Apr 24, 2018 Original Poetry
Translation
©April 24th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
Words do not translate well –
Nothing does, really.
Like gazing through a one-way mirror
At something you can glimpse
From the side where you stand,
Or, from the other side,
Where you stand, and cannot see.
When the oceans which made life
Now contain the seeds
Of the destruction of that life;
When birds fall, stomachs distended
With objects one cannot bear to behold;
When people kill people in war
In peace, over race, religion,
Gender, money, while slipping away
With no consequences;
When wars are fought to swell
The bloated bank accounts
Of those so rich, they could
Re-build the earth over and over;
When hatred is a habit
And power is an object
To be grabbed at –
There are words that come to mind,
But none will suffice.
None will suffice, so that even
In the Ice Age of feeling,
The warmth of language
Is denied.
Words do not translate well.
When the playing fields
Saturated with sunlight
Ring with the voices of children
Kicking a ball around;
When the seedlings you planted
Break through the rich, warm soil
And reach upward with delight;
When the dog rolls her eyes at you
In mischief, and attacks a paper bag
In sheer, mad joyful play;
When the music you make
Is a temporary sand-bag
Against the encroaching waves;
When people help others in need
With no anticipation of recognition –
There are words that come to mind,
But none will suffice.
None will suffice, for,
In the sea-swell of feeling,
The landmass of language
Goes under.
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