It was one of my friends who asked me to write more as she wants to hear from me more. Since I have no time to write something afresh, I dusted down this poem written in early 2002, which I tried in French as I wanted to augment my vocabulary (which never worked anyway). I was in third level and it was after 160 hours of class in French (around 4 months) I wrote this poem entitled “Quand l’amour m’engouffre...” meaning “When love engulfs me...”.
I really have no clue at all about what will happen when love engulfs someone since it never ever happened to me. The Indian cupid, Manmatha, got bored of and turned his back to me very long ago, after trying with all his pretty interesting equipments: sugarcane as bow, line of honeybees as bowstring, five fragrant flowers as arrows, cuckoo and parrot as his companions and attended by nymphs, spring as his preferred season, breeze as his chariot displaying fish banner, rainbow as his horse or whatever and so on.
The poem pasted a smile on my face as I went through it. It was full of mistakes, naive and stupid words as any French can observe it from the very title, strong vocabulary in inappropriate place, etc. So, here you go. I didn’t change much while translating from the original. If it set a tiny smiley on your face, I would be more than happy.
I really have no clue at all about what will happen when love engulfs someone since it never ever happened to me. The Indian cupid, Manmatha, got bored of and turned his back to me very long ago, after trying with all his pretty interesting equipments: sugarcane as bow, line of honeybees as bowstring, five fragrant flowers as arrows, cuckoo and parrot as his companions and attended by nymphs, spring as his preferred season, breeze as his chariot displaying fish banner, rainbow as his horse or whatever and so on.
The poem pasted a smile on my face as I went through it. It was full of mistakes, naive and stupid words as any French can observe it from the very title, strong vocabulary in inappropriate place, etc. So, here you go. I didn’t change much while translating from the original. If it set a tiny smiley on your face, I would be more than happy.
When love engulfs me...
Melting are my heart and soul. Lakes turned tender long ago.
Arrogant are cherries of blossom. Care a damn bees.
To the humming, butterflies dance. Oh! Danseurs nobles!
I am hopping here and there. It is flower strewn trail.
Excuse me, calls someone. I scan trees for cuckoo.
I turn to see this girl approaching. Descending fresh from paradise.
Pretty shame, I lost my language. Beautiful! Just sighs my mind.
My heart does thousand leaps as she hops avoiding flowers down.
Are you lover of flowers, plays she harp. Carnivore eyes feed my heart.
Yes, never seen such huge flower say I searching her eyes.
She smiled, making flowers drop dead of shame.
We did the path together. Eyes crossed swords. Mind swung me to her.
Sun menaced to fall westward. Worried I of his envy.
It is time to go, said she making void inside me.
Sun showers gold on splendid landscapes, spreading warmth till heart.
We meet in park, speak a lot, discover days are short.
I strip my senses as her thoughts replace them, like serpent.
I occupy little space in this mighty world, but I traverse everywhere.
Day was drizzling. Sun set himself amber. There a rainbow in east.
That day, I told her I started counting all stars in sky.
I started counting all bubbles in my bread, she replied.
I live in cocoon, I revealed. Am I in your heart asked she.
Our troubled eyes met. She kissed me. I hugged her to my soul.
That moment we exchanged the parole of life. The language of heart.
Paths in heaven, clouds, moon, stars, all started to know me well.
Hillside, rocks, lakes, trees, feathery friends, started to know us well.
Fairies speak in my ears, nowadays. Always telephones speak to us.
Don’t ask me where I live. It is warmth of her heart.
Hill-scape turns sad as maples already caught fire.
Sombre clouds promenade together. Wind tries to hunt them down.
Vague desire grows like waves. Serenity disobeys.
Air is chill. Misty fogs embrace hill. But the pines seem negligent.
When rains we prefer go out under a single umbrella.
When is brumous we prefer chase-snailing inside one single jacket.
Fallen leaves ride wind-horse. Not forgetting their destiny, earth.
Some hides-and-seeks with breeze. Some plays with me. I await her.
There she is at distance. She replies me to my waving.
No, wait! She is not my girl. But she approaches me even so.
Who is she, a Venus? No doubt! Where goes the path, asks she.
I guide her. Thanking me she sends a kiss in air from distance.
I reply same. True beauty say I turning. There stands she, my other part.
