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For Max

O cruel, drunken soul, darling tigress,
Come to my heart, you lethargic beast!
I long for my trembling hands to caress
Your thick and glossy fleece.

In your petticoats filled with your scent
To bury my poor, aching head,
Inhaling your flowery fragrance;
The sweetness of love now dead.

I wish to sleep, to dream perchance
As sweetly as death’s embrace,
Without remorse, my tongue will dance
On your coppery body and face.

To bury my sobbing for hours
Nothing equals your bed’s abyss,
On your lips lies oblivion’s power
And Lethe flows in your kiss.

Like one resigned to meet his end,
I’ll face my fate delighted;
Docile martyr, innocent condemned,
Whose fervour with pain is ignited.

I shall ****, to drown my malice,  
With nepenthe and hemlock blessed;
Placing my lips upon the chalice
Of your pointed, heartless breast.
Shane Leigh Dec 2017
//:reading -6537638-
Translation//:Reading you
Is like redirecting
The contours of my deepest emotions,
You compromise my heart,
-redirecting.//- Again, say you love me -
Are you listening?
///Do you understand?
I love you/submission./#587840.
If you do not
I will say it again:
I love you.//submission./#587841$&
© Shane Leigh
Playing with the idea of url coding. It's an interesting thing really (not real coding however, all just made up lol) Enjoy. (:
Cheyenne Nov 2017
I can't shake it--think I've been
Lost in translation.

Words aren't enough right now
Maybe they never were.

I go and try to put it down--to speak out loud--
Something's being left out.

All this rephrasing
It is so caging
That's not what I meant
You're getting in my head

I can't speak.
Stumbling over my words

Can't think.

And then they don't understand--
and that hurts

This can't be it--that's not it
The words--the terms--nothing fits.

It makes more sense when I'm silent.
Prabhu Iyer Aug 2018
Healing like the moon, you,
and jilted like the night am I:
paired in the heavens,
my darkness to your dream;

A cloud-patch of the downpour, you,
and I, a moment of the wait:
our meeting was written for this year;

The only passway:
your name,
the beat I live by.

Dressed in a bandhni pair,
leaving my father's lane will I come,
for you bringing,
sixteen monsoons together:
hold soft, for the string is sharp
for now starts the journey of seven lives;

I, at this end of the string
and you the other:
many the agonies before they come together!

The only passway:
your name,
the beat I live by.
Continuing on from my old project translating the lyrics of some of the finest songs from Indian films, here's the translation of the gorgeous title song from the 2018 superhit Hindi language film 'Dhadak' -

Original lyrics in Hindi by Amitabh Bhattacharya
Ralph Bobian Jul 2015
What can I tell you
About how I feel?
I can express I'm aware of every emotion,
And I know I need to heal.
I can tell you exactly where they came from
And what exactly caused them.
I can describe how they're so unbearably painful
And that I'm working to resolve them
I can explain in the most poetic and lyrically gifted way
How hard it is to face my emotions,
Each and every day.
I can weave my words on how I feel,
In ways that nobody can say
Just to make you comprehend the stress
That my mind and body pays

I’m a thousand miles from my own words
But the first to understand
It's like I'm fixing you a puzzle,
But the pieces are too far
from my reaching hand.
It's like I'm writing you a story,
But run out of ink to write the end.
It's like I'm without a paintbrush
Trying to paint an image in your head

So although I'm self-aware
Of every emotion that I've expressed
I'd rather be completely clueless,
And unaware instead.

Even though I can explain my emotions
Down to the finite and the specifics,
Even though
I can admit that I know
I've become undone and feel unfinished,
This entire time
I know you've tried,
But there's a point that you've been missing.
I want so badly to feel completed,
But the tools required

...are non-existent.
I feel everyone has a hard time expressing their emotions or even admitting or knowing that they need healing.  What I find even harder, being VERY self-aware of what's going on or knowing that things need to get better, and then you don't know how. That *****. This is for everyone lost in their own translation
SoVi Sep 2018
A desire to fulfill
Reality was changed
My path is different

But I realize

That on this night
There are only lies
About my dreams

When I wanted to escape
There were no doors
I slept in the darkness

In the beautiful night
I shed my tears

In the beautiful night
My hope left me

In the beautiful night
I lost the laughter, the light, and compassion
My happiness left me

