come back to me

4 poems from Venezuelan Poet Mariela Cordero

Mariela Cordero (1985), Venezuela, is a lawyer, poet, writer,translator and visual artist. She has won some literary awards:Third Prize of Poetry Alejandra Pizarnik Argentina (2014). First Prize at the Second Ibero-American Poetry Contest Euler Granda, Ecuador (2015). Second Prize of Poetry Concorso Letterario Internazionale Bilingüe Tracceperlameta Edizioni, Italy (2015) Micropoemas Prize in Spanish of the III contest TRANSPalabr @RTE 2015, Spain. First Place in International Poetry Contest  Hispanic Poets mention of literary quality, Spain 2016. Honorable Mention in the Guido Gozzano Literary Prize Italy (2018) Her poems have been published in various anthologies and literary magazines and have been translated into english, french, serbian, arabic, uzbek, russian and macedonian. She has published the poetry books The Body of doubt (2013) and The identical fire (2015)

 

Mariela Cordero (Chiuru nemazana mapfumbamwe nemakumi masere neshanu). Venezuela, igweta,  nyanduri, munyori, muturikiri uye anogadzira mufananidzo. Mukadzi uyu akahwina mikombe yokunyora: wechitatu we nhetembo Alejandra Pizarnik Argentina (2014). Wekutanga kumakwikwi echipiri e Ibero-American Poetry Contest Euler Granda, Ecuador (2015). Wechipiri wenhetembo Concorso Letterario Internazionale Bilingüe Tracceperlameta Edizioni, Italy (2015). Nhetembo diki mubaiyo wadzo muchiSpanish dzemakwikwi echitatu TRANSPalabr @RTE 2015 Spain. Wokutanga wenhetembo wepasi pose Hispanic Poets mention of literary quality, Spain 2016. Akayemurwa mumakwikwi Guido Gozzano Literary Prize Italy (2018). Mukadzi uyu akatsikisa nhetembo dzake mumagwaro akasiyana uye dzakaturikirwa muChirungu, French, Serbian, Arabic, Uzbek, Russian, uye Macedonian. Mukadzi uyu akatsikisa mabhuku maviri enhetembo Muviri wokusagutsikana(2013)  uye Moto wakafanana (2015)

The first.

I am the first

I'm at the beginning

Of time

In the middle of the gloom

In the particle

Of this sunset

And to the edge

Of the collapse.

I am all

And none.

Chokutanga

Ndini wokutanga

Ndiri pokutangira

Kwenguva

Ndiri pakati pekushushikana

Mukati mechiumbwa

Cheaya madokero

Uye ndichisvika kumhendero

Yokupunzika.

Ndiri zvese

Uye zvisipo

Name.

There is a name that I drink

Half solar alcohol, half secret water

There's a name that I scream

  Mixed in the bustle of the others

There is a name that I caress

Piece of forest

Warm and persistent

There is a name

River, sweet arrow and sweat.

A name

                         that devours

my name.

Zita

Pane zita iro randinomwa

Chidimbu chepakati chedoro rezuva, chidimbu chepakati chemvura yahwandiswa

Pane zita iro ndinozhambatata

Rakasanganidzwa mukushangazhike kwevamwe

Pane zita iro randinotsvanzvadzira

Chidimbu chesango

Chinodziya uye chinoramba chiripo

Pane iro zita

Rwizi, museve unotapira, dikita.

Zita

iro rinokambura

zita rangu.

Sometimes I am

water,

 sometimes I am

   thirst.

Sometimes I am

water,

 sometimes I am

   thirst.

Everything revolves, although

  there are moments

where the skin feels like a burden

 and tired eyes are closed

the days seem echoes

but

everything is moving impassively

and the time we exchanged

transforms us

  in water

transforms us

in thirst.

Dzimwe nguva ndiri

mvura,

Dzimwe nguva ndiri

nyota.

Dzimwe nguva ndiri

mvura,

Dzimwe nguva ndiri

nyota.

zvinhu zvose zvinotenderera, kunyangwe

pane dzimwe nguva

apo ganda rinonzwa kunge mutoro

uye maziso  aneta anovharwa

mazuva anova mawungira

asi

zvose zvirikufamba zvisina simba

uye nguva iyo takagoverana

Inotishandura

mumvura,

Inotishandura

munyota.

Fragile as

the absolute

fragile as

the absolute

            in this way

emerges

the caress

(Micropoems Prize in Spanish of the III contest TRANSPalabr @RTE 2015, Spain).

