Written December 1, 2015

"I feel like I'm having the same conversation with guys
Hi's turn into Bye's
lies in turn make me cry
How am I supposed to summarize all of this into one line?
I'm trying.
'Babe' and "Baby, you're the one'
But have you heard, that one means none when you're blind sided and reminded that there is other's who you'd rather be with?
And you realize, your words are myths, spitting out the syllables you just want me to hear
Pet names are  nothing but music to our ears
The day-to-day conversations from dawn to dusk are intriguing
But when you really look deeply, they're just words with no meaning
A lonely tactic, a feen for something more
Until the conversation closes, for I was a bore
From here it's the same love story, the way it always tends to end
I'll get the last word, press send, and then pretend as if your lack of response doesn't hurt me,
although it's killing me inside
Then I wish upon 11:11 for you to at least come to a compromise
You'll come around the bend again, and I'll try and act strong
But strong just isn't strong enough, I've missed you way too long
The story then repeats itself, a fairy tale no one enjoys
Welcome to your 'happily ever after'
when talking to a **** boy."

when we're younger we feen for love
we crave something we've never felt before
hence why I was obsessed with Twilight novels
and cried during every Nicholas Sparks film

this is when we're barely growing *******
and boys are fascinated by bras and thongs
only later to love what is underneath them

we get older and experience grows
we eventually fall in love
maybe once
or maybe a hundred times

and every time it happens
it just gets harder and harder

we all let that one person in
they see all of our dark crevices
you parade the skeletons in your closet

and for a moment
sometimes longer
we think that this might be that person

but things get shaky
and we say things we don't mean

some of them move across the country
and others escape inside themselves

the ones we love are not always lovable
or they don't love us back

we build this thick skin
we hide behind drugs and alcohol
and we get too ****** up to remember when he held you in the middle of that field

we build up these hard walls on the outside
only because we are afraid to admit our innards are mush
and we can't take anymore heartbreak

because we gave ourselves to them
every achy memory
and they held us there
as we sobbed
and screamed
and punched away our demons

so now we are all afraid to love
because the purest thing we ever did feel
turned its back on us

love morphed into a demon within us
revealing its ****** teeth that were plunged into our hearts

we tell ourselves that we will never love again
for it hurts too much
and we are all too broken for anyone to love us again

that reassurance he gave you
disappears
it does not matter what he told you in that early morning shower
or how the warmth of your bodies came together in a foggy car

that is all the past
no matter how we reminisce we cannot get the love back
the purest of it has left us

so why is it when playing the field, we become so scared and insecure?
putting up this confident, independent front
where in reality we're praying for your acceptance?

women read loud magazines with advice columns
because we can't get the one on ourselves anymore
we're too insecure
and advice columns from a loud magazine somehow fit all of our situations

those bright words in that loud magazine can't fix the emptiness he left you with
when all you wanted was to be loved
and he couldn't give you enough of him

because he was broken too.

Sometimes those loud magazines are right
only the instance when they tell you to "be yourself"

it worked the first time didn't it?
a questionnaire in Cosmopolitan didn't tell you how to act that summer
your tactics from Manthropology 101 didn't get him to sit by you

it was your smile and the up turn of your eyes that made him fall in love with you
the sunshine in your hair and the freckles on your shoulders

he might have went away, but only for the fear of getting hurt like we all have
it wasn't you the second time around
one day you will need to accept that

So just be yourself
because that boy staring across the way at you
he isn't interested in your flirty planned out text messages
or the new lip stain that Glamour's guy panel has raved about

it's the blushing in your cheeks,
and that contagious smile
that got them all before.

So why stop that feeling again,
although you're scared to love,
why stop something that made you feel so complete before?

If he can give you butterflies again, an old self would call you foolish,
foolish for not taking your chance on the nice guy at the center.

*"It is a risk to love.
What if it doesn't work out?
Ah, but what if it does."
- Peter McWilliams

When you're here... its okay if I'm under a bridge,
it's aright if I don't fit in
life's amazing and my heart goes crazy!
When you're here I don't need money
I don't need to feen
When you're here I'm so complete
As much as I try my brain won't fool my heart
You're not here
we're far apart
I'm alone
My soul knows there's no place like home
My legs search for another pair in the dark
I fall apart,
I cry, and cry
My pillow keeps me company tonight...

Uyghur Poetry Translations

With my translations I am trying to build awareness of the plight of Uyghur poets and their people, who are being sent in large numbers to Chinese "reeducation" concentration camps which have been praised by Trump as "exactly" what is "needed."

Perhat Tursun (1969-????) is one of the foremost living Uyghur language poets, if he is still alive. Unfortunately, Tursun was "disappeared" into a Chinese "reeducation" concentration camp where extreme psychological torture is the norm. Apparently no one knows his present whereabouts or condition.

Because Perhat Tursun quoted Hermann Hesse I have included my translations of Hesse at the bottom of this page, including "Stages" or "Steps" from his novel "The Glass Bead Game" and excerpts from "Siddhartha."



Elegy
by Perhat Tursun
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

"Your soul is the entire world."
―Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

Asylum seekers, will you recognize me among the mountain passes' frozen corpses?
Can you identify me here among our Exodus's exiled brothers?
We begged for shelter but they lashed us bare; consider our naked corpses.
When they compel us to accept their massacres, do you know that I am with you?

Three centuries later they resurrect, not recognizing each other,
Their former greatness forgotten.
I happily ingested poison, like a fine wine.
When they search the streets and cannot locate our corpses, do you know that I am with you?

In that tower constructed of skulls you will find my dome as well:
They removed my head to more accurately test their swords' temper.
When before their swords our relationship flees like a flighty lover,
Do you know that I am with you?

When men in fur hats are used for target practice in the marketplace
Where a dying man's face expresses his agony as a bullet cleaves his brain
While the executioner's eyes fail to comprehend why his victim vanishes,...
Seeing my form reflected in that bullet-pierced brain's erratic thoughts,
Do you know that I am with you?

In those days when drinking wine was considered worse than drinking blood,
did you taste the flour ground out in that blood-turned churning mill?
Now, when you sip the wine Ali-Shir Nava'i imagined to be my blood
In that mystical tavern's dark abyssal chambers,
Do you know that I am with you?

TRANSLATOR NOTES: This is my interpretation (not necessarily correct) of the poem's frozen corpses left 300 years in the past. For the Uyghur people the Mongol period ended around 1760 when the Qing dynasty invaded their homeland, then called Dzungaria. Around a million people were slaughtered during the Qing takeover, and the Dzungaria territory was renamed Xinjiang. I imagine many Uyghurs fleeing the slaughters would have attempted to navigate treacherous mountain passes. Many of them may have died from starvation and/or exposure, while others may have been caught and murdered by their pursuers.



The Fog and the Shadows
adapted from a novel by Perhat Tursun
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

“I began to realize the fog was similar to the shadows.”

I began to realize that, just as the exact shape of darkness is a shadow,
even so the exact shape of fog is disappearance
and the exact shape of a human being is also disappearance.
At this moment it seemed my body was vanishing into the human form’s final state.

After I arrived here,
it was as if the danger of getting lost
and the desire to lose myself
were merging strangely inside me.

While everything in that distant, gargantuan city where I spent my five college years felt strange to me; and even though the skyscrapers, highways, ditches and canals were built according to a single standard and shape, so that it wasn’t easy to differentiate them, still I never had the feeling of being lost. Everyone there felt like one person and they were all folded into each other. It was as if their faces, voices and figures had been gathered together like a shaman’s jumbled-up hair.

Even the men and women seemed identical.
You could only tell them apart by stripping off their clothes and examining them.
The men’s faces were beardless like women’s and their skin was very delicate and unadorned.
I was always surprised that they could tell each other apart.
Later I realized it wasn’t just me: many others were also confused.

