Lost in Translation

This is another ghazal. I tried to write one in French but will provide the English translation below it. However, some things, including rhyme, might get “lost in translation.” 🙂

Suis-je la fille que j’Ă©tais, jeunesse perdue?

Essayerai-je encore, succès perdu?


La France est-elle meilleure aujourd’hui,

Avec le roi et la noblesse perdus?


Les fleurs qui sont maintenant couleureuses

Deviendront douleureuses, tout sauf la vieillesse perdu.


La religion d’aujourd’hui remplace

Celle de l’antiquitĂ©: beaucoup de dĂ©esses perdues.


Ce petit oiseau cherche un nid, une maison:

J’ai des amis, ils ne me laissent perdue.

Am I the girl I was, childlike vitality lost?

Will I try again, success most likely lost?


Is France better today

With the king and nobility lost?


The flowers which are now colorful

Will become sorrowful, all but fragility lost.


The religion of today replaces

That of antiquity: goddesses, many, lost.


This little bird looks for a nest, a home:

I have friends, they will not leave me lost.

Make Music

This is another ghazal, so I am sharing it with DVerse and also with the Tuesday Platform (even though it is Wednesday).

How wonderful it is to make music.
Remember still to sing, do not forsake music.

Voices of the choir rise to the sky,
It comes straight from the heart, this is no fake music.

Even completing chores around the house,
When cooking, mix ingredients and bake music.

Another year has gone, we celebrate
With sweetness special birthday-cake music.

And here comes fall. No fermata on the days
Red leaves tumbling, we rake music.

Cold winter comes, and birds migrate:
This Sparrow packs nothing but can take music.


She wishes for rest. She cries,

Tide-looped emotions too much, leaving her

Dust-tongued — with no more words

Yet heart-aching to be heard.


She sings, taking inspiration from

The morning she-bird, mourning dove.

Maybe one day, poppies

Will place their cradle-petals around

Her, in a moon-silent embrace.

For this week’s DVerse Poetics prompt, which was about Dylan Thomas and his love for hyphenated compound words. I used the following suggestions in my poem: tide-looped, dust-tongued, she-bird, and cradle-petals. I also invented some of my own.