Como el mercurio corriente,
Al lado de la tumba del primer Emperador,
La sangre oscila a los ritmos sugestivos,
De tus órganos líquidos.
Piel de ladrillo,
Para refugiar el reloj que palpita,
Cantando el tiempo para apresurar su arterias,
Actuando tímida detrás de una jaula de hueso.
Mantenido juntos por las ramillas de respiración,
Que impregna las raíces que tuercen,
Del huerto en tus pulmones.
Con giros del cielo todavía empapadas.
Temo para esas ramas que se enredan,
Empujando y tirando bajo costillas,
Para la serpiente de brisa que,
Viola los tatuajes azules, jugando como parásitos,
A tu piel.
¿Serán arados ellos?
¿Podria ser que los miembros tembladores paren de fluir,
Cuándo sus troncos han sido segados,
Para estrangularse entre cavidades en tu estómago?
Las serpentinas de aire paradan de morar,
Y la plasma rojo hará el amor a el agua.
Tus venas no encontrarán la pasión para bailar,
Despues que ellos soportan el deseo del agua.
Pulmones de árbol,
Barriados por la juerga que gotea,
Se ahogarán,
Después de que la sirena haya robado un beso.
Author notes
Like the flowing mercury,
Beside the Emperor's tomb,
The blood sways to the suggestive rhythms,
Of your runny organs.
Skin of brick,
To haven the throbbing clock,
Singing its time to rush its arteries,
Acting coy behind a cage of bone.
Held together by the twigs of breath,
That impregnate the twisting roots,
Of the orchard in your lungs.
With drafts of heaven still in soak
I fear for those tangling branches,
Pushing and pulling beneath your ribs,
For the serpent of breeze that,
Molests the blue tattoos, playing parasites,
To your skin.
Will they be plowed?
Will their quivering limbs seize to flow,
When they're trunks have been mowed down,
To choke between cavities in your stomach?
Serpentines of air will seize to dwell,
And red plasma will make love to water.
Your veins will not find passion to dance,
Once they bear the desire of the aqua.
Your tree lungs,
Swept away by the dripping revelry,
Will drown,
After the mermaid has stolen a kiss.
I had to write this in Spanish, simply because this was a dream I had back when Spanish was the only known language to me. It was almost a way of honoring the mentality I used to have back then, even though I could have chosen to write it in English. Although this was a dream I had back when I was a child, it's still very vivid in my mind. It's the scare I got once I almost drowned.
A contest entry
- Language games by Shiro Okami.
500 points, ended February 28, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Dead-on Critiques
Comments
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Reminds me of Marie Antoinette or Kate Choppin with elegant beauty woven neatly through out
"Skin of brick,
To haven the throbbing clock,
Singing its time to rush its arteries,
Acting coy behind a cage of bone."
....I love how you give human like qualities to matter that keeps the human body running. In your poem, how I understood it (and correct me if I'm wrong) was that you made something as still and reserved as water out to be the villian.... almost going back to that saying about how the quiet ones are always the mischief makers. To me your poem had this 18th century Spaniard feel (possibly because the first thing I saw was the Spanish verison which gives it this sort of innocent beauty when you realize what the true meaning behind it is). That element of another language adds to the overall effect.
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:3
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Its beauty transcends language. The raw sound of every spanish word (of which I have no understanding) still allow me to feel what they mean. I read it twice over without reading the translation just because of how beautiful it sounded. Then, after reading the translation I felt nothing was lost; raw beauty mixed with pure understanding to synthesize the piece in my understanding, and it was flawless. Such keen use of metaphor, imagery, and connotations inherent in each of those made this what it was, an emotional and intellectual confection, the reader satisfied enough to rest eternally after reading it.
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Deathly beautiful. I really liek this.
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