In this world
I did not mean to tell you
That there are no wonders

I did not want to fill you with deception
I wanted to see you happy

In the beautiful night
My tears leave me

In the beautiful night
My smile evades me

In the beautiful night
Depression and anguish returns
Everything bad comes again

In the beautiful night
My fantasy is gone

In the beautiful night
My wishes leave me

In the beautiful night
My youth and hope are dead
Reality is all that's left

The night is full of stars
That fills the sky with little faith
But I know that all of this is a lie
To trap us in a fantasy that has nothing to of life left

When I wanted to escape
My hands raised
Ready to knock down all the walls
I did not want to hurt you
But this is the only way
To escape from this cruel world
I did not want to hurt you
But maybe this is for the best
That you do not remember the truth
From this cruel world
And how did they lied
Filling us with lies

That wishes do come true

The beautiful night is falling
And we are the cause of it
With our hands, we are going to
Shatter it
Burn it
Change it
We will  make our reality

In the beautiful night
We are going to gain faith

In the beautiful night
We'll consume the stars

In the beautiful night
We'll be the light that shines for the future
And create fantasies

© Sofia Villagrana 2018
Inspired by the song Ice/Sis Puella Magi from Puella Magi Madoka Magica.

The version of the song used specifically is:
Tommy Randell Dec 2014
To loosen with my bare hands
the wide air between us
in explaining something of meaning
I almost feel
I am pulling flesh
from the living and moving moments
possible here.

It is somehow breaking
the natural order of things
to use words alone
of all viable means
in setting out the wind-waves and rivulets
of ideas internally flowing -
but I must try and get something out for once.

I circle in bad phrases
prickling with the itchiness of sharing,
I send out a few vague words
horrified and perplexed
at their translation now they are *****
knowing you too listen
and they are at last unalterable.

Deep in the brain, far back
this is my bad time
but I know where the roots go
down into me
and from the storm’s heart
perpetual agitation pumps hand in hand
with calm acceptance.
The self *****, alternately
to fan and to freeze
whatever doubts or unease are burning.
Talk travels the spaces between us
through the clear air
in the kind of silence
surviving bones may know swinging in a wind.

But I know stillness can become alive
when living mouths bring their hearts to bear -
ears can well hear
what the breath has to say,
as the eye sees
the body’s smallest noises -
face to face we are a field of listening.

The warm comes without sound.
This is only the edge of a becoming.
We are not trapped in the lips -
already we lean inward
to know of each other and to give
not words for the wind
but a dance at ease with all that flows.
Prabhu Iyer Jan 29
If you love your land
then say ever,
"whether I live or not
this nation should live on"

If you love your land
then say ever,
"whether I live or not
this nation should live on"

And this after my time
shall live on,
"whether I live or not
this nation should live on"

Rip my veins open and
string them in a sitar,
and play the song of the nation
plucking again and again:

this love for the land
should well-over in the eyes,
"Whether I live or not
this nation should live on;"

Let the enemy be warned,
learn not to breach limits,
this my nation is eternal:
learn this truth be told!

Let the lustre of this devotion
shine vivified,

"whether I live or not
this nation should live on"

This be my pledge o nation,
pledge, o nation, this be mine:
may I forget thee not
for a moment even,

every drop that
courses in my veins
is yours this blood, and here
I offer what is ever yours;

This is a war for honour,
pride be high,

"whether I live or not
this nation should live on

whether I live or not
this nation should live on

whether I live or not
this nation should live on"
from the latest biopic of the patriotic Queen of Jhansi in central India, who died fighting British colonial atrocities in India's fist war of independence

the exceptional original lyrics are by acclaimed poet Prasoon Joshi:

to make the poem more general, I've changed 'Bharat' or 'India' in the original to 'nation' - without losing the sense of the poem; same as for Lute instead of Sitar!
Helena Abondano Aug 2018
I'm a shameless liar
lost in translation
consumed by the fire
Trying to see through the haze
exhaling is dire
I was counting on you to find
My Telephone wire

But don't worry, love
Any words I could have said have been said (before)
So sorry if I seem quiet tonight, love
the trembling in my voice
Shaking lips and broken words
Are worth the itching in my tongue
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2018
Never before,
Rain drenched so pleasing
Moon appeared so angelic
Soil smelled so alluring
Air passed so graceful
Sky floated so beautiful
Calmness felt so sublime
Never before

Silence exists
In coded virtue
Reflected a new dimension
On translation
The sage said
Genre: Observational
Theme: Meaning Of Life | Nature and Mankind |The Understanding
Medusa Oct 2018
<google translate just messed this up so badly that I had to put my real translation here, because even google gets it wrong sometimes>

You, you and you alone in this world
You who know me so ***** and know me
Not as well as I wish we knew ourselves together

