My Dearest Mad-readers,
Let me share a poem I translated with you. I found it tricky to translate, as I used some idiomatic expressions in the original French poem. Just like another poem of mine named Ghost, I adapted it more than I translated it. It makes more sense to me to adapt my work, rather than merely (literally) translate it. Perhaps one day I will write a blog post about translation and its intricacies… Anyway, back to the poem!
Facing the starting line, I glimpse the horizon whilst my fingers burn with sweat, caressing the steering wheel, and leaving a long trail of perspiration. The checkered flag soon will go down. I fire up the engine, and position my feet. I seize the gearshift, drunk with elation. The engine snores, my heart swells. They are revving up, then calming down, in sync, when I let go of the gas pedal. Pressure is burdening me, but exaltation rules my body. A question worries my mind just like last time, and the time before that. The flag whips the wind. I crush the accelerator and race ahead. I sweep my worries away till next time, in case I reach that sublime finish line.
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