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Epitaph
No movement in departing
No rest was in staying behind.
Branches follow the roots yet
This tattling breeze
Had no secrets to share
Worthy of the leaves.
My love’s maiden is an estranged mother,
As a hasting star
Eternally runs
On a melancholic orb.
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fate
such short recess the world is between our toils and hell. the sun rises like a curse word and the day, a shame one cannot atone. the trees, our ascendants sinful ignorance and the breeze, an insincere temptation. the moonlight, a blasphemy desecrating the world, and the sky a shelter to spread underneath in dirt and to weep over our fate. speak, as we drown in tears.
sacred words
we were told the sacred words we will be taught if and only we endured a chastening of our souls. the chastening endured for so long we did the sacred words from our memories slipped.
beast
i am that beautiful beast standing at the equator of the world the overlook of whose mischief is the breeding ground for a newborn star.
Snow
No,
There is no stop to this snow,
The snow sitting on your eyebrows and hair
So to stand by the mirror as if
You watch
At the crying height of a cliff
The frightening depth of the abyss.
Indeed,
Unless you set ablaze the polar flames,
For the loving shine in your gentle gaze
Reveals the sunlight on the steel of a dagger
I must bravely endure
The boundless pain of its guiding light
In the darkest night
Testing the resilience of my heart
With the firmness of its blade.
No,
Lingers no doubt any more
But the certainty of your existence casting doubt on my fate
That you are the last few drops of water
Servants feed to the birds before
Cutting
Their throats.
Translation of the poem “Snow” by Shaumlu, a timeless tribute to aging and love.
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Translation of one of Shaumlu's several poems titled "Love Song", from the 70's.
O’ER THE COLD WITHIN
all the pause
of my heart
was for the love
to become a haven,
for the flight
but to become
an asylum.
oh love, oh love,
thy blue face i do not see.
and the cool of balm
o’er the flames of a wound
not the flames of passion
o’er the cold within.
oh love, oh love,
thy red face i do not see.
dark dust of relief
o’er the presence of fear
and the cozy of release
o’er the absence of presence,
darkness
o’er the tranquil of blue
and the green of a leaflet
o’er the twig of a redbud.
oh love, oh love,
thy intimate color
i do not see.
this is my translation of the poem “over the cold within” by Shaumlu; the most beautiful requiem ever written for love.