Kusasimba kunge

zvokupedzisira

kusasimba kunge

zvokupedzisira

mune imwe nzira

Zvinonyuka

Kubva mukutsvanzvadzira

(Nhetembo diki mubaiyo wadzo muchiSpanish dzemakwikwi echitatu TRANSPalabr @RTE 2015 Spain)

3 poems from Lidia Chiarelli

Lidia Chiarelli (Torino, Italy). Artist and writer, co-founder, with Aeronwy Thomas, of the art-literary Movement Immagine & Poesia (2007). Award -winning poet.

Her poems are translated multilingually.

http://lidiachiarelli.jimdo.com/

Garden in October

In my Autumn garden I was fain

To mourn among my scattered roses

Christina Rossetti

Colours and sounds

mix in the October garden

where dying roses feed your soul.

Amber brown leaves waltz on the boughs

as you, Queen of Pre-Raphaelite beauty

discover wonder in

Autumn’s languid sun

of this ephemeral reign.

And in the dappled light

your words become

a subtle song

a hymn of devotion

to the fugitive hour

to the vanishing moment.

Bindu muna Gumiguru

Mubindu rangu reMatsutso ndaida

Kuchema pakati pemaruva matsuku aparadzirwa

Christina Rossetti

Mivara nemimanzi

Zvinobatana mubindu raGumiguru

Apo maruva matsvuku anofa achigutisa ninga dzako dzepfungwa

Uromba kutsvukirira mashizha anotamba achitenderera muviri wemuti

Kunge iwe, Mambokadzi weguva yakatangira runako rweRaphaelite

Wana zvishamiso mune

Zuva rakapomodzwa reMatsutso

Rekutongo uku kwenguva shoma

Uye mune mwenje mivara mivara

Mazwi ako anova

Rwiyo rusingaburitse zvese pachena

Rwiyo rwokurumbidza kuvimbika

Kune iyi nguva yakahwanda

Kune nhano ino inonyangarika

November sky

I love that sky of steel

Charlotte Brontë

Flocks of black  crows

re-write

the winter sky

with ancient signs.

As an impalpable veil

the cold haze

wraps

the barren moor

and your eyes

gradually

get lost

into that

magic metallic

light

Denga remunaMbudzi

Ndinoda iro denga resimbi

Charlotte Brontë

Ungano yemakunguwo matema

anonyorazve

denga rechirimo

nenyora dzechinyakare.

Kunge vharidziro yokumeso isingaonekwi

Mhute tete inotonhora

Inosunganidza

Gokora ivhu risina zviberekwa

Uye maziso ako

Zvishoma nezvishoma

Anorasikira

Mune iyi

Shamiso yenderama

mwenje

Poppy Red

I put my hands among the flames

Sylvia Plath

Of that summer

you had no memories

only red poppies

small flames

that burned your soul

a thousand poppies

open wounds

bleeding

inside you.

Your journey in search of oblivion

started in the soundless  hours of the day

now lost

in the barren paths of the mind.

Then  long sunset strips

sad omens

stained the sky red

slowly

surrounding  you

in deep muffled silence

Muti Mutsvuku Popi

Ndakaisa maoko angu pakati pemarimi

Sylvia Plath

Zvenguva iyi yezhizha

waiva usina kana ndangariro

kunze kwemiti yePopi mitsvuku

marimi emoto madiki

akapisa ninga dzepfungwa dzako

chiuru chemiti yePopi

maronda avhurwa patsva

ochururuka

mukati mako

rwendo rwako kutsvaga kunyangadika

rwakatanga munguva dzisinganzwikwe dzezuva

iye zvino dzarasika

munzira dzepfungwa dzisina zvibereko.

Zvakare marambi ezuva rodoka marefu

Shuvidziro dzakashata

dzinosvibisa denga dzvuku

zvinyoronyoro

dzinokutenderedza

mune runyararo rwakadzipirwa mukati kati

3 poems from Zvonko Teneski

Zvonko Taneski (1980) is a Macedonian poet, literary critic, translator and university professor, living and working in Slovakia.  In 2007 he defended his PhD. thesis from “Theory and history of Slovak literature” at the Department of Slovak Literature and Literary Science on Comenius University in Bratislava. He now works on the same University as an associate professor on Department of Slavic Philology in Faculty of Arts. Author of six books of poetry: "Opened doors" (1995, Kuboa), "The Choir of Rotten Leaves" (2000, Matica makedonska), "The Ridge" (2003, Magor), „Chocolate in portfolio" (2010, Blesok), "Necking without warranty card" (2012, Kočo Racin) and "Waiting history" (2016, Antolog). His poems has been translated into numerous languages and published in the national literary periodicals, as well as in the foreign. In the year of  2013 he has received a Golden medal "Poet laureate" from the Axlepin Publishing in Manila (Philipines) and in year 2015 he has received а high Plague for wholesome poetry the Rector of Varna University on festival "Slavic hugs" in Varna, Bulgaria.