For instance, when we went to watch the campus’s only TV in a corridor of a building where the seniors stayed when they came to improve their knowledge. Those elderly Uyghurs always argued about whether someone who had done something unusual in an earlier episode was the same person they were seeing now. They would argue from the beginning of the show to the end. Other people, who couldn’t stand such endless nonsense, would leave the TV to us and stalk off.

Then, when the classes began, we couldn’t tell the teachers apart.
Gradually we became able to tell the men from the women
and eventually we able to recognize individuals.
But other people remained identical for us.

The most surprising thing for me was that the natives couldn’t differentiate us either.
For instance, two police came looking for someone who had broken windows during a fight at a restaurant and had then run away.
They ordered us line up, then asked the restaurant owner to identify the culprit.
He couldn’t tell us apart even though he inspected us very carefully.
He said we all looked so much alike that it was impossible to tell us apart.
Sighing heavily, he left.



The Encounter
by Abdurehim Otkur
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I asked her, why aren’t you afraid? She said her God.
I asked her, anything else? She said her People.
I asked her, anything more? She said her Soul.
I asked her if she was content? She said, I am Not.



The Distance
by Tahir Hamut
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We can’t exclude the cicadas’ serenades.
Behind the convex glass of the distant hospital building
the nurses watch our outlandish party
with their absurdly distorted faces.

Drinking watered-down liquor,
half-****, descanting through the open window,
we speak sneeringly of life, love, girls.
The cicadas’ serenades keep breaking in,
wrecking critical parts of our dissertations.

The others dream up excuses to ditch me
and I’m left here alone.

The cosmopolitan pyramid
of drained bottles
makes me feel
like I’m in a Turkish bath.

I lock the door:
Time to get back to work!

I feel like doing cartwheels.
I feel like self-annihilation.



Refuge of a Refugee
by Ablet Abdurishit Berqi aka Tarim
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I lack a passport,
so I can’t leave legally.
All that’s left is for me to smuggle myself to safety,
but I’m afraid I’ll be beaten black and blue at the border
and I can’t afford the trafficker.

I’m a smuggler of love,
though love has no national identity.
Poetry is my refuge,
where a refugee is most free.

The following excerpts, translated by Anne Henochowicz, come from an essay written by Tang Danhong about her final meeting with Dr. Ablet Abdurishit Berqi, aka Tarim. Tarim is a reference to the Tarim Basin and its Uyghur inhabitants...

I’m convinced that the poet Tarim Ablet Berqi the associate professor at the Xinjiang Education Institute, has been sent to a “concentration camp for educational transformation.” This scholar of Uyghur literature who conducted postdoctoral research at Israel’s top university, what kind of “educational transformation” is he being put through?

Chen Quanguo, the Communist Party secretary of Xinjiang, has said it’s “like the instruction at school, the order of the military, and the security of prison. We have to break their blood relations, their networks, and their roots.”

On a scorching summer day, Tarim came to Tel Aviv from Haifa. In a few days he would go back to Urumqi. I invited him to come say goodbye and once again prepared Sichuan cold noodles for him. He had already unfriended me on Facebook. He said he couldn’t eat, he was busy, and had to hurry back to Haifa. He didn’t even stay for twenty minutes. I can’t even remember, did he sit down? Did he have a glass of water? Yet this farewell shook me to my bones.

He said, “Maybe when I get off the plane, before I enter the airport, they’ll take me to a separate room and beat me up, and I’ll disappear.”

Looking at my shocked face, he then said, “And maybe nothing will happen …”

His expression was sincere. To be honest, the Tarim I saw rarely smiled. Still, layer upon layer blocked my powers of comprehension: he’s a poet, a writer, and a scholar. He’s an associate professor at the Xinjiang Education Institute. He can get a passport and come to Israel for advanced studies. When he goes back he’ll have an offer from Sichuan University to be a professor of literature … I asked, “Beat you up at the airport? Disappear? On what grounds?”

“That’s how Xinjiang is,” he said without any surprise in his voice. “When a Uyghur comes back from being abroad, that can happen.”…



This poem helps us understand the nomadic lifestyle of many Uyghurs, the hardships they endure, and the character it builds...

Iz (“Traces”)
by Abdurehim Otkur
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We were children when we set out on this journey;
Now our grandchildren ride horses.

We were just a few when we set out on this arduous journey;
Now we're a large caravan leaving traces in the desert.

We leave our traces scattered in desert dunes' valleys
Where many of our heroes lie buried in sandy graves.

But don't say they were abandoned: amid the cedars
their resting places are decorated by springtime flowers!

We left the tracks, the station... the crowds recede in the distance;
The wind blows, the sand swirls, but here our indelible trace remains.

The caravan continues, we and our horses become thin,
But our great-grand-children will one day rediscover those traces.

The original Uyghur poem:

Yax iduq muxkul seperge atlinip mangghanda biz,
Emdi atqa mingidek bolup qaldi ene nevrimiz.
Az iduq muxkul seperge atlinip chiqanda biz,
Emdi chong karvan atalduq, qaldurup chollerde iz.
Qaldi iz choller ara, gayi davanlarda yene,
Qaldi ni-ni arslanlar dexit cholde qevrisiz.
Qevrisiz qaldi dimeng yulghun qizarghan dalida,
Gul-chichekke pukinur tangna baharda qevrimiz.
Qaldi iz, qaldi menzil, qaldi yiraqta hemmisi,
Chiqsa boran, kochse qumlar, hem komulmes izimiz.
Tohtimas karvan yolida gerche atlar bek oruq,
Tapqus hichbolmisa, bu izni bizning nevrimiz, ya chevrimiz.

Other poems of note by Abdurehim Otkur include "I Call Forth Spring" and "Waste, You Traitors, Waste!"



My Feelings
by Dolqun Yasin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The light sinking through the ice and snow,
The hollyhock blossoms reddening the hills like blood,
The proud peaks revealing their ******* to the stars,
The morning-glories embroidering the earth’s greenery,
Are not light,
Not hollyhocks,
Not peaks,
Not morning-glories;
They are my feelings.

The tears washing the mothers’ wizened faces,
The flower-like smiles suddenly brightening the girls’ visages,
The hair turning white before age thirty,
The night which longs for light despite the sun’s laughter,
Are not tears,
Not smiles,
Not hair,
Not night;
They are my nomadic feelings.

Now turning all my sorrow to passion,
Bequeathing to my people all my griefs and joys,
Scattering my excitement like flowers festooning fields,
I harvest all these, then tenderly glean my poem.

Therefore the world is this poem of mine,
And my poem is the world itself.



To My Brother the Warrior
by Téyipjan Éliyow
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When I accompanied you,
the commissioners called me a child.
If only I had been a bit taller
I might have proved myself in battle!

The commission could not have known
my commitment, despite my youth.
If only they had overlooked my age and enlisted me,
I'd have given that enemy rabble hell!

Now, brother, I’m an adult.
Doubtless, I’ll join the service soon.
Soon enough, I’ll be by your side,
battling the enemy: I’ll never surrender!

Another poem of note by Téyipjan Éliyow is "Neverending Song."

Keywords/Tags: Uyghur, translation, Uighur, Xinjiang, elegy, Kafka, China, Chinese, reeducation, prison, concentration camp, desert, nomad, nomadic, race, racism, discrimination, Islam, Islamic, Muslim, mrbuyghur



Chinese Poets: English Translations

These are modern English translations of poems by some of the greatest Chinese poets of all time, including Du Fu, Huang E, Huang O, Li Bai, Li Ching-jau, Li Qingzhao, Po Chu-I, Tzu Yeh, Yau Ywe-Hwa and Xu Zhimo.



