Catastrophic Beloved
Summer has come,
Days sear the scarlet,
As though my darling lit up the fire,
Her rose lipstick melted
over the face of the land.
The sun blinds the eye that seeks it,
Perchance, my love is behind it.
Lying asleep
in woodlands I adore,
Therein, her shadow reposes.
A leaf may cascade off the tree,
Perchance, it is her lips,
That might meet mine.
Now then,
a man told me,
An Incident happened in a city,
I asked, what is it?
He said, scant the scarlet sears,
Your love sears love, all over.
I heard,
Before his eyes,
A crowd of people stood.
They ate the air,
Nor was a moment of breath given.
Days turned weeks,
Days passed by a wish,
Longing deep within,
Their hearts desired a glimpse,
Of Beloved's Mystique.
Unto death did they dance,
Many died, let the living dance.
Demised in their desire,
Yet they see no glimpse.
Had I stood among them,
For whose sight many died,
Aryan alone holds her glimpse as a right.
Given to all desirers of glimpse is death,
Aryan sees his love unveiled,
Standing above,
smiling at them.
[Dance plague, 1518]
My love,
you have been the greatest catastrophe!
Severest of all!
Your beauty and the men it draws,
Yet when it stirs a storm,
you ask the cause.
You are not one to soil your own body,
Laying hands on charcoal you dislike,
Thus, you leave the wide island
with the shadows of dead men,
As you like,
Sure as the sun is your garment.
[Hiroshima, 1945]
Lady engages in chess,
Playing each side herself.
Last black piece she once moved,
Akbar was then called victorious.
Had Beloved moved white piece,
Maharana Pratap had not lost the fight.
Legion of empires rose and fell fast,
For how can chess delight evermore?
Kings are enthroned and exiled,
New conflicts and events arise.
Over the quiet skies,
A storm she chooses.
Let there be great sound,
Since dullness she dislikes.
Beyond the skies she is,
Hidden over the clouds,
Man looks above,
Yet again the desire for a glimpse
follows man's heart,
Placing each brick together,
They soil their bodies,
But a tower so tall they build,
Near unto beauty, passions thrill.
As said Aryan,
Never does she soils herself.
Soiled men, toiled themselves,
Foul becomes their struggle,
She makes men confused,
They hear gibberish among themselves.
Tower stands above,
Yet treading the stairs, men descend,
Descends as well man's desire,
Let it die with him.
She smiles,
enjoying the futility of man.
Catastrophe you are,
are you not? Says I.
Longer than time walked,
I lingered patiently for you.
The one seared in passion sears still,
Lamenting,
“The way you have come,
Better it had been,
had you not come.”
You are here,
and were I to tell my love,
Begone,
Who is so lost in folly?
Now you have come a long way,
For so long I lingered,
It is wiser, my love,
to be wise now.
Sear nothing of the world,
But my flesh and bones lie here;
Sear them as you care.
Never have you soiled yourself,
Let once you be soiled now.
Burn my body you gaze upon,
Lay your hands upon its ashes,
Yes, be stained of myself.
I cannot ask my shadow to leave,
Nor can I depart from my shadow easily,
Then stir myself,
The shadow you shall be.
Apart from all that you bore,
Gift of love you bear,
Share of my love, you shared,
Carrying my love, you came,
You have come,
and I am glad, you came.
Carrying my love,
you came lonesome,
Departing would not be solitary.
Your hands holding my remains,
I will come along,
together with you.
Image of fairness,
Beyond the soil works you are,
Let myself be the only iniquity you uphold.
Hear me speak, my love,
be stained of myself.