I will see you again soon I feel this
You feel this we know this
this is knowing in the blood
under the moon, close to the river

where I dreamed of finding you
so many  years ago, my love

will you row this boat across the river?
someday we will have to let go of these dreams
but I will never let go without showing you all of my love

all of my love
bone deep to my palm
all of your love
where the x marks the spot

time is a circle that eats itself
knows nothing but hunger and longing
the days pass us by as they did before

we are better than that now
I want to crown my years
with something that feels a whole lot

a whole lot like you
ay ay ay ay ay ay
a whole lot like you

my years come falling down on me

years touch and go away
they have so much to say
so many dreams that never
were put into words

you remain
you remain
you remain
this is about being thankful with a side of hope, nothing translates perfectly
Flame Jan 6
How was I supposed to know
That even though
We said the same words,
We both meant
Different things?
Today I began to sing again,
Somewhat louder than the cry,
That I still cannot avoid
But that I can now bear,
Wrapped around me like a cloak.

Music knows how to call back,
That which was previously lost,
Through not knowing how to love,
Or not wanting to stand out,
And was buried in oblivion.

No fissure is too deep,
For us to climb out of,
The deepest darkness,
Can with a pure white light,
Be pierced.

A few notes on a chain,
impregnate a melody,
And out of ashes and sand,
Shoots of hope can grow,
And give birth to joy.

My mother in her sadness,
Cried tears of song,
With great skill,
And painful beauty,
Music was her daily lament.

My song is my poetry,
Toneless, painful, and impure,
It is not a song of joy,
But sadness provides release,
And hope endures.
Victor D López Dec 2018
Que tragedia es una vida malgastada,
persiguiendo lo que el orgullo pide,
a lo largo a veces uno lo percibe,
al ver cerca el final, lejos la entrada.

Nunca pensé ser yo quien destacaba,
Shakespeare en Macbeth cuando el describe,
la vida “sombra caminante” y la mide,
como “un cuento de un idiota . . . nada.”

Cuando se cerraron todos los portales,
que apuntaban a otros horizontes?
no me di cuenta, trepando por montes,
que no eran mas que tinieblas irreales.

Que ser honesto puede encontrar paz,
cuando la misma solo queda atrás?

A Wasted Life [English translation]

What a tragedy is a wasted life,
Chasing that which pride craves,
In time sometimes we come to realize,
When our entrance is far, the exit near.

I never thought it would apply to me,
When Shakespeare's Macbeth describes,
Life as a "walking shadow" and rates it,
A "tale told by an idiot . . . nothing."

When did all open doors close,
That led to other horizons?
I never noticed it, climbing mountains,
That were but insubstantial shadows.

What honest being can ever find peace,
Knowing it lies only in the past?
(C) 2018 Victor D. Lopez
RAO Feb 7
Wrote the Blueprint with roses, Till my arm exploded.
Three eyes in my mind controlling me.
These thoughts keep visiting
First play first act first scene
Caught in the jaws but this rose has teeth..
L'm No king no preacher
Worlds apart and I cant reach ya
I'm Armored like E-ze-kiel
Eyes Star-lit like Me to urs..
Joel A Doetsch Feb 2012
He owned books on many subjects
leather bound, with complex concepts
on which he'd ponder and reflect

He had it all, in some respects.

He could lecture quantum physics,
English literature and economics
He was renowned in academics

Though many found him quite eccentric

He explored the world only to find
That there's more to life than a brilliant mind
That there was a piece of him...undefined

See, He had never loved. He'd never pined

He knew all the math, knew all equations
He'd been to every corner of every nation
He'd learned 28 languages, knew every translation

But he was distraught by this realization

The pain he felt was too great to bear
He sank into the deepest and darkest despair
His heart was in need of dire repair

Finding love was his only prayer

He bumped into her by happenstance
and what began as an ephemeral glance
became a sucker punch from romance

She thought he was sweet, so she gave him a chance

That's when the world's smartest man finally learned how to dance
Somewhat inspired by the Dr. Who episode "The Doctor Dances"
Kathryn Heim Apr 2016
Where is your faith
in this world gone awry?
It got lost
in translation
between you and I.
Words we hear and words we say
set their sights on
mindful play,
and everything that
we are taught
merges with our
worldly thought.
That is why
the Savior said
heed my words upon your hearts,
for that is where my kingdom starts.
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
Sometimes Love is a butterfly
        with a bicycle for a heart
Sometimes Love is some darkness
        made of glass
Sometimes Love is a triangle
        of moving parts