Lines from Laolao Ting Pavilion
by Li Bai (701-762)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The spring breeze knows partings are bitter;
The willow twig knows it will never be green again.



A Toast to Uncle Yun
by Li Bai (701-762)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Water reforms, though we slice it with our swords;
Sorrow returns, though we drown it with our wine.



The Solitude of Night
by Li Bai (701–762)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

At the wine party
I lay comatose, knowing nothing.
Windblown flowers fell, perfuming my lap.
When I arose, still drunk,
The birds had all flown to their nests.
All that remained were my fellow inebriates.
I left to walk along the river—alone with the moonlight.



Li Bai (701-762)    was a romantic figure who has been called the Lord Byron of Chinese poetry. He and his friend Du Fu (712-770)    were the leading poets of the Tang Dynasty era, which has been called the 'Golden Age of Chinese poetry.' Li Bai is also known as Li Po, Li Pai, Li T'ai-po, and Li T'ai-pai.



Moonlit Night
by Du Fu (712-770)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Alone in your bedchamber
you gaze out at the Fu-Chou moon.

Here, so distant, I think of our children,
too young to understand what keeps me away
or to remember Ch'ang-an...

A perfumed mist, your hair's damp ringlets!
In the moonlight, your arms' exquisite jade!

Oh, when can we meet again within your bed's drawn curtains,
and let the heat dry our tears?



Moonlit Night
by Du Fu (712-770)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Tonight the Fu-Chou moon
watches your lonely bedroom.

Here, so distant, I think of our children,
too young to understand what keeps me away
or to remember Ch'ang-an...

By now your hair will be damp from your bath
and fall in perfumed ringlets;
your jade-white arms so exquisite in the moonlight!

Oh, when can we meet again within those drawn curtains,
and let the heat dry our tears?



Lone Wild Goose
by Du Fu (712-770)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The abandoned goose refuses food and drink;
he cries querulously for his companions.

Who feels kinship for that strange wraith
as he vanishes eerily into the heavens?

You watch it as it disappears;
its plaintive calls cut through you.

The indignant crows ignore you both:
the bickering, bantering multitudes.

Du Fu (712-770)    is also known as Tu Fu. The first poem is addressed to the poet's wife, who had fled war with their children. Ch'ang-an is an ironic pun because it means 'Long-peace.'



The Red Cockatoo
by Po Chu-I (772-846)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A marvelous gift from Annam—
a red cockatoo,
bright as peach blossom,
fluent in men's language.

So they did what they always do
to the erudite and eloquent:
they created a thick-barred cage
and shut it up.

Po Chu-I (772-846)    is best known today for his ballads and satirical poems. Po Chu-I believed poetry should be accessible to commoners and is noted for his simple diction and natural style. His name has been rendered various ways in English: Po Chu-I, Po Chü-i, Bo Juyi and Bai Juyi.



The Migrant Songbird
Li Qingzhao aka Li Ching-chao (c.1084-1155)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The migrant songbird on the nearby yew
brings tears to my eyes with her melodious trills;
this fresh downpour reminds me of similar spills:
another spring gone, and still no word from you...



The Plum Blossoms
Li Qingzhao aka Li Ching-chao (c.1084-1155)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This year with the end of autumn
I find my reflection graying at the edges.
Now evening gales hammer these ledges...
what shall become of the plum blossoms?

Li Qingzhao was a poet and essayist during the Song dynasty. She is generally considered to be one of the greatest Chinese poets. In English she is known as Li Qingzhao, Li Ching-chao and The Householder of Yi'an.



Star Gauge
Sui Hui (c.351-394 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

So much lost so far away
on that distant rutted road.

That distant rutted road
wounds me to the heart.

Grief coupled with longing,
so much lost so far away.

Grief coupled with longing
wounds me to the heart.

This house without its master;
the bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils.

The bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils,
and you are not here.

Such loneliness! My adorned face
lacks the mirror's clarity.

I see by the mirror's clarity
my Lord is not here. Such loneliness!

Sui Hui, also known as Su Hui and Lady Su, appears to be the first female Chinese poet of note. And her 'Star Gauge' or 'Sphere Map' may be the most impressive poem written in any language to this day, in terms of complexity. 'Star Gauge' has been described as a palindrome or 'reversible' poem, but it goes far beyond that. According to contemporary sources, the original poem was shuttle-woven on brocade, in a circle, so that it could be read in multiple directions. Due to its shape the poem is also called Xuanji Tu ('Picture of the Turning Sphere') . The poem is now generally placed in a grid or matrix so that the Chinese characters can be read horizontally, vertically and diagonally. The story behind the poem is that Sui Hui's husband, Dou Tao, the governor of Qinzhou, was exiled to the desert. When leaving his wife, Dou swore to remain faithful. However, after arriving at his new post, he took a concubine. Lady Su then composed a circular poem, wove it into a piece of silk embroidery, and sent it to him. Upon receiving the masterwork, he repented. It has been claimed that there are up to 7,940 ways to read the poem. My translation above is just one of many possible readings of a portion of the poem.



Reflection
Xu Hui (627-650)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Confronting the morning she faces her mirror;
Her makeup done at last, she paces back and forth awhile.
It would take vast mountains of gold to earn one contemptuous smile,
So why would she answer a man's summons?

Due to the similarities in names, it seems possible that Sui Hui and Xu Hui were the same poet, with some of her poems being discovered later, or that poems written later by other poets were attributed to her.



Waves
Zhai Yongming (1955-)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The waves manhandle me like a midwife pounding my back relentlessly,
and so the world abuses my body—
accosting me, bewildering me, according me a certain ecstasy...



Monologue
Zhai Yongming (1955-)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I am a wild thought, born of the abyss
and—only incidentally—of you. The earth and sky
combine in me—their concubine—they consolidate in my body.

I am an ordinary embryo, encased in pale, watery flesh,
and yet in the sunlight I dazzle and amaze you.

I am the gentlest, the most understanding of women.
Yet I long for winter, the interminable black night, drawn out to my heart's bleakest limit.

When you leave, my pain makes me want to ***** my heart up through my mouth—
to destroy you through love—where's the taboo in that?

The sun rises for the rest of the world, but only for you do I focus the hostile tenderness of my body.
I have my ways.

A chorus of cries rises. The sea screams in my blood but who remembers me?
What is life?

Zhai Yongming is a contemporary Chinese poet, born in Chengdu in 1955. She was one of the instigators and prime movers of the 'Black Tornado' of women's poetry that swept China in 1986-1989. Since then Zhai has been regarded as one of China's most prominent poets.



Pyre
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You and I share so much desire:
this love―like a fire—
that ends in a pyre's
charred coffin.



'Married Love' or 'You and I' or 'The Song of You and Me'
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You and I shared a love that burned like fire:
two lumps of clay in the shape of Desire
molded into twin figures. We two.
Me and you.

In life we slept beneath a single quilt,
so in death, why any guilt?
Let the skeptics keep scoffing:
it's best to share a single coffin.

Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)    is also known as Kuan Tao-Sheng, Guan Zhongji and Lady Zhongji. A famous poet of the early Yuan dynasty, she has also been called 'the most famous female painter and calligrapher in the Chinese history... remembered not only as a talented woman, but also as a prominent figure in the history of bamboo painting.' She is best known today for her images of nature and her tendency to inscribe short poems on her paintings.



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I heard my love was going to Yang-chou
So I accompanied him as far as Ch'u-shan.
For just a moment as he held me in his arms
I thought the swirling river ceased flowing and time stood still.



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Will I ever hike up my dress for you again?
Will my pillow ever caress your arresting face?



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Night descends...
I let my silken hair spill down my shoulders as I part my thighs over my lover.
Tell me, is there any part of me not worthy of being loved?



