Long Translates Poems
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Its sundown, the day’s been reduced to a crack of lavender and fiery pinks along the Massif des Maures mountains. This evening we’re sipping cocktails at “Les Toits,” the Hôtel de Paris’ rooftop restaurant. The French would call this a lounge.
Les toits translates as ‘the roofs’ and its stunning view overlooks the provincial rooftops that slope down the foothills to the gulf of Saint-Tropez and it’s world-famous beaches. The well lit boats are settling down and dropping anchor for the night as we complete our orders and get our second round of drinks.
This has been the best vacation. I think we’ve all reclaimed our calm after a tense freshman year. We’ve been at the beach for 10 days. Leong and Sunny are actually tan, Lisa and my hair are half a tone lighter and Bili’s black skin has taken on gorgeous, purple-ish highlights.
I’ve known Lisa now for ten months, but we share a deep connection that seems older. Lisa’s lovely, brazen, and naturally flashy, without trying. Unfortunately, though, Lisa draws men like a keig-light draws moths - whether she’s looking for them or not - I don’t envy her that. Young men, middle aged men, old men.
Lisa said it started when she was 13. She’d be in a store or restaurant with her mom or dad and a lady would introduce herself, “Hi, I’m with the Ford, or Elite, or IMG, or DNA modeling agency, has your daughter done any modeling?” And another business card would be wasted. Her mom nodded as she recalled this sordid past.
Attention just shifts to her, the party comes to her, she can’t seem to avoid it. About every 30 minutes some man comes over and introduces himself to us (to her). This man owns a local night club, would we (she) be his guest? (He’s looking at her like desert) This guy owns a yacht - “that one, there,” he points it out, in his Russian oligarch voice - he clicks a fob on his keychain and the lights blink. Oh, sure, join a strange foreign man on his yacht, what could go wrong?
There are 8 of us girls at the table with Charles, our escort and confidant. He’s a 50-ish, red headed ex-NYC-cop who just sits there quietly and sips his drink like James Bond. He seldom says anything. I lean in to him and say, “Maybe they think you're her pimp?!” Leong coughs in her drink and Charles gives me the same, serious, “behave yourself” look I’ve gotten since I was 9.
the roots – i.e. genealogy of words long held me
(no pun intended) held spell bound
e'en upon fertilization of ova and sperm viz – conception,
an acute sensory means n'er got drowned
out via the bubbling, dribbling, huzzahing...
(from within and without the womb) while in utero,
especially when me then young spring chick hen ova mum,
and cock strutting cock
(doodling his due tee) oft testes handsome dad found
their coop t'would be increased by another
(at that time no means prevailed to foretell gender,
but an old wives tale hatched
since time immemorial stubbornly persisted
if the husband put right heir (ear) to the ground
accompanied with petsmart skills of a blood hound
a close approximation could be discerned,
whether the swelling abdominal mound
would yield a son or daughter,
which second guess passed thru
the umbilical cord shaped grape vine as re noun
splendor – giving participants planning a baby shower
purchasing and showcasing an infant gewgaw
costing no mo' than a best seller by Ezra Pound
or a couple rolling stones,
preferably those flat versus being round
with assessment sans prediction per sex of offspring
offered slightly greater hedge Tibet
with recent introduction of ultra sound
nonetheless genesis (unbeknownst to either parent –
trapped in that role for a life time)
this fetus took a fancy to imbibing verbalization
that transpired between when shine
warmed the cockles and muscles of this parasite – ha –
expanding his vocabulary prior tummy birth in nine
teen hundred and...(th beh so thee ya haint tell in –
go ask aunt Roadie) or...find someone name Stein
beck, and give yaw self a pat on the back faw trine
plotting a tentative addition to family tree or
(what would turn out tubby more apropos) a vine,
cuz ma late mum referred tomb me as her little monkey
who when born deeply engrossed reading about urine
thence, when the pediatric doctor snatched the book –
BOY DID I WHINE
which out shrilled any wailing police car,
or emergency hospital siren
thus...i got christened RED (for short), yet code named 120 db
which translates as the decibel threshold for pain
even afflicting the dead poet Byron.
