"lorg" poems
Wandered I to that ancient place
found your footprint upon the shore,
sea meeting sky and sky meeting earth
the scent of your passing upon the wind.
*Thaisteal mé go dtí an áit sin ársa
Fuair do lorg ar an gcladach,
spéir cruinniú farraige agus spéir domhain cruinnithe
an boladh de do rite ar an ghaoth.*
Cried your name through whispering glen
spoke to Holy Oaks and brooding pines,
nights growing long and the days unkind
only ever traces of you could I find.
*D'ainm trí ghleanna
Labhair le Naofa agus goradh,
oícheanta fás fada agus na laethanta
ach riamh rianta de tú raibh mé in ann a aimsiú.*
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
Tha cuimhne agam air an latha fliuch sin;
An latha a thòisich thu a 'tathaich orm.
**** thu aon sùil, agus leag thu mi leis na sùilean sin.
Thuirt thu aon fhacal, agus thuit mi ann an gaol.
Beannaichidh mi an latha a lorg thu mi;
Agus beannaichidh mi an latha a thig sinn gu bhith na aon.
I remember that rainy day;
the day you first [began haunting] me.
You took one look, and leveled me with those eyes.
You said one word, and I instantly [become infatuated].
I will bless the day you found me;
And I will bless the day we become one.
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 3:45 PM UTC
You were a ghost in my arms; a phantom in my bed.
I swear you had no reflection as if you were dead.
This affair’s death was inevitably beginning to show.
Chaos was in my heart, but emptiness was in your shadow.
Even though you walked like a lioness in her pride,
There was a vacuum of sorrow in my insides.
Internally, it was a cascade of dark, no-void form.
But externally, you were the one who brought the storm.
You forever etched your image across my skyline.
But alas, the sun is gone, and your image has died.
Bha thu an thaibhse an mo ghàirdeanan; taibhse na mo leabdaidh.
Tha mi a’ mionnachadh nach robh sgàthan agad; mar na mairbh.
Bha bàs an daimbh seo gu cinnteach a ‘toiseachadh a’ nochdabh.
Bha gealtach nam chridhe, ach bha falambh nad sgàil.
Eadhon ged a choisich thu mar uaill an leòmhann.
Bha mi làn bròn nam broinn.
Taobh a-staigh, gleann de chruth dorcha gun bheàrn
Ach air an taobh a-muigh, b ‘e thusa a-thig an stoirm.
Tha thu gu bràth air do ìomhaigh a dhèanamh thairis air faire agam.
Ach, thig a lorg, tha a ‘ghrian air falbh, agus tha an ìomhaigh agad air bàsachadh.
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 12:14 PM UTC