Sometimes Love is a conversation
        of shattering stone
Sometimes Love is the flowering
        translation of bones
Sometimes Love is the geometry
        dancing in corpses of chrome
Sometimes Love is a 2D attempt
        made at a hologram of home

Sometimes Love is a fog of fire
        raging through an alphabet of sand
Sometimes Love is an assessment of risk
        nailed through the palm of a hand
Sometimes Love is treading on a snail
        exactly according to plan

Sometimes Love is a list of improbable things
Sometimes Love is the wisdom being older brings
Sometimes Love is the fatness of being slim
Sometimes Love is a find-out-later thing
Steve Page Mar 14
Don't be quick
to stop and search.
Do slow and speak.
Do stop at the curb.
Do sit.
Do commit to shape
a future city nation
where more space is given
to a wider conversation
with a newer translation
that's truer in comparison
than any black and blue
blunt force confrontation.
Listening to ill-conceived political solutions to social problems.
sara Jul 2018
I'm lost in translation,
by hallucinatory sensations,
between border and sea,
cold but free
like a continental breeze
that drifts lonely
to shore.
Still so unsure.
Then lost again, once more;
this time she's lost like never before.
Victor D López Dec 2018
Que tragedia es el hombre,
Pies plantados en el fango,
Con su mente en el cielo,
Anhelando a volar.

Que triste es una vida,
Repleta de recuerdos,
Y una luz se apaga,
Y se borran al final.

Que cruel es la esperanza,
Que como un espejismo,
Desvanece en el alba,
De nuestra realidad.

Que injusta es la vida,
Que honra a deshonrados,
Y otorga a almas puras,
Eterna oscuridad.

What a Tragedy is Man

What a tragedy is man,
With his feet planted in the mud,
His mind in the heavens,
Yearning to fly.

How sad is a life,
Full of memories,
A light goes out,
And all is erased in the end.

How cruel is hope,
That like a mirage,
Dissolves in the dawn,
Of our reality.

How cruel is life,
That honors the dishonorable,
And rewards the purest souls,
With eternal darkness.
(C) 2018 Victor D. Lopez
Madelynn Nieves Nov 2018
Standing on the precipice of what was
And what could be
I am terrified
Tongue tied
Visibly shaken
And somewhat uptight
I am lost in translation
The channel between the stations
All static and no feed
The words between the lines
That no one ever reads
All black and white
Total absence of color
I’ve given up the fight
Remembering my mother
And her always wise words
That I consistently wrote off
And outright called absurd
While in the corner she cried
Over the disaster that was me
While on the road
I was off calling myself free
Trapped in the self imposed cage
The scorching depths that I called my rage
Unexpressed and explosive
Waiting for a steady target
The one that it could get the most of
And you just so happened to be it
Ready aim fire
The missiles of preaching to the choir.
Adron E Dozat Oct 2014
Once you touched me.
I still feel it softly.
In my memory,
This touch on the arm;
Was it just casual?
I’ll always wonder.
It almost spoke out,
As if to say, “Hi,
I see you,” and more,
And I hoped it said
You sort of liked me.
But that touch spoke
No language I knew;
No true translation
Exist for its word.
Though its voice is gone
And made mute by time
I can’t forgot that touch,
And I am longing
For you to touch me.


(C) 2009 Adron Dozat
To order my book of inspirational poems at Amazon,
Crestfall Mar 10
Sparrow, delight of my girl,
with whom she is accustomed to play,
whom she is accustomed to hold in the fold of her dress,
for whom, seeking rapaciously, she is accustomed to give her fingertip and to urge sharp bites,
when it is pleasing for me to make some loving joke for my shining desire,
and a solace of her sorrow,
I believe, so that her so heavy passion may grow quiet.
If only I were able to play with you yourself,
and to lift the doleful woes of your soul!

It is as pleasing to me as they say that the golden apple was to the swift girl,
which unbound her girdle, having been fastened for a long time.
(C) Crestfall
My translation of Catullus' Carmen 2, A and B
Crestfall Mar 10
You shall dine well, Fabullus, at my house
in a few days, if the gods favour you,
if you will have brought with you a good and large dinner,
not without a shining girl
and wine and wit and all your laughter.
If you will have brought these things, I say, our charming one,
you shall dine well: for the purse of your Catullus is full of cobwebs.
But, in turn, you will receive undiluted loves
of anything which is either more delightful or more elegant:
for I will give to you perfume,
which the Venuses and Cupids gave to my girl,
which, when you will smell it,
you will ask the gods so that they might
make all of you, Fabullus, a nose.
(C) Crestfall
My translation of Catullus' Carmen 13.
Johnnie Woods Aug 2018
There are five widely known senses.
Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste.
We've got some minor ones as well, such as balance, temperature and many more.
However, people fail to realise that there's also the sixth major sense. Thoughts themselves.

