Sometimes...
I wonder if a pair of eyes is really watching over us
to give us guidance and courage.
...
This poem is written as a reflection on Albert Camus' tour-de-force novel, L'etranger (the Stranger) . However, instead of applying Albert Camus' writing style, I attempted to write like Shakespeare, using his Elizabethan English, which I eventually realized, ain't easy at all.
Maman died today,
or perhaps, yest'day.
...
A delicate
touch
of the finger tips with the
keys,
...
And so I ran out of my room,
Out of my dorm,
Into the rain,
Barefoot.
...
Quietly and surreptitiously,
I tiptoed my way out of my hotel room,
Leaving my snoring parents behind.
...
Voluptuous, round, soft, and plump,
Breasts- the ultimate source of pleasure
For babies and for men, alike.
...
A glare from you,
Condemns me into an abyss of eternal punishment.
Like The Myth of Sisyphus,
Like The Woman in the Dunes,
...
Holding a pile of sand in thy hands,
thou watch'st with awe-
a pile of sand; a myriad of grains,
then collected; now dissipated.
...
Beautiful, no more.
Bloodly red, no more.
Once vigorous with l'amour,
Now dead with nothing more.
...