 

Making love after drunken night

We’ll be washing our teeth early on

And we’ll be standing long before the mirror with foam in our mouth

We’ll taste our own embarrassment

You will merely ask me early on where you have put your watch

And I'll ask you

To turn on the radio, speaker of the morning news

That will inform us about the thousands of students

That had left home for the holiday

And she’ll tactically say nothing about our last night in the modern boarding school

Early on we’ll feel

Very abandoned and we’ll come outside

At the noisy streets

Searching through our pockets

While we seek out the lost time

And the valid passenger ticket

The wind will blow empty – handed

As unemployed postman

And joyfully will blow away

Crinkled card with hastily written unnecessary address

And so it will be so uncomfortable

To split apart with you

And to rely on

The cold window

In the bus

And to keep silent

Nonetheless we talk a lot now

All sorts of confessions are passing through our throat

Just as easy as drinking cups,

So that our words can be perfectly

Mixed up

And we’ll fly somewhere up

With no sense that

Hence we’re creating the new man

KUITA BONDE MUSHURE MEHUSIKU HWEKURARADZA

Tichange tichigeza mazino edu kutangira

Uye tichange takamirira nguva regore pamberi pechiringiso tine mapupu mumuromo

Ticharavira kunyadziswa kwedu

Uchandibvunza kwokutanga kuti ndepapi pandaisa chiringazuva

Uye ini ndichakukumbira

Kuti ubatidze dzimudzangara, mutauri wenhau dzemangwanani

Iyo ichatiudza nezvezviuru zvevana vechikoro

Vasiya dzimba kuenda kunozorora

Uye nemazwi mukadzi uyu haana chimwe chaanotaura pamusoro pohusiku muchikoro chebhodhingi chitsva

Mumashure meizvi tinonzwa munyama

Kunge tarasiswa kukuru uye tinobuda panze

Kune nzira dzine ruzha

Tichitsvaga muhomwe dzedu

Tichitsvaga iyi nguva yakarasika

Uye tikiti chairo remufambi werwendo

Mhepo inovhuvhuta isina chinhu mumaoko ayo

Kunge mufambisi wetsamba asina basa

Uye nemafaro inodhonza kuenda kure

Makadhi akaunyana ane nyorwa dzakasikiswa dzekwaanofanirwa kusvika

Uye saka zvichava zvisingafadze

Kusiyana newe

Uye kuti ndirarame

Nehwindo rinechando

Ndiri mubhazi

Uye kuti ndarambe ndakanyarara

Kunyangwezvo tinotaura kakawanda iye zvino

Kurevurura kwakasiyana kuri kupfuura nemumagurokuro edu

Zvakapfava kunge kunwa makapu.

Kuti mazwi edu ave akaisvorurama

Kubatanidzwa kwavo

Uye tinobhurukira kuenda kumwe kumusoro

Tisina kana kufungidzira

Kuti neizvi tirikuvaka mumwe munhu mutsva

THE SKY

Before I read the poem at the festival they warned me that

Here one can become a star. In no doubt, post festum.

Several performances, I thought, so that one can create even a sky,

Adorned with stars. Constellation that shimmers.

That’s right: applause from the audience will carry you away,

It will inspire you (expression of time, right?!)

It will raise you up to the pedestal. Then you’ll charge tickets with consumption

(or wine tasting) in your sky.

It wouldn’t be just whichever event for the others,

You’ll become a privileged individual with mystic character.

Suspicious one for the higher authorities, one of the chosen few.

Because even the sky (honestly) is a mystery,

Unprecedented miracle. Quick escape, filled with risks.

Returning to the stage of our acne.

Before leaving the sky you’ll return the ticket to the smile.

Revenge lies at the bottom of the wine glass – tit for tat.

DENGA

Ndisati ndatanga kuverenga nhetembo pamutambo wenhetembo vakandiyambira kuti

Pano mumwe anogona kuva nyanzwi. Zvisina mubvunzo kuseri kwemutambo uyu.

