ainneamhag (2016)
found milliners' block, feathers
Ainneamhag
Rugadh mi leis a’ chìrean thogta; sradag dhubh thar chuach mo chinn.
Thogadh mi leis an eòlas; sradag buaidh thar ùine a leiginn.
Cha do dh’aithnich mi riombaill mum làitheachd; fàinne-solais, a’ dèarrsadh air m’ itean òir is corcair.
Nam bhroinn, bha mi nam theine, le lasair, sìor-luaisgeach.
Air iteal anns a’ choille dhuirch’, cha robh mi riamh an dùil, m’ Ifrinn a thoirt gu buil, ach sìor-atharrachadh nan darach àrsaidh a shoilleireachadh leis an deò.
Ribeadh mi ann an cliabh reachd; samhla smachd a chuingich m’ itealachd.
Mhùchadh mi le làmh an ùghdarrais; samhla tost a chuingich m’ fhilidheachd.
Nam bhroinn, bha mi nam theine, le lasair, sìor-luaisgeach.
M’ iteagan gan leigeil bhuam, ron fheadhainn a ghabh suim air soillse is a bhòidhchead, gus sìor-atharrachadh nan dòchas lag a shoilleireachadh leis an deò.
Is bho neoni mo luaithrich, dh’èirich mi dhan iarmailt.
Bu mhi an ainneamhag a-rithist, air iomain osag saorsa.
Nam bhroinn bha mi nam theine, le lasair, sìor-luaisgeach.
M’ usgaran tilgt’ bho mo ghob, mar riadhan a stiùireadh gu sìorraidheachd is a dualachd; sìor-atharrachadh mo cheud-dhàin a shoilleireachadh leis an deò.
© Marcas Mac an Tuairneir, 2016
Phoenix
I was born with a cockscomb; a flash of black across the dome of my head.
I was raised with knowledge; a flash of faculty I would emit over time.
I never perceived a nimbus around my presence; a halo, glowing on my golden, crimson wings.
Inside I was afire, with a turbulent flame.
Flying through the darkened forest, I never planned to bring forth my own Inferno, but the complexity of ancient oaks, to illuminate with the rays.
I was ensnared in a cage of dogma; symbol of power that yoked my flight.
I was strangled byan iron fist; symbol of silence that yoked my verse.
Inside I was afire, with a turbulent flame.
My feathers falling from me, to those who knew heaven and its beauty and the complexity of faint hopes illuminated with the rays.
And from the chaos of my ashes, I rose into the firmament.
I was the phoenix again, billowed by freedom’s fair wind.
Inside I was afire, with a turbulent flame.
Pearls cast out of my beak, like a trace, trailing to eternity and its potential; the complexity of my hundred-song, illuminated with the rays.
© Marcas Mac an Tuairneir, 2016