These satin threads make for the safest
room. I have found a place that is
blissful, following a sheep flock. Sleep,
I say sleep is such a wonderful asylum
for the weary, for the lonely. I am a child
once more, snug inside a cocoon made
from sheep’s wool and cotton. I am content
and at ease. Let me wander and have my peace.
There’s a dying rose in a vase,
I didn’t imagine water could evaporate
that fast, when it was filled up to its brim.
You love less and less every day,
and you’re a dying rose, and you’re a vase,
cracked and leaking, at the same time.
I have wanted to kill myself a hundred times, but somehow I am still in love with life.
Alas boy where are you manners?
Treat love as you would your food;
chew slowly and savor all its flavors.
Love does not grow on trees
like apples blossom from them
nor does it fall from the sky
like rain in Cherrapunji where
the clouds are constantly crying.
Dreamer, your palms are open
but your eyes have not shed
a single stone. The universe had love
custom-made to hurt, and if it doesn’t
then something is wrong.
Would you tell a bud not to bloom,
its petals and scent are forbidden?
When you love something, you must say it.
Beautiful things are not meant to be hidden
and kept a secret.
All the little wrens have gone,
silence is as tepid as it is bland.
My god, all my lines are flat
and unmoving as Sylvia,
dead in her plot.
So they’ve made a wreath for the sea,
so called great lover, how though pushed away
a thousand times, returns in eager laps to shore -
and what for the sands? I arranged for her a bouquet,
a garland to adorn her chest, love fool, she forgives
his temper, the childish tantrum that destroy her.
Lover why or how?
You fall in love in a whim,
your heart is fickle as the wind.
You breeze from one affair ‘to the next
as easy as waking out of a dream.
They said love is good and that is well,
your lips tasted of paradise and the fruits Eden.
Your tongue broke loose, tracing an “o”
while we kiss - how something good
can start a fire and raise an inferno .
Some people are like trees -
like the tree mother watered year long.
She stooped and grayed by its foot,
beneath a tree, in spring, did not bear a fruit.
That is ten gallons, thirty eight liters of water
that softened her bones daily - for what?
Mother, some trees are like people -
however well nourished, gives nothing at all.
You only put a rose in water if you want to prolong its beauty, otherwise you let it be. That goes the same for anything you care about. When you love something, it is natural and common sense to take care of it.
I am naked, you fall in love,
all women are beautiful in a love scene
with their breasts, exposed -
what would you think of me
or will you ever think of me
when I abandon these sheets
and put on clothes?