Youthful Poems: The Dehydrated Brain of a Broken Heart

2006/6/20 15:30:08

Whether a 13-year-old brain or an 83-year-old brain, when water gets in you have so-called passionate love, when water dries up you have so-called heartbreak. What follows are the visions conjured by a brain of about 13, after dehydration.

I

In the ruins of an old dream, closing the drowsy eyes of memory
Phantoms of vanished years soak through an ice-bound heart
A great rock in the sea, solemn you still sink deep
Settled beneath my surging tides, silent and still

Smiling, smiling — those intoxicating eyes
Mercilessly, like golden chains, shackling my soul
Love! — What good is love to me after all
What I adore is only your blissful severity

Upon the vast ocean, a marble statue stands tall
Calmly, serenely forgetting the sea's laments and pleas on bended knee
At the feet the statue spurns, the sea with boundless
Tears embraces her beloved, forever silent one

Yet, by the sun's fading glow, the statue casts its long gray shadow
Into the distance, mercilessly shattering the sea's blissful tearlight

II

Once
My heart was so gloomy, like a pool never
Visited by sunlight — stagnant water, rippling with countless dead branches,
Its surface giving off a fetid stench.

Yet
On that quiet night when the moon hid and stars grew sparse, you ventured to the pool's edge
Gazing at the flickering starlight, tenderly forgetting
This pool's rot and filth.

Before long
Dawn light pierced the murky sky, and you, stunned,
Jolted awake from ethereal dreams, storming away from this
Dead water you had foolishly loved.

Thenceforth
The sorrowful pool bowed its head, silently accepting
Every offering of filth, and on each quiet night
Hiding that faint starlight behind tears.

III

By the lake grew an old pine tree,
On that golden morning in May,
Together we carved these names
Deep into the gray, wrinkled bark.

Beside the road lay a narrow clearing,
On that bleak autumn evening,
Every teardrop of parting
Fell silently across the bare yellow earth.

Now, the bark bearing those names
Was long since peeled away by mischievous children,
And the earth where hot tears fell
Has long been carpeted with fragrant grass.

Oh, when happiness is stripped away,
Sorrow always grows lush.

IV

Ah, companion of old, dear friend of days past,
Time's passing has not changed me one bit,
You and I, once hearts entwined, walking hand in hand,
Why now are we strangers, bitterly tormented?

How long ago, I pried open despairing, tear-filled eyes to gaze,
Greedily drinking tenderness from those gentle, shimmering eyes;
Stretching out feeble arms to hold you tight,
Letting life's warm current flood through me in an instant.

Now, blossoms under spring light become withered leaves in autumn wind,
The blazing sun of midsummer has turned to winter's bone-piercing cold.
These tender eyes that once brought me so much comfort,
Have now become two sharp blades, stabbing straight at me.

Come then, let my heart grind down your blade,
Lest it go on wounding other hearts like mine.

V

Day after night, night after day,
An old love that will not fade,
A tangle of sorrows impossible to unravel,
A cup of bitter wine, endlessly drunk.

That unexpected meeting long ago,
A pebble dropped into the lake,
In the quiet depths of the soul
Stirring ripples upon ripples.

This wrinkled heart of mine,
Mark of age upon the brow,
Merciless time ceaselessly
Carves in memories beyond words.

The pain of emotion can at last be subdued by tears,
But this sorrow of reason — how can one bear it?

VI

With passion, laying bare my heart,
Hoping for understanding, sympathy,
But upon your haughty face,
I see only calm — suffocating calm.

The moon's pale radiance always chills the quiet night,
Even though it reflects the world's most brilliant light.
That blazing sun — that is me,
Yet you before my eyes leave me so cold at heart.

VII

Oh, my love, I never think of you, never dream of you,
Your face, your figure, have never left the faintest trace upon my heart;
Your arrogance, your cruelty, have never caused me the slightest heartache,
Everything about you means nothing at all to me.

I have no heart, I have lost my soul, left with only a numb body.
All that once was mine is gone, there is nothing left to lose,
All that could be lost I have offered to you, leaving only death!
Do you want my death too? —

Take it then, take it! This is my final offering,
No heart, no soul, and now bereft of even death.

VIII

Star, you little thing,
What troubles weigh upon your mind?
Why do you flicker without cease,
Just like my own trembling heart.

Have you too lost dear friends, companions,
Do you too grieve and ache for times gone by?
Ah, kindred soul in suffering,
Tell me: "Why?"

You are leaving, departing forever,
To seek all that was lost,
Kneeling before that heartless one
To pour out your boundless regret and lament?

You are leaving, departing forever,
To follow the footsteps of a dear friend,
Scattering upon each row of footprints
Sorrowful tears, planting blue flowers?

Oh, kindred soul in suffering,
Quickly, with your cold pale light,
Engrave all the pain deeply
Into this powerless heart of mine.

IX

What can I drink? A pot of mild wine, a cup of
Clear tea, or a bowl of deadly potion?

What can I think of? A gust of autumn wind, a spell of
Spring rain, or an unfinished old love?

What can I write? A short poem, a brief
Song, or a desolate tragedy?

Indeed — I can drink, I can think, I can write, What I drink: deadly potion; what I think of: old love; what I write: tragedy!