   If we look closely, all these five senses have the same base. Specified cells in eye react to energy of light, cells of ear recieve energy in form of air's vibrations, skin cells pick up energy of mechanical changes, and so tasting and hearing depend on translation of certain substances' chemical energy.
   These cells in different organs differ in their structure and the way they appear, however, if we stop looking at them in such small scale, we can see that ALL of the cells or organs responsible for any sense translate the energy.
   So, a light enters the eye, certain wavelenght of certain energy stimulates the eye's rod or cone cells with a certain intensity. Then the energy of light is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of sight.
   If it comes to smell, a certain particle enters the nose, binds to a smell receptor cell, and the chemical energy of this particle is, again, translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of smell.

   Now, let's move to the crucial part. The sense of thoughts.
   During the creation of thought, pathways in our brain that collect memories(and many more known or unknown pathways) connect. First, there's this spark of electricity, that moves all along the neuron and releases a dose of neurotransmitters(amount of different NTs is equiavlent to strength of this spark, basically resulting in "creating" various thoughts).
Then, chemical energy of NEUROTRANSMITTER is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which happens in the brain, creating the sensation of thought.
   Therefore the 'sense of thoughts' reacts to and is stimulated by neurotransmitters themselves, with receptors on neurons' membrane being receptors of the stimulus. So, kind of like smell, the stimulus is chemical, compared to sight, where it's electromagnetic wave; anyways the result in all of these is electric impulse in neurons (hence the idea of "thoughts" as a sense, due to the same basic layout; transfer of energy).
   The 'smell particle' connects to receptor and is translated to a certain amount of neurotransmitters/certain strenght of neuronal impulse. SO, again, we can see that when the first outer layer of this communication is cut off, we're left only with the neurotransmitters and impulses themselves. Anyway, the transduction of energy remains.

   If it comes to "sense of thoughts" the receptor lies within us, whereas in sight or smell or touch it's external. However, does it matter if it's on the surface of skin or under it if it all comes down to neurons of our brain?
   When you lie in a dark, silent room, without any external stimuli, you still retain your thoughts, colorful, vivid or complex. All the magic of the brain - still happens. So, how isn't it a separate, full-fledged sense?
srkemp Aug 2014
It's true that they belong together
Freedom is just another word for fetter
To have it all and have no better
That is life's eternal weather.

It's true that meaning is lost in translation
Because no one cares to hear your explanation
As they hear the words that befits your station
And you've learned to speak as befits your subordination

It's true that there is nothing to thought
Poring out without a clot
Yet will never reach the point it ought
Instead used and swayed as they are bought

It's true that pain is just a stern friend
While hope just leaves you in the end
Pain's **** is the advice he'll lend
Which you should heed or another he'll send

It's true that there is fault in truth
Like beauty blunted by its youth
The horror of it was its proof
While a fraction of it still lies aloof.
Daisy Marrow Sep 2014
Find me across the room,
I am the silent morning.
I've known your name for centuries,
but mines still just a foreign language to you.
My tongue is tied
and you're lost in translation,
But that's just how these things will remain.
My body sings every time
because your smile is like a melody.
You light me up
shining brighter than the moon and stars.
I'll follow your voice to the beginning of our first hellos.
You're a perfect afternoon.
We could sing away evenings with the radio.
Drive to places only we would know
where there would be nobody but you and me.
So please won't you come talk to me
because you see my words are lost
and my knees are shaking like trees in the wind.
I hope it doesn't come as a surprise that you light up the room.
Every time I see you I hold my breath
and my mind goes blank.
So I suppose I'll just always be on the other side of the room,
loving you from afar.
a poem about a boy what else
Allesha Eman Jan 31
You are the abundance of stars only visible to the dreamer in the wake of night

The sun and its companions as they glow to shine a light on the surface of your skin

You are the mischief that forms the toothy grin on the face of a child’s curiosity

The everlasting glow on their faces as they question the world around them

And I am lost in translation, confused, amused and somewhat enchanted

To you I am the clouds that hide away your blue skies

But to me I am the ones that shield you from the glare of a jealous sun

And to each other we are foreign, bordered and misunderstood

Lost in translation I’m waiting for you to understand ,
That to you; you’re nothing, but to me; you’re my dreamland
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