Speaking null, menacing tears heavy in eyes, she left me ahead I utter word.
Sail-powered snow flakes combat storm. Pines bear whitey white caps.
Deafening silence all around. I am all alone. Worthless my explanations.
Far from her, bleeds my heart. I am no more in her heart, but head.
Frigidly frosty cruel love engulfs me. Take a pen I commence writing.
“Lakes get-go freezing. Glaciers turn emerald feeding on worthy algae.
The swan awaits his female. But, more glacial is she than icy poles.
Nevertheless he waits. Dying is he of biting cold. Bit by bit his soul faints.
Heart-mind distance pains his soul. No dreams. Painful wings. No flight.
Determined is he, will wait her forever. His life worth void without her.”
I cried aloud calling God! Fine sunshine warmth inside! Replied she finally.
“Nemesis at game. Swan turns dream, ethereal, thinning, thinks of you.
Fragile she dying chanting you. Send her breath, a word of mercy.
Present your presence, warmth of kiss. Lives she, hugging tight your soul.”
Glorious is sky. Wind opens window. Dripping are ice icicle.
Arrogant are cherries of blossom. Care a damn bees.
To the humming, butterflies dance. Oh! Danseurs nobles!
I am hopping here and there. It is flower strewn trail.
Excuse me, calls someone. I scan trees for cuckoo.
I turn to see this girl approaching. Descending fresh from paradise.
Pretty shame, I lost my language. Beautiful! Just sighs my mind.
My heart does thousand leaps as she hops avoiding flowers down.
Are you lover of flowers, plays she harp. Carnivore eyes feed my heart.
Yes, never seen such huge flower say I searching her eyes.
She smiled, making flowers drop dead of shame.
We did the path together. Eyes crossed swords. Mind swung me to her.
Sun menaced to fall westward. Worried I of his envy.
It is time to go, said she making void inside me.
Sun showers gold on splendid landscapes, spreading warmth till heart.
We meet in park, speak a lot, discover days are short.
I strip my senses as her thoughts replace them, like serpent.
I occupy little space in this mighty world, but I traverse everywhere.
Day was drizzling. Sun set himself amber. There a rainbow in east.
That day, I told her I started counting all stars in sky.
I started counting all bubbles in my bread, she replied.
I live in cocoon, I revealed. Am I in your heart asked she.
Our troubled eyes met. She kissed me. I hugged her to my soul.
That moment we exchanged the parole of life. The language of heart.
Paths in heaven, clouds, moon, stars, all started to know me well.
Hillside, rocks, lakes, trees, feathery friends, started to know us well.
Fairies speak in my ears, nowadays. Always telephones speak to us.
Don’t ask me where I live. It is warmth of her heart.
Hill-scape turns sad as maples already caught fire.
Sombre clouds promenade together. Wind tries to hunt them down.
Vague desire grows like waves. Serenity disobeys.
Air is chill. Misty fogs embrace hill. But the pines seem negligent.
When rains we prefer go out under a single umbrella.
When is brumous we prefer chase-snailing inside one single jacket.
Fallen leaves ride wind-horse. Not forgetting their destiny, earth.
Some hides-and-seeks with breeze. Some plays with me. I await her.
There she is at distance. She replies me to my waving.
No, wait! She is not my girl. But she approaches me even so.
Who is she, a Venus? No doubt! Where goes the path, asks she.
I guide her. Thanking me she sends a kiss in air from distance.
I reply same. True beauty say I turning. There stands she, my other part.
Speaking null, menacing tears heavy in eyes, she left me ahead I utter word.
Sail-powered snow flakes combat storm. Pines bear whitey white caps.
Deafening silence all around. I am all alone. Worthless my explanations.
Far from her, bleeds my heart. I am no more in her heart, but head.
Frigidly frosty cruel love engulfs me. Take a pen I commence writing.
“Lakes get-go freezing. Glaciers turn emerald feeding on worthy algae.
The swan awaits his female. But, more glacial is she than icy poles.
Nevertheless he waits. Dying is he of biting cold. Bit by bit his soul faints.
Heart-mind distance pains his soul. No dreams. Painful wings. No flight.
Determined is he, will wait her forever. His life worth void without her.”
I cried aloud calling God! Fine sunshine warmth inside! Replied she finally.
“Nemesis at game. Swan turns dream, ethereal, thinning, thinks of you.
