cosmic lullaby
an untranslatable sight -
wrapped in the moonlight
The longer you run, the more they chase.
At least, that’s what they told me.
And I complied.
Because that’s what women like me do.
When your own heart seems to fade, you run.
You run, so the heart remembers its own existence.
You run, so the heart remembers to beat.
And I ran.
I ran until my lungs threatened to ghost me.
How ironic.
I ran until my limbs dragged on like lead in the ruins of my own angst.
I ran until my bones shook with the force of my sheer will to outrun my very own shadow.
And suddenly,
Attention.
The men piled up like bedsheets on a laundry day.
Each one treating me like a conquest for their own egos.
But I seem to have forgotten how to stop.
I run and I push.
I run and I slam doors.
I run and I’m labelled.
Untouchable.
Yet at the end of the day, all I am is untranslatable.
Unreachable.
Unattainable.
I was told the more you run, the more they chase.
When all it does is amplify your bone-rotting solitude.
I dreamed I’d written down the dream
straight off in its pure dream mode
untranslatable to man and so, was safe from any scheme to amplify this cloud what it might mean to no avail, for when I awoke, at first serene but then alas the dream was nowhere to be seen no trace beyond my certainty that in it I’d conceived the poem I was born for, lost now, indifferent as death to breath to how each night each day
- Words fail.
- Unknown
Liquified in an elixir
Of eloquence
I seek asylum
For I am an asylum seeker
Seeking for the one and only true Elysium
But will my eolian language
Be enough and not only
Reach daft ears? I hope not!
Yet, I do so fear my eolian tongue
Be too hot and untranslatable
Worse, unheard of
I get so caught up in the moment,
I find myself inside a bubble
Floating upward, and onward
Floating higher Into Infinity
and beyond. . .
Anacreon the greek born circa 580 BC
loved to pen erotic poetry
alternating long&short in syllabic metric
lyrically untranslatable from the ionic
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