#shaumlu

[thewornoutsoles]

Epitaph

No movement in departing

No rest was in staying behind.

Branches follow the roots yet

This tattling breeze

Had no secrets to share

Worthy of the leaves.

My love’s maiden is an estranged mother,

As a hasting star

Eternally runs

On a melancholic orb.

[thewornoutsoles]

fate

such short recess the world is between our toils and hell. the sun rises like a curse word and the day, a shame one cannot atone. the trees, our ascendants sinful ignorance and the breeze, an insincere temptation. the moonlight, a blasphemy desecrating the world, and the sky a shelter to spread underneath in dirt and to weep over our fate. speak, as we drown in tears.

[thewornoutsoles]

sacred words

we were told the sacred words we will be taught if and only we endured a chastening of our souls. the chastening endured for so long we did the sacred words from our memories slipped.

[thewornoutsoles]

beast

i am that beautiful beast standing at the equator of the world the overlook of whose mischief is the breeding ground for a newborn star.

[thewornoutsoles]

Snow

No,

There is no stop to this snow,

The snow sitting on your eyebrows and hair

So to stand by the mirror as if

You watch

At the crying height of a cliff

The frightening depth of the abyss.

    Indeed,

Unless you set ablaze the polar flames,

For the loving shine in your gentle gaze

Reveals the sunlight on the steel of a dagger

I must bravely endure

The boundless pain of its guiding light

In the darkest night

Testing the resilience of my heart

With the firmness of its blade.

    No,

Lingers no doubt any more

But the certainty of your existence casting doubt on my fate

That you are the last few drops of water

Servants feed to the birds before

Cutting

Their throats.

  Translation of the poem “Snow” by Shaumlu, a timeless tribute to aging and love.

[thewornoutsoles]

Translation of one of Shaumlu's several poems titled "Love Song", from the 70's.

[thewornoutsoles]

O’ER THE COLD WITHIN

all the pause

                        of my heart

was for the love

                             to become a haven,

for the flight

                      but to become

                                                an asylum.

  oh love, oh love,

thy blue face i do not see.

  and the cool of balm

                                     o’er the flames of a wound

not the flames of passion

                                       o’er the cold within.

  oh love, oh love,

thy red face i do not see.

  dark dust of relief

                              o’er the presence of fear

and the cozy of release

                                         o’er the absence of presence,

darkness

                o’er the tranquil of blue

and the green of a leaflet

                                             o’er the twig of a redbud.

  oh love, oh love,

thy intimate color

i do not see.

this is my translation of the poem “over the cold within” by Shaumlu; the most beautiful requiem ever written for love.