Tired of talking too much
I wish to rest my rhymes.
Now is time to give ears
To your titanic tale of tears.
The heart that was under constraint
Needs to be unburdened.
My grief-stricken lap waits for
Your grieving grievances.
You, the only speaker and I, a patient listener,
Numb but nod at your each nuance.
Let my heart beat for last
To eternalise our momentary meeting,
I with my muteness
And you with your long-awaited lyrics.
Dew drops fall from your dark eyes
Moistening your rose petaled lips
That sometimes part in a smile.
I, a tragedian of your tale,
A respondent to your reactions
With a heavy heart wipe my wet eyelashes.
Like a pair of love birds
We look lovingly at each other,
Pine over the pains of the past
And fear of the fruitless future.
Little choice we are left with
But to flow like two rivers
Yearning to meet but to end in the ocean,
Our destination, mingling together.
The Rose
A blazing smile
Greets each bright morn
With sun kissed cheeks
It even softens a thorn
Adorned in a melody
Of colour and shades
A mood so calm and sweet
Even nature bows just to greet
Life’s ominous clouds
Wither away in the heavenly glow
Awe inspiring aroma
It captivates, delivering a fiery, splendid show
Nurture it
Appreciate it
Captivate it
Eternalise it…
The rose…
When Death my Way Comes, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s sonnet : Cuando yo vaya a morir
( I prefer the reversal in my rendering of the title for it highlights the inevitability of the moment. I have also not vainly tried to stick to the end-rhyme scheme : abba/abba/aca/cac/ since in Spanish - likewise in Malay – the terminations of substantives and conjugations of verbs proliferate in « a », that is, vowels. The English language doesn’t quite offer the poet such facility in rhyming. T. Wignesan)
This skin, this flower, this sapphire
these eyes, what’ll they end up as afterwards.
I would have loved you to be a moon which rides
in the calm of an eternally-swishing whirl.
I would have wished to eternalise you when I espied
slight furrows your sweet face drown :
To breathe life into you, that in your entirety you’ll live on
Even when you hear Death calling in my sigh.
I would therefore that you keep close,
so that I might touch you for a fleeting moment :
and know that you are safe, erect, whole.
As with the oak tree to bend the wind wouldn’t dare.
As with the spring – the pennant.
As with the evening in its frivolous wear.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013