She entered the room and his heart as one
then all before distant time mattered less
he was no innocent, and she no nun
to which, much later, they both would confess.
But, at that instant, neither prisoned, cared
baggage they hid inside their faded trunk
for she, was a vision all golden-haired
and he, he was a sun-bronzed, six-pack-hunk.
He entered the room, in her, something stirred
and all before distant time mattered less;
and long before they had exchanged a word
he was, she well knew, an invited guest.
And in the next morning, as they both lay
they were yet to know the price they would pay.
With just one sharp look she dares and defies,
You still call a woman vulnerable,
She casts lethal darts with enticing eyes,
And still…, poets you seem inscrutable,
When conquer can she e’en gods heavenly,
How helpless, wonder I can she e’er be.
_____________________________
Translation (sestet*) | 22.08.2025 | poets, women
*Wonder, if it can be called a Sestetto Rima-- iambic meter with a rhyme scheme of ABABCC.
Note: Here is a verse from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). This one is in Vasanta-tilaka meter. Here he questions the wisdom of some great poets who call a woman ablaa, helpless one. She possesses immense power to command over men with the beauty she enjoys. Even gods of heaven are no exception. How can she helpless ever be? Here is the transliteration:
Noonam hi te kavi-varaa vipareeta-bodhaa
Ye nityam aahuh abalaa iti kaamineeh taah |
Yaabhih vilolatara taaraka drshti paataih
Shakra aadaya api vijitaah tu abalaa katham taah ||
true love
isn`t just kisses
but caring when one is ill
resting by the bedside at night
that makes a real spouse.
Oh, what pale imitation now is this?
My train of empty carriages which held
A score of lovers, harem of my flesh,
Now emptied of those who within me dwelled.
These rails since lain to waste, just fractured tracks
In rows like tombstones, each besides its mate
A massacre of fellows, myself cracked,
My new friend, false as shadows, in their place:
A disappointment, dun-coloured and dull
This dumb doll, mute and fixed she cannot move.
Her edges sanded, hollowed, empty hull.
Red garnet-gleaming lovers she removed
For this pale imitation of my joy,
A coup de moi, my silent staring toy.
The lack of common sense
makes nonsense easy,
things that should make sense,
slip through, unchallenged.
Yet common sense itself
makes the absurd unbearable,
forcing logic upon the illogical,
struggling to grasp the uncommon.
To live without it
is to drift through chaos,
unbothered by contradiction.
To live with it
is to wrestle with reason,
forever questioning the senseless.
That which is ill-begot will love you not,
but pull the strings of a heavy heart.
As I heard a sad
story of a woman named
Elysée,
I am standing to tell the entire world about it.
The woman who knows her value.
As some mercenaries called
M23 entered her house around
a day and foced her to lay on the ground
while looking at the sky.
She listened to them and laid easily
on the floor to avoid to be slaughtered
or shot publicly.
As she refused to sleep
with some mercenaries,
She was hit,
raped,
and mutilated ...
her eyes gouged out
in the presence of her children
and husband.
I can say loud, "
Woe to these heartless
Rwandan mercenaries."
As the women celebrate today
March 8, 2025.
My call to you dear mamas and sisters,
" feel the pains of Congolese women
Oh wise women of the World.
Stand with the women of Goma
and Bukavu who are victims of daily atrocities.
So sad as many women of northern, southern
Kivu and ituri continue to be preys of some rebels
and mercenaries.
enough!
i'm calling your bluff
all of us can see
so true, yet so hidden from
you
and these stupid conclusions
you cannot make them filled with confusions
are you under some illusion? look!
you're bruised, this isn't delusion
do you really want to turn us to dust?
allow our sweet rays to rust?
oh.. now i choke on distrust
and this new found lust
say you come back,
could i take your warm attack?
have it leak into to my heart,
and watch it tear me apart?
truthfully,
i wouldn't think twice, gosh it'd be so nice..
is that vice?
i want to pay the price
27/7/2024.
Close to the 45th anniversary.
Still no idea where to go.
Should I leave it to fate?
The more I know you,
The bigger the gaps in every aspect.
Just like every body,
You could not keep your promises.
Well, I hate surprises,
What you did was as predicted.
In a way, it was OK,
But, somehow, I did not like any bit of it.
There were many reasons people do not want gift,
What were your excuses?
You hurt me unintentionally, but deeply, and carelessly.
I was hurt by your ignorance and inconsideration.
Were selfish, mean and cruel just to get back at me?
Were you consistent and full of confusion?
Not quite hypocrite, but close enough to it.
Knowing I have so much to share,
You did not even show you care.
Like a ghost ship idly mooring
Cleaning your own mess is totally boring
Sorting other people’s stuff is fun however
Why don’t we switch houses in cold weather?
I’ll sort yours and, you sort mine.
We might both have a really fun sorting time.
How difficult could this trade of services be?
I just have to find someone as messy as me.
Jill just can’t sit for one minute still;
In everything she wants some thrill!
One rainy evening she climbs a hill;
From there she slips making a shrill!
This results her fall straight into a rill;
She swallows water a gallon at her will!
As her belly swells, she falls critically ill;
The quack there tries on her every pill!
It costs them their farm to pay his bill!!
The Ill-fated
after the bombing
dead children everywhere
like an exploding dollmaker's
factory
Tomato sauce and noodles
a parade of the inhuman
Presidents are helpless
their country is helpless
while they slept
all power lost
A chorus arises, and songs
drown in thunder
We are the masters
we were the chosen
Cumulus clouds
will ask we see and hear
doomed humanity
Shivering, we wait for
the last bomb to drop
start out sedated
when it had been ill fated
eradicated
Life in hospital wards,
with blue drapes, white washed floors,
grey assets, wheeled tables.
Corn-beef hash, carrot mash,
day-pay TV cables.
Life in hospital wards,
spiked fevers, cooling aids,
pee cups, samples of stool.
Loose laced gowns, ECGs,
stagnant air, stubborn drool.
Life in hospital wards,
monitoring alarms,
timely medical rounds.
A poke, a prod, a look,
constant buzzers and sounds.
Life in hospital wards,
all day bed, in shared bays.
No warm blankets - quite cold,
snuggled in all one brought.
Alone, no hand to hold.
02.26.2024
Cancer, the big 'C',
Do you think you mean anything to me?
My Uncle has got you,
You've taken my beautiful daughter too.
But while I am able I will continue to fight,
And I will fight you with every bit of my might.
Slowly we are finding new ways,
To get rid of you and we will make sure you finally pay.
I want to beat you, I want you to feel awful pain as you slowly feel your life fade away.
I hope that you have others that rely on you,
So as you painfully go they can feel the pain to.
I know that at the moment you can sneak and hide away, and I bet you feel exceptionally strong,
But all of mankind are waiting for you to do just one thing wrong.
Then we will pounce, we'll punch and we will stab,
And all of this done in a shiny white lab.
So don't sit there and get brave,
You soon won't even exist in the darkest wet cave!
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