Ardansa Ajundra / Spacetime Heritage
Poesia na Kristang, with an English translation
Yo ja achah tudu:
Riska, sipila, spasu, tempu.
Fortuna, emagu, forsa, propisi.
Dia pra dia,
yo ja prendeh tudu nomi di paredi sa retratu
undi dianti jenti-jenti ja konkizah mundu mbes
mbes pra mbes fikah tortu.
Olotu falah yo impodih fikah tortu.
Yo presizu teng olu na linggu,
ubida na mang,
peli mas duru di Blangkang sa sigredu fundu mbes na peli.
Dureza ngua semprenza namas
kora semesta ja abrih pra tudu sigundu di bilalang sa bida.
Nggota di sanggi
inchidu di wirasang.
Unchinyu di po
teng diabu sa afesang.
Yo lembrah justu onzi anoti
kora ngua deus ja falah
Numistih fikah mas fortidang
di nobis kung samatra,
di lei kung angkoza podih temastra,
di kurenti di lumi,
maris di sol.
Isti karta reinyosu
yo ja pintariskah na onsong sa korpu:
hentakah pra sekulu na jarding di lusembra,
nagembrah pasadu sa morti,
ozi sa lobizah,
maelstrah di amiang.
Na fora di mundu
ta drayah tudu bai birah
komesu di sufrimintu,
fing di idadi ira.
Intresmiu dos-dos
nali podih buskah ireidi chuma strela di astrang.
I have received it all:
Lines, planes, spaces and times.
Probabilities, realities, willpowers and symmetries.
Day by day,
I have learned all of the names of the walls of the painting
in front of whom the people who most conquered the world
suddenly become blind.
They said I am not allowed to be blind.
I must have eyes in my language / tongue,
ears on my hands / claws,
skin harder than Venus’s deepest secret on my skin.
Hardness is only a perpetual
when the universe has opened for every second of the life of a dragonfly.
A drop of blood
filled with the heroic.
An infinitesimality of dust
in the face of the demonic.
I think it was just last night
when a god said
you must not be stronger
than the clouds and storms,
than the laws and the things capable of time travel,
than the currents of light,
the waves of the sun.
This legendary map-letter
I have drawn on my own body:
standing still for centuries in the garden of darklight,
reliving the death of the past,
the mutation of the present,
the eddying-editing of tomorrow.
Outside the world
everything is attracted to return
to the beginning of suffering,
the end of the wrathful age.
Between the two
is where you can find self-regard like the stars of an emissary itself.