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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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As soon as I landed, Radju, I concluded that these people live like Gods – Fairy tale like empty airports, queer roads and on them driving cars handsome studs. One-piece glass in windows and Dutch ware toilets in a moderate home, People living here are as happy, I said, as few in our world’s dome. Their green parks here, Radju, are so vast, And their houses, Radju, are solid-cast But not a soul when sun rises sings A mantra, kirtan or prayer in spring. It seems they’re not lazy or idle, life in honey, Radju, but they don’t make anything except for money. Nothing except for money as if they eat it or it yields – Only money stacks are advertised on advertisement shields. Imagine, Radju, no dirt, no slums, but if there’s a long highway to exile Then all along the road there would be shields with money and even raw meat piled. Nothing except for money, Radju, as if they can wear it – They hire people to raise their children. Just imagine it! Nothing except for money, Radju, if they see a beggar or a cripple They look as if the poor is not worthy of a man’s name and my back dimpled! Nothing except for money, but not so that they can buy their wives Expensive jewelry or embroidered sari – beautiful life. Instead they put money in a bank and set example for neighbors, Wear only grey and wife is to wear grey and only labor, labor. Their women are well-groomed, among old there are no wobbly or lame, hmm But none of their men sing for them Nor do they play tablas for them. Their kids don’t die of poor quality water, infection in rain season, black dust But I never saw them showing God their gratitude, their admiration and trust! Their elderly live all alone, when their souls leave body – well, Often there’s no soul around wanting to say final farewell. The funniest thing, Radju – they pity you and me, how’s that? That we can hardly make ends meet to buy our dear children bread. That we have never been to theater and sleep on mats in dirt – Those who wish their loved ones death over the phone – they value concerts! I lived five days among them, ran away on the sixth day in deception – I bewared that I would finally and irreversibly lose perception. My Sangita raised her hands up to the skies, Radju mate, As soon as she saw me, she brought me hot roti and daal plate. What happened to you, she said, you look scarier than any of Rakshasa, even paler than A European, I even burst into tears, Radju, that I underwent such horror. Now – zen.

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Radju By Vera Polozkova Translation

As soon as I landed, Radju, I concluded that these people live like Gods – Fairy tale like empty airports, queer roads and on them driving cars handsome studs. One-piece glass in windows and Dutch ware toilets in a moderate home, People living here are as happy, I said, as few in our world’s dome. Their green parks here, Radju, are so vast, And their houses, Radju, are solid-cast But not a soul when sun rises sings A mantra, kirtan or prayer in spring. It seems they’re not lazy or idle, life in honey, Radju, but they don’t make anything except for money. Nothing except for money as if they eat it or it yields – Only money stacks are advertised on advertisement shields. Imagine, Radju, no dirt, no slums, but if there’s a long highway to exile Then all along the road there would be shields with money and even raw meat piled. Nothing except for money, Radju, as if they can wear it – They hire people to raise their children. Just imagine it! Nothing except for money, Radju, if they see a beggar or a cripple They look as if the poor is not worthy of a man’s name and my back dimpled! Nothing except for money, but not so that they can buy their wives Expensive jewelry or embroidered sari – beautiful life. Instead they put money in a bank and set example for neighbors, Wear only grey and wife is to wear grey and only labor, labor. Their women are well-groomed, among old there are no wobbly or lame, hmm But none of their men sing for them Nor do they play tablas for them. Their kids don’t die of poor quality water, infection in rain season, black dust But I never saw them showing God their gratitude, their admiration and trust! Their elderly live all alone, when their souls leave body – well, Often there’s no soul around wanting to say final farewell. The funniest thing, Radju – they pity you and me, how’s that? That we can hardly make ends meet to buy our dear children bread. That we have never been to theater and sleep on mats in dirt – Those who wish their loved ones death over the phone – they value concerts! I lived five days among them, ran away on the sixth day in deception – I bewared that I would finally and irreversibly lose perception. My Sangita raised her hands up to the skies, Radju mate, As soon as she saw me, she brought me hot roti and daal plate. What happened to you, she said, you look scarier than any of Rakshasa, even paler than A European, I even burst into tears, Radju, that I underwent such horror. Now – zen.