Complaints — Hive

Hi all,

This weekend was strangely uneventful, as I'm still recuperating from that nasty cold and/or flu. It made me think about how I'm behaving when I'm sick. I do tend to complain a bit (and my partner puts up with it with a smile, it seems). This made me dig through my old poetry archives and I found something pertaining to complaints.

Judging by the date I wrote this poem (March 2002), I may have been sick (cold or something), I can't remember now.

The oddest thing was that the original version of the poem has only a few rhymes here and there, but as I was translating it, I decided to input an A - B - A - B rhyme pattern throughout without changing the meaning too much.

Another thing I added to the translation of this poem (which in the original version was merely mentioned) is a theme of disrobing, removing layers.

Source

COMPLAINTS

I lay my hat next to someone’s fate,
that’s no mystery nor a riddle,
I leave all that’s mine and relate
to everyone trapped in the middle.

I lay my clothes on the chair
and all my past and future burdens
seem to be a dream of despair,
the present is bad wording.

I lay my skin in front of the fire,
strings of emotions come falling out;
whatever is left on me is desire
to make the blind see and come about.

I leave in peace my veins and arteries,
all tied up in pretty bows and knots;
they once housed red mysteries,
now, as tunnels, they’re empty thoughts.

I lay the riddle that is my bones
in the firewood storage box:
they haven’t dated but will become stones,
they haven’t lived because everyone talks

I leave the flame that is mine but unneeded,
everyone else can have their gold,
everything mine will remain unheeded –
all that I do is watch my complaints unfold.

13 March 2002

So, do you complain? How often, what about? Do you feel less burdened when you actually do complain?
Tell me in the comments, I am quite curious!