What if the present is not present but dreamt? What if the past is not past but future forecast? For all of this, I am living now is reenacted Of the previous life, I once lived forgotten But not erased in the paroxysm of sadness That my soul cannot bear without tears And the heart refuses to shield in reason Because the grief weighs against hope – The forced illusory vision to staged elysium – With every fate already weaved, cut, and shipped To Destiny from Departure to Arrival, and again Till the Moon orbits the Earth for 1000 years To live 1000 lives elsewhere in whatever forms, Each bearing pieces of cracked memories Reflecting the central fractures of the pasts In the circle of life, the wheel of lives. Alas, poor soul! I know her, dear reader! Pity her not with the condescension of charity! But give her a rope at the end of a life Not to fall into the cruel rat race of the rut Not now, not ever, once, and that’s all for good.
High towering ire beneath the mountains of tidal waves whirling, Darkness howling, ascending to light moaning, descending, Blackest somber fear turning into whitest hot hubris roaring, The spirit in the fetters bursts upon the furious waters, revolting.
The souls of the dead rising from the abyss and walking, Midnight, moonlight, and starlight upon the waters shining, Heaven gaping then cracking, earth laying and embracing, The spirit with the wings clipped begins to flutter and leap, rejoicing.
I have seen the insidious sea Lull the children of the shore With the sweet aeolian lullaby And the pretty nymphs appear From the bottom of the ocean To bring them into the palace Where their father, Poseidon Keeps the souls of the sea As is his mighty brother Zeus For the world above and beyond; Woe betides those who forego The fates of the young souls, For their grandfather, whose eyes See the insidious machination Fascinate the innocent hearts In the whirlpool of rapid waves! The old man’s fury is greater Than the furious god of the sea; He dives into the angry waters, Fighting against the god in spades With his bare arms cutting the waves Like swords that could kill ghosts And wins of his two grandchildren; From the god whose wrath sees No end until it grows the waves Into the myrmidons of madness And carries the old man into the abyss.
P.S.: This poem is based on my reading of a newspaper article that a sixty-one-year-old British grandfather died while trying to save his two grandchildren, aged seven and ten, in the sea off the island of Crete, Greece. The man got into the sea, fighting with the rapid, treacherous waves like Caligula, who declared war on the sea, whipping the waves furiously to invade Britain. Finally, his grandchildren got out safely, but alas, the old man was engulfed by the wrath of furious waves and drawn to the bottom of the sea. I could not just forego my feelings upon reading the story with poetic elements that also bring me the mythological image of Laocoon, the Trojan priest punished by Poseidon who sent the great serpent engulfing him and his two young sons for his discovering the Greek ruse about the wooden Trojan horse. Hence this little poem is in memory of the brave and loving grandfather.
Light and dark, full and empty – how mysterious! Spring of Words is now elusive – how tantalizing! To the secret seeker with no pity – how heartless! And no more spirit so festive. – how agonizing!
Midnight and moonlight and shining stars – so beautiful! Angles and fairies and ghosts – so ethereal! Come to my aide before I lose sight of it! – Yes, quickly! And possess me with the best of your powers – by all means!
Is Tree of Knowledge going to become sere? – How unthinkable! Has Tree of Knowledge already become sere? – How miserable! Let nothing dishearten my spirit still pursuing, still trying With hope, while I breathe, even if it seems impossible. How beautiful!