Inspired by a young and beautiful friend Jessie :), I seemed to have got some of my zest for writing back in this cold and windy afternoon (not that I write well, but I did write what I meant only). I'm going to put together a few poems I wrote before, as a reminder to myself, what a passionate person I used to be.
Danse Esmeralda
08/09/2006, By XP, modified 02/19/09
When the Sun has hidden the last ray of his light
danse, Esmeralda,
the bleeding bonfire shines on your hair dark as night.
Your handbell tinkles like wild roses fill the air,
Rivers and mountains of home in the far distance,
grow into blossoms on this strange new land.
Your eyes are brighter than the stars;
the smiles on your face fly,
together with the fluttering skirt flare.
That weightless waist brings the smell of Spring,
and ecstasy to the heart of vagrants.
You offer him cool water under the scorching sun.
Danse, Esmeralda,
My soul spreads its wings above the fire from Hell.
The travelers who stop for you on the plaza.
and the old lady who waits no longer,
are so alike, lonely inside.
I sobbed quietly after a flashing joy.
Danse, Esmeralda.
even beauty is not a promise for ever.
You perished in the season of cherry flower,
your love lingers on the guitar of summer.
My broken heart falls in this vale of tears,
suffers the torture of agony one after another.
Danse, Esmeralda,
It is such a fair picture in the early morn,
the memory about you brings me back over and over.
Danse, Esmeralda,
Is it there not any more bitter,
Have you found the happiness of a roamer?
Fireworks
11/12/05, By XP, modified 02/19/09
I remember in the plaza of a late fall,
there gathered a big crowd.
Some people talked aloud,
some exchanged smiles.
They were all waiting for miracle to kindle
the dusk that had just departed
I held my breath, stared at the first tender,
shy as the first kiss of lovers, quickly hid
behind the sparse stars long forgotten.
Moonlight was shining and said: don't sorrow,
your sentimental heart,
lo and behold,
there is another flower,
that illuminates your trembling mouth sending a soft sigh.
The bloom was of such grace,
it rose, rose
and pauses to impregnate
many many small lights for the next splinter moment.
They were isolated, awash, thick, light
They were red, green, purple, golden
Ah,
fire suddenly spread in front of my eyes,
all the starts and ends were awaken.
Who were falling from heaven so determinedly,
as if it were only for the innocence at the very beginning?
With tears inside I looked up,
at millions of ardent lives going by without an answer.
If all has been arranged long before, fireworks
I will remember your radiant happiness for ever.
I think I posted these two poems in a english writing forum or something, and obviously have written the following comments as a reply to a comment. Boy I had energy then...
' Your question ignited a thread of thoughts of mine. Honestly I never know how to write a poem, but I do know for so many times there was so much of how I feel, yet only the tip of the "fireberg" presented itself from the lines (pardon my poor skills). I'm just going to let my thoughts flow here but as a warning, it may get rather melodramatic. So if you are not in the right mood, DON'T read on.
"A place for the beautiful"
"Sad but pretty", actually you summed up "Danse Esmeralda" quite concisely. The image I tried to create was exactly as the title tells: Esmeralda, dancing. To me Esmeralda represents the purest form of beauty and good, ... like a wild white rose growing out of the darkest soil - I want to say red, yet only the color of white can limn the innocence of her soul. Oh how beautiful she was, and always will be. Even the hardest heart could not resist being attracted. I tell you mon amis, people need beautiful things to live. We all do. As Bishop Myriel (Bienvenu, my favorite character in Les Mis) simply put it: The beautiful is more useful than the useful.
But sadly for the beautiful herself, most people like her only because she is useful to them, because of how she makes them feel. Few love her for who she is and truly care about her own feelings or even survival. Beautiful things are often delicate, and they are often the only ones who pay that price. Beauty and kindness may be ease the pain of others, but they are by no means weapons to defend oneself in this harsh world. In the most extreme and dramatic case, death is their only solution. In this poem "I" appears as a weeping looker-on, grateful for Esmeralda's beauty but sad for her fate, for the fate of the beautiful and the good. I think, there is also some anger in that mourning, for the world has never been and may never be fair to her.
Hopefully you sense a little bit light tone in the lines, though. I was listening to Gypsy music while I composed this one. That's the wild side of Esmeralda, untrammelled in every way, body and soul (This also means the good that shines in her is completely out of free choice, not shackle of morality, which makes it especially precious and beautiful). Imagine a girl like that dancing beside a fountain in the early morning of a plaza! That scene brings joy and happiness to me, however short it may be. I hope, that she's found the eternal happiness in another world.