Kuzviratidzira kwakawanda, ndakafunga, kuti mumwe atogona kugadzira denga chairo,

Rakashongedzwa nenyenyedzi. Kurongana kwenyenyedzi kunovaima.

Ichokwadi: kuombererwa kubva kuvatarisi kunokusimudzira kuenda kure,

Ndichakusimudzira (kutaura kwemazuva ano handiti!)

Zvinokusimudzira kuenda newe pakatunhumadzwa. Uchabva wachinja matikiti nokudya

(kana kuti kuraura hwaini) mudenga rako.

Hazvichavi imwewo ungano kune vamwe,

Uchava munhu akakosha ane hunhu husinganzwisisike

Anofungidzirwa zvakaipa nevepamusoro pematongerwo enyika, mumwe vavashoma vakasarudzwa,

Nokuti kunyangwe denga (ndinovimba) chinhu chisinganzwisisike.

Mashirirpiti asingagonekwi, kwokutizira kuri pedyo, kwakazara nenjodzi.

Tichidzoka kunzwimbo yepamusoro yedu yemapundu matsvuku

Usati wasiya denga unodzosera matikiti kune nyemwerero.

Kudzosera chitema kunogara pasi pegirazi rehwaini- akupa chironda womupawo chironda

ROOM

Why didn’t they let me change the room
and make me feel better,
now that even the critics are allowed to change their views
and earn more space in the magazines?

They all went for large and bright rooms
with evidently functional furniture,
and I didn’t even complain about the only one new, but hard armchair,
no trace of the second one, though there should’ve been a pair,
just like literature is inseparable from the science about it.

Why was I not standard guest when choosing the bed,
and was so resolute in my desire to experiment?

Literature needs fresh love masks for modeling:
a water-bed, an exotic partner with different skin color, faith,
an unexpected adventure…

But not much depended on, I thought, what view the window had,
everything depended on where and who she’d look at
and who she’d recognize.
“Each room has a mirror”, so I hope mine would have one too,
for it shouldn’t, by any means, be an exception to the rule.

Why does my head look like a syntagmatic axis
though it is laid softly on the pillow,
and becomes a hypertext when it sinks in deep sleep?

Shouldn’t they have let me change my room?

IMBA

Nei vasina kundibvumidza kuti ndichinje imba

Uye kuti ndinzwe zvakanaka,

Nyangwe munguva ino vanotsoropodza vanobvumidzwa kuchinja zvavanofunga

Uye vanowana nzwimbo dzakawanda mumapepanhau?

Vose vakada imba hombe dzineruvheneko

Dzine zvishongedzo zvokushandisa zvinoshanda mazvo,

Uye handina kunyunyuta nezvechimwe chitsva chete, asi chakaoma kugara chigaro,

Pasina kana musaridzwa wechechipiri, kunyangwe paifanirwa kuva nechimwe chacho,

Kunge mabhuku engano dzevanhu asingasiyaniswe nezveSayenze yavo

Nei ndaisava muenzi anotarisirwa pakusarudza mibhedhe,

Uye ndaiva ndakasimbirira pakuda kwangu kutsvagurudza zvitsva?

Mabhuka engano dzevanhu anoda vharidziro dzerudo itsva dzokutevedzera:

Mubhedhe wemvura, mudiwa wekure ane ganda rakasiyana nerako, kubvuma,

Nechiitiko chisina kufungidzirwa

Asi pasina zvakawanda zvinowanikwa, ini ndakafunga, ndeipi ringisiro iyi ine hwindo,

Zvose zvaiwanikwa nokuda kwokuti kupi uye upi vakatariswa nomudzimai uyu

Uye upi waanosarudza.

“Imba ipi neipi ine chiringiro“, saka ndinotarisira yangu ichava nechiringiro chayo,

Nokuti haifanirwi, kunyangwe nechipi chiitiko, kunge chinhu chisingaitike kazhinji.

Ko neiko musoro wangu unotarisika kunge rongedzo yemazvi yagadzira maraini maviri asangana

Kunyangwe wakaradzikwa patsikiriro yakapfava yokurarisa,

Uye unova mushina wokushandisa pane mabhuku omumhepo apo unodonha muhope?

Vaisafanirwa kundiregedza kuti ndichinje imba yangu here?

