Guest Poet: Zawmb’yee Nuje, “Wounded in Time”

Wounded in Time by Zawmb’yee

The Fates told me so:
nothing in the world is mine

out from the womb
I’m wounded in time.

Tell me why
you’d have me cry, letting

my Dear die, and
I’m wounded in time.

Tell me why
fate must make me cry.

Out from the womb
I’m wounded in time.

Don’t tell me to walk
when I must run, and

he took my body
and I took his soul

but nothing in the world
is mine, because

in the mine of me
the gold is gone, and

out from the womb
I’m wounded in time.

The Fates told me so:
nothing in the world is mine

No I claim this:
he loved me.

— Zawmb’yee Nuje

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Gondala

Gondola

You don’t know why
I stream you in my dreams.

No I don’t think you know yet
that I want you to be near me

When I have you
looking at me, and

listening when I spout
a word, I think

you know I want to breathe,
and breathe me a kiss, because

this silly whale is
lost in a canal, but

Venice would be
justice, if we met
again

— Douglas Gilbert

Why


Why

Why did you not go
when I told you
the tanks are coming.

Why did you go
into the garden, when
I told you there are
never flowers.

I wanted to send you away
but I was too weak when
you wanted to stay with me

and I said hide, but
you wanted to plant.

Why did you not go
when I told you
the tanks are coming.

Why did you go
into the garden
where there is no rain

and a bomb
fell on you.

— Douglas Gilbert

Feather

Feather

Please don’t tell me why
you hate me so, and oh.

Please don’t tell me shy
to say that you know:
I could have known you
if I had told you
you were as blue as me.

Yes, I would have understood
and I could have been sad with you
because I know how loneliness hurts, and
my dear only feather

tell me why we can’t cry together,
and fly

— Douglas Gilbert

Waiting

Waiting

Let me give myself soon to you, because
I am waiting too long to be in you, and
you in my eye and touching my eye drops.

I don’t know if
it could be raining.

Waiting.

Waiting for the table
to be turned.

Doing the practice drill:
hiding under the table.

A proposal on the table.

Maybe table it.

Waiting.

Waiter and waitress.

A lottery, a fortune
a twist.

Waiting for the tables to be turned.

Give me the words
of the heart song throbbing
and sobbing “we”, and

I will see our rainbow
every time you thunder,
and reign on us with blossoms.

— Douglas Gilbert