untranslatable
if you ever master poetry,
write me into a word
that cannot be replaced by any other
a soft sound
where birds could rest their wings
and learn the dialects
of each other
translate me into a word
like sehnsucht
like saudade:
known only to the vocabulary of your voice
when a painter and poet meet
I
mid-September - we're walking, lost
in rumbles of today's street. some men are talking.
some are not.
suddenly, your voice is a room I can walk through,
every syllable, a resonance aching
through my body;
I know
I am already smiling
II
walk slow I say
so that I can rest somewhere in your voice
and read Cummings, or maybe
just watch your hands paint poems into me
a vase of van Gogh's sunflower, a host of starry skies
III
i do not want to stop walking, but somehow we do.
all around us, the noisy crowd of a street.
your fingers within mine, are as obvious as them all.
everything is loud, everything is silent
and our hands, a metaphor to every poem
I haven't written:
just too simple to resolve
My name is Namita Krishnamurthy. A ardent reader, aspiring poet and musician, I reside in Kerala in India. I write mostly free verse, but am also into well-written rhyming works. I am 14 years old, and have been published in a state newspaper, three local magazines and one international anthology. I am also a fifth grade pianist. More of my works can be found at:
http://allpoetry.com/poem/by/Namita
http://allpoetry.com/poem/by/