3 poems by Jeton Kelmendi

Jeton Kelmendi is a poet, player, publicist, translator, publisher, a professor of university and academic. Kelmendi did a PhD in the “Influence of media in EU Political Security Issues”. He is professor at AAB University College. His first book entitled: “The Century of Promises” Shekulli i Premtimeve, was published in 1999.  To date he has published 14 original books, 27 other languages translations of his books, and he has translated 12 books of other authors, making him the most translated Albanian author. He has won several awards. 

Jeton Kelmendi ndinyanduri, mutambi, mushambadziri, muturukiri, mutsikisi wemabhuku, uye mudzidzisi wepamusoro wepaUnivhesiti. Kelmedi akazoita digiri rokupedzisira zvidzidzo zveku Univhesiti re filosofi dokotera rezve «kukosha kwemapepanhau mumubatanidzwa we Yuropu panyaya dzematongerwo nedzekuzvidzivirira». Muzvinafundo wepamusoro pa univhesiti ye AAB ku Belgium. Bhuku rake rokutanga rainzi «Chiuru cheZvivimbiso» mugore rechiuri nemazana mapfumbamwe nemakumi mapfumbamwe anepfumbamwe. Kusvika nhasi uno akatsikisa mabhuku aakanyora gumi nemana, ake akturikirwa kumitaura makumi maviri nenomwe, uye iye akaturikira mabhuku evamwe vanyori gumi nemaviri kureva kuti ndiye munyori akaturikirwa kupfuura vose vekuAlbania. Akawanawo mikombe yakawanda.

HUREMU

Kubudikidza mukuwedza mhuka isina ropa

Matombo egirazi haaonekwi

                    —Frederico Garcia Lorca

 Zvinhu zvisinganzwisisike ndivo vanhu,

Chinhu chose chine mamiriro acho

Mumiro wacho

Chiumbwa chohumunhu,

Nguva namwari wekuumba

Kukosha kwake mukadzi, mupfungwa dzangu

Pasina chaiyo mhando,

Zvinotara miganhu yohuremu

Mazuva achiuya achienda, anopupurira

Kune izvo zvakandiumba,

Zvokushandisa kuti zvivakwa zvitange, izwi

Uye nguva ine rudo

Zvichinzwisisika, musoro wefungidziro

Unoshandisa kuva nomukana kune mipikicha isina muviri,

Isina pokugumira.

Kubva mukuva tisati tasvika

Tichishungurudzika kuumba;

Chimwe pamusoro pechimwe

Kuenzana kuri matiri uye kuchiratidza

Hwaro hudiki pakati,

Manheru anorira uye achikupwanyidzira

Kubva kutafura yokunyorera yako kuuya kuzuva rino

Nzira dzose dzinouya kwandiri.

Kubva pane mujaho wese wohupenyu,

Maitiro okupira emwoyo wako

Pane kuguma pane huremu

Vanoti rudo

Rudo, chiumbwa cheninga dzepfungwa

Iyi nzwimbo irimandiri, iri mauri

Iko zvino, ziva nokudzvinyirirwa kwehwangu huremu

Manheru omusi wegumi nhatu muna Ndira mugore rezviuru zviviri negumi nenhatu, Brussels

MATTER

      Through an amphibian trail

      The crystals are elusive

                    —Frederico Garcia Lorca

Strange things are human creatures,

Everything has its own appearance,

Shape

Being of creation,

Time and God of making.

Her brand, in my thoughts

Without a specific format,

It sets out the parameters of matter.

Days coming and going, testify

For my own makeup,

The material from which creation begins, the word

And time with love.

Understandably, the theme of theories

Practices access to images without forms,

Without dimension.

From the pre-arrival

Suffering to shape it;

One plus one

Equality with us and points.

Narrow between space,

The evening sounds and narrows you.

From your desk to this day

Every path leads to me.

At every pace of life,

Your heart rites

There are epilogues in the matter

They say love.

Love, this craft of the soul

The place is in me, in you.

Now, know with my muttered stuff.

The evening of 30 January 2013, Brussels

VABVAKURE VAVIRI MUVÄXJÖ

Pane vabvakure vaviri muguta

Mukadzi uye murume,

Vamwe vose vanotarisika kusiyana.

Vanoita kunge vasiri kufamba,

Zvose zvinotaurwa

Ndizvo zvinonzi navabvi vokure;

Umwe uye nemumwe vakasangana

Muguta

Manheru anouya kunge muridzi wemba uye mushanyi,

Zvinogovana maitiro erombe uye hurukuro dzinokura

Kunakidziswa hakusi kutarisirwa,

Kunzwisa kuri kuuya kune guta iri

Apo hunhu hunonzwisiswa

Vabvi vokure vaviri

Vanoita kunge vasangani kokutanga,

Kwete kunge sezvazviri

Muguta iri rine rudo nevanoyemurwa.