Fragile she dying chanting you. Send her breath, a word of mercy.
Present your presence, warmth of kiss. Lives she, hugging tight your soul.”
Glorious is sky. Wind opens window. Dripping are ice icicle.
hello hun its hayley i have been reading your page alot and your poem is truelly great. you say love has never touched you but i think that deep down it has. from friends family anyone it doesnt have to be from a lover as you write in such an amazing way. i really hope that you continue to write for me please lol i like to hear what you write. it is powerful and interesting. mwah kisses and hugs hayley
ReplyDeleteEngulfing yourself in love is one of the most sublime human experiences. Your poem is beautiful, the images remind me of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. With a little bit of editing, it would be wonderful(cubed). Nevertheless, there are various kinds of love….perhaps you have not experienced romantic-erotic love as per modern paradigms. Did you know Greeks from the classical period did not even consider women as objects of desire much less objects of love? Love, the romantic-erotic kind in fashion, was amazingly conceived only between men at this period of great philosophical height. Intellectuals, maestros and their deserving disciples not just professed platonic (Plato included) love, admiring each other to the culprit of emotional ecstasy, they were also involved physically…homosexuality was the establishment!
ReplyDeleteRomans, later on, realized women’s erotic potential and practiced this romantic-erotic love with both men and women, thus giving birth to bisexuality as the establishment. It is a historical fact that male Roman citizens displayed suspicious stains in the back of their robes whilst walking around the busy Roman streets…
When love engulfs, colors are brighter, breathing is deeper, smiles are wider; a glorious sense of might takes over you.
“The body which came in the path of love is the dwelling place of a soul; the body of those who are without love is merely bone covered with skin.” Thirukkural
When you feel profound joy abounds in a sunrise, with birds chirping, flowers blooming and breeze caressing you, that’s love. When the thought of a friend or someone from your kin warms your heart and brings forth a smile, or when you help someone for the sake of being nice, that’s love. When the mere thought of a woman’s lips or skin ignites your senses, that is love.
Perhaps you haven’t given Cupid a real chance, perhaps you approach LOVE in a scientific, rational way, hence it doesn’t work. Perhaps, your paradigms are stronger than the love you felt.
“Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.” M. Ehrmann, Desiderata
Sucre
Your place of birth,
Desolate few decades ago, yet
Rich in intellectual prowess.
Your winding roads,
Once unpaved, are but
Stairways to my deepest longing.
Your first steps saw,
Denoting your free spirit, as
Striking and dark Sequoia forests.
Your deep greens,
Exotic, exuberant, intertwined,
My soul wrapped in its heavy roots.
Your still-water blues,
Denizen of a once pioneer city,
Tells of departed, ever-present down your colonial streets.
Your absence,
Demotion of my heart’s élan, in
Stitches of gold threads; puncturing needle.
Your songs of birds,
Musical depictions, nevertheless
Reminiscence of the paradox of plenty.
Your smell of moist soil,
Kindling my draw to you, this
Mighty jerk pulling a sigh off a sore heart.
Let alone this piece of rusted poetry
Evince the love, halas
Hidden within these tender walls of pumping flesh.
A little poem I wrote last year.
Thanks Ericka for your comments on my blogs and for the nice poem. As for my poem, it is about love, yes. But it is mainly about the seasons and how our moods change (but not forcibly linked to love) as per seasons. Four seasons, four parts. Each speaks of the beauty of the respective seasons. It is cyclic, starts with melting of lakes, remnants of previous season, winter and ends with melting of icicles (which will eventually join the lakes or water bodies and undergo again and again this beautiful mutation) signature of spring.
ReplyDeleteI wrote it when I was in Bangalore, South India, where we have only three seasons, hot, hotter, hottest, plus two monsoons... say five seasons. I had never experienced before the true transformations of seasons as in Europe, Northern or Southern hemisphere countries or matter of fact in Himalayan regions. But remembering something Shakespearean on reading this one, there Ericka, you exaggerate.
I didn’t edit it or even tried to refine it. I just translated it from French correcting the grammar. The French was so childish, which brought me a smile on seeing the embryonic piece of pile of words. Whenever I read this stuff, I started to smile, but nevertheless I feel proud for rightly imagining the seasonal changes, the respective landscapes and stuffs like that.