WORDS ON THE MIRROR

*English version of the poem, SURAT ITI SARMING.
_____________________________________________

“Only you,” my index finger wrote

on the foggy wall of the bathroom

while I was washing you off my body.

The strands of water

above my head were warm

but I was freezing

as I watched the words

slowly melting like tears

flowing down towards the drain.

I know, flowers don't blossom for us

unlike they used to and I could no longer

dress February with 

the fragrant garments of May.

In our room, the wind

comes an goes

through the window like a robber

who steals piece by piece the scent

of love we have made.

But the power of the wind and water

couldn't sneak into this heart

and mind to remove your memory

or to let the pages of the calendar fly

with the rest of the beautiful may of February

you left me behind.

YOU'RE SO SAD TONIGHT

You are  so sad tonight.

Your soaked pillow is your raft

and your bed, as deep and wide as the sea…

Your whimpers

are sucked by the cracks

in the walls of darkness- bent, clamped

till they  gradually fade  unheard…

You are  longing for a spongy song to hear

from angels with wings in the sky,

a song that gently kisses your brow,

your hair,  like how a  wind

softly combs a tangled forest…

But is there anyone who could render you one?

 

Your loneliness is a rough ball in your throat

No matter how hard you swallow it,

It just sticks there like a rolling thunder –

aggravates the rain pouring on your rooftop

or tears dropping on your white blanket…

You are so lonely now, your eyes

like twin crimson suns  falling to a waiting grave;

more lonely than the elegy soon to be read

beside the rectangular wooden home of your being,  

more sorrowful than your life’s video in the eyes of the mourners..

Breathe so deep, my beloved; succumb to thoughts

of this night- you are more desolate than the dirge

that will usher you so dearly to your sepulchre…

 

 

CANDLEGRIEF

English Version of the Poem, LIDAY TI KANDELA, published in BANNAWAG MAGAZINE, issue January 26, 2012.

 

On this table for two,

my arms support the weight

of my forehead 

plowing the wooden surface

and this candle before my head

is weeping and the tears,

like a river 

strongly flowing

towards the sea.

 

(Is the salt  my pain

and the tasteless water your feeling?)

 

 

The fading flame is so lonely

but  still  mirroring 

brightly your face,

kissed by the thickening darkness

that drinks your empty chair in front of me..

 

( Did I come as a moth tonight

or am I  really a moth as a powdery residue

of  my sobbing blaze? )

 

I don’t hear any other sound

except that very sweet 

melody of the band

but  oh, how heartbreaking does it bring!