Botsotso

(4 poems)

by Mingyue

Fairytale Dream in the Sunlight

Perhaps an angel cast a spell,

awakening a conversation between you and me.

 

That day by the lake fountain,

sunlight happened to cradle a rainbow.

A breeze blew by, misty and dreamy,

so, I paused, enchanted,

stepping gently into its tale:

 

riverbanks, neon lights, sunsets, evening scents,

rooftops, streetlamps, stars and the moon —

your appearance was without warning.

Like a sudden spring of radiant sunlight,

it softened the sharp edges hidden within my heart.

 

But the rainbow vanished,

the magic faded.

The world was still winter,

the sunlight too brilliant, too bright.

Opening my eyes, beauty and sorrow intertwined;

awake, I continued forward.

 

This world,

so complex and tumultuous,

leaves me overwhelmed.

Ahead, a path of uncertainty and confusion—

should I retreat or press on?

 

A voice softly calls,

“Come, don’t be afraid.”

On the nights of Zanzibar

One night,

he lit a cigarette called Möbius.

The flickering flame, amidst swirling smoke,

seemed like shadows cast from his soul onto the earth.

The outline of Zanzibar faintly emerged,

a fleeting glimpse, then vanished—

the fiery red, a once dazzling sight.

Now,

language fails, and unity rings hollow.

The world of globalism

has become a nightmare within:

not loneliness, but solitude in the crowd,

not having nothing, but toiling in vain.

Thus he wonders: if in the pure white of Helsinki,

would people feel better?

But as the sun rises, his final wish

is to be buried

in the indifferent Third World.

Afternoon Nap

Waking from her nap at two,

she rubs the sleep from her eyes;

and in the palm of her hand,

finds a handful of stars.

 

Eyeshadow smudged, a faint shimmer,

glimmering like distant constellations,

her dozy eyes still bright,

she dreams of gold in the midday light.

 

In her palm, the stars linger;

her heart, a guiding light,

a grace of stars –

a soul lovely as the night’s embrace.

The Veil

In the twilight between dream and wakefulness,

He glimpses a corner of his soul:

The embrace of Magdalene, a captivating call:

“Ah, our eternal utopia.”

Later, he stands alone,

Accusing every happy person:

“Eternity appeared under love’s veil,

And I mistook it for death…”

In the Mirror

At the edge of the city in summer,

In a corner of the World Trade Center.

Facing the tall black wall,

Snowflakes flutter in the air,

Yet cannot make her in the mirror change her mind,

And she murmurs:

“The impulse to change my fate

Has turned into uncontrollable hatred.

Day and night, I feel my brain

Wanting to murder the other parts of my body.”

So I shattered the mirror,

Only to find countless more of her.

Morning

When I wake up in the morning,

 I am a freshly baked loaf of bread.

 

At 7 am,

casting hopeful looks at every hungry worker,

I say, “Take me, take me!”

 

But after 10,

I become lazy like dough fermenting in a bowl,

pondering whether I’ll become

a hot dog bun for lunch

or strawberry cake for afternoon tea.

 

“Strawberry cake, please.”

 

I seem to hear a faint call,

and get up.

 

 A new day begins just like that.

Poem Title

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