TECHNIQUE: Heng Siok Tian (Singapore)

I like the way

You hang up the face towel

Every night, after washing

Your face, before going to bed.

With gentleness

Hanging up the towel,

Like Life

Soaked with tears

Wrung with bruising failures.

I like to learn

How to face the towel,

Hanging up the tears

(as if to dry)

Hanging up the failures

(to evaporate)

So quietly, quietly.

From your gentle gesture

I know you don't like

To bother others.

(It's technique.)

SONG OF THE FLOWER: Kahlil Gibran

I am a kind word uttered and repeated by the voice of nature;

I am a star fallen from the blue tent upon the green carpet.

I am the daughter of the elements with whom Winter conceived;

To whom Spring gave birth;

I was reared in the lap of Summer and I slept in the bed of Autumn.

At dawn, I unite with the breeze to announce the coming of light;

At eventide, I join the birds in bidding the light farewell.

The plains are decorated with my beautiful colours,

And the air is scented with my fragrance.

As I embrace slumber, the eyes of night watch over me;

And as I awaken, I stare at the sun,

Which is the only eye of the day.

I drink dew for wine, and harken to the voices of the birds,

And dance to the rhythmic swaying of the grass.

I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath;

I am the memory of a moment of happiness;

I am the last gift of the living to the dead;

I am part of joy and a part of sorrow.

But I look up high to see only the light,

And never look down to see my shadow.

This is wisdom which man must learn. 

SONG OF A COMMON LOVER: Flavien Ranalvo

Don't love me, my sweet,

Like your shadow

For shadow fades at evening

And I want to keep you

Right up to cockrow;

Nor like pepper

Which makes the belly hot

For then I couldn’t take you

When I'm hungry;

Nor like a pillow

For we'd be together in the hours of sleep

But scarcely meet by day;

Nor like rice

For once swallowed you think no more of it;

Nor like soft speeches

For they quickly vanish;

Nor like honey,

Sweet indeed but too common.

Love me like a beautiful dream,

Your life in the night,

My hope in the day;

Like a piece of money,

Ever with me on earth,

And for the great journey

A faithful comrade;

Like a calabash,

Intact, for drawing water;

In pieces, bridges for my guitar.

SILVERY BEACH: Nu Yin (Burma)

Once

For relations

I visited this place.

Alone

On this silvery beach

Beside the cliffs

I walked in thought.

I gazed at the endless sea

And I pondered.

Gazing at the sapphire and green sea

I felt calm.

I did not tire of staring at the waves coming towards the beach

Like crumbling mountains

With terrific sound

Like wanting to devour and swallow,

Being alone, I felt scared

And took shelter from this tide and rough wind

Beyond the edge of cliff

While I was seeking shelter

 I thought of the cliffs

And of our lives.

Though these dreadful waves

Could sometimes overleap,

They could not overwhelm cliffs.

"Similarly in one's existence

Though violent minds

Like rough winds

May be attacking you,

If one practices patience

One can have the tranquility in one's heart."

While taking shelter behind a cliff

This thought came to me.

RABINDRANATH TAGORE: Niyamat Hussain

If I am slaughtered

All that remain of me,

My blood, my fresh, my remains

Will be Bengal,

My grief, my pain, my love, my peace

Shall belong to Bengal.

Bengal has suffered intensely

And yet despite her suffering

In her literature

And in her songs

Is the anguish of her language:

This is the suffering we share.

We respect the memories of

Shakespeare, Dante, and Tolstoi

But in the blood of my heart

Remains Tagore.

All the time

When I eat, sleep or am awake,

Amidst solitude, amidst people,

A song echoes within my heart

In the language of Tagore.

This language rescues

 my heart 

MY DEAR FRIENDS: Guang-Su-Ying (Korea)

Oh, brothers and sisters!

Do you hear, do you hear

The sound of the song I sing

As I sit beneath the ruined wall,

Bowed down on kneeling low?

Oh, brothers and sisters!

Do you breathe, do you breathe

The fragrance of the sandal-wood oil

Which I burn with a trembling hand

In a broken censer bowl?

Oh, brothers and sisters!

Do you see, do you see?

I stand and wait weeping

Outside the city wall and yearn

For you, for a place in your heart.

IN VAIN: Chairil Anwar

The last time you came

You brought bright flowers,

Red roses, white jasmine,

Blood and holiness,

And spread them in front of me

With a decisive look : for you.

We were stunned

And asked each other: what's this?

Love? Neither of us understood.

The day we were together.

We did not touch.

But my heart will not give itself to you,

And does not care

That you are ripped by desolation.