Walter William Safar
Biography of Walter William Safar
WALTER WILLIAM SAFA He is the author of a number of a significant number of prose works and novels, including 'Leaden fog', 'Chastity on sale', 'In the falmes of passion', 'The price of life', 'Above the clouds', 'The infernal circle', 'The scream', 'The Devil’s Architect”, 'Queen Elizabeth II', as well as a book of poems.
Walter William Safar Poems
A Window Into The World
The crow flaps its dark wings up there, hungryor death,
The Old Man And The Butterfly
How many wishes and hopes pass through a man's mind? This is what I am thinking about while looking
The Last Voyage
Like a straw man, Hunted by gusts of wind (in order to outrun death) , I am returning to the valley of my childhood;
An Ode To Inspiration
Up above, Tchaikovsky's fluting notes are dancing, And the empty paper waits for the first verse to be born. While the screaming wind beats against the old window, My thoughts are endlessly straying,
Crystal Tears And Blues
There is such a silence in the Vienna Opera That you can hear even the quietest of Mozart's notes, As if the city's elite has found its shepherd. You can't hear the quietest of voices, just humble silence
Against the old oak I cling my cheek to hear a lost voice inside; The voice of a lost friend, the voice of my lost father and mother, the voice of lost love.
The Poet And Imagination
I am going! ... I am leaving you, world! How horrible this admission echoes
The straw man guards a golden field, His eyes are empty, like its head, A golden heart shines in his chest. Whose hand had put this golden heart into his chest?
It is dreadful to once again fail, to sink into the dark of hopelessness, As if someone fired a canon into your heart, As if you have lost your interior,
In The Name Of Eternal Love
Since you have left, my one and only, the sun became perfectly cold. Its golden heart,
It is good to see You flying there in the abundance of crimson and gold,
I never meant to call for hunger, but it calls for me,
In the dreamlit night I chase shadows to their rest,
In the shadow of solitude now I see Your eyes, that so faithfully carry about the light
A Letter To My Beloved
While I am writing this letter to You, my one and only,
the mute wind,
utterly silent and stealthy,
has opened the doors of the old church,
and carried away the prayers
along the white heavenly fields.
The mute wind never opens my door,
because he knows that my prayers ran dry
long since, just like my tears.