High school sweet heart
Oh my darling,
I remember like it was yesterday,
Our first year in high school,
It was love at first sight, and that was so cool.
We shared a desk together,
Do you still remember my darling?
I did not know the bible like you did
But learning about it from you was a good deed.
I remember you volunteering to read the bible for me,
You opened Song of Songs and it read
“Your lips cover me with kisses,
Your love is better than wine”
Even though you did not say the “L” word,
I knew you were mine.
I don’t know how, but you made my dark days bright
You had a way of making everything seem alright.
Though sometimes we used to fight,
No one realised it, because they said our couple was tight.
At that time we were not even a couple,
But we used to do things in double.
What I had you had to have,
It was either double or nothing,
And for us my love, we always had double of everything.
Even though we dated at a late stage,
We were still young in age,
And there was nothing sweeter than our teenage love.
Trouble came when we went to varsity,
We forgot who we were,
We got lost in the new lifestyle
We got our freedom, misused it and lost each other.
Two years later my love, you went to Zimbabwe,
I thought I had lost you forever my love,
But though we had long broke up,
Though we were miles apart
We would talk for a short while on the phone at night,
After our small chat, i would sleep with a huge smile on my face
Your name translates to “Hope” in English,
I always had hope that someday I would have you again,
I tried getting you back, but to no avail.
It’s been five years now without you, yet still,
My love for you never dies
I have been in many relationships, but they were all lies.
My one true love is my high school sweet heart,
And that is how it will always be.
My love, I have walked away from us,
I am in other country now,
Somehow I will always look back,
I will always wonder what could have happened if we had tried again.
Oh high school sweet heart,
How do I get rid of this feeling in my heart?
I miss you so bad high school sweet heart.
Your lips did really cover me with kisses,
And that is what I miss the most,
But who knows, maybe I will find someone like you sweet heart.
The age-old dream is a nightmare,
that has haunted us far too long,
still it lures in so many souls
with the sweetness of its song.
But beyond the simple melody
a darkness quickly appears,
those who preach of utopia
are the ones we should most fear.
It all starts out pleasant enough,
they want to build the perfect world,
with peace, love, and prosperity,
for every single boy and girl.
But on what defines perfection,
the can never truly agree,
tell them it’s abstract idea,
and they scream out ‘heresy!’
Not that this will stop the push,
they’re convinced that they’re right,
and any who would oppose them,
are an evil and a blight.
First it’s campaigns to convince
that they hold the greatest truth,
then to the schools for targeting
the dumb, impressionable youth.
They think that this will do the job,
but too many reject and dismiss,
then comes all the social pressure,
go along or you’re not ‘with it.’
And when even that doesn’t prevail,
they always turn to government,
use law to force you to agree,
or face a long imprisonment.
This becomes the tipping point,
since government is always force,
yet convinced they’ll bring perfection,
they’ll do what was once abhorred.
Some penalties put you in camps,
doomed to a miserable fate,
no longer do you just ‘disagree,’
you’re now enemy of the state.
It does not take much to see this,
such an endless, brutal trend,
Hitler’s ‘perfect’ Aryan Reich
sent ten million to their end.
And all those workers ‘paradises,’
their purges and class enemies,
Sent a hundred million folk to death,
to build their ‘ideal’ societies.
Even down on the smaller scale,
the same result you will find,
Jamestown, Heaven’s Gate, and Waco;
where people were burned alive.
How many would still be with us,
how many fewer would be dead,
if we could take utopia
and drive it clear out of our heads?
In fact the very word itself,
if you look back on history,
literally translates as ‘no place,’
in the original Greek.