Vokutanga nokupedzisira

Apo vanosangana,

Husiku hwaiva kurara kwevagonesesi,

Umu mune vana vakatorwa

Mumwaka yerudo,

Kudzamara rungano rwose rwapedzwa

Muguta iri

Vokunze vavira vanoroverana

Muhusiku,

Kudzama vazozviona mangwana acho;

Vanorota nevasingarote vanouya

Muchishanu

Muguta iri

Vanoti kune mivara yakawanda

Hupenyu.

Kusanzwisiska, asi ichokwadi

Usiku hweVäxjö

Hwakava hune mwaka mina yerudo

Kune vokunze vaviri ava.

Mbudzi gore rezviuru zviviri nesere, Växjö, Sweden

TWO FOREIGNERS IN VÄXJÖ

There are two foreigners in the city

A lady and a gentlemen,

All others look different.

They are not like walking,

Everything that is spoken is

What two foreigners say;

One and the other met

In the city.

The evening comes as the host and guest,

Exchange rites of pariahs and conversations grow

Ecstasy is not expected,

Understanding is coming to this city

When characters are understood.

Two foreigners

Seems to have met first,

Not as it is

In the city with love legends.

The first and the last

Once met,

That night was the sleep of the intelligentsia,

In which four were overtaken

Seasons of love,

Until the whole story was finished.

In the city

Two aliens crashed

Overnight,

Until they found it tomorrow;

The dreaming and undreaming came to

Friday.

In the city

They say there are many colors

Life.

Strange, but true

The night of Växjö

Has had four seasons of love

For two foreigners.

November 2008, Växjö, Sweden

NDICHADZOKA ZVAKARE MUMAVHESISI

Unoziva mwaka wepfumvudza kubva mumaruva chete…

—Paul Géraldy

Ndichadzoka zvakare kumavhesisi

Kuti ndisangane newe

Sezvo ndakushuva husiku huno,

Kuti ndikude hope nokurota

Uye husiku hutema uhu

Kuti ndive nokuzvidzora,

Uye kuti nditambe mavhesisi zvishoma

Erino detembo

Nokuda kwokudaro

Ndichakuona sei husiku huno

Kana pfungwa dzangu dzave dzega ?

Mazwi maviri

Epamusoro peizwi :

Ndaanzwa achiti,

Izwi remwoyo

Ndiro riri kure uye pedyo nezwi

Rakanyanyoomarara,

Ini ndaida kuti

Kubva munhetembo dzangu

Izwi rakabvamo rikandidaidza

Oooo heeee ooooo.

Ndichange ndiri husiku huno

Izwi

Richasunganidza mutsetse wemazvi.

Kungoti urambe wakanakisisa

Mumavhesisi angu

Mushure mokudaidzira mazwi

Kuriverengazve

Ndichave husiku huno

Verengo yakanakisisa,

Kudzidza kuti mwoyo unoratidzwa sei.

Kutsvenenzvera kunakidza kwemapeji.

Kuti ndingoziva zvakawanda pamusoro pako

Ndichave,

Izvo zvandisingaite husiku huno

Yakanakisisa misoro yenhetembo

Nokuti

Iwe uchagara apo

Apo ichange ichifukatidzwa

Oslo, Noweyi, munaNdiri mugore rezviuru zviviri negumi neimwe

I WILL RETURN INTO THE VERSES

      You know spring only from flowers ...

                                            —Paul Géraldy

I'll go back to the verses

To meet you

Since I missed this night,

To overcome sleep by dreaming

And this dark night.

To be cautious,

And to dance the verses a little

Of this poetry.

Otherwise

How do I see you tonight,

When my mind is alone?

Two words

Regarding the voice:

I heard say,

The voice of the heart

It is the farthest or nearer voice

The most ragged,

I wanted to say.

From my poetry

A voice came out and called me

Oooo heeee oooo.

I'll be tonight

The word

To stitch in the sentence.

Just to keep you beautiful

In my verses

After each punctuation

To read it again.

I will be this night

A beautiful reading,

To learn how the heart is depicted.

Surfing pleasure pages,

Just to know more about you.

I will be,

What I will not do tonight.

The best of poetry’s titles,

Because

You stay over

Just as it is shadowed.

Oslo, Norway, January 2011

Translated into Shona by Tendai Rinos Mwanaka