Oh, what I'd give to be a child.

I've forgotten the joys of seeing the world for the first time, the excitement of realizing that there's more to be explored than just the backyard.

 
I've lost the feeling of total self-confidence, I've lost the ability to think, "I'm going to walk on the moon someday," and really, truly believe it . 

I miss the happiness that naivety brings, the wholesome trust and compassion towards everyone you meet .

I long for a clean soul and the inability to be dishonest, for the instantaneous forgiveness for any action because, "It's okay, she's just a child."

I wonder how it feels to get up early, bursting with the delight of knowing that today, just like all of the yesterdays and, of course, all of tomorrows, is going to be a remarkable adventure. 

I want back the nights when i was completely dependent on another person, when i was fed, washed, and taken care of,when i went to bed as the same time as the sun, when i curiously watched my parents make sense of nonsensical symbols on pages before drifting to sleep, thinking, 
"Oh, what I'd give to be a grown-up."

considering that i have started learning Persian Lately , i would like to share this translated poem with u :)

If I were the moon
I would look for you
No matter where you were

And if I were a stone
I would rest along your way
No matter where you would go
_
_

If you were the moon
You would hardly pass
Over my house

And if you were a stone
No matter where I was
You would break me!
You would break me!

Sighed Mayzie, a lazy bird hatching an egg:
“I’m tired and I’m bored
And I’ve kinks in my leg
From sitting, just sitting here day after day.
It’s work! How I hate it!
I’d much rather play!
I’d take a vacation, fly off for a rest
If I could find someone to stay on my nest!
If I could find someone, I’d fly away-free…”
Then Horton, the Elephant, passed by her tree.
“Hello!” called the lazy bird, smiling her best,
“You’ve nothing to do and I do need a rest.
Would you like to sit on the egg in my nest?”
The elephant laughed.
“Why, of all silly things!
I haven’t feathers and I haven’t wings.
Me on your egg? Why, that doesn’t make sense…
Your egg is so small, ma’am, and I’m so immense!”
“Tut, tut,” answered Mayzie. “I know you’re not small
But I’m sure you can do it. No trouble at all.
Just sit on it softly. You’re gentle and kind.
Come, be a good fellow. I know you won’t mind.”
“I can’t,” said the elephant
“PL-E-E-ASE!” begged the bird.
“I won’t be gone long, sir. I give you my word.
I’ll hurry right back. Why, I’ll never be missed….”
“Very well,” said the elephant, “since you insist…
You want a vacation. Go fly off and take it.
I’ll sit on your egg and I’ll try not to break it.
I’ll stay and be faithful. I mean what I say.”
“Toodle-oo!” sang out Mayzie and fluttered away.
“H-m-m-m..the first thing to do,” murmured Horton,
“Let’s see…
The first thing to do is to prop up this tree
And make it much stronger. That has to be done
Before I get on it. I must weigh a ton.”
Then carefully,
Tenderly,
Gently he crept
Up the trunk to the nest where the little egg slept.
Then Horton the elephant smiled. “Now that’s that…”
And he sat
And he sat
And he sat
And he sat….
And he sat all that day
And he kept the egg warm…
And he sat all that night
Through a terrible storm.
It poured and it lightninged!
It thundered! It rumbled!
“This isn’t much fun,”
The poor elephant grumbled.
“I wish she’d come back
‘Cause I’m cold and I’m wet.
I hope that that Mayzie bird doesn’t forget.”
But Mayzie, by this time, was far beyond reach,
Enjoying the sunshine way off in the Palm Beach,
And having such fun, such a wonderful rest,
Decided she’d never go back to her nest!
So Horton kept sitting there, day after day.
And soon it was Autumn. The leaves blew away.
And then came the Winter…the snow and the sleet!
And icicles hung
From his trunk and his feet.
But Horton kept sitting, and said with a sneeze,
“I’ll stay on this egg and I won’t let it freeze.
I meant what I said
And I said what I meant…
An elephant’s faithful
One hundred per cent!”
So poor Horton sat there
The whole winter through…
And then came the springtime
With troubles anew!
His friends gathered round
And they shouted with glee.
“Look! Horton the Elephant’s up in a tree!”
They taunted, they teased him,
They yelled, “How Absurd!”
“Old Horton the Elephant
Thinks hE’s a bird!”
They Laughed the they Laughed, Then they al ran away.
And Horton was lonely. He wanted to play
but he sat on the egg and continued to say