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I will wear my robe loose, not bothering with a belt;
I will stand with my unpainted face at the reckless window;
If my petticoat insists on fluttering about, shamelessly,
I'll blame it on the unruly wind!



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When he returns to my embrace,
I'll make him feel what no one has ever felt before:
Me absorbing him like water
Poured into a wet clay jar.



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Bare branches tremble in a sudden breeze.
Night deepens.
My lover loves me,
And I am pleased that my body's beauty pleases him.



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do you not see
that we
have become like branches of a single tree?



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I could not sleep with the full moon haunting my bed!
I thought I heard―here, there, everywhere―
disembodied voices calling my name!
Helplessly I cried 'Yes! ' to the phantom air!



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I have brought my pillow to the windowsill
so come play with me, tease me, as in the past...
Or, with so much resentment and so few kisses,
how much longer can love last?



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When she approached you on the bustling street, how could you say no?
But your disdain for me is nothing new.
Squeaking hinges grow silent on an unused door
where no one enters anymore.



Tzu Yeh (circa 400 BC)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I remain constant as the Northern Star
while you rush about like the fickle sun:
rising in the East, drooping in the West.

Tzŭ-Yeh (or Tzu Yeh)    was a courtesan of the Jin dynasty era (c.400 BC)    also known as Lady Night or Lady Midnight. Her poems were pinyin ('midnight songs') . Tzŭ-Yeh was apparently a 'sing-song' girl, perhaps similar to a geisha trained to entertain men with music and poetry. She has also been called a 'wine shop girl' and even a professional concubine! Whoever she was, it seems likely that Rihaku (Li-Po)    was influenced by the lovely, touching (and often very ****)    poems of the 'sing-song' girl. Centuries later, Arthur Waley was one of her translators and admirers. Waley and Ezra Pound knew each other, and it seems likely that they got together to compare notes at Pound's soirees, since Pound was also an admirer and translator of Chinese poetry. Pound's most famous translation is his take on Li-Po's 'The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter.' If the ancient 'sing-song' girl influenced Li-Po and Pound, she was thus an influence―perhaps an important influence―on English Modernism. The first Tzŭ-Yeh poem makes me think that she was, indeed, a direct influence on Li-Po and Ezra Pound.―Michael R. Burch



The Day after the Rain
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I love the day after the rain
and the meadow's green expanses!
My heart endlessly rises with wind,
gusts with wind...
away the new-mown grasses and the fallen leaves...
away the clouds like smoke...
vanishing like smoke...



Music Heard Late at Night
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

for Xu Zhimo

I blushed,
hearing the lovely nocturnal tune.

The music touched my heart;
I embraced its sadness, but how to respond?

The pattern of life was established eons ago:
so pale are the people's imaginations!

Perhaps one day You and I
can play the chords of hope together.

It must be your fingers gently playing
late at night, matching my sorrow.

Lin Huiyin (1904-1955) , also known as Phyllis Lin and Lin Whei-yin, was a Chinese architect, historian, novelist and poet. Xu Zhimo died in a plane crash in 1931, allegedly flying to meet Lin Huiyin.



Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again
Xu Zhimo (1897-1931)  
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Quietly I take my leave,
as quietly as I came;
quietly I wave good-bye
to the sky's dying flame.

The riverside's willows
like lithe, sunlit brides
reflected in the waves
move my heart's tides.

Weeds moored in dark sludge
sway here, free of need,
in the Cam's gentle wake...
O, to be a waterweed!

Beneath shady elms
a nebulous rainbow
crumples and reforms
in the soft ebb and flow.

Seek a dream? Pole upstream
to where grass is greener;
rig the boat with starlight;
sing aloud of love's splendor!

But how can I sing
when my song is farewell?
Even the crickets are silent.
And who should I tell?

So quietly I take my leave,
as quietly as I came;
gently I flick my sleeves...
not a wisp will remain.

(6 November 1928)  

Xu Zhimo's most famous poem is this one about leaving Cambridge. English titles for the poem include 'On Leaving Cambridge, ' 'Second Farewell to Cambridge, ' 'Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, '  and 'Taking Leave of Cambridge Again.'



These are my modern English translations of poems by the Chinese poet Huang E (1498-1569) , also known as Huang Xiumei. She has been called the most outstanding female poet of the Ming Dynasty, and her husband its most outstanding male poet. Were they poetry's first power couple? Her father Huang Ke was a high-ranking official of the Ming court and she married Yang Shen, the prominent son of Grand Secretary Yang Tinghe. Unfortunately for the young power couple, Yang Shen was exiled by the emperor early in their marriage and they lived largely apart for 30 years. During their long separations they would send each other poems which may belong to a genre of Chinese poetry I have dubbed 'sorrows of the wild geese' …

Sent to My Husband
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The wild geese never fly beyond Hengyang...
how then can my brocaded words reach Yongchang?
Like wilted willow flowers I am ill-fated indeed;
in that far-off foreign land you feel similar despair.
'Oh, to go home, to go home! ' you implore the calendar.
'Oh, if only it would rain, if only it would rain! ' I complain to the heavens.
One hears hopeful rumors that you might soon be freed...
but when will the Golden **** rise in Yelang?

A star called the Golden **** was a symbol of amnesty to the ancient Chinese. Yongchang was a hot, humid region of Yunnan to the south of Hengyang, and was presumably too hot and too far to the south for geese to fly there.



Luo Jiang's Second Complaint
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The green hills vanished,
pedestrians passed by
disappearing beyond curves.

The geese grew silent, the horseshoes timid.

Winter is the most annoying season!

A lone goose vanished into the heavens,
the trees whispered conspiracies in Pingwu,
and people huddling behind buildings shivered.



Bitter Rain, an Aria of the Yellow Oriole
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

These ceaseless rains make the spring shiver:
even the flowers and trees look cold!
The roads turn to mud;
the river's eyes are tired and weep into in a few bays;
the mountain clouds accumulate like ***** dishes,
and the end of the world seems imminent, if jejune.

I find it impossible to send books:
the geese are ruthless and refuse to fly south to Yunnan!



Broken-Hearted Poem
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My tears cascade into the inkwell;
my broken heart remains at a loss for words;
ever since we held hands and said farewell,
I have been too listless to paint my eyebrows;
no medicine can cure my night-sweats,
no wealth repurchase our lost youth;
and how can I persuade that ****** bird singing in the far hills
to tell a traveler south of the Yangtze to return home?



Hermann Hesse

Hermann Karl Hesse (1877-1962) was a German-Swiss poet, novelist, essayist, painter and mystic. Hesse’s best-known works include Steppenwolf, Siddhartha, Demian, Narcissus and Goldmund and The Glass Bead Game. One of Germany’s greatest writers, Hesse was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1946.

"Stages" or "Steps"
by Hermann Hesse
from his novel The Glass Bead Game
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As every flower wilts and every youth
must wilt and exit life from a curtained stage,
so every virtue—even our truest truth—
blooms some brief time and cannot last forever.
Since life may summons death at any age
we must prepare for death’s obscene endeavor,
meet our end with courage and without remorse,
forego regret and hopes of some reprieve,
embrace death’s end, as life’s required divorce,
some new beginning, calling us to live.
Thus let us move, serene, beyond our fear,
and let no sentiments detain us here.

The Universal Spirit would not chain us,
but elevates us slowly, stage by stage.
If we demand a halt, our fears restrain us,
caught in the webs of creaturely defense.
We must prepare for imminent departure
or else be bound by foolish “permanence.”
Death’s hour may be our swift deliverance,
from which we speed to fresher, newer spaces,
and Life may summons us to bolder races.
So be it, heart! Farewell, and adieu, then!



The Poet
by Hermann Hesse
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Only upon me, the lonely one,
Do this endless night’s stars shine
As the fountain gurgles its faery song.

