On death, and everything surround this, tabooed, subject matter…translated…
The Sun Loosens that Rope
The Sky Full of Crows
The Red Bib of the Ruler of Hell Became Blurry
Within the Fog, the Draw Bridge & the Mass Graves
Around the Edges of the Bushes
The Triangular Edges. The Folded Crease of Trapezoid
Was the Deserted, Old Railroad
The Distance Between Two People
At the Length of Two Short-Sleeve Shirts
We Sat Face-to-Face
With the Ants as Our, Gravity
Slowly, Moving the Centuries
Shifting from Male to Female Forms
Pulling the Curved Lines Straight
The Words that Didn’t Get Said Became Like the Dotted Lines
The Eyes of the Cat Drifted
The Tracks of the Butterflies
Pounding Forward, or Crawling in the Moment’s Time
The Rain Hung on, with the Lights Hanging on
The Heart in Mid Air
The Pendulum Stationery, the Clouds, Still
The Marigold, Motionless
So, there’s this, serenity that’s, painted of death and what comes afterwards, and, you’re saying goodbye to your loved ones who’d passed…
here’s the duet that the poet heard which inspired this work of poetry, from YouTube
2.
The Echoes from the Drainage
(Are You Going Out to Buy the Flowers Tomorrow?)
(Can’t be the Footprints of the Sherpas)
(Must be the Tapes Placed in Reverse)
(Whose Laughter is This?)
The Light of Heavy Breaths
The Cracks on the Walls, the Webs of Spiders
Whispering Softly
Giving off the Clues
(The Rats Aren’t Close by)
From Point A to Point B
There are, a Hundred Ways
(Too Hard to Choose just One)
From the Bed to the Window
The Vase to the Edges of the Cliff, and the Abyss
The Shape of the Ship Blurred
Like the Shadows of Trees, of Temples
An Order Came,
The Shoulders Parallel to the Embankments
Raising Those Arms Higher than the Five-Story Pagoda in Japan
How the death that can continue to weigh, too heavily, even after the person is gone, many years already, and that’s something, that the living, those who were left behind, have to, carry…
3.
The Shingles Started Falling Down Causing a Huge Mess
The Doubting, the Hesitant
Gazes Built Up that Mirage
Continue Walking Across the Water
Giving Sermons to the Sparrows
The Industrial Pass, the Alleys, the Passage in-Between the Field
Are the Regrets Twisting & Winding Even More?
The Views of Mountains, of Cities, of Rivers in Mosaic
The Lettuce, the Onion on the Supper Tables
The Artichokes, Young Girls’
False Identities as They Made Their Ways to Escape
The Ridges of Roofs Connected into the Ridges
The Sunset Flipped Over the Walls, Walking on the Eggshells
Down to the Plaza Below
To Between the Small Pickups
Objections Had Aged
More Compromises
The Ends of Lamps & the Cable Wires
The Darkness, Made the Stray Cats in a Crowd Barely Visible
The Temple of the Guardian of the Earth in Ruin
The Mountain Passes, May Extend
Pretending that They’re Carrying the Dreams, Onward
So, this one is full of imageries, on how the regrets of a life scattered all around, after you die, and there’s nothing you can do about them, because you’re already dead, and what you’d, left behind, is a whole lot of, CRAP, for those whom you love to shoulder, and that’s no good.
Mirroring the World 