*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
-
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...
-
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...
-
I am alone. I have many different sides, for those who have the patience. My lies can beguile and yet my truths can rile. Those that see ...
-
I am a burdened soul. I wish to thrive wholly free but I cannot, for there will always be someone in this world who wishes to ensla...
-
As the moon emits an effervescent glow and the clock strikes twelve, an uneasy chill persists, seeps in through every crack- the tangible c...
-
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...
-
For the duration of my 21 year existence, I've found myself in between various abysses-I never fall into them but I teeter on the e...
-
Wind swept hair, obsidian eyes, beguiling pools, a thousand lies. Honeyed words, from caressing lips, bloody allure, mesmeric hips. Ado...
-
*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...
-
This story explores the dynamic between a young woman and an old man. The Blood Rose Fleur is in her last year of high school. Drivi...
Powered by Blogger.
0 comments:
Post a Comment