“I meant what I said
And I said what I meant…
An elephant’s faithful
One hundred per cent!
“No matter What happens,
This egg must be tended!”
But poor Horton’s troubles
Were far, far from ended
For, while Horton sat there
So faithful, so kind,
Three hunters came sneaking
Up softly behind!
He heard the men’s footsteps!
He turned with a start!
Three rifles were aiming
Right strait at his heart!
Did he run?
He did not!
HORTON STAYED ON THAT NEST!
He held his head high
And he threw out his chest
And he looked at the hunters
As much as to say:
“Shoot if you must
But I won’t run away!
I meant what I said
And I said what I meant…
An elephant’s faithful
One hundred per cent!”
But the men didn’t shoot!
Much to Horton’s surprise
They dropped their three guns
And they stared with wide eyes!
“look!” they all shouted,
“Can such a thing be?
An elephant sitting on top of a tree…”
“It’s strange! It’s amazing! It’s wonderful! New!
Don’t shoot him. We’ll catch him. That’s just what we’ll do!
Let’s take him alive. Why, he’s terribly funny!
We’ll sell him back to a circus, for money!”
And the first thing he knew, they had built a big wagon
With ropes on the front for the pullers to drag on.
They dug up his tree and they put it inside,
With Horton so sad that he practically cried.
“we’re off!” the men shouted. And off they all went
With Horton unhappy, one hundred per cent.
Up out of the jungle! Up into the sky!
Up over the mountains ten thousand feet high!
Then down, down the mountains
And down to the sea
Went the cart with the elephant,
Egg, nest and tree…
Then out of the wagon
And onto a ship!
Out over the ocean…
And ooh, what a trip!
Rolling and tossing and splashed with the spray!
And Horton said, day after day after day,
“I meant what I said
And I said what I meant…
But oh, am I seasick!
One hundred per cent!”
After bobbing around for two weeks like a cork,
They landed at last in the town of New York.
“All ashore!” the men shouted,
And down with a lurch
Went Horton the Elephant
Still on his perch,
Tied onto a board that could just scarcely hold him…
Bump!
Horton landed!
And then the men sold him!
Sold to a circus! Then week after week
They showed him to people at ten cents a peek.
They took him to Boston, to Kalamazoo,
Chicago, Weehawken and Washington, too;
To Dayton, Ohio; St. Paul, Minnesota;
To Wichita, Kansas; to Drake, North Dakota.
And everywhere thousands of folks flocked to see
And laugh at the elephant up in a tree.
Poor Horton grew sadder the farther he went,
But he said as he sat in the hot noisy tent:
“I meant what I said, and I said what I meant…
An elephant’s faithful—one hundred per cent!”
Then…one day
The circus show happened to reach
A town way down south, not so far from Palm Beach.
And, dawdling along way up high in the sky,
Who (of all people!) should chance to fly by
But that old good-for-nothing bird, runaway Mayzie!
Still on vacation and still just as lazy.
And, spying the flags and the tents just below,
She sang out, “What fun! Why, I’ll go to the show!”
And she swooped from the clouds
Through an open tent door…
“Good gracious!” gasped Mayzie,
“I’ve seen you before!”
Poor Horton looked up with his face white as chalk!
He started to speak, but before he could talk…
There rang out the noisiest ear-splitting squeaks
From the egg that he’d sat on for fifty-one weeks!
A thumping! A Bumping! A wild alive scratching!
“My egg!” Shouted Horton. “My egg! Why, it’s hatching!”
“But it’s Mine!” screamed the bird, when she heard the egg crack.
(the work was all done. Now she wanted it back.)
“It’s my egg!” she sputtered. “You stole it from me!
Get off of my nest and get out of my tree!”
Poor Horton backed down
With a sad, heavy heart…
But at that very instant, the egg burst apart!
And out of the pieces of red and white shell,
From the egg that he’d sat on so long and so well,
Horton the Elephant saw something whizz!
It had Ears
And a Tail
And a trunk just like his!
And the people came shouting, “what’s all this about…?”
They looked! And they stared with their eyes popping out!
Then they cheered and they cheered and they cheered more and more.
They’d never seen anything like it before!
“My goodness! My gracious!” they shouted. “My Word!
It’s something brand new!
It’s an elephant-bird!!
And it should be, it should be, it should be like that!
Because Horton was faithful! He sat and he sat!
He meant what he said
And he said what he meant…”
…And they sent him home
Happy,
One hundred per cent!
Design By Story

