Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.



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W S Rendra translation of 'Hai Ma' or 'Hi Mom'
My English translation of "Hai Ma" by W. S. Rendra, a son to his mother and soulmate. HAI MA ("HI MOM") by W. S. Rendra translation by Michael R. Burch for Zeelhan Zahraa Mom, It's not death that disheartens my heart but a lifeless life, a life unlived because life loses its power and nature. There are nights when I walk these corridors with nowhere to go, the cold air caressing my listless body chilled despite the absence of wind. Then the stars become fireflies emphasizing the immensity of darkness. No thoughts, no feelings, nothing. Life is fleeting, mom, but I'm helpless not to be non-existent. Sometimes I feel lost in the wilderness, shunned by mother and father, rejected by neighbors, abandoned in the marketplace. I speak but no one hears. They rip apart my books; they laugh at my ideals. I'm angry, I'm terrified, I'm trembling, but I fail to find the words. Life is fleeting, mom… Mortality is easy for me to accept, but sitting here hugging my knees alone in the savanna makes my "life" seem worthless. Sometimes I feel torn apart by rabid people just for their amusement. Life is trivialized by inconsequential prattle as people fill their time with irrational arguments, without consequence, without romance, without ecstatic copulation. Life is fleeting, of course, mom… But thought's acrobatics and falsehoods messed me up inside and made me scream… …while not knowing why. I felt like I'd died over and over again; nothing surprises me anymore… …in this "life." But mom… whenever I realize you're there, life returns and I feel the way blood flows through my body, my glands excrete, my soul sings, the world is present, the lizard scritches on the wall, the gardener talks to his son. My life becomes real. My nature returns. Remembering you, mom, is to remember daily obligations, the simplicity of prose, the beauty of poetry. We always have fun exchanging ideas, mom. We each have aspirations. We each have obligations, at least the real ones. Hi mom… Do you remember… how I hugged you on the boat when your stomach hurt, and I how I calmed you down by kissing your neck? Masha Allah… I'm always fascinated by your skin's fragrance. Do you remember when I said: "If the end comes, my life was full of meaning!" Wow, I really couldn't lose, having you in my life. And when I write poetry I feel yesterday and tomorrow are also today, that good and bad luck are the same, that the sky outside and the body are united in the soul. That's it, mom…
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