... walk ...

let's walk!
let's walk with friends on our both sides
let's walk - our heads held high
walk to the end of the night.

let's walk, while
pondering over the singularity of a finger,
and looking back for the remnants of our desires.

let's walk!
walk with the pride of the lion
and the nonchalance of the deer
and crane our weary necks...

let's walk!
walk through the hypocrisies of the spoken word
and open our mouths to be filled with the wind!

let's raise our feet to tramp on the so-called inevitable
and let's hope that we no longer feel
we are where our eyes are!

let's walk!
our heads held high
and our friends on both sides!

Tricycle

One may try to fool you
That if you do the
Same things every day,
You will be trapped
In a cycle of routine on earth,
And live an insignificant life.

Let me say something:
This is an utter lie.

Okay, there is a cycle,
But it is not cemented
To the ground of life.

There is the cycle, then
There is you in it;
But the cycle is not
Lying on the ground,
But perpendicular to life.

So you are in the cycle
Standing perpendicular
On earth.

Oh, earth.

Oh, yes!

Then! Start!
Do! The! Same! Things! Again –
And – again and come on and roll and
Move your hand, move your mind,
Move your feet, eat your meat,
Let no cheat
Make you weak!
Read your book
Kiss her cheek,
Let no cheat
Make you weak!
Or do your job,
Move your feet, throw your
Steps and throw your legs and throw your heart
And do it and again – and – again,
Let your legs push the cycle!
Let your hands propel it forward!

Feel an unlike wind
Behind your eager ears?
See how it changes,
The scenes of life?
Feel the cycle
Advancing like a heavy lance

On earth?

Yes, earth.

The cyclic earth.

The round earth.

The same earth.

The one that lives
The one that feels
The same with you.

So.

Feel that the malfunction
Is not in doing
The same thing?
That it is about
How and why you do it?

Then, do not believe
That one above, in his vicious circle,
Devoid of life,
Full of lie.


Tell him:

We are not mice
Trapped in devices,
But partizans
Hurrying to the end of time,
With our winged sandals!

Blindfold

Help me!
Help me!
I no longer can see –

I cannot find
My tongue
My mouth
My teeth

Help me!

I cannot cut
My hair
My nails
My dreams

Help me!

All I’m left is
A finger
A paper
A saber

Help me!

I must see
I must scream
I must be clean!!!

Help me!

Voila!

Textures
Torture
Sublime
Dreams

Seizure:
Fortune
Is your
Means

Phantom,
Phantom:
Show your
Piece

Darling,
Darling:
Make me
Mince!

Aim

I went to school
Learnt ‘bout my grades
I came back home
I wrote the same

I went to the refrigerator
Took a can of beer
Opened it, and my notebook,
I wrote the same.

I saw a nightmare
With three demons
I rushed to my table
I wrote the same.

My life is a paper
My heart is a pen
My mind is my shelter
I wrote the same.

lover, you should have come never

slippery wet fingers clutch my crotch,
a greasy moisty neck rubs mine,
hair, sweaty hair cloud my eyes:
oh, how i hate this reunion -

this cyclic filth - these rhythmic convulsions -
supposed to heal me, but reveals nothing;
tricks me, fools me, goads me
to that momentary belief of
reaching ad infinitum.

Matter

Grind the dust;
They don’t float anymore–
It’s alright.

a warm sunday afternoon

the rushing of steps,
the closing of a door,
the buzz of the refrigerator,
the low humming of a car engine,
the inaudible hiss of a breath,
the silent shoring of dust on my arms
on the arms of my suntanned chair.

they are waiting, for me;
but i am home,
you see?

eel!

i tremble
tremble with
the knowledge
that comes with
the potential.

i tremble
tremble before
the fear causing
me to bear
the unkept promises.

i tremble
tremble under
the weight
of the sin,
the sin of
being nothing.

i tremble
tremble and tremble
to the shivering light
of the winter sun
telling me
it is not over.

