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Home > Author > Walter William Safar
Walter William Safar

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  Walter William Safar

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BIOGRAPHY WALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 Sherman-TEXAS- . 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 negotiator", "Queen Elizabeth II", as well as a book of poems, titled "The angel and t

Background Information

Poetry enriches the human soul, as it nurtures love, compassion and faith in people. Yes, I consider myself to be lucky to share my poetry with everyone regardless of race or religion, because anyone's tears are the same color, as well as an honest smile.By reading poetry, you can open your heart, and what's even more important, you can open the doors to many hearts. My sincere wish is to share my works with everyone. In my poetry, I have praised love as the light of all lights, as compassion and faith, as well as sorrow, pain, poverty and death.I know what I am writing about, because I've been to it all, love, pain, sorrow, agony, solitude and poverty. … I don't know much about victories, but I am sure of one thing, that compassion is a victory of the human spirit.






I never meant to call for hunger,

but it calls for me,

endlessly faithfull and accursedly hones,

it leads me,

like any given day,

into the soup kitchen of the darkest street in the world.

Everything around me is so unreal,

the smiling faces of those who pass by,

the full restaurants spreading the scent of food,

and the rustle of money bills, so unknown to me.

To many people, this is the brightest street in the world,

but it is so painfully cold and dark ti me.

I feel like a wingless fly in the silky home

of the biggest spider of the world when I walk it.

Outside, the sun is gildening the leaden faces of those who pass by,

those who headlessly chase after their own bright dreams,

and it is so dark inside,

yes, Lord, how could a soup kitchen be bright,

when its most frequent visitor is poverty.

The breath of hopelessness spreads around me,

and of horrible apathy,

as if I entered a coffin

that even death does not want to enter,

but I am not afraid that their hopelessness might kill my hope,

because it died long ago.

It's all the same in this coffin of human hopes,

the same poverty, the same food, the same nuns,

the same thick opaque glass

that keeps gazes from mixing,

there's only less homeless people,

because the long cold nights do not forgive poverty,

and while I drag my heavy leaden legs

towards the altar of my shame,

I can hear an unusually lively young voice,

a straying child singing a lullaby to its teddy bear.

Oh, Lord, can poverty be so hungry

as to even take away dignity from such a young being?

I am looking into these big, bright turquoise eyes of a child,

so dignifiedly spreading hope around him.

Nothing about him or within him

reveals that he is a victim of recession,

that he has lost his father and mother early.

Even though a big pearly tear

slid into his empty plate, spreading the echo of endless pain,

he is still patiently waiting for his piece of bread

hard as flintstone.

I am hiding from his gaze,

fearing that my apathy and hopelessness

might kill his hope.

You know, Lord, that I would give everything

to help this dear little being,

but how can a hopeless man help him?

If my help is the escape

and the hiding of my own inability and hopelessness,

I agree to remain hungry,

because there is no desire left in me to fight dilemmas,

because I have long since been without hope,

and so it is time for me to return

to my little home without light and hope,

into my little cardboard home.


©Walter William Safar





When destiny leaves you alone in the dark;

When your mother and father leave you early;

When your dear love leave you early,

All you have left are faith;

All you have left are dreams,

Yes, my friend, life rolls along the road of dreams,

And each dream is finished soon;


Travel in peace, dreams of mine,

Into the land of color,

 the wonderful land of noble memories,

So that my blind spirit might see through the turquoise moon's eyes,

So that my tired spirit finds its peace in your sacred cradle.

Fly with the breath of Freedom,

So that you may sow the seed of young hope

In the courtyard of heavenly gates;


Travel in peace, dreams of mine,

To honor the many tears haunted by memories,

To honor the many stars haunted by lonely nights,

To honor the many winds haunted by prayers of the unfortunate;


Travel in peace, dreams of mine,

Into distant valleys of saturnine silences.

Find your humble home

In the infinity of human tragedies,

So that you may fraternize many unfortunates

With your merciful existence,

So that my lonely spirit can see the magnificent light

In the fraternal souls of people I hold dear;


When they want to kill your dreams,

Hoist your flag of faith,

hoist your flag of dreams

And keep on marching your way,

like a noble soldier of Dreams.



©Walter William Safar


Birth Place
Sherman, TX -U.S.A.


