Meditation Under the Tree I think of you at every moment of the day even if there are others in the world, other wars to fix. It is always like this, inspiration takes blood, sweat, absolute compromise until love arrives because we are exhausted from running fast, pressed in the course that life sets. Stop already. Take a breath. We are there even if in our heads we visited the country without a hat, even if obsession with love flourishes in your poem because the poet maudit must write about the flower wilted, punched, destroyed. Or perhaps one can change themes like a lizard its skin. I sit in the leaves of the tree. I am waiting for you. Nobody can see me except you; because I think I see you still. Meditasyon anba pye bwa Map panse a ou chak moman nan lajounen men gen lòt moun nan monn, gen lòt lagè pou n ranje. Se toujou konsa, enspirasyon pran san, swe, konpromi absoli jiskaske lanmou pral rive, paske nou bouke pou kouri vit prese nan kous lavi dirije. Pare deja. Pran souf. Nou la menm si nan tèt nou te ale vizite peyi san chapo, menm si obsesyon lanmou fleri nan powèm ou paske powèt modi dwe ekri sou flè fane, bouke, detwi. Oubyen petèt nou ka chanje tèm tankou yon zandolit chanje po li. M nan fêy pyebwa, Map tann ou. Pyès moun pa ka wè m sof oumen paske m panse wè w toujou. Jesula Jesula would come every other day to wash my clothes and prepare my food, dishes spiced with chilies from my island. When she washed by hand she took care with the beauty of each cloth. When she finished ironing they became like they were on the first day I found them. Jesula, you know the bicycle my little boy would ride. You can take it now. The fact that your son will ride the bike means that life will go on and my goodbye take place in peace, unafraid. Jesula Jesula vini chak de jou pou fè manje epi fè lesiv pou mwen yon manje epise ak piman zile mwen, Lè li lave rad ak men l li fe atansyon a bote twal la. Lè li fin pase'l li tounen tankou premye jou mwen te jwenn li. Jesula, ou konnen bekann pitit mwen te monte a. Kounye a ou ka pran li. kounya pitit ou pral monte l sa vle di lavi pral kontinye. De pa mwen pral fè nan lapè san pè. Visit There is a limit. You talk too much. For several weeks the same agitation, too much insecurity. You don't have a passport, a visa. But each day you can ask for documents. You must stop the excuses. Make a gesture of solidarity with people who love you to the end of the world, to Ethiopia. Facebook cannot replace the hands of a person, his embrace. Live not only with the faithful servitude that wants to kiss my feet each time I visit you. Vizitè Gen limite, radotè. Ou te pale twòp. Depi semèn yo menm agiman, anpil ensekirite. Ou pa gen paspò, viza. Men chak jou ou ka solisite dokiman. Se pou ou elimine eskiz. Fè yon jès solidarite ak monn ki renmen w jouk Etyopi. Facebook pa ka ranplase manyen ak anbrase moun, Viv pa sèlman ak sèvitè fidèl ki te vle mòde pye mwen nan grenn fwa m te vizite w.
Indran Amirthanayagam is a poet, editor, publisher, translator, YouTube host and diplomat. He writes in English, Spanish, French, Portuguese and Haitian Creole. He has published twenty-three poetry books, including Powet Nan Po A (Poet of the Port), which is forthcoming from MadHat Press. He edits the Beltway Poetry Quarterly, has received numerous fellowships, and hosts The Poetry Channel.
Image: The_Bicycle (60781294) from Mark Gojkovich under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license.