Breaking down cultural barriers
Transposer une culture dans une autre par delà les barrières culturelles

Friday, 5 November 2010

Varand - THE CITY 1 2 3 4

THE CITY 1

My city of desire,
city of dreams,
there was a time
when I mused
at each and every
of your corners of light.
There was a time,
I daydreamed of
the virgin I loved,
at a time, when
all were gathered
here together.
Whatever happened
to your big shindig?
What shadow fell
on your shining face?
Which scam was it
of your spiteful luck,
that left you thus,
on your own
my city of desire,
city of dreams?

Can there be a more
fascinating game?
Is there a fortune
more false and frigid
to beckon me
to a last encounter?
To show up as a stranger
just passing by?
To appear as an alien?
Heartfelt yearning
will draw me there
But don't let anyone
be there, no one
to open a gate,
not even my virgin --
let's walk alone.
Who thinks of you now,
city of desires,
city of my dreams?
It seems they walked out
on both the quick
and the dead

No matter, let all go well
at your new festival
(feast or circus?
Who can tell!)
I stand here
guarding your dreams,
your possessions,
but in particular, that
which you don't have

I stand guard
till sleep vanishes
and untainted memory
drops in as visitor

My city of desire,
my city of dreams


THE CITY 2

Now darkness
has veiled the magic city
of my yearning.
Sinful eyes glisten
in the gloom
above groping hands.
Snared in there
a love-sick woman
goes insane waiting
for a blood red
dusky dawn.

Now, darkness
has settled on the wet
sidewalks of my longing.
Blood-red eyes
come alive in the dark,
as hands weave a nasty plot.
Blood drips down
the plucked cheeks
of my virgin of hope,
gripping my lone dream coin
in her icy fist.

Love seeks hope
in a frenzy,
and finds nothing.
Hope seeks love
to find warmth without fear,
while I seek them both,
with no faith at all

Because darkness has
descended on the
city of my dreams.


THE CITY 3

Half-perceived cat
in the creek,
I believe it is
tainted water.
Either my eyes
are no longer keen,
or your cats are
far from clean.


THE CITY 4

An ant strolls on a drum,
it sees itself as a large army.
Echoes reaching from the rim
sound to it like a solemn hymn.

They ogle each other from skyscrapers
(the drum already a taught square),
a man, a god, in mirrored reflection,
flash thin smiles at the sculpted ant.
 

translated by Tatul Sonentz
VARAND 

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