Here are your sonnet translations. I didn’t include Shakespeare’s versions here, because they’d make things clunky. But you can find them on Open Source Shakespeare.
Baby I want to get in your pants
You smell of lavender,
Skin like silk,
You look strong, and stoic
You go by Z, they, them
Youre driving me nuts
Do you got em?
Can you wear a tither shirt?
I see you in my fluid dreams
My love for you is lucid
I hate my life.
I’m always sad,
I just want to be with him.
He is my dream.
Though I can’t be with him.
Because I love money,
And I love my crown.
Am I still Ill, will croon the nasal voice of 80’s Alternative Rock,
and carve prognosis from ancient stone,
giving myths back a taste of their own medicine,
giving me back a piece of my own mind.
Am I still ill like that fated arrow twisted between Artemis’ lean hands
when she wants to be spiteful, and oh how she is spiteful tonight!
She brims with vinegar and bursts with nettle,
A noxious Nefertari of her craft.
The notched feathers hit their mark,
Cupid falls away as a precursor,
and all I want to ask is,
What vile ardor grows
from the birchwood of my lungs?
Bark turned to rot, body turned in torpor,
words lost in stupor, pallid nerves to lust…
Must this feeling insist?
Must the image of such divinity persist,
and leave me resigned to wander, torn asunder,
urgent care, ambulance,
as I wretch the prescription
out of clasped hands and scream:
“Not sick! Not true! Not all the time!
Not forever…just for you.”
Just for you, says the doctor, pacing in their stuffy room,
delivering their clipboard sermon with a scowl.
Just for you, Pandora will sprinkle her black plague,
and banishes you to Hell.
Just for you, Poseidon will drag your water logged corpse,
and leaves it at the bottom of a nameless well.
Dante, Virgil, Rimbaud, Verlaine,
bow to Hades with that brooding gloom,
and all warn of what comes when following,
but I still followed, following the lovers to their certain doom.
Finch, magpie, raven, crow,
Ichor, splendor, Tartarus, undertow.
Bird song, sing-song, come along now, my dear,
just one bite…
Bird song, sing-song, all wrong,
the crimson cracked open in spite…
Show my true vices, mimicry Persephone,
I ate the seeds, but thou didn’t love me.
All beautiful things have faults
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud
Men make mistakes, including me
“STOP! Don’t take another step! That portal will send you far back in time!” the scientist yelled.
The historian smirked at the scientist as he leaned in closer to the machine. The scientist shook with fear as he knew not the consequences.
“I am not for this world, I do not see beauty here, I’ve only dreamed of living in history.” boasted the historian as he got ready to jump in.
“PLEASE! You don’t understand, you can never come back, I haven’t gotten that far with the machine”.
‘So be it” the historian leapt into the portal like a tree frog that was desperately drowning.
As the historian grew older in his new time, after all the talks with famous philosophers, scientists, and prominent figures in history, he realized his old time truly was beautiful, and he missed traffic.
#44 (from memory)
If the dull substance of my flesh were my thoughts
Painful distance will not stop me
Despite how far away thou are.
Thou stays far limits
My feet will always go
No matter how far from me
My thoughts can jump from land to sea
As soon as they find the place thou are
It kills me that I am not thought
I can’t leap large miles to get to thou
There’s too much space between us
I must wait at time’s feet with my moan
I have to follow nature’s elements
But I will still cry heavy tears.
#130, Hindu-English Hybrid
My ohrat ki ahkke sun ki jaise nai hai;
Coral zada laal hai, then her lips;
If snow sufade hai, then why onka breasts dull hai?
If baal wires hai, phir khala wires sehr pe grow karti hai
I have seen roses damasked, laal aur sufade,
Lekhan phool ghal pe nai hai;
And some perfumes are more delightful
Then my lover’s breath
Mujko ache lahkta hai unke awvas sunne, lekhan
Jo music hai, zada pleasing hai;
I never saw a goddess walk away;
Maira pyar, jab chalte hai, treads on the zameen:
Lekhan, by Heaven, mujkho lakta hai ke maare pyar rare hai
Kisi ko compare nai karti.
When I glance at the clock and time that is gone,
I watch the ugly night stifle the beauty of day.
Colors fade and I am not very fond
that your golden curls have grayed.
Trees once lush with green leaves
in the heat of summer protected the herd,
Now gathered in bundles of twigs and weeds.
Winter is born as the memory of summer is blurred.
What really is your beauty
As it will soon be lost too.
All good things leave eventually
Replaced by others that will fade just as soon.
The cruelty of time can be stopped by nothing
therefore create something to prove your life was worth living.
Don’t let the ancient winter destroy your summer beauty.
Keep your youth and your radiance with you while you still can.
Pass on your great looks before you die.
I mean if your so beautiful then it shouldn’t be hard to get a woman to sleep with you and have your children.
Making a little you would be amazing and should make you happy.
Hell, if it makes you happy, pass on your beauty to ten little versions of you.
Don’t be selfish.
You’re much too beautiful to die, and after all, you wouldn’t want to leave your children deprived of your beauty, would you?
Key-Word Translation of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130
Her eyes shine nothing like the sun, dull as dirt
Her lips fade away into the nothingness of her face
Her breasts are as shiny as the mud, not even the sun
If hairs be snakes, then snakes grow from her head
Roses do not compare to she,
Her cheeks do not compare to red roses
How I wish the smell of perfume would be hers,
But when she opens her mouth, my nose runs around
When she speaks, my ears beg to shut,
For her voice is unpleasing to me.
Never have I seen her look like a Goddess
For she walks like a giant instead.
Yet to heaven I promise, there is none other than her for me,
Nor would I dream to compare her to another.
Are you a woman? You’re better:
More beautiful, more sweet, more reliable.
And yet, you were made to pleasure women.
So does that make you a man?
It doesn’t matter- you can have me however you want.
I’m impressed you hold interest for all,
despite the fact that you were “first created”
#40 (personal translation)
I loved a lover who loved another.
Bothered not bothered.
The little Love-god lying once asleep
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
Whilst many nymphs that vow’d chaste life to keep
His tender heir might bear his memory:
The fairest votary took up that fire
Feed’st thy light’st flame with self-substantial fuel,
And so the general of hot desire
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.
his gift confound
on nature’s truth
despite his cruel hand.
Nothing and no one can live forever,
Only the written word can truly stay.
Through all the hardships man may endeavor,
Just know that here on paper you will remain.
Give me a wild rose any day
than the glass rose on display,
For unique and natural I prefer
than the thousands behind the counter.
Blind love eyes
Behold see not
Beauty it lies
Best take worst
Eyes corrupt looks
Anchor’d men ride
Falsehood forged hooks
Judgement heart tied
Heart think plot
Heart world’s place
Eyes seeing not
Truthful foul face
True eyes erred
False plague transferred