As in no place can ever exist
where mankind lives perfect,
Better is the best we can do
without leaving people wrecked.
Best we keep shouting this truth out
before we all tumble and fall,
We must fear, fear utopia,
or else it will kill us all.
Astronautics in Reverse Chronology
The Space, 2272 AD
The space race continues among the nation
With astronautics being the eternal passion
Without minding interplanetary discipline
Robotic spacecrafts penetrate umpteen
Leading to inter-galactical contamination
Such a cut throat and fierce competition
The passion soon has become a greed
Among the nations of Sapiens indeed
Biosignatures are soon to be asset
For the ‘blind’ and brainy humans great..1
Typical habitats and biospheres
Are at stake due to many reasons
Invasive species ready to outcompete
With latest techniques fully replete
Let’s devise non-contaminating journeys
Towards the space and its mysteries
Before we curate the soil sample
Let’s honor the alien culture ample
Human spaceflight is an epoch making thing
And space tourism – a new normal amazing..2
Effect of spaceflight on the human body
Has been a supreme subject for everybody
Space habitat is my curiosity extreme
As my cosmonauts study umpteen
Bioastronautics and space pharmacy
Will soon be a regular supremacy
What a new jargon of space my Lord
Let me verse being a ‘spacial’ bard
Space architecture being latest command
Let’s fulfil the universal demand..3
The Earth, 2072 AD
Bountiful become our effort
When folks vie to support
Zooming helter-skelter are shuttles
And we building space castles
As our super shuttle penetrates
Into the space that spread
Future is full of flight
As we yearn for new light
With new rain and sun shine
Wow! Pleasure is all mine..4
Spacescrapers due to migration of sapiens
From countries and continents in billions
Vehicular pollution being root cause
On earth increasing are many cars
Gardens and greeneries like oasis
Have been a rare sight in a way precise
Promotional pics and hoarding
No serious thought on health and hygiene
Cities and metros full of poison
I feel here choked in treason..5
Such a choking experience on earth
Taken away our all mirth
Apartments capitols and concrete
Jungles without trees so pathetic
Shameless ads posing nudely
Driving harsh and so rudely
It’s time to revamp my system
That is named after sphere solar
Knowledge strategically applied
Translates into wisdom wide..6
Holograms and hieroglyphs
The whole weighs heavily
touched caressed lightly
brushed on feather canvass
granite marble marvellous papyrus
innocence rejuvenated
partial and impartial
Chiselled in and out
of comprehension angled
layered facets facts
subjective trueness
ciphered and deciphered
Snow flakes teardrops
ink on paper hailing crystals
pastel rainbows thunderbolts
and blind pitch black darkness
tell the story weathered lives
Freedom torrent lightening
anxious reproduction
wholesome holes concatenations
metaphoric mosaic translates
picturesque ‘holos’ trying to emerge
Vertex vortex on horizons
told untold forgotten
and beyond beheld
diagonal a-synchronicity
discovered spoken written
felt and never once complete
Lyric lasers beaming densely
condensation compromised
at the cutting edge of aural light
lacking graphic clarity
eluding synthesized illusion
Once we decipher unconventional
primal prismatic re-reflections
meanings life calligraphy
inscriptions narrative conceptions
we enclose and liberate
the hologram that seems to be
Infinite eternity of scripts
encrypted systems
webs of life’s distortions
fragmentation truth reality
paint the picture of
conflicting contradictions
making sense constructions
lithographic mystery
moulded into understanding
Holograms are limited to
the scope of three dimensions
tending mind and body soul
complementing contrasts
hollow narrow depth untold
Burrowed in words rational
irrational emotions rationale
defence deflections oppressed
repression incarceration
loose out transitional
transcriptions miss the point by far
the bigger picture yet emerging
uncertain clarity sculpted
in hieroglyphic excavation
Carving holy boundless beauty
with the fourth dimension
of subjective sense perception
and the changing timeless
flowing circuit circus artwork
in the making reading writing
on the imaginary wall of life
over and above the hologram
engraved in fallacies
arrests of real unreal reality and
strikes the balance never known
of what is and only seems to be
22th May 2016-05-22
Contest entered: Holograms and Hieroglyphs
19 million people, waking up in the morning,
going about their lives, from one corner to
another, jumping on one route and reaching
another. Delhi, you beautiful beautiful city,
I hear you carry, within, a soul so old that
you age with time. Oh Delhi, you beautiful
mistake.
