Poetry Poetry

  • Thread starter Thread starter Lupine
  • Start date Start date
Je suis la danseuse invisible
Ainsi suis-je née. Je me dois,
Pour être vue et perceptible
Et pour qu'on s'intéresse à moi,

M'habiller d'une peau de mots
Et d'une allure énigmatique
Derrière ma verve et mes propos
J'en ai presque l'air sympathique ...

Se cache derrière ma créature,
Une âme en peine, abandonnée,
On m'appelle la Sans-Coeur, l'obscure,
Ou l'éternelle inconsolée.

Je ne sais plus. J'oublie parfois
Ou est l'objet de mon envie.
Si me donner un nom tu dois,
Appelle-moi simplement ... Hervy.


I am the invisible dancer
Thus I was born. I must,
To be seen and perceived
And to be interested in me,

Dress myself in a skin of words
And an enigmatic allure
Behind my verve and my words
I almost look sympathetic...

Hides behind my creature,
A soul in pain, abandoned,
They call me the Heartless, the Dark,
Or the eternally inconsolable.

I don't know anymore. I sometimes forget
Where is the object of my desire.
If giving me a name you must,
Just call me... Hervy.
 
If your eyes are closed so you can't see
The beauty around you is what you are missing

Look at the people, the birds, flowers and tree
Look at the lovers in the park that are kissing

If you close your mind and all you think is me
I just pity you, your world and the life you are living
 
You wake up in the morning and the sun is shining
You look outside and all you can do is smiling

The trees and flowers are starting to blossom already
You clear up your terrace and garden while getting sweaty

You cleaning up here and there and another thing
And than you know it's finally there, it's spring
 
He who died at Azan sends This
To comfort all his friends
Faithful friends! It lies I know Pale and white and cold as snow;
And ye say, 'Abdallah’s dead!' Weeping at the feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,
I can hear your sighs and prayers;
Yet I smile and whisper this:
I am not the thing you kiss.
Cease your tears and let it lie;
It was mine—it is not I.

Edwin Arnold Death in Arabia
 
Apple

And here I am wondering,
restless and alone.
Something I’m all too familiar with,
heaven knows.

It never really came back.
Feelings.
My feelings.

And I can hear, I can see,
I can smell the sweetness from maple trees.

I can touch, touch, touch.
But it’s not coming back.

That feeling of love
I once had.

Maybe it’s different,
or maybe I’m weird.
Cause for some reason,
it feels like,

I don’t belong here.

I can taste the metallic bitterness on my tongue,
and those chapped lips
you tasted more than once

The only thing that seems familiar
is the surrender of touch.
The more you surrender your life to someone

the more you’ll be crushed

I am touching, touching, touching,
but oh everything just seems so
detached.

Because I cannot feel anymore.
I’m the bruised apple of the bunch.

Touching the same place
over and over;
until the appearance of

something.

Of anything that might resemble
of what it was,
we once had

But your touch just isn’t enough
anymore

The butterflies withered away,
then the cobwebs came.

For this love I once felt
uncertainty gnawed me.

The widow of my ribcage is
tearing this small heart,
and eating the love for you that I lived by

The more I surrendered,
the more I lost.

And now all that love I surrendered,
is almost gone

So if you see me picking,
see me scabbing at my chest,
see me bruising my heart
over and over

and over again

Don’t you stop me.

Pity me instead,
and pray these fingers that claw
at my heart

find you

For I long to feel

love
again
 
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