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KURILA wrote:HI, are you able to help me with analyzing a poetry a poem(one)/some poetry(multiple). I will take my first years last exam in September, so if you can help me I'll be very happy, bye and take care.
TRAIN
In this train:
Women
And
Men and
Their bags
And their lives,
Like in the gut of a giant worm
Eating its way through the apple of the night.
BOMBING
Explosions like distant thunder
And windows trembling from time to time
Are rushing you
While you’re trying to make
A birthday cake for your child,
Trying to finish in the break between
The two power cuts,
Before they use those damn blackout bombs again…
THREE PICTURES IN COLORS AND WORDS
(synesthetic fragments)
I
Red is shaping A’s and M’s,
Beautiful theorems sleeping in their own hands,
As airports are sleeping in the hearts of their own noise…
II
I was staring into U,
Both covered in Blue.
I – creepy voyeur of gentle curves,
Staring through…
III
Beauty could mean that something went wrong:
Long
Rows of Black Ls,
Stories to hear, stories to tell,
Before it gets too dark, too late…
DEATH II
When the death comes,
Resembling solitude,
Final defeat of a positive attitude
You recommend as a good choice,
Will you accept?
Will you regret
Too many things or only a few?
Will you be perfectly calm
and content
that you are going back
to the pool,
to be recycled,
reused – all your thoughts,
all your joys,
all your good choices and all turmoils –
all broken down to single atoms,
to make new moments for someone random.
SOLITUDE:
You look in a book
And there’s no one there.
You look in your inbox
And there’s no one there.
You look around the room
And there’s no one there.
You look through the window
And there’s no one there.
You look in the TV
And there’s no one there.
You look in yourself
And there’s no one there.
Rémy LeBeau wrote:This is a short poem about Punjab, in Punjabi. It is anti-religion, anti-India, and anti-Pakistan. The English translation probably leaves a lot to be desired.
ਇਹਨਾ ਸਾਰਾ ਖ਼ੂਨ ਡੋਲ ਕੇ ਕੱਖ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੀ ਮਿਲਿਆ
ਧਰਮਾਂ ਵਾਲੇ ਖ਼ੂਨ ਪੀ ਪੀ ਰੱਜਦੇ
ਕਿੰਨੇ ਸਾਰੇ ਸਾਡੇ ਮਰ ਗਏ ਸਭ ਕੁਝ ਸਾਥੋਂ ਖੋ ਗਿਆ
ਸਿਆਸਤ ਵਾਲੇ ਫ਼ੇਰ ਵੀ ਹੋਰ ਮੰਗਦੇ
ihnā sārā ḳhūn ḍol ke, kakkh nahīṅ sī miliā
dharmāṅ vāle ḳhūn pī pī rajjde
kinne sāre sāḍe mar gae , sabh kujh sāthoṅ kho giā
siāsat vāle fer vī hor maṅgde
After all that bloodshed, we've gained nothing
But the preachers fill their appetites with our blood
How many of ours have been killed? We have lost everything
But the politicians still want more
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