19 million people, 573 sq. mi long city,
so many lives, so many dreams. Delhi, you
infuriating mess. Ask anyone they'll have a
story to tell, of a time not known to you, a
time not understood by me but a thousand
people willing to stop and listen along with
their daily cup of tea.
Everyone in here experiences this city in a
way that quite differently do align, and they
are definitely unconnected to mine. Mine
starts with a gate, number 7 it seems,
a chamber block with III written on it and a
floor to see what is unseen. Oh Delhi,
you are so full of mysteries.
On the 7th floor fire exit, you can see the
glory of this city in one place. If you look at
the expanse, I swear you can fly. From the
magnificence that is the Raisina Hill, running
along the Parliament and the tricolored
beauty of India gate. Hold on, wait for a
moment. Absorb the lights, the Grandeur
and move one.
The chilly breeze, often takes you with it to
the never ending work in progress that is
Pragati Maidan which literally translates
to “progress grounds” and to the ruins of
the Old fort, which once was the residence
of the huge empire, resonates the losses
and the gains.
The 7th floor fire exit captures the beauty
that is Delhi, but it also takes you on a
journey to the gems lost in time. If you look
around, you'll see the Jawaharlal Nehru
Stadium, sitting on the high chair, looking
down at the city. If you go a little further,
you'll find the Lotus temple.
Right there, just there, stop and think. Look
beyond the temple and you'll find yourself.
You'll see where you've reached and the
place where you started from. Delhi, you are
the reason for my suffering and the reason
for my contentment.
There are 19 million people in this city and
the 7th floor, Chamber block III is my place
of solace.
An Unlively Very Stiff (upper Lip) Masquerade
(any resemblance between averred one laid
to rest and yours truly...purely coincidental
regarding unnamed person liberated
into heavenly glade!)
though innocently youthful looking air
at three score year,
or so the trumpeting "FAKE" mirrored reflection
(animated, sans Alexa) programmed tube lear
and spout, one most familiar Shakespeare
refrain (frequently misinterpreted) wherefore
art thou Romeo, really translates as
“Why did you have to be a Montague?”
no matter living to max,
I did not accrue
hoping to lyft mine uber last dying wish,
no matter body besotted, kissed,
and riddled with ague
spirit fights futile demise submerging
into bone a fied underworld brew,
any bargain exhausted with grim reaper
past hour to argue
lifelessness accorded ritual
traversing along deathly
other mortals traversed, paved,
and hallowed avenue
sudden agedness tolled
danse macabre league
with trumpeting battue
rigor mortis in toto
human flesh turned blue
oddly starved of wrinkles
thee only cherished clue
that perhaps...key expiration
coroner did misconstrue
bah...false alarm let somber retinue
solemnly proceed so poet can continue
pointless against corpse
dead letter diktat to counterargue,
nor against cosmic creator
can one countersue,
or expect miraculous success cue
wing sudden resurrection,
when biological processes
particularly brought to halt by dengue
fever, and rendering void
erroneous, unlikely mistaken
death sentence, hence sigh continue
and marvel quiet eternal repose
avails most pronounced distingue
lying in state (within coffin)
pulling out all stops
guaranteeing her/his endue
perhaps casket sealed with
decedent's favorite chiffon fondue
unsure what grim missing fate will ensue,
asper the (soul) surviving,
perhaps reincarnated within
commencement of fescue
as verdant leaves of
wit man ask grass
or if cremated...surely
spiritual embodiment freed thru flue
but no matter,
(je ne sais quois) glue
thee only I French I knew
before bidding dearly departed
may dog bless ye - adieu!
