Death to America (Osama Bin Laden)

Editor’s note: the following 4-part  poem, purporting to be  a transcription/  translation of a new “undiscovered” poem by Osama bin Laden, forms the centerpiece of a  political article. The article can be read in its entirety here:

http://www.theoccidentalobserver.net/2010/12/%E2%80%98death-to-america%E2%80%99-a-new-poem-by-osama-bin-laden/

Here is the poem by itself:

Death  to  America

Do what you can, and so shall we. Just wait!—we too are waiting.
—  Qur’an XI. 121-22

1. The Great Satan

America!
The inhabitants of the earth
Are drunk
With the wine of your fornications!
You have given birth
To terror, hatred, hysteria!
Your people are sunk
In stupefaction.

Darkness has come upon you.
Nevertheless
You think you live in the light.
Your eyes have been blinded.
Your people stumble in darkness.

Greed has undone you.
Pride and lust are your blight.
God’s sees, and has minded!

Miserable crew, forever whining
About 9/11 and your precious
virtue!
As if you alone had known pain
And the world were under obligation
To kiss your feet and court you
And approach you with shining
Eyes—
you blot, you stain!—
You object of utter detestation!

Country of murderers and thieves,
Bloodsuckers of the Third World,
Devils with smiling faces—
My curse on you for ever!
May your land be reduced to a wild
Desolation, may all that lives
In your tainted spaces
Never know peace—or joy—
ever!

2.   The Coming Doom

Where your people once lived
Secure in the illusion
Of their superior virtue,
There the bison will roam
Again, the frog spread confusion
Over the marshes, the vulture thrive.
There’ll be none to hurt you
There, buried beneath your slime!

Another people will possess your land
Taking your place, a race
From beyond the sea, superior
In virtue: one that practises
What you only preach, showing a face
Of kindness and compassion and
Care for mankind: a race far dearer
To God, and less prone to vices.

You brew trouble, you foment wars
So you can peddle your arms.
Pain screams
From the mouths of children so
That your hatchers of harm
Can trinket their whores
And live the American dream.
That way lies hell, and
there you go!

You defile all the regions you rule,
You scatter your bases and rob
The lands you begrime and bescum!
Who helps to kill children for kicks
In Palestine? May Abu Ghraib
Gnaw away at your inmost soul
Like a maggot! The time will come
When your backs will be beaten by sticks!

3.   The  Holy  Land

Israel!—an American colony
Disguised as a Jewish state,
Deliberately planted to destabilize
And drive entire races demented!
A country whose main product is
hate,
Whose
raison d-être is to make misery,
Where peace would be the only surprise!
A country not owned, but rented

From the Arabs temporarily, by force
—Where the rent is always in arrears.
America, the day will come
When the rent will have to be paid
With compound interest. You’ll reap in tears
What you sowed in joy! At the end of this course,
You will pick up the tab and become
Chief debtor for the monster you made!

See, the betrayer of the Jews—
The Jews themselves! Or rather
Those who
call themselves Jews, the pseudo
Ashkenazi Jews with their blue eyes
And blonde hair! Could any race be further
From the true Semitic Jews whose
Blended blood has been poured into
Other
bloods under alien skies?

These are the ones, the hocus-pocus
Imposter Jews, who now blow the trumpet
For Zion, stigmatizing
Their critics, and heaping abuse

On those who object to the rank armpit
Of Israel!—Oh, how we loathe these bogus
European Jews whose devisings
Were all learnt from Hitler’s hellcrews
.

4.   The Day of Reckoning

September 11? That was just
The
beginning! Prepare for more
Of the same!—for further contingents
Of “cowards” hell bent on suicide
Flying in to your hated shores!
How can you win? You’ve already lost!
You’ve lost respect: the moral argument.
You are universally despised!

Invincible America, aren’t you glad
You’re
so strong? What “courage” it must take
To skulk behind the clouds and rain
Cluster bombs on the weak, without peril
To your own skins! Yes, it’s a piece of cake
Killing women and children in Baghdad!
Congratulations, America! You win
First prize for shooting fish in a barrel!

