Pacifike

pacifike	The Pacific
de Viliam Somerset Mom	By William Somerset Maugham
Paci Mare si muti e anameni ko ruhe da insan. koybano le huyangi ko Engli Kanal sa Beachy Head, sa tezi onde, e koybano le karsi, daku sa himangi gawe, e furi. le no cango xanti e nili. a vero, ato nilange tezi. sol agreso fota ca anmegami samane. donghawe jina pa inde da ti sange, e te fulu anxantodengia pa anjane. dayonde guno rula e kuano waytira sa mey ti late, e te memula ti lew zayula du jovania, sa li meme, zalimi e kawayi, sa anxuxi e antolerabli wane pa haye. sa mare ko ye, Oduseus bota dura le serca Suki Nesia.	The Pacific is inconstant and uncertain like the soul of man. Sometimes it is grey like the English Channel off Beachy Head, with a heavy swell, and sometimes it is rough, capped with white crests, and boisterous. It is not so often that it is calm and blue. Then, indeed, the blue is arrogant. The sun shines fiercely from an unclouded sky. The trade wind gets into your blood and you are filled with an impatience for the unknown. The billows, magnificently rolling, stretch widely on all sides of you, and you forget your vanished youth, with its memories, cruel and sweet, in a restless, intolerable desire for life. On such a sea as this Ulysses sailed when he sought the Happy Isles.
a zaya den pluso, da su Paci samu lage. mare plati e mingi. feyi fixe, sati binde da saye sa fotia da mirer, fata lil fonte da xingfoti yote sa lole transpadu. zaya mehkexi megame sa horizone, e sa solpade, lole geta bizari forme, saba anabla no raya te vida kuania da gawi xane. lole xane da dex’ da ti sonfantaze. te bota transa anfantazabli xix’ sa magi mare.	But there are days also when the Pacific is like a lake. The sea is flat and shining. The flying fish, a gleam of shadow on the brightness of a mirror, make little fountains of sparkling drops when they dip. There are fleecy clouds on the horizon, and at sunset they take strange shapes so that it is impossible not to believe that you see a range of lofty mountains. They are the mountains of the country of your dreams. You sail through an unimaginable silence upon a magic sea.
sa koy ban, xaw mewe ponta zemia no teli, memula du nese da siru sa wildia da suy; a mewe, duku du mewe si moni sinye da tenu te ca ye. te nolbano vida hursafarbote, sa li dosti dumane, no vida onori barke o xiki skuner, ato no fixeri bote: le kali registan; e zayo kalia pura te sa anjusto sifa du malsinye.	Now and then a few gulls suggest that land is not far off, a forgotten island hidden in a wilderness of waters; but the gulls, the melancholy gulls, are the only sign you have of it. You see never a tramp, with its friendly smoke, no stately bark or trim schooner, not a fishing boat even: it is an empty desert; and presently the emptiness fills you with a vague foreboding.

asle kitabe a http://www.online-literature.com/maugham/the-trembling/1/