I’ve heard people say it online,
“Stop living in the past,
don’t you know it’s the current year,
you’ve got to catch up fast.”
Most often said by Marxist types,
which just seems strange to me,
since they follow ideas now aged
nearly two centuries.
And while they try to dress it up
in all sorts of new coats,
it’s still a ruthless, old idea
that slaughtered countless folk.
On top of that the arrogance
That goes with such a phrase…
just strikes me as ridiculous,
in a hubristic way.
“Stop living in the past,”they cry,
but I will plainly tell
that all humans live in ‘the past,’
and can live nowhere else!
First off, there is the obvious,
the brain’s reaction speed,
that millionth of a second when
it translates what eyes see,
So that that world around you now
is not the present, no,
what you see happened a millionth
of a second ago.
That means that all you see and sense
is very recent past,
present gone before detected,
it all happens that fast.
Does present even exist though?
It you look at it close,
all units of time get smaller,
no end to that, you know.
By the time you can even think,
the moment is long gone,
so all cognitions is past-tense,
you can’t say that I’m wrong.
Lift it up to a larger scale,
knowledge is history,
since any subject we’ve learned on
happened previously.
Any tech that you’ve ever used
had to be made, produced,
any knowledge that’s written down
someone already knew.
All these things happened in the past,
it contains everything,
without these ideas we can’t live,
no past, no existing.
The past contains all that we’ve learned,
what works and what does now,
when someone laughs at it I know
their brain is full of rot,
since every argument we have,
the damn language itself,
all are structured on the past,
and it is there we dwell.
All the ideas that have shaped us,
the stories we enjoy,
the clothes you wear, that damn cell phone,
jobs in which we’re employed,
the human nature we’ve evolved,
stubborn and unchanging,
means no one can escape ‘the past,’
it’s endless cycling…
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Acquiescence begets hegemony...
Think Putin whose forename
Vladimir translates as great power,
whose singular minded aim
after lobbing bombs into
second-largest country
by area in Europe after Russia
incurring voodoo spells
foisted upon president of Ukraine
forced neophyte politician
Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelenskyy
to buckle and cower.
Meanwhile many another leader
cherishing their slice of freedom
quakes in their boots
dumbfounded, horrified, tight lipped
as Russian bird of prey
swoops down analogous as buzzfeeder
to seize global totalitarian power.
Not far fetched dystopian nightmare
to envision every country
spanning webbed wide web
subservient to his majesty
where pay obeisance
to his honorable premier
who issues commands
at his Kremlin headquarters.
Aforementioned worse case scenario,
whereby every waking
and sleeping second
under watchful eye
all social media platforms
under henchmen of Putin regime
monitored, governed, controlled...
by self anointed unnameable nemesis
their doomed fate constituting
penalty of death wasting away
amidst Gulag Archipelago
(happy haunting ground
of many a dissident)
if anyone among bajillions of serfs
heard to badmouth, denounce, find fault...
with despotic, cruel, bristling, autocrat...
Meanwhile, these remaining cherished
hours, minutes, and seconds
before United States of America
forcibly plundered, usurped, yanked...
(at threat of nuclear bombardment
courtesy you know who)
might choose to swallow
either cyanide, hemlock,
overdose on anti anxiety medication...
versus forced to become submissive
toward our "benevolent" leader.
Truth be told even Trump
yours truly would prefer
yet fat/slim chance
such a golden opportunity will occur,
though rumor abounds were
pee you tee eye en able to clamor
access and excel at supremacy
(as seen in a powerpoint presentation)
there would prevail nary a murmur,
nor peep among the human league
only dogs and cats would be privileged
to express themselves,
viz courtesy to bark and purr
and actually be treated as royalty.