Sunday, 31 May 2015

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

I ASKED

Good, bad, or indifferent
Whatever be the checkerboard of my life
I couldn't thank God enough
He gave me crosses, He removed them
I faltered, He carried them for me
I stooped under their weight, He put them on His shoulder
I asked Him was my life worth it?
He pointed to the blushing rose, I stopped to inhale its fragrance
He guided me to the blue mountain, I drank my fill
He showed me the gurgling stream, I laughed with it
He took me to a wounded bird, I sang to her
He wiped the tears from an orphan's face, I cried with Him
He stood by the body of the dead, I wiped His tears
He stared into the leaping flames, I searched for life in the embers
He held my hand in His, I knew what my life meant  

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

CALL OF TRITON

I am not the creator of the image; it was sent to me. It speaks volumes.
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Just another pebble on the beach
Studded in time by the waves
That froth at the ocean’s edge
A feather light caress on the cheek
Etching crevices on a visage
That asks questions
To a roaring ocean
Tales of days gone by
Of nights when the sun
Brought the rains upon the waves
Reality embedded in the shells of the ocean
Of mermaids howling to the moon
Prising sanity from the conches
Fortune cookies in a parlour
Lit by life’s mirrors
Some shining
Some broken
Some pieced together
With the glue from cobwebs
All carrying stories
None in secret, but all brutal
An honesty that made life hide its face
From me
I am no different from anybody
I am the girl who picked up the pebbles
When it was raining at the ocean’s edge
I pieced the mirrors together
Till there were no cracks
I bought new mirrors
When I couldn’t use the old
I sang with the mermaids
As they crumbled the cookies
I swam into the ocean
And floated to the moon
I did not read my fortune

I did not need to
I blew the conch shell
To my life

(Triton is a sea god, a mollusc with a shell, and a nucleus of a tritium atom)

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

DANCE OF BACCHUS

 

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

Hold the chalice to my lips
Let me drink of the wine
That shines before my eyes
Crimson drops in burgundy ripples
Of dark amber and sangria
Mulled and heady
I am lost to love
If the rains be the music
Of my heart
Let me sing with wild abandon
Let me bathe in the wine
That flows from my lips
Let me drown
In the depths of desire
As I see you burning
But
It is not you that burns
It is I
With a madness that
Drives me insane
Tarry awhile
It is raining again
Rivulets of wine
Bacchanal
In a frenzied blood
I am not burning
It is you
You and I are burning alive
In the rains
In a love
Consummated by madness

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

..... AND I

Don't try to understand me, I am a hieroglyph.
Don't try to control me, I am lava
Don't try to predict me, I am a volcano
But
Let me be the bird
That flies from a hieroglyph
Over
A drowning volcano
And
I will bring to you
The song of the phoenix

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed


DROPS OF LATTICE

Open the windows
Let the rains in
To shut them out
Is to close the door on life

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

A FEW DROPS OF WATER

 

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

 

A few drops of water on the glassy face of a lake, casting ripples of satisfaction over its emotions and the leaves of the slender reed laugh with delight
A few drops of water on a thirsty mind and thoughts bloom into roses, spraying rain showers over the soul, scrambling across the wizened desert of despair
A few drops of water on their overflowing heart and love blossoms from the depths of a dead river bed, the pebbles chortling with laughter as they succumb to their drenched bodies
A few drops of water on their dreams and they are lost in a burning world of deep fires, flamed by the rains, soft and sibilant, a symphony where they alone hear the music
A few drops of water to live
A few drops of life to love
If love be life, wherefore life if love be dead
If life be dead, wherefore love to find itself

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

SILENT RELATION

I am silent
It speaks loudly
My eyes listen
To what my lips don’t say
My ears feel the scrape of words
Against my skin
I inhale them in the rain
That shimmers in my silence
They speak for me


 Shaiqua Murshed
 The above poem will be translated to Malayalam shorty