Writer on weekdays and English teacher on weekends, Preeyakit Buranasin has a bachelor’s degree in English and a master’s in English Literature. During his studies, he started writing both in prose and poetry, in various genres. He is an Ananchanok Poetry Award recipient.
There’s Only So Much One Can Do for Love
There’s only so much one can do for love.
No man I know can blow the winds backwards,
Nor force the stars to fall from sky above,
Nor make sweet butterflies fly high as birds.
Though long and hard you may pursue to try,
Your struggle means nothing; you’ve gained defeat.
No song, no poem, no word can change her mind;
No one, no God can make your hearts’ path meet.
I wish the content of my sonnet’s wrong
But my experience tells me it is not.
Yet I attempt against the tide stand strong
And fall like heroes in a tragic plot.
And fall and fall I know I will until
Sun dies, sky falls, dead rise; my love’s fulfilled.
It’s Just Another Day
He had bloodshot eyes, a hole in his stomach and several broken bones.
He had earlier been stabbed and beaten with sticks and stones.
When he had gained consciousness, he crawled outside and saw the four men—
That had earlier attacked him—taking turns to be above his woman.
He cried out, ‘Stop!’ Then, ‘Please stop!’ Then, ‘God make them stop!’
But everything continued: her screams, his pain, the pleasure of the one on top.
And then when they were done, they went their way.
Do you know in some places, it’s just another day?
Explaining Atheism to a Christian
“What is atheism?” a Christian asked an atheist.
“Well, I’m pretty much like you,” the atheist said.
“Do you believe in Allah, Zeus, Prometheus,
Votan, Odin, Rama, Vishnu, Blodeuwedd,
Ra, Gaia, Osiris, Shiva, Ymir, Nummu, Chang-O
Yu-Huang, Yum Kimil, Nanse, and Thor?”
The Christian looked puzzled but finally said, “No”.
“Me too!” said the atheist. “I just go one god more.”
While I was on the Road
I’m by myself on this long road.
I like it fine if truth be told.
Afar ahead my fate awaits
But now it looks like I’ll be late.
For fair she was this girl beside the road.
Perhaps a bit too fair if truth be told.
She had a glass of water in her hand.
Perhaps it was a custom of this land
To offer water to strange men upon the road.
I find that to be very odd if truth be told.
Her stare was strong and straight at me. It stabbed my soul.
Then she said, ‘Come here, stranger, drink this ere you go.’
Of course I could ignore her and continue down the road.
I wasn’t even slightly thirsty if truth should be told.
But here she was, a glass in hand, a smile I can’t refuse.
Apart from time, and time I have, I’d nothing else to lose.
I walked to her. I took the glass. My eyes were taken off the road.
I took my time. I drank it all. I tasted every drop if truth be told.
She knew I liked it. She, too, did like it. I could tell from her smile.
Time was completely still and everything was quiet for a while.
And then she took my hand, said, ‘Come with me!’ and led me to a different road.
I tried resisting but she insisted. Well I was weak if truth be told.
She took me far, far, deep into the woods, as if to make me lose my way.
And lost I was. My road was nowhere to be seen. She had led me astray.
And then I found myself dancing along with her. I had forgotten my own road.
And while we danced she said, ‘Where were you heading?’ I said, ‘No idea’. And truth was told.
‘Can I be lost with you?’ I asked. ‘Of course,’ she said. And we continued dancing in the woods.
Sometimes while I’m in bed with her, I dream about a distant road, a dream I never understood.
I Know I’m Whispering into the Wind
I know I’m whispering into the wind,
My voice too soft too far for you to hear.
I know that only fools do such a thing.
You’d think I ought to speak into your ear.
But I already have tried speaking loud
And all my words were uttered strong and clear.
So sure my words would reach the highest cloud
But you, who matters most, didn’t seem to hear.
The world has heard but I care not of it.
My words were meant for you alone my dear;
The rest don’t interest me a single bit,
That you don’t hear remains my only fear.
Now fly with haste and carry words of love.
Fly to her now, the one whom I speak of.
To Others You Might be a Silly Rhyme
To others you might be a silly rhyme;
Just ink on paper; letters rearranged;
Just simply ordinary speech made strange;
An art that is long dead; a waste of time.
O but to me you are my magic key
That opens the door they call ‘eternity’;
My only chance to be forever free;
My only chance of immortality.
When death shall come and claim my mortal soul;
When time stands still and interests me no more;
When I’m but bone and dust and done with all;
I shall refuse to knock on heaven’s door.
But I shall come and rest in peace in you.
And when someone reads this, life shall renew!
