True,
Pain at times
Dissipates
Just like those imprints on the seashore
With the retrieve of the wave
And your smile beloved
A healer,
To those hidden wounds
A mother’s touch
For the infant’s discomfort,
But the echoes of the River Tigris
Clashing with the rocks of its banks
And those hymns
From the old Cathedral
Along with the Sunday toll
Will stand a proclamation
As I discover yet again… downcasted
That my abandonment
Of the Fertile Crescent
Through that gate of shame
A one way voyage
For the thousands
Who drifted across the grounds of doubt
Will haunt,
Forever,
My little domain...
Oh how could I explain my despair
As I stood there
Staring at the plane resting ahead
Confused
Dragged myself
As tears rolled down …
Warm,
A silver creek in the meadows of silence
And a whisper of a last good-bye
Carried away with a butterfly
Caught in the winds of uncertainty
In that hazy day
Thrown unmercifully,
Violently against the wall of freedom...
Oh how sad it felt there
All alone in our torrent land...
Tried desperately to reach for you
Supplicated deeply…
Oh friend
Embrace me… touch me…
Heal this torment, this burning pain
Lend me a brush and some paint
To delineate
Some colorful banners
And perhaps a rose garden
To brighten this fading sanctuary of mine...
I feel your anguish and sorrow for me
Stretched
Like The Two Mighty Rivers
Extended across the blessed land of Assyria
From those tiny masked steps of yours
On the grounds of this airstrip
All the way to Edessa
Through King Sargon’s Castle in Nineveh
A castle we used as a perch
To roam with the Eagles
And chant with the birds...
I turned my face around
Exposing the vigor in my eyes
to the rapists of Bet-Nahrain
Not sure if they understood...
Have they ever?
Forgive me,
For I am carrying this weary, lonesome body
Across continents
And leaving behind
My restless soul
In the hands of Ashur
Roving the Holy Temple...
Forever...
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
First Edition Translation of Teselas by Carmen Crespo X111 César Simón Poetry Prixe 2016 Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospíde