Friday, October 3, 2008


It was morning when she left,
leaving me with an entire night.
There was no yearning -- when she
left me with memories in the bud.
Was she soft, coarse – ornament, or a rose?
She was still dewy, as she took off,
leaving me with red thorns…
* * *
A single seed planted by love
can cool down entire infernos,
One single drop of a lover’s tear
can turn a desert to ocean.
Eons may come, eons may go,
Varand, your songs carry on,
imparting fire to frozen hearts,
and cooling seared ones…
* * *
A drop of wine imbibed when injured in love
is a flame shot up the arm, a bribe
To silence a lover’s suicide – a gory blade.
It is tears of sobs caused by love’s pain,
Or, when it reaches the tip of the pen,
it is – if you will – ink,
a quatrain…
* * *
As you know, a burn on living flesh smarts
and hurts with agonizing pain --
Intolerant, sensitive even to the caress
of a soothing, gentle breeze…
Imagine then the pain of a heart scorched
by the flames of searing love –
as the victim sighs: Burn me!
Burn me again!

Translated By: Tatul Sonentz

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