*This is the translation of the tamil poem, 'Blood Tears'. As it is with translation, it is not always possible to convey the imagery and word play, so while translation is a fairly accurate representation of the original, it does not convey the exact meaning, imagery and word play.
When the sun rises in the sky, the people of this world awaken,
the sun is the roof of this windowless world, that has been forsaken.
When the sun enters its slumber, the moon arrives alone,
the cries of the mind echo without noise and yet one can hear the moan.
I stand on the banks of a river-a river I cannot see,
in this room there is no time, for there is no clock for me.
I sit atop a pomegranate tree, an old man yet a child,
but when I open my eyes, the rubies bleed for my trials.
My four sides surrounded, my visions cry for my kind,
this poem that I write is where I reside within my mind.
As if a statue, I am motionless, inside echoes my screams,
In this hell that I live in, I fear nothing but my dreams.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
About Me
- Mango E
- Trying to show a way to see the world through words.
Topics
Popular Posts
-
I See You It was June 21 st , the summer solstice as people called it for it was the longest day of the year and Rix was in his bedr...
-
The human mouth, it is made to speak, But the words spoken, are truly too weak. For equality is preached from gender to race, But judgment i...
-
*This work borders more on rap than it does poetry. The 6 poems I've written have all been of varied styles. I'm sick of sicknes...
-
In the land of Toro, Mira walked slowly through the woods that lay behind her home as her blonde hair fluttered in the breeze. She live...
-
I speak words that I write, that people listen to and touch with their hands, as if the eerie silence is tangible. The sun sets; the c...
-
Candlelight Aurora is a freshman at her local college. She soon meets Mindy, a fellow freshman and soon they're both inseparable ...
-
The Silent Path The righteous man is not a pious one, He does not speak of his virtues- they speak for him. He dares to glance at the o...
-
As the moon emits an effervescent glow and the clock strikes twelve, an uneasy chill persists, seeps in through every crack- the tangible c...
-
It was the summer of Reneé’s 24 th year that lingered as if it were a drop of blood that could never be washed away like the almost perfec...
-
Wind swept hair, obsidian eyes, beguiling pools, a thousand lies. Honeyed words, from caressing lips, bloody allure, mesmeric hips. Ado...
Powered by Blogger.
0 comments:
Post a Comment