There is something in the picture
Of your porcelain and sequins
That makes me whimper,
Everytime my eyes rest upon
The mirage within the borderless frames
Your smile –
Your two front teeth protruding
Everytime you walk with each step
Worth a dime,
I remember this clearly.
-
There is something in the aloofness
Of the Sun every time I think about you –
You remind me of rainy days of glum,
And the bland, windless nights
That makes me swim in pools of sweat
As I lay on my bed at night
With the gas lamp, with each breath,
Lighting the room eagerly with subtle streaks
Of iridescence, of decadence
This happens every time, with or without you
-
My faith quavers by the mere, ambiguous vision
Of another smile in another picture
Another acquaintance in the distant future –
All of this, inevitably, perhaps likened to violence
I will always have it in the palm of my hand,
With simian creases that would remind me
That I am human, and with pain, I am alive
With each broken promise, I shall thrive
Like a shadow in the portions of the world deprived
Of one, kind speck of light
Where do we go, the torn, the jaded, the forlorn?
-
This happens, as I sit at the edge of the arms of the clock,
I happen find, among the vast carnival of lost men,
One man, a tatterdemalion soul, pretty much like me
Soul sundered, faltering faith, abrupt abandonment, reckless, imprudent
Lurching upon the sidewalks with a cigarette dividing
Pale, dark lips that used to be gossamer and red
I find it in him, that we are alone
Bleak, drenched with the filth of unreasonable departure
Enrapture us, though hope is lost,
Please enrapture us, dear Lord if you are listening
Dear lover, if your heart is open,
Dear friend, if your ears are willing
Engage in a conversation of people
Who lost in trying,
And died whilst living.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem