Tag: poem

Two paradises ‘twere in one,
To live in Paradise alone.

Andrew Marvell, Thoughts in a Garden

i am trying to remember the sky
over berlin as i leaf through my old
pocket edition of berlitz’s guide
and wonder if i could still walk
from tiergarten to potsdamer platz
in just twenty-five minutes?

i had long forgotten that summer
at jepsen’s when i tripped over
the old jens’s bike, and all the hopes
embedded in my fear-lined fascination
with the elegant kurrent of handwritten
notes found on the vacat pages.

and only now, when out of the blue,
someone asked sprechen sie deutsch?,
did i realise that when the lights are off,
my mind is still stuck in the place
where i left you alone the last time
you failed my unfair expectations.

the man who exists is infinitely interested in existing.

Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life

if no word is worth its weight in silence,
why should i waste any on the stillness
of this wicked chamber, let alone trifles
like prescribed daily exercises in doubt
over its provisional soul?

when i was young, no aces were mentioned,
so first i put it all down to her shyness.
then i thought it was because of her religiosity.
but a year after the wedding, i ran out of possible reasons
and asked for a divorce. and if it had ended then,
maybe we would have been happy now, apart.

but there was this woman, her friend, a dragon by name,
a snake by nature, a religious devotee with manipulative skills
trained in psychology school. she somehow managed
to dissuade me from my intentions and disappeared.
so all she had in mind was to prevent me
from breaking the religious marriage vow.

i never thought i could hate someone so much.
it still feels like a swollen wound in my soul.
every time i think of her, i curse her name and swear
i will spit on the ground in front of her if our paths ever cross again.
then, all of a sudden, a reflection appears. is my inability to forgive
the result of a wound in my soul, or is it my soul itself?

A tender heart, a loyal mind
Which with temptation I would trust

George Darley, The Loveliness of Love

i wish i had managed to convince you
to visit eighty-four charing cross road.
you can still change your mind and buy
a plane ticket twenty years in advance,
and in the meantime, in the evenings,
listen to the distant murmurs in the rose
envelops.

Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?

Alexander Pope, Eloisa to Abelard

from the distance of the kind words you wrote,
let us meet once at our favourite spot, nestled
on the corner of waverly place and west tenth,
so, pretending to look at the books on display,
we could smile at our reflections in the glass,
two perfect strangers to the outside world,
for now.

Helen, left her most noble husband
and went sailing off to Troy with no thought at all
for her child or dear parents

Sappho, Fragment 16

a little girl watched an armada
of biremes hurtling to the north-east
with the lacedaemonian army
and their proud king, her father.

he did not tell her why. he just left.
but she heard it had something
to do with someone called paris,
and as she looked questioningly
at a beautiful woman standing
next to her, she stroked her cheek
and, sighing thoughtfully, replied,
“you see, men need their legends
to excuse their wars.”

i think i am falling for you,
although i have a feeling
that what really attracts me
is the idea of you made up
of pictures, words, and your
voice. how foolish of me.

it took me twenty years
to understand that the one
i had previously fallen
in love with did not exist
and was always just a figment
of my imagination.
but the pain is real.

and that is probably why
i am playing it safe this time,
hidden behind an insurmountable
distance barrier, where i can dream
about fire without fear
of getting burned again.

only i am freezing.

Is truth something that is lived or that is comprehended?

Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life

when i mistook you for someone from my distant past,
it was just an innocent mistake, a bit amusing actually.
and even looking at the world through your eyes, i only
paused for a moment sometimes. then i heard your voice
and began to imagine what it would be like to hear it
at seventh avenue station whispering to me the intricacies
of the language of windows or the charm of femme fatale.

if only crossing the pond was as simple as buying
a plane ticket.