For me alone, the lonely one,
The shadows of vagabond clouds
Float like dreams over slumbering farms.

What is mine lies beyond possession:
Neither manor, nor pasture,
Neither forest, nor hunting permit …

What is mine belongs to no one:
The plunging brook beyond the veiling woods,
The terrifying sea,
The chick-like chatter of children at play,
The weeping and singing of a lonely man longing for love.

The temples of the gods are mine, also,
And the distant past’s aristocratic castles.

And mine, no less, the luminous vault of heaven,
My future home …

Often in flights of longing my soul soars heavenward,
Hoping to gaze on the halls of the blessed,
Where Love, overcoming the Law, unconditional Love for All,
Leaves them all nobly transformed:
Farmers, kings, tradesman, bustling sailors,
Shepherds, gardeners, one and all,
As they gratefully celebrate their heavenly festivals.

Only the poet is unaccompanied:
The lonely one who continues alone,
The recounter of human longing,
The one who sees the pale image of a future,
The fulfillment of a world
That has no further need of him.
Many garlands
Wilt on his grave,
But no one cares or remembers him.



On a Journey to Rest
by Hermann Hesse
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Don't be downcast, the night is soon over;
then we can watch the pale moon hover
over the dawning land
as we rest, hand in hand,
laughing secretly to ourselves.

Don't be downcast, the time will soon come
when we, too, can rest
(our small crosses will stand, blessed,
on the edge of the road together;
the rain, then the snow will fall,
and the winds come and go)
heedless of the weather.



Lonesome Night
by Hermann Hesse
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Dear brothers, who are mine,
All people, near and far,
Wishing on every star,
Imploring relief from pain;

My brothers, stumbling, dumb,
Each night, as pale stars ache,
Lift thin, limp hands for crumbs,
mutter and suffer, awake;

Poor brothers, commonplace,
Pale sailors, who must live
Without a bright guide above,
We share a common face.

Return my welcome.



How Heavy the Days
by Hermann Hesse
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How heavy the days.
Not a fire can warm me,
Nor a sun brighten me!
Everything barren,
Everything bare,
Everything utterly cold and merciless!
Now even the once-beloved stars
Look distantly down,
Since my heart learned
Love can die.



Without You
by Hermann Hesse
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My pillow regards me tonight
Comfortless as a gravestone;
I never thought it would be so bitter
To face the night alone,
Not to lie asleep entangled in your hair.

I lie alone in this silent house,
The hanging lamp softly dimmed,
Then gently extend my hands
To welcome yours …
Softly press my warm mouth
To yours …
Only to kiss myself,
Then suddenly I'm awake
And the night grows colder still.

The star in the window winks knowingly.
Where is your blonde hair,
Your succulent mouth?

Now I drink pain in every former delight,
Find poison in every wine;
I never knew it would be so bitter
To face the night alone,
Alone, without you.



Secretly We Thirst…
by Hermann Hesse
from his novel The Glass Bead Game
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Charismatic, spiritual, with the gracefulness of arabesques,
our lives resemble fairies’ pirouettes,
spinning gently through the nothingness
to which we sacrifice our beings and the present.

Whirling dreams of quintessence and loveliness,
like breathing in perfect harmony,
while beneath your bright surface
blackness broods, longing for blood and barbarity.

Spinning aimlessly in emptiness,
dancing (as if without distress), always ready to play,
yet, secretly, we thirst for reality
for the conceiving, for the birth pangs, for suffering and death.

Doch heimlich dürsten wir…

Anmutig, geistig, arabeskenzart
*******unser Leben sich wie das von Feen
In sanften Tänzen um das Nichts zu drehen,
Dem wir geopfert Sein und Gegenwart.

Schönheit der Träume, holde Spielerei,
So hingehaucht, so reinlich abgestimmt,
Tief unter deiner heiteren Fläche glimmt
Sehnsucht nach Nacht, nach Blut, nach Barbarei.

Im Leeren dreht sich, ohne Zwang und Not,
Frei unser Leben, stets zum Spiel bereit,
Doch heimlich dürsten wir nach Wirklichkeit,
Nach Zeugung und Geburt, nach Leid und Tod.



Across The Fields
by Hermann Hesse
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Across the sky, the clouds sweep,
Across the fields, the wind blunders,
Across the fields, the lost child
Of my mother wanders.

Across the street, the leaves sweep,
Across the trees, the starlings cry;
Across the distant mountains,
My home must lie.



EXCERPTS FROM "THE SON OF THE BRAHMAN"
by Hermann Hesse
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In the house-shade,
by the sunlit riverbank beyond the bobbing boats,
in the Salwood forest’s deep shade,
and beneath the shade of the fig tree,
that’s where Siddhartha grew up.

Siddhartha, the handsomest son of the Brahman,
like a young falcon,
together with his friend Govinda, also the son of a Brahman,
like another young falcon.

Siddhartha!

The sun tanned his shoulders lightly by the riverbanks when he bathed,
as he performed the sacred ablutions,
the sacred offerings.

Shade poured into his black eyes
whenever he played in the mango grove,
whenever his mother sang to him,
whenever the sacred offerings were made,
whenever his father, the esteemed scholar, instructed him,
whenever the wise men advised him.

For a long time, Siddhartha had joined in the wise men’s palaver,
and had also practiced debate
and the arts of reflection and meditation
with his friend Govinda.

Siddhartha already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words,
to speak it silently within himself while inhaling,
to speak it silently without himself while exhaling,
always with his soul’s entire concentration,
his forehead haloed by the glow of his lucid spirit.

He already knew how to feel Atman in his being’s depths,
an indestructible unity with the universe.

Joy leapt in his father’s heart for his son,
so quick to learn, so eager for knowledge.

Siddhartha!

He saw Siddhartha growing up to become a great man:
a wise man and a priest,
a prince among the Brahmans.

Bliss leapt in his mother’s breast when she saw her son's regal carriage,
when she saw him sit down,
when she saw him rise.

Siddhartha!

So strong, so handsome,
so stately on those long, elegant legs,
and when bowing to his mother with perfect respect.

Siddhartha!

Love nestled and fluttered in the hearts of the Brahmans’ daughters when Siddhartha passed by with his luminous forehead, with the aspect of a king, with his lean hips.

But more than all the others Siddhartha was loved by Govinda, his friend, also the son of a Brahman.

Govinda loved Siddhartha’s alert eyes and kind voice,
loved his perfect carriage and the perfection of his movements,
indeed, loved everything Siddhartha said and did,
but what Govinda loved most was Siddhartha’s spirit:
his transcendent yet passionate thoughts,
his ardent will, his high calling. …

Govinda wanted to follow Siddhartha:

Siddhartha the beloved!

Siddhartha the splendid!

…

Thus Siddhartha was loved by all, a joy to all, a delight to all.

But alas, Siddhartha did not delight himself. … His heart lacked joy. …

For Siddhartha had begun to nurse discontent deep within himself.

Another year has been added onto my life.
Everything is okay,
And I thank God I’m still blessed,
But my tears are just
Getting bigger as the time
Starts to trigger.
My heart starts to get swollen
As my mind still tries to
Figure exactly what’s really going on.
Why do I feel so alone?
I try and close my eyes and picture home,
But I’ve been gone for too long.
I’m living in miseries.
My only pain killer is a double shot of
Hennessy.
Lord give me ink and some paper
Please.
My soul cries out within the
Ink that bleeds.
Oct 6 was the day I was born.
God how long will I live and still remain
Trapped in this storm?
My heart for writing
Can’t be the reason I’m still alive.
God gave me another chance
To get my hands on the prize,
But it’s been too long to why I’m still living in
Disguise
Of pure evil that set fire in my
Eyes.
Aching bones in my body,
And a hopeless dream of
Corvettes and audi’s.
Entrepreneurship,
And dedication is what I feen,
But another year has been added onto
This helpless black queen.
I’m not sure why me.
My pencil is about to break,
And my paper is about to rip.
The hardness of my thoughts,
And my teeth that’s clenched and gripped
Is only another episode to why I’m still
Here.
#HAPPYBIRTHDAY





-Marci H.

your my kryptonite
your touch creeps in like poison
sending chills down my spine
slowly erodes my being
call me ms. two face
i tell you i dislike your ****
but i feen for it
i need your poison running through
me to feel like i'm here
just for a moment
being that villain
i feel Alive

Silence is key,
You won't hear much from me,
I just want to hear,
The whole world is a mirror,
Woke up in a dream,
Things are not what they seem,
Your sight has to be keen,
If you know what I mean,
Seeing through the smoke screen,
Guided by the light beam,
Living out the larger sceam,
***** for truth and yes I feen.

Intro:
Welcome to the new age of spit’n
to change the flavor of mix’n
where MCs are kick’n provocative rhymes
to stretch the imagination of open minds
no need for weapons, blood, and tumbl’n
we’re gonna educate and stimulate rumbl’n

Spit’n Philosophically Aware Rhymes
for the New millennium, that’s SPAR’N
elevating the level of rap’n hip-hop beats
to achieve new heights, to accomplish new feats
to teach the youth a brand new way of feel’n
to preach in the streets a new way of deal’n

Poet’s Verses:**
I’m a warrior for the new age of spit’n
flatlin’n a verse like F’n-stein to do my bid’n
tired of listen’n to the violence and the ****’n
rather kick a message for tolerance to the liv’n
better to be rich in center than material possessions
’cause fear and greed foster the need for man’s weapons

Don’t have a saint, a preacher, or a teacher’s hand
just a person on edge, trying to survive in this here land
to pass along to others the meaning of liquid wisdom
that can’t be learned in some classroom using ‘isms
so listen up my brothas, listen up my sistas
the words ya hear’n gonna blow ya away like twistas

Each of us is composed of molecules, atoms, magnetic forces
revolving around one another, following predefined courses
at this level, ya couldn’t even tell the difference
yet we judging the casing that gives us false appearance
if ya think intelligence is inherited by yur parents
then a child of the slums and ghettos has no merits

Be a product no longer of sins numbered by seven
take back yur destiny and life by search’n the heavens
for in the cradle of His arms, true luv awaits
if yur will’n to give a commitment of faith
pain and suffering may be the unwanted test
but don’t give up, ’cause ya not alone on this quest

Luv is more than just words, feel’n, and thoughts
and goes beyond ***, roses, and diamonds bought
real luv is a state of mind, a state of being
when yur together or when yur off somewhere leaving
like the spiritual reality shared between Eve and Adam
something only a true heart could really fathom

Everyone on this here planet has some mean’n
with the gospel hav’n so many people feen’n
if ya feel’n alone, lost and discouraged
this verse is my way of giv’n ya courage
for at night, I pray to the Lord yur soul to keep
sincere in the wish for no more pain or causes to weep.

The death of a sibling so greatly seen
Forever lost, an object of feen
Losing one so young is all but a sin
Hatred boiling throughout my kin

Never having been able to say goodbye
Bellowing throughout the house, my piercing cry
I live to walk alone without my support
The death of my sister has made me distraught

A punishment for all my crimes
God’s grace is all but dimes
Screaming out for her return
Left with nothing but a yearn

The death of an enemy so terribly lost
The one that you've hated, at what cost
Never will you be able to say sorry
To all the wrongs committed, the worry

A teaching in life for which I’ve learnt
Love the ones you've dangerously burnt
Regret is a pain that eats at your soul
A reckoning that defeats the biggest blow

Life and death work in a mysterious way
One cannot live without the others decay
Although one must start for one to end
The Alpha and Omega, the worlds amend.

You can be my drug, i'll inhale you and hold it in.
I'll drink you down till you make the room spin.
I'll sniff you up so it hits harder and last longer.
I'll inject you so you can flow with me, until my vision gets blurry and I cant see.
I'll stay so high when you're around me, and i'll lose my mind when you're not with me.
I hate that sobering reality and that feeling when that high comes down.
I know eventually u'll be back around. So like a feen looking for that next hit, i'll wait, staying up real late...
A simple touch, something like a hug gets me addicted to you, like you're my drug.

I have a short patience
for people who annoy me
by being too noisy
or being too boring

I try to listen
I try to be polite
but the more I nod and smile
the more I feen to bite

As I look at them
dead in the eye
acting like I care
inside I want to die

And I usually don't realize
right off the bat
as I ****** my fingers in
I forget where I'm at

All my focus is absorbed
by my nibbling need  
to every last nail  
I only stop to bleed

As I go at it
I only glance up for breath
But I never stop biting
For my nails are my ****

Only once they
leave me alone
I look around and
see what I've done

I raise my hand
to wave goodbye
but it gets caught
just below my eyes

and I open my mouth
to say something nice
words don't come out
I just bite on my vice

What do you do when finally you realize what death is? You have so much planned for the future, but never know what your fate is.
You finally realize how people would feel if you actually did it. But you're so sad and buried ssooo deep into your problems you don't give a ****. You don't care what they would say, how they would feel. It's all just a mess waiting to unpeel. You can't dig yourself out, you feel it's the only way. Cloud of judgement, jumbles of depression planted in your brain, you can't get out. Its deeper than being able to just shout. You think maybe its a disease? Maybe it's a dream? But it's real life and it all hurts more than a feen.
You start to wonder who matters and who doesn't. Put them in a list. But no one's on the list.. It doesn't make sense, you can't comprehend, so oh, go along, it's your mind after all. You follow along because you think it's normal. You suppose everyone goes through this, it's just a phase. It could be more horrible.
Cloud of judgement, memories erase, jumbles controlling your mind. You lost your chance to get out, there's no more time. You worry, stress, fight, deny. But that does nothing but fills up more jumbles in your mind.
You start to think too much, you cry inside. The thought of it all is too intertwined. You stand up and try to chop the walls down, but here comes ANOTHER thing, and turns it all around. You search for ideas, look deep in the mug. But all you can think of, are new types of drugs. You resist as long as you can, but eventually flip open that illegal ban.
You mess it up more, JUMBLES GALORE..
Suddenly...you become empty. You get so confused, all of the jumbles have finally fused. You start to feel nothing, it all becomes numb. You want nothing, than to just be done.
So you plan, plot, think, think, and think. That's all you ever do, it's what it's come down to. You're so sad, you don't have a clue. And that's all it ever is, you're just depressed, so lost in the mess.

.in a land, where, ahem, "supposedly"... the one eyed man leads the blind? that oeuvre proclaimation? hard to... give the one-eyed the mastering of the people, who can see, no? as the one eye-man said, son of Odin... the two eyed are as blind as the no-eyed, in that they cross their eyes, and imagine themselves drowning... i see a serpent... without eyelids... perpetuated spine of lizard, cranium of cold, venom... the hebrew didn't exact... "justice" by ensuring the lizard to be left, wriggling, spine-esque, without attachment of limbs... no... the real torture? the torture that Moses didn't speak of? why, why oh why, did he leave the serpent without eye-lids?! i ask, because a mammal, a bonsai tiger is playing the role of a bassett hound, he's a maine ****... and he, for some, reason, enjoys my company... the fact that the "devil" lost his limbs... i'm not here for that... i'm here for the fact that serpents... spine and cranium remnants of dinosaurs... have, "apparently"... "lost" their eye-lids... imagine the agony... of falling asleep with your eyes open! sympathy for the devil? well... is there really any sympathy for a god or the gods? beside the point... ever since i was born... for all the creativity of the h'american people, their primitive christianity was perpetually sentenced to be abhorrent for me... i could never stomach it... that being said: so what their atheism. i could never stomach either side of the argument... at least with the russians you were told to settle for the kazakhs, those pseudo-Mongols... then, those, intermediate mouth-offs of the english... it's like a dog dies, but you can never get the fleas off of a dead dog! they keep on biting, trying to "revive" *******, akin to 20th century's 1960s zenith, "property allowance of dictum". let me just say... how god cursed Satan... to be left without limbs... is how he cursed... the fact... that dinosaurs, "once upon a time", ruled this orb... limbless sidewinding spines and brains? that's not the real... "pardon", for the emergence of man... do snakes have eyelids? i'm pretty ******* sure they don't. big tigers... tigers and lions... what about the domesticated bonsai tigers? last time i checked... big cats... tigers... lions... they had eyes... that resembled mammals... their pupils dilated, or contracted... cats? the bonsai? why do their pupils resemble lizards? ******* spies! leather in furrs! what's that old christian metaphor of wolves in sheep clothing? that's it, isn't it? well... here's a ******* update: lizard leather in bonsai ***** furrs! i keep having these blinking matches... with my maine *****... yes... the basset hounds of the feline kingdom... blinking matches, wavering: staring contests... the poverty of the metaphor poetics of Moses is finally revealed... you trust your cat? sure as **** your cat's eyes do not dilate or contract like a tiger's or a lion's might... there's a ******* lizard spy in that cranium of their, "cute"-ness... i'm pretty sure the eyes of a tiger, or a lion, become O from o... regarding the pupil... and not O from ()... slit. again... the biggest curse of the "devil" (dinosaurs) was... to craft a slithering pickle jar of a lizard's worth of a weaving spine and a brain cell? or, the fact, that, serpents do not have eyelids?! that they have to black out to craft a pair of eyelids? that they have to binge... and the reason why they ingest a whole body, is so that they can digest a whole body in order to fall asleep, with their eyes, open? i have just left, whatever was the worth of the poetics, associated with Moses' genesis... some **** ***** can play around with a serpent for all i care... i just need to hear a sssssssss sound in my head... find a cat sleeping in my bed... and say: those eyes are not big cat's eyes... they change from mammalian through to lizard... cats are dinosaurs' spies; and no, the curse of leaving a serpent without limbs... which explains the ******* crocodile... the komodo dragon... i'm worried that "god" took a snippet of the eyelids of the serpents... the "retrospective" lab. specimen of the remains of the dino. inquiry into the past of this, orb.

o.k., so i integrated, now what?
can the anglophone world
put away its ******* of giving
everyone a fair chance when that
supposed "fair" chance is
a neurotic take on not being "racist"?
what, a, load, of, *******:
  and pastoral ****-heaps of oops -
i should have migrated in my
teenage years and kept my
diacritical exfoliation,
       the distinction by accent if not
by colour... but i'm sure you're
well aware that the oliwki -
i just call the ******* olives -
              have a joker card of the obviousness:
i.e. like ******* are descendent
of an eskimo...
                 today is the first night
of night frost...
     metal is hit first,
the cement paparazzis are not yet
economised -
                        and i find it a waste of a day
in winter if i see sunlight...
    so i go back to bed:
the plan was always:
go to sleep in the night,
wake up when it's night.
           i'm not buying it...
              but i should have really
misguided by efforts in learning this,
god-forsaken tongue,
imperfected it, rather than perfected it,
retained the: free meal ticket of
the ******* accent and then scream
when the opportunity came: racism!
racism!
                  easier if i were olive
skinned...
                free rides like that don't come
so often...
         the english have become
neurotic beyond compensation!
      i'm not nervous about being called
a racist or a ****... call me that enough
times and then a lightbulb moment
will, happen... problem is:
i'll embrace that stereotype with as much
gentlemanly airs and "concern" that
will only be made for the opposite
party to not distinguish politeness from,
ridicule...
              no no,
these people will not be riddles -
they'll be ridiculed, a massive difference.
i sometimes regret learning the english
language to establish myself by the native
standard of talk,
  because once you've attained that:
then what?
     you already have a meritocracy that's
build upon: what's best representative
of your multiculturalism -
apparently the whites don't distinguish
other whites...
                    as it is clearly seen:
christianity taught the nebulous blood-thirty
barbarians a culture of masochism...
            it's actually painful to hear
a german speak, less painful speaking
german yourself...
       herr... wachsen einige hoden, bitte!
danke.
           it just looks like watching a boxer
in match wearing a ******* tutu.

    willkommen! zu aufpassen:
                    die zeit zu kommen sie!
*****-brute-deutsche...
    hündin-brachial-ßaß!
           ­      ich: jawohl!
                                  
   you want to punch: you better want
to punch high, on the head...
for the... ******* concussion
    (die gehirnerschütterung...
guess what... no trenches for you...
chemical nouns!
  ficken feen paddy kobolde -
    glücklich?!)

there has never come a time,
similar to this,
when a ******, a polen...
would, love, the deutzsche-zunge
as much, as he might love it now...
weird... seltsam...
                gott, mit uns!

memories of my grandfather's plea:
herr! bitte bon-bon!
         before the soviets came
and decided to sleep with the goats...
kommen auf ein metallurgiefamilieanfänge
(carbohydrate enough for you,
mrs. khan?!)
          what is it with me and the allure
toward the german tongue,
away from zee Ęnglisch?!

       i have an idea, or, two...
so many pakistanis with khan
as their surname...
it almost makes you, "wonder"...
islam blah blah this,
islam blah blah that...
       a lot of pakistanis with
mongolian surnames...
       time to find the wound...
time to find the salt..
  don't you think?
     oh: nicht bitter...
                       wirklichkeit... prüfen,
eh?
                i can't, or rather,
i don't have the energy to hate,
or remind the saxons,
their misdeeds...
              ich bin müde!
                i am, tired...
    see? no diacritical marks,
i have to make up the "loss" with
punctuation markers...
                            kennt ihre nachbar!
liebe? liebe?!
                   kennt ihre nachbar
            wie dich selbst!
liebe?! ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
sagte die eifersüchtig gott...
liebe?
                how about: know your neighbour
as yourself...
      the command, love your neighbour
as yourself... can we leave that sort of *******
to petting cats and pigeons?!
i rather know my neighbour as i
might know myself...
        love is never a part of the golden rule
of universal application...
  love is a futility of diminished
senses...
       i rather know my neighbour,
than love him,
as much as as i rather know myself,
than love myself.

so when's the next *******' worth
of riddles going to come from?
   palestine...
  look, i've already exhausted the "jewish q.",
i'm tired of jewish wisdom...
what's next: the arab pandora's box?
great!
    mind you... it's so nice to see
the yews the yids, the 'ebrews
making fwends with the arabs again...
hell: goat herder met another goat
herder...
       which leaves the argentinian
neo-nazis with the beef!
            and some of us:
with leather shoes, belts...
                 jackets... and... bacon!

god bless... this wonderful world!

I will give thee my love,
And cause no strife.
I call to mind the last time
That I paid the price.
The price of a man who knew not what love is
Or could be.
A man who never fell for me.

So I find no peace in the air I breathe.
To loseth or holdeth I will be up to thee,
Yet the Stardust in thine eyes,
Enchant thy heart to make you mine.

Darling, thou make ye trees sing,
In Autumn and spring,
perhaps every season in between

So let thee turn to “we”,
and travel to new extremes.
Whilst our fires
Create new desires - yearning for passion
And intimacy.
As long as thou not feen,
Keeping simplicity clean,
Thou shalt not worry
For thy am in no hurry.

So as thy take thy leave,
It came to be
                     Thy heart has fell
                                                For thee.