Hear now my message: Depart
From our lands: you have your own.
Don’t steal our oil! It lies under
Our sands, and there it shall stay!
Get out of our sight! Leave us alone!
Practise the torturer’s art
On your own people! I wonder
What
Christ would think of Camp X-ray?

Nation of impudent parasites!—
Supervirus of the world!—
So you think you hold all the aces?
Hear now my curse:
May all your bones
Be broken, your ashes all whirled
To the wind! May you who delight
In sowing tares in all places
REAP, REAP, REAP WHAT YOU HAVE SOWN
!

Lethe (Baudelaire translation)

LETHE

Lie on my breast, you lazy beast, and lounge
There like a lovely tigress. Settle there,
You cold, cruel monster, and let me plunge
My restless fingers in your fleece of hair!
Let me descend into the scented vale
Of your long skirts, and breathe the essence of
You there: from that spent flower, let me inhale
The bittersweet remains of my dead love.
I long to sleep—to sleep and not to be!
To sink into the dream of death, and there
Scatter my carefree kisses recklessly
On your bronze-tinted flesh so young and fair.
My weeping fits, my stifled sobs and sighs,
All cease and fall to nothing in the abyss
Of your bed. In your mouth, forgetfulness
Lies, and Lethe’s lulling waters in your kiss.
I yield to fate, and take a pleasure in it.
Henceforth my doom will be my sweet delight.
A willing martyr, I shall fan this minute
These flames of lust to add to my own plight.
And I shall suck—to soothe my soul’s unrest—
Nepenthe and hemlock, bitter-tanged and tart,
From the pert rosebuds of those pointed breasts
Behind which never beat a human heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dead Lovers (Gerald de Nerval translation)

Dead lovers

Where are our lovers now?
In graveyards low they lie.
I guess they’re happy now
In lands of lullaby.
They’re with the angels now
Up in the sky so blue—
They sing the praises of
God’s holy Mother too.
O bride in shining white,
Young woman once in flower,
You lovers lost in night—
The doombell tolled your hour.
Immortal youth once shone
All flashing in your eyes.
Those flames from earth are gone—
Let them light up the skies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beautiful Corpse (Baudelaire translation)

Beautiful corpse

One midnight, appalling and drear,
You will lie under your headstone:
Your beautiful corpse, my dear,
In its house of gravel and bone!

When the chaste stars languish and droop
Their eyes at the coming of dawn,
There the spider will weave his web,
There the viper will breed her spawn.

There night after night you will hear,
Like the hounds of hell in your ear,
The wolf and his harrowing howl:

There the raddled harlot will lurk
And the dirty old man will jerk
And the plotter of crimes will prowl.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To the Precious and Beautiful (Baudelaire translation)

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To the precious and beautiful
Whose loveliness illumines me,
To my Idol, to my Angel
All praise in immortality!
She impregnates the air around
Like the wild salt tang of the sea
And in my soul she trickles down
The attar of eternity.
Sachet forever fresh and strong
Scenting the air of a loved room,
Forgotten censer burning long
Through the night in the sacred gloom.
How can I ever truly tell
What undefiled you are to me,
My grain of musk invisible,
My essence of eternity!
To the precious and beautiful—
My life, my joy, my sanity,
To my Idol, to my Angel
All praise in immortality!

Je t’adore (Baudelaire translation)

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I love you as I love the sky at night,
You brooding soul who never says a word.
Because you’re cold, denying me delight,
I love you all the more, my mockingbird!
You put a gulf between me and the blue
Heavens beyond. That’s why I reach for you!
I move in for the kill. I lust for your flesh,
As coffinworms over corpses swarm.
You gorgeous beast, I want you all the more
You crack your whip and treat me like a worm!

Prajapati’s Teachings (from the Sanskrit)

PRAJAPATI’S TEACHINGS


Prajapati, lord of creation, had three
Different types of devotees: gods, men, demons.

Now the gods approached Prajapati first
For wisdom, saying ‘Sir, give us something
Precious to remember: truth in a word.’
Prajapati offered one syllable.
‘Da!’ he said. ‘Have you understood?’ he said.
‘We have understood,’ they said. ‘You said, Control!
Da for Damyata: Control, rein yourself in!’
‘Good,’ Prajapati said. ‘You have understood.’

