Problems of translation


Everything is a representation of something else.

It’s all translation.

These words.
They are approximates.

Either more or less successful,
In getting closer to a meaning
We feel,
But can never exactly represent.

And it is not just in concepts
Where we abstract ourselves,
It is in every communication we attempt.

Love.

That most intimate of states,
Where we almost feel a touching of souls
And announce our co-ordinates

With our I love yous,
Signposting the way to our senseless hearts,
Hoping partners stumble there
And reciprocate.

But this plea, once out
Written in me but heard in you

If accompanied by the translation
Of a look between eyes…
Or a kiss.

The distance between us
Illusory,
Evaporates in the immediacy of bliss.

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