"The greatest love"
I wrote "Fireworks" in a much more upbeat mood. I will never forget the grandiose sensation of watching fireworks close by, and hope to have been able to depict some of that feeling. But the theme is not about the physical beauty. "I"
is a person who searches for the meaning of life, yet never finds the answer. When she watched the fireworks, she suddenly realized that there have been so many people in this world who also never found the answer, but lived their lives in a splendid and joyful way. She hopes she can be one of them. :)
This morning on the bus when I was thinking of this poem, more thoughts stroke me. Having suffered from depression for quite a few years, for many times I felt so tired of living and wanted so much to end all my pains all together. But I didn't. I sometimes wonder why. Aside from responsibilities that everyone has to carry, it suddenly occurred to me that ultimately it is the love for life that makes me stay. In our lives we may love many things, but the greatest one, now it seems to me, is the love for life itself. We may get disappointed, get hurt. We may be wronged, angry. We may be in pain, seeing no purpose and future. However desperate we feel, we can't, even though we may not realize it, stop loving life. Once and once over, new hopes and new dreams will give us reasons and lead us on. From a religious angle, that is the best gift from God. For atheist like myself, it is rooted in our biological being. Nobody can deny it. OK the above may seem nonsense to you, but the reason why they are significant to me is that I know there are millions of people (perhaps more) who suffer from suicidal thoughts every day. I wish I could find a way of thinking that helps. Being an intelligent individual, I've been in the darkest abyss of mind many times myself. Maybe next time that will help me... Well I'll just remember to have faith in that greatest love of all. '
Here's another one that I like myself:
Dove
XP, 04／02／07, modified 02/19/09
Under a tree by a busy boulevard,
there lay her tiny, light body.
Quietly, like a small piece of rag,
it could not feel, it could not breathe.
Few passerby seemed to notice,
or stopped for a moment of grief.
While the light was still red,
I mused on the past days of her life.
Her feathers glittered in the sun,
her cooing echoed so sweet.
How proud she had been in the sky,
touching the cloud, riding the wind.
Since the first morning she spread wings,
she has been followed by admirers.
yet she strolled till seeing her destiny.
Had she ever been troubled?
Did she ever cry when the winter was snowy?
But however wild my imagination goes,
there are places I can never reach.
The passion of life she had lived,
will remain a secret for eternity.
And now the light turns green,
I am back to the traffic, weary,
Perhaps I'll soon forget all about her,
perhaps that's what she wanted to be
OK here come two really sad ones, the first one was written during the 48 hours of Bilbo's death. I cry every time when I think of the dying creature, proud Bilbo, the calm despair in his eyes. That was the only time he sought comfort from my touching, and that was all that I could do.
Sleep
- To Bilbo, E=MC3, Espoir
02/27/05, modified 02/19/09
Rest, my dear,
in a complete and crystal clear dream,
light shed through the cloud
will surround you, pellucid
as deep lake water.
You are safe like an embryo in the uterus,
the quiet clock goes to eternity.
Do you simply run,
climb and jump? Freedom
is the heavy rain in the afternoon
that irrigates all the sweet fruits.
I proceed, carrying my sins,
exploring with my own species.
I reach for sunshine, truth,
that falls to our world.
You don’t know you saved me.
I will finish the journey left,
endure anguish, enjoy happiness.
There will be one day,
when my time comes.
Then, would you hate me?
If I could hold your hand,
and pick a flower from Spring
I watch you from outside the window
soft breath, no pains.
Sleep, my dear
Elegy
12/07/05, modified 02/19/09
In the late night I woke up from a dream,
I heard a song stirring up in my heart.
The grief that has been lurking for long,
turned into tears on a weeping violin string.
Do you know?
Autumn has passed,
even in the warmest south,
leaves and grasses have begun to fall.
In a galaxy I cannot see,
who is smiling in your eyes?
Since the day you left,
for a thousand, a thousand times I have tried to forget.
At times your name slipped off my tongue,
no longer shoving waves in the ocean of my mind.
But on this winter night,
the helplessness on your face,
and the agony you could not speak,
suddenly came to me as tides,
into the eyes that have long been dry.
My poor dear,
Those moments and many others in the past,
have etched me so deeply,
that I cannot forgive life,
just as I cannot forgive myself
Has your pain ended?
I pray for your happiness.
I am still here struggling, rising and falling,
occasionally jotting down the sorrow of an elegy
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