduction to Poetry  

Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

 The Summer I Was Sixteen 

Geraldine Connolly

The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,
its slide a silver afterthought down which
we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.
We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.
Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted
up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool
lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,
we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,
danced to the low beat of "Duke of Earl".
Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,
we came to the counter where bees staggered
into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled
cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,
shared on benches beneath summer shadows.
Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille
blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,
mouthing the old words, then loosened
thin bikini straps and rubbed baby oil with iodine
across sunburned shoulders, tossing a glance
through the chain link at an improbable world.

 Bad Day 

Kay Ryan

Not every day
is a good day
for the elfin tailor.
Some days
the stolen cloth
reveals what it
was made for:
a handsome weskit
or the jerkin
of an elfin sailor.
Other days
the tailor
sees a jacket
in his mind
and sets about
to find the fabric.
But some days
neither the idea
nor the material
presents itself;
and these are
the hard days
for the tailor elf.

Snow 

David Berman

Walking through a field with my little brother Seth
I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.
He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.
Then we were on the roof of the lake.
The ice looked like a photograph of water.
Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.
I didn't know where I was going with this.
They were on his property, I said.
When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.
Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.
Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.
A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.
We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.
But why were they on his property, he asked.

 Song 

Eamon Grennan

At her Junior High School graduation,
she sings alone
in front of the lot of us--
her voice soprano, surprising,
almost a woman's. It is
the Our Father in French,
the new language
making her strange, out there,
fully fledged and
ready for anything. Sitting
together -- her separated
mother and father -- we can
hear the racket of traffic
shaking the main streets
of Jersey City as she sings
Deliver us from evil,
and I wonder can she see me
in the dark here, years
from belief, on the edge
of tears. It doesn't matter. She
doesn't miss a beat, keeps
in time, in tune, while into
our common silence I whisper,
Sing, love, sing your heart out!