personification

i am getting familiar with my smile
encouraging me
to fly

tear

mmph. bed:
warmer than hand
under the pillow
bearing one cheek
on blue wavy sheets
caressing naked back,
caressing naked legs,
caressing naked feet.

hmm. turn around:
see the white ceiling,
hear the distant horn,
feel the morning breeze.

mm. you got your sleep:
a good night’s sleep.
what a relief to weep
after a good night’s sleep.

the unsuccessful interrogation of fich-molte

huh? hah! bah!
ye kint mæyk mey knfes -
ye kint mæyk mey tù tell ya
dit ey kek mey selfe awry dey!
sheyt sheyt sheyt!
dit awry mo'ning ey wæp mey s
wit a pees i thor off
da u-ni-verseeeeeeee!
eik eik eik!

Touch

You can’t argue with tentacles
They choose when to come,
They choose when to go –
One carresses your cheek,
The other crawls behind your neck,
Several prob your chest:
To see if you really live.

Do not fear to breathe,
You cannot fool them,
By doing not.

Just lay bare the device
Which makes you live
Then the tentacles
Will form a unison,
And cover you
Like a mother’s quilt.

Yes, they do not touch there
You should know why?
Hey, did you not lay it bare?
You wretch! You liar!
There is nothing can be done for you.
See, tentacles begin to break apart:
Now they will enter every part
Of you.

By and by

Look, I don’t know
Anything, I just woke
Up, with a little hangover;
A quick shower I had, and
Breakfast I made,
Then I went to school,
Chatted with my friends, I
And I –
What?
It’s bullshit, you know:
“ordinary people live
to be written about,” eh?
What nonsense –

Meditation

Day all crawl I my room around.
I am an innn-sect?

Sometimes, I howl!
I a m a w o l f ?

Then, once, I kissed a female.
I am human?

Today, I’ll redrum my own.
I am evil.

Lie Exposed 2

But I’d said
I with made
out the maid
and she bade
me to stay
(how I hate
William Blake)
sorry babe,
it’s for your sake
just a brake
then the fate
‘ll take a shape
like a cape
surround us –
like a cape
protect us –
like a cape
nothing will –
stop the fate
and you’ll know
I love you babe!

The Firestarter

Someone sparkled a fire,
And we followed it;
Not aware,
You were the culprit.

But the prophecy from the oracle
Told about the end
Which was about to begin,
And the flame in you which grew within.

Yes, the oracle told us it was you!
Who planted the blossoms of fire
In us, and it was you!
Who was the cause of our ire.

Now the scorched weather darkens,
No light of the setting sun anymore –
Your blazing vision crumbles,
Our heads on the floor.

So time is up,
My friend, surrender;
It is obvious,
You are the firestarter.

Together, we will eradicate
The remnants of the burnt past,
Then we’ll hail the man
Whose talent didn’t last.

Repentant, saved, and delivered,
The truth’s serene waters will soothe us,
And you also will be healed,
Now that you are one of us.

hell's terrace (a song for the watchers)

ho! ho! wonderful place!
wonderful wonderful wonderful place!

hey! hey! i like this place,
i like the way they burn the face!

come, on! sing the song,
sing it while your bowels are long!

so that there'll be no pain,
no pain to make you shriek in vain!

oh, hey! got something to ask?
something to learn and ease your task?

why, yes! we're right there,
on terrace of hell and nakedly bare.

oh! not, hot and barren,
we are watching you from heaven!

Lie Exposed

But you'd said,
That that vase,
The one who
Made who I was?

How it is
To feel, I
Wonder, to
Tell a lie?

Like thongs
Of flame,
Or just
Like a game?

Was I to be
Ridiculed,
And mocked,
Then cured?

About that vase.
Nothing to judge
Was there.
Except a little mud.

a tense interview with the future

so you will?
i shall.
would you?
perhabs.
and that's?
may be.
now what?
you'll see -

everyone has a trick

a blip, a trick, and a click!

his hand uses dad,
a tear sheds mother,
idly looks brother,
me embraces lover.

a blip