When you're standing in the dark, remember:
Hope is waiting for you on the other side,
A merciful altar lit by the light of your timid soul!...
I know that you do not belong here,
Because the light is your genuine home;

When you're standing in the dark, to you it seems
As if your only friend was the snowman
Who's looking so softly at you now,
From a bench on which it was put by a gentle
Human hand
Of many a friend who is waiting for you on the other side.

Yes, I know that this what it looks like to you,
Like the whole world around you is drowning
Into a dreamless dream,
Because I too was standing in the dark,
In the very same place
On which the cold human hand had put it,
In whose chest the heart of stone is ruling;

When darkness descends among people,
You ask yourself why the light is so weak,
Even though people are lighting candles so feverishly?...
Why is the sky so moist and black,
Like dewy moss on an unmarked grave,
Even though people are lighting candles so feverishly?...
Why the silent darkness is strangling the quiet cry of freedom,
Even though people sing odes to freedom?...

I know it's not easy for you,
Because you, like many a man,
Are but a moonshadow
To the cold system;

When the wind travails the quiet darkness
Carrying your tear on its gentle back,
Be true to yourself!...
Be true to yourself!...
Stay human!...
From the dark
You shall emerge in the light
As a winner!

©Walter William Safar

Additional Information

Dear Friends, Many times, while escaping the real world, I used to find my sanctuary in the blissful chest of mother Art. With these poems, I am curing the hungry soul, and it hungers for compassion, love and faith, just like any human soul does. Hungry and thirsty, I am staring into the very heart of the dark spirit of my own subconscious, and I would feel betrayed for who knows how many times, only to appease my thirsty soul with a torrent of tears, because poetry is like a tear on the face of mankind. I don't know much about victories, but I still believe that compassion itself is a victory, and if my poems can awaken compassion in people, than I can count myself as a victor. This is why I am sending my poems to your heart.

Contact Information
Walter William Safar
San Antonio, TX 
San Antonio TX 77901   USA
Contact Author: Walter William Safar
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The Boy with the Silver Tears
Demonic fires blaze in the eye of the stone palace, and me, I only stand in the dark beneath the sky that reaches its invisible hands out towards scores of nameless graves. For callous politicians, they are but nameless graves upon which no one’s tear fell. They were silently and swiftly buried into the black soil, without speeches and tears, without too many imprints on the black soil. (They say that everyone’s life is worth attention, and that the dark truth is that only death equally appreciates each life) And while they treacherously, silently and swiftly dug a new nameless grave, only death was faithfully listening to the crickets feverishly spluttering away in the dark to honor the dead poet. In the hazy grave lies the poet, like a shadow of many dreams, and the raindrop, brought from the honorable mountain by the honorable wind, softly and timidly trembles on the dead poet’s white face, like an angel’s tear. And politicians, tycoons, church pontiffs are sitting in the golden loges now, ghastly and faithfully acting: the righteous, the charitable, the Believers, crying their copper voices out into Global silence, like a copper bell, and the dead poet now waits for one tear in a nameless grave. ©Walter William Safar

John Morgan was an extremely talented quarterback on his high school's football team. After a car accident, he quits his football career to work as a docker at the port. When he finds out that his mother is dying, he comes home to visit her, accompanied by his wife Julianne, whom he calls 'Snowflake'. His brother Paul, called 'Silky', arrives that same day. John drinks uncontrollably, because he is tortured by the hatred he feels for his brother. Paul used to be publically humiliated while in high school due to his gentleness, but his father's and brother's accusations hurt him even more. Because of this, he leaves his moter whom he loved more than himself. Julianne immediately takes a liking to Paul, since they share a common appreciation of art. She is a teacher in a small school, while he is a theatre director. John keeps drinking and treats everyone violently. Their father, Sean Morgan, a retired docker and fighter for worker's rights, has always prefered John, and he immediately takes his side. After the arrival of Michael Loch, nicknamed "Big Mitch", the situation becomes even more complex. John is very fond of Michael, who is known to be an uncompromising union leader, but he seems to hit it off Paul, which is driving John mad. John's mother is saddened by John's behavior, and she attempts to find out why he acts that way, but she fails. Eventually, she is told about it by Julianne, who is also worried by John's behavior. Julianne is also jealous of Michael, because it seems that John spends more time with Michael and the union men than with her. She is fighting to save her marriage, and also to make peace between John and Paul. Elizabeth is desperate to see her children treating each other as brothers again before she dies, and so she tells a secret that she has been holding back all her life.

The Devil's Architect

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