Let’s paint a vivid picture,
Up under the movie screen,
Making a love scene,
That’s my favorite part.
Let’s get connected, and
Smoke each other HEART,
Cause I love this part.
Let’s kiss and touch,
If I asked to cuddle would that be too much?
Not too hard,
Or too rough,
I don’t really need LOVE,
I just want LUST,
You ask why?
Because I threw away the key
So it’s hard to TRUST.
Keep going, I haven’t had enough,
This my favorite part.
Don’t stop.
Let’s trace over our beautiful art,
Gleaming in the NIGHT
FEENIN’ for your light
MOANIN’ cause it feels just right
Smiling cause it’s just nice,
This my favorite part.
****** still high,
My FUSTRATION is leaving
I’m MEDITATING, while the air still
STEAMIN’
I’m feeling the inflammation of our
FIRE.
I can’t help what my ****** frustrations
DESIRE
Your **** body I admire,
Bring your “A” game, and your
TONGUE,
yes, it’s REQUIRED
I been tensed up for a min,
I put the kitty on pause, so yes
It’s RETIRED,
Love higher than a TOWER,
Climb up then fall down into
A bed of FLOWERS.
I’m digging you,
And you digging me,
We’re both BLIND to what the
Naked eye cannot SEE,
And that’s love,
We’ve been HYPOTIZED
By laughs and hugs.
****** appeals,
Your time, yes, I STEAL,
Remember we made a DEAL,
But do we have to stick to this
Deal?
Do it have to be a MUST?
Am I under DISGUSIE
To a beautiful heat that LIES?
A tongue SILENCING my cries,
Speechless cause I’m so surprised,
You did all your speaking,
So now it’s time to
WINE and DINE.
Can we CHANGE or minds?
Is it a CRIME,
Can we RECITE this just one more
Time?
It may be too late,
To change back our words,
No longer you HEAR me,
No longer you HEARD.
Your plate has been FINISHED
Your mouth is no longer FULL,
Your plate is CLEAN,
Now my hands is on PULL,
Hanging to your shirt,
Where I can no longer feel like
DIRT,
Here come back,
You can have my SKIRT,
Don’t go you haven’t finished
Have you seen the eye that was
WINNING?
The smile that was GRINNING?
The time that I was STEALING?
The flower that was laid out on the bottom of the tank?
I should be your commander solider,
I should be TOP RANK!
So STOP!
Don’t leave,
I ******* hate doing this,
I hate the GREED,
The FEEN,
It’s KILLING me
So PLEASE,
Let’s talk again,
About the LOVE and LUST
I know this is your favorite part,
But just HUSH
Listen.
I don’t want to RUSH.
I just want to cuddle,
Am I ASKING for too much?
My famous WORDS, and special TOUCH.
If you THINK about it,
This could be our favorite part too.



                                             Marci H.

I'm all around, yet I can't be seen. 
And when you're alone, I'm what you feen.
I can make you have joy in chest,
And all through life, I'm the ultimate test.  
I can make you sad, to the point you think you have a disease.
I'm so strong, I can make you so weak in your knees.
Some people mistake me for *** & I can make a male ****** flex.
Once u can identify me, LIFE...start to begin.

My dreams,
Wasn't just any dream.
It took me into the deserts,
And made me into a cold
Feen,
A cold killer with a pierced heart ring.
I slowly fell into that dream.
Sinking like quick sand.
My head went first then my hands.
Unclean,
And dark tan.
I sunk.
I sunk into your quick sand,
And you left me there;
Selling false dreams with no care,
But who ever really cares?
I feel reincarnated wearing all
Black everything,
And a tattoed red tear drop that stains.
The stains that slowly rain,
One by one.
Two by two.
I've been playing fools gold,
But who would've ever knew,
That this day would come true?
I need your direction.
The only thing I ever knew was your
Protection.
I breathed you,
And your imperfections of lack of
Rotation to change your ways,
But it doesn't work like that,
That's just how the game plays.
Now i'm reincarnated in all black.
I had a knife cut in my heart
And thru my back,
But I still stand because at the time
I didn't know that I was sinking into
Your quick sand.
You know its funny,
Now;
Because you had me on hold,
But now all along...
I can truly title this
Fools Gold.
I was digging deep
Praying my soul would mold,
But that's just another story
Being untold.


-Marci H.

They say time heals everything:
My hearts been on watch. Any attempt to form a time frame, would be in vain. Besides, I can still hear you name. See your lips, when you speak mine. Looking at your bright blue eyes, while the sun shines.  

I should have known:
Trying to hold on to a feen-ex and get burnt. Lesson learnt. Problem is, I'm addicted to the hurt, our pain. It burns. But, God gave us feelings to feel with so its fine. At least, that's how I played it out in my mind.  Lessons
mean more when they are learnt. Lost but forgotten, never the case, quickly replaced with a familiar face. Bigger fish in the sea: such a waste.

Two years ago, so many months behind
Chasing after you, a dreadful feeling of mine
Unable to be in control, unable to control your actions
I tried to regain control without asking
Two years ago, and just a couple weeks back
I panicked because I just let my heart relax
I kept thinking about you, and I kept thinking about me
I can’t force something to work, if it’s not my destiny
My words was smooth, but my actions were cruel
I led you to believe I would never hurt you
What a fool, what a fool
Two years of being stuck on you
Don’t listen to the nonsense
Don’t believe everything you here
Just because you say forever don’t mean the love will stay there
Too much on my mind, too dumb to just let go
Obsessing over you, trying to get back to you
I don’t know what I was thinking
But now I understand what it was
Addicted to the lustful thoughts
Instead of focusing on love
I gave you great pains
I gave you things you never asked for
I wished I did all the things I intended to do
But instead I kept chasing you
The first time I ever been obsessed
The first time I ever been stuck
So many times I asked myself say what
What are you doing?
What are you thinking?
Why haven’t you changed?
How do you expect to get her back?
If you stayed the same
So stupid, so cruel when it came to thoughts
My name never ran across your brain
You was way past the idea of making it work
I was left with all the hurt
You suffered, but I ended up hurting in the end
Everything that once stood tall all had to come to an end
So many days I wanted to cry
So many days I wanted to stay locked in my room
The smell like your sweet perfume
No kiss like yours
No softer feel then your lips
I dread the way I think, because you I still miss
I’ve been everywhere
I’ve been in and out
Not knowing if I’m crazy
Because I said with you, I couldn’t live without
It’s killing my pride
It’s killing my soul
The final moments of me letting go
Don’t judge me from where I been
Just judge me from where I’m at
I know you don’t love me no more
But I wanted the feelings to be as mutual as that
Most of the things are true
The things that I was accused of
Falling in love with the one I was scared of
The one that I just wanted to be friends with
Everything had to end
Everything just happened so sudden
These tears from my eyes
Makes the lines to your heart flooded
I know I cannot understand
I may not ever believe
That I have to let go in order to heal too
But I chose to play the role of a fool
So here’s a reminder
Here’s a reminder never to forget
I may not have you anymore but the memories will still exist
Two years ago I learned how to love
I also learned how to manage
I was terrible, and I never planned it
I wouldn’t know what love is if I invented it
I just needed a shoulder, I just needed something to lean on
Your love I always seem to feen for
Now I finally understand why you left me for
2 Years Ago…

The heaven's rumble and the shutters mumble
Insidious is the echo of a thunderous raw
The comparable terror on both fronts becomes indistinguishable
And when the earth quakes we hug the floor
The children weep and a mother's hope makes way
The wounds of shard cleansed by molten tear
Inside we howl at the dart that went astray
A target it found when the mind was cornered by fear
The heavens rumble and the shutters mumble
Darkened shadows flicker within the shutters fiery light
A teary mother contemplates death when her kin she must ******
Feen or foe a monster parades on her blight