This…thing… which visits me,
torturer so intimate
which knows me better than I know myself:
calls out all my resources
to transcend its pains;
changes always its approach
as if it’s quite determined to
leave no corner unexplored…
plays on my fears, my hopes, my dreams…:
what can I do but see it as
the hurdle (which I built myself?)
but failed to clear, the last time round;
have another try…see it from
the helicopter hovering overhead
which photographs, but does not feel
the rider or the horse; the going, or the race..
have another try…it is the way
to develop and refine your skills;
another day, another race; and
after it, serenity; detachment; laid-back day..
some hidden deal’s been struck
and time has witnessed it.
You too? You’ve met this thing
emerging from unreason to the light?
Join me in the stillness; for that
which this affliction plays with in disguise,
this must be love; this must be grace;
this must know its own origin;
all else shall pass; meanwhile,
the joke is this: it’s bearable…
if not, it wouldn’t work…
This poem a knowing smile;
black demon with an angel’s eyes.
Brilliant work with nice ending: 10++ 'This poem a knowing smile; black demon with an angel’s eyes.This poem a knowing smile; black demon with an angel’s eyes.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'What is this thing called love' - a popular song of moons ago - - yet I feel this piece is not announcing that fact Michael - - your verses are always full of profundity - - makes the reader think - hhhhmmmm - - pain control comes to mind but in either case another thought-provoking winner - - and a greeting of much warmth from Fay....xxxx