At the far end of town
where the Grickle-grass grows
and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows
and no birds ever sing excepting old crows...
is the Street of the Lifted Lorax.
And deep in the Grickle-grass, some people say,
if you look deep enough you can still see, today,
where the Lorax once stood
just as long as it could
before somebody lifted the Lorax away.
What was the Lorax?
And why was it there?
And why was it lifted and taken somewhere
from the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows?
The old Once-ler still lives here.
Ask him. He knows.
You won't see the Once-ler.
Don't knock at his door.
He stays in his Lerkim on top of his store.
He lurks in his Lerkim, cold under the roof,
where he makes his own clothes
out of miff-muffered moof.
And on special dank midnights in August,
he peeks
out of the shutters
and sometimes he speaks
and tells how the Lorax was lifted away.
He'll tell you, perhaps...
if you're willing to pay.
On the end of a rope
he lets down a tin pail
and you have to toss in fifteen cents
and a nail
and the shell of a great-great-greatgrandfather
snail.
Then he pulls up the pail,
makes a most careful count
to see if you've paid him
the proper amount.
Then he hides what you paid him
away in his Snuvv,
his secret strange hole
in his gruvvulous glove.
Then he grunts, "I will call you by Whisper-ma-Phone,
for the secrets I tell you are for your ears alone."
SLUPP!
Down slupps the Whisper-ma-Phone to your ear
and the old Once-ler's whispers are not very clear,
since they have to come down
through a snergelly hose,
and he sounds
as if he had
smallish bees up his nose.
"Now I'll tell you,"he says, with his teeth sounding gray,
"how the Lorax got lifted and taken away...
It all started way back...
such a long, long time back...
Way back in the days when the grass was still green
and the pond was still wet
and the clouds were still clean,
and the song of the Swomee-Swans rang out in space...
one morning, I came to this glorious place.
And I first saw the trees!
The Truffula Trees!
The bright-colored tufts of the Truffula Trees!
Mile after mile in the fresh morning breeze.
And, under the trees, I saw Brown Bar-ba-loots
frisking about in their Bar-ba-loot suits
as they played in the shade and ate Truffula fruits.
From the rippulous pond
came the comfortable sound
of the Humming-Fish humming
while splashing around.
But those trees! Those trees!
Those Truffula Trees!
All my life I'd been searching
for trees such as these.
The touch of their tufts
was much softer than silk.
And they had the sweet smell
of fresh butterfly milk.
I felt a great leaping
of joy in my heart.
I knew just what I'd do!
I unloaded my cart.
In no time at all, I had built a small shop.
Then I chopped down a Truffula Tree with one chop.
And with great skillful skill and with great speedy speed,
I took the soft tuft, and I knitted a Thneed!
The instant I'd finished, I heard a ga-Zump!
I looked.
I saw something pop out of the stump
of the tree I'd chopped down. It was sort of a man.
Describe him?... That's hard. I don't know if I can.
He was shortish. And oldish.
And brownish. And mossy.
And he spoke with a voice
that was sharpish and bossy.
"Mister!" he said with a sawdusty sneeze,
"I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.
I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.
And I'm asking you, sir, at the top if my lungs"-
he was very upset as he shouted and puffed-
"What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?"
"Look, Lorax," I said."There's no cause for alarm.
I chopped just one tree. I am doing no harm.
I'm being quite useful. This thing is a Thneed.
A Thneed's a Fine-Something-That-All-People-Need!
It's a shirt. It's a sock. It's a glove, It's a hat.
But it has other uses. Yes, far beyond that.
You can use it for carpets. For pillows! For sheets!
Or curtains! Or covers for bicycle seats!"
The Lorax said,
"Sir! You are crazy with greed.
There is no one on earth
who would buy that fool Thneed!"
But the very next minute I proved he was wrong.
For, just at that minute, a chap came along,
and he thought the Thneed I had knitted was great.
He happily bought it for three ninety-eight
I laughed at the Lorax, "You poor stupid guy!
You never can tell what some people will buy."
"I repeat," cried the Lorax,
"I speak for the trees!"
"I'm busy," I told him.
"Shut up, if you please."
I rushed 'cross the room, and in no time at all,
built a radio-phone. I put in a quick call.
I called all my brothers and uncles and aunts
and I said, "Listen here! Here's a wonderful chance
for the whole Once-ler Family to get mighty rich!
Get over here fast! Take the road to North Nitch.
Turn left at Weehawken. Sharp right at South Stitch."
And, in no time at all,
in the factory I built,
the whole Once-ler Family
was working full tilt.
We were all knitting Thneeds
just as busy as bees,
to the sound of the chopping
of Truffula Trees.
Then...
Oh! Baby! Oh!
How my business did grow!
Now, chopping one tree
at a time
was too slow.
So I quickly invented my Super-Axe-Hacker
which whacked off four Truffula Trees at one smacker.
We were making Thneeds
four times as fast as before!
And that Lorax?...
He didn't show up any more.
But the next week
he knocked
on my new office door.
He snapped, "I am the Lorax who speaks for the trees
which you seem to be chopping as fast as you please.
But I'm also in charge of the Brown Bar-ba-loots
who played in the shade in their Bar-ba-loot suits
and happily lived, eating Truffula Fruits.
"NOW... thanks to your hacking my trees to the ground,
there's not enought Truffula Fruit to go 'round.
And my poor Bar-ba-loots are all getting the crummies
because they have gas, and no food, in their tummies!
"They loved living here. But I can't let them stay.
They'll have to find food. And I hope that they may.
Good luck, boys," he cried. And he sent them away.
I, the old Once-ler, felt sad
as I watched them all go.
BUT...
business is business!
And business must grow
regardless of crummies in tummies, you know.
I meant no harm. I most truly did not.
But I had to grow bigger.So bigger I got.
I biggered my factory. I biggered my roads.
I biggered my wagons. I biggered the loads
of the Thneeds I shipped out. I was shipping them forth
to the South! To the East! To the West! To the North!
I went right on biggering... selling more Thneeds.
And I biggered my money, which everyone needs.
Then again he came back! I was fixing some pipes
when that old-nuisance Lorax came back with more gripes.
"I am the Lorax," he coughed and he whiffed.
He sneezed and he snuffled. He snarggled. He sniffed.
"Once-ler!" he cried with a cruffulous croak.
"Once-ler! You're making such smogulous smoke!
My poor Swomee-Swans... why, they can't sing a note!
No one can sing who has smog in his throat.
"And so," said the Lorax,
"-please pardon my coughthey
cannot live here.
So I'm sending them off.
"Where will they go?...
I don't hopefully know.
They may have to fly for a month... or a year...
To escape from the smog you've smogged up around here.
"What's more," snapped the Lorax. (His dander was up.)
"Let me say a few words about Gluppity-Glupp.
Your machine chugs on, day and night without stop
making Gluppity-Glupp. Also Schloppity-Schlopp.
And what do you do with this leftover goo?...
I'll show you. You dirty old Once-ler man, you!
"You're glumping the pond where the Humming-Fish hummed!
No more can they hum, for their gills are all gummed.
So I'm sending them off. Oh, their future is dreary.
They'll walk on their fins and get woefully weary
in search of some water that isn't so smeary."
And then I got mad.
I got terribly mad.
I yelled at the Lorax, "Now listen here, Dad!
All you do is yap-yap and say, 'Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad!'
Well, I have my rights, sir, and I'm telling you
I intend to go on doing just what I do!
And, for your information, you Lorax, I'm figgering
On biggering
and BIGGERING
andBIGGERING
and BIGGERING,
turning MORE Truffula Trees into Thneeds
which everyone, EVERYONE, EVERYONE needs!"
And at that very moment, we heard a loud whack!
From outside in the fields came a sickening smack
of an axe on a tree. Then we heard the tree fall.
The very last Truffula Tree of them all!
No more trees. No more Thneeds. No more work to be done.
So, in no time, my uncles and aunts, every one,
all waved me good-bye. They jumped into my cars
and drove away under the smoke-smuggered stars.
Now all that was left 'neath the bad smelling-sky
was my big empty factory...
the Lorax...
and I.
The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance...
just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance...
as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants.
And I'll never forget the grim look on his face
when he heisted himself and took leave of this place,
through a hole in the smog, without leaving a trace.
And all that the Lorax left here in this mess
was a small pile of rocks, with one word...
"UNLESS."
Whatever that meant, well, I just couldn't guess.
That was long, long ago.
But each day since that day
I've sat here and worried
and worried away.
Through the years, while my buildings
have fallen apart,
I've worried about it
with all of my heart.
"But now," says the Once-ler,
"Now that you're here,
the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear.
UNLESS someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It's not.
"SO...
Catch!" calls the Once-ler.
He lets something fall.
"It's a Truffula Seed.
It's the last one of all!
You're in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds.
And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs.
Plant a new Truffula.Treat it with care.
Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air.
Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack.
Then the Lorax
and all of his friends
may come back."

http://paulandlizdavies.com/poems/cat.htm

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may tread me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean,leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

Maya Angelou

I've great interest in this man and in his valuable words so what I'm trying to start here is collecting every link and topic related to this man ,and i will do my best to get any soft books which was written by him ,and if anyone can give me a hand on this I will be greatful :)

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.

You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.

It's opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And then things start to happen,
don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

You'll be on y our way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won't lag behind, because you'll have the speed.
You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you'll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don't.
Because, sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
that Bang-ups
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch.

You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.

And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles cross weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...

...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.



NO!
That's not for you!

Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you'll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you're that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You'll be as famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don't
Because, sometimes they won't.

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul.
On you will go
though your enemies prowl.
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike,
And I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never foget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So...
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
You're off the Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!