Old unwritten love poem

2

I met an old man in the countryside
His roots, a tribe of indigenous people,
A Tumanduk, he speaks fluently, known
To be a man-chanter of epics, narratives,
And poetry on courtship and thanksgiving rites
Tell me, tell me, I said, how would you say
Your poetry in courting rituals?
He paused, smiled and then he said,
“Comrade, there are many verses I could say
but I like this one:

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“The river stones mingle with the waters
The clouds swirls with the winds
The mountains kiss the heavens
The waves clasp the shore
The moonbeams kiss the seas
All are looking for their pairs
I find you beautiful why not I to you?
And what worth are all these kissings
I am telling if I cannot kiss you?”

Mountain has life

Mountain has life, and keeps lives on her bosom
She speaks, she cries, listen to the silence of waters
Below her feet, the echoes inside her caves,
Hear her fables and songs under the shade of the trees,
See the mountain tears, kept hidden below for years
See the people’s feudal bondage, the foreign plunderers—
But mountain has life, and from cliffs and valleys on her side,
Lies resistance, a strength that feeds from the hopes of dawn
Conquering fears, submissions and throws itself a
power to reckon

Those peasant huts that cling to a distant slope,
House a heroic people fighting for their lives and land
Like a rivulet flowing through the valley but a gathering force
Like trees rooted to earth they silently grow amidst the stones,
They upsurge to the heavens, in constant search for the sun
The mountain whispers the scale and magnitude
of people’s struggle—

The raging protracted people’s war.

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2 Comments

  1. Lynn McCormack on

    I have never been to your country, or experienced the people’s war; but Maya brings it all to life with her poetry. It’s amazing, I am very happy to be able to read it today.