The men of the world sought Prajapati next
For wisdom, saying ‘Sir, give us something
Precious to remember: truth in a word.’
Prajapati offered one syllable.
‘Da!’ he said. ‘Have you understood?’ he said.
‘We have understood,’ they said. ‘You said, Give!
‘Da for Datta: Give freely, be generous!’
‘Good,’ Prajapati said. ‘You have understood.’

The demons sought out Prajapati next
For wisdom, saying ‘Sir, give us something
Precious to remember: truth in a word.’
Prajapati offered one syllable.
‘Da!’ he said, ‘Have you understood?’ he said.
‘We have understood,’ they said. ‘You said, Mercy!
Da for Dayadhvam: Have mercy, forgive!’
‘Good,’ Prajapati said. ‘You have understood.’

These words can still be heard when thunder roars:
Da! Da! Da! Damyata! Datta! Dayadhvam!

*            *            *            *            *            *            *

— Translated from the Sanskrit of the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad  (c. 1000  BCE)
by Lasha Darkmoon in collaboration with ‘MW’. Published in Acumen Magazine,
May 2008, under the composite pen name ‘Manna Domini’.

Lesbian lovers on a balcony (Verlaine translation)

Lesbian lovers on a balcony… “swooning under a summer evening moon.”

Lesbian Lovers on a balcony

They looked on as the swallows clipped the air:
One pale and raven-tressed, the other blonde.
Light cloudy gowns clung to their bodies fair
And round their slender limbs like serpents wound.

Lovely they were like languid asphodels
Swooning under a summer evening moon,
Savouring such joy as in a sad heart dwells
When lover turns to lover in night gloom.

So pleased to love each other instead of man,
These dreamy girls upon the balcony
Caress each other’s cool and clammy skin.

Behind them in the musky room there stands,
In pride of place, marked out for ecstasy,
The Bed…the scented bed of sweetest sin!

(Verlaine imitation/translation)


Once long ago (Baudelaire translation)

 ONCE  LONG  AGO

Once long ago I lived in porticos
Lit by the light of azure seas and skies,
There where tall columns stood in endless rows
And the mooned arcades glowed like caves of ice.

 Reflecting the light of a thousand suns,
Those rainbow seas mirrored me paradise,
Enough to move me to a mystic trance
And light a look of magic in my eyes.

There I lived under pale voluptuous moons
Of pleasure, lulled by wine purple seas
And honeysuckle suns…and at my knees
Sat perfumed slaves to fan me in my swoons.

And all they had to do, their only art,
Was try to guess what worm gnawed at my heart.

Hymn to the Unknown God (from the Sanskrit)

“You make the tinkling rivers run…”

Hymn to an Unknown God

As the sun on morning dew
Sparkles, making all things new—
We shine for joy, reflecting You.

You make the tinkling rivers run:
How happily they tumble on
Like birds that fall through air for fun!

Under your protection we
Find love and sweet serenity.
Forgive our sins and set us free!

Let the stream of my life wind
Through the green fields of the mind.
Loose the bonds of sin that bind.

Let not the web of song I weave
Be swept away, nor Time bereave
Me of the loved ones I must leave.

Let not this hymn of praise to Thee
Be lost for ever utterly.
When Time is dead, let these words be!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

— Translated from the Sanskrit (Rig-Veda, XI.28)
by Lasha Darkmoon in collaboration with ‘MW’.
Published in Acumen Magazine, September 2006,
under the composite pen name ‘Manna Domini’.

In the beginning (from the Sanskrit)

“Who knows what happened first…?”

In the Beginning

Neither Is nor Is Not was,
No when nor where nor why.
There was no sky because
There was nowhere for sky.

No stir of living breath,
No signs of night or day.
And what of death? No death
Or immortality.

The One alone lay breathing
(O ask not when or where!)
In the deep mindsea seething
Unconscious, unaware.

Nothing stretched beyond him,
There He lay all alone!
No one became I Am.
Up rose the Only One!

And in the One grew Love,
The first seed of the soul.
Space then, and stars enough,
And the sky’s blue bowl.

Who knows the truth? who can
Tell how this universe
Bubbled up and began?
Who knows what happened first?

The universal Dancer,
The Dreamer with his dreams,
He
perhaps knows the answer
Of all that is and seems.

The why and the wherefore,
What makes Time’s river flow,
He
knows the reason or—
Maybe he does not know!

(Translated from the Sanskrit (Rig-Veda X.129)
by Lasha Darkmoon in collaboration with ‘MW’.
Published in Acumen magazine, September 2006,
under the composite pen name ‘Manna Domini’.

To Francesca, my praises (Baudelaire translation)

To Francesca, my praises

¶

See, I practise a new art
As my angel plays her part
In the desert of my heart.

Now be crowned with garlands gay
Lovely woman fair and fey
Who washes all my sins away.

Let me drink oblivion from
Your sweet mouth as I succumb
To your kisses as they come!

When I trod the path of shame,
When I did things you might blame—
Then, my angel, then you came!

See, my star of shining light,
In the wreck of my soul’s night,
Me, on your altar laying my heart.

Source of every good and sum
Of eternal youth, ah come
Let me sing who now plays dumb.

What was foul, you burnt to bits.
That
was crooked: now it fits.
My will was weak: you strengthened it.

In my hunger, you the inn;
In the dark, my lamp; and in
Your chaste arms, an end to sin.

Add your strength to mine and give
Some sweeter scented additive—
O balm of Gilead, in me live!

Let your chastity confound
My lustful loins and there abound—
Strew your holy water round.

O Lady, be my Golden Bowl!—
My sacred bread, my wine, my soul!—
My fleeting youth, my Beautiful!

*          *          *

Baudelaire’s Franciscae mea laudes
(Freely translated from the Latin).

Charles Baudelaire’s ‘Hymn to Satan’

Translated from French by Lasha Darkmoon

HYMN  TO  SATAN

O you among all angels consummate,
God stripped of  honour, God betrayed by fate,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

O Prince of exiles, you who suffered wrong,
Who still undaunted rise up ever strong,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

You, lord and master of the occult art,
Wise healer of the harrowed human heart,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

You who, through love, beneath malignant skies,
Give lepers their first taste of paradise,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

You who, in teaching girls to act like whores,
Bring them to rags and syphilitic sores,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

You who, on a tall building’s outer ledge,
Propel the sleepwalker toward the edge,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

You who, to soothe his soul, inspires man
To make the best gunpowder that he can,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

You who, with death, your darling in delusion,
Invented Hope—that beautiful illusion—
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

O refuge of all who in God’s angry eyes
Have failed the entrance test to paradise,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!

—    §   —

Glory and praise to thee, Satan on high
Who reigned in heaven once, yet vanquished lie
In deepest hell now—plunged in dreams and silence!

Grant that my soul rest one day in thy presence:
There where the Tree of Knowledge spreads its shade,
Building a brave new temple round your head.


RELATED VERSE: DARKMOON’S “DEMONIC POEMS”
[1]  DEMON WORLDS
https://www.darkmoon.me/2010/demon-worlds/

youtube presentation: Demon Worlds
[2]  SATANICA
https://www.darkmoon.me/2010/the-succubus/
[3]  SAROTH THE DEMON
https://www.darkmoon.me/2010/saroth/
[4]  HELLVIXEN
https://www.darkmoon.me/2010/hellvixen/
[5]  VAMPIRE NIGHTS
https://www.darkmoon.me/2011/vampire-nights-by-anonyma/ 

Dancing Serpent (Baudelaire translation)

“Those eyes like frozen jewels…”

Dancing Serpent

Dear lazybones, how I adore
You in your shining skin!—
It has the shimmer of shot silk
Or frosted hyaline.

Upon your matted mane of hair
As rank as bitter rue
An undulating sea of scents
Wafts billows brown and blue.

And I am drifting like a ship
In quest of distant skies
Dreamily . . .  there oceans roll
And morning breezes rise!

In your blank eyes there’s nothing sweet
Or bitter to behold:
Those eyes like frozen jewels chipped
From iron and pure gold.

*          *          *

Baudelaire: Le Serpent qui danse
http://fleursdumal.org/poem/125

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