T (no first name) Wignesan
T (no first name) Wignesan Poems
The Sensation Of Nothingness, Translation Of Carlos Bousono's Poem: Sensacion De La Nada
Consider, no matter what, even something agreeable
falls so low: in the pureness
of metaphysics, in the sublime
brightness of nothingness.
In the cubic emptiness, in the number
of fire. It’s the bonfire
which causes inanity to burn. In the centre
no wind whatsoever blows. It is the fire
pure, pure nothingness. No being inhabited by faith,
there is no extension. The reduction of the world
to a point, to a number which suffers.
Because it is hideous, a symbolical endurance,
without the uncertain material which enlivens it.
Is it the unwaveringness of ...
A Reluctant Sayonara
for my long-suffering, poetry-loving doctor sister: Thadshayani
« She must suffer to her last breath. (…) They'll all soon be as Dead as 0-Ren Ishii. »
« That woman deserves her Revenge. And we deserve to die. »
From « Kill Bill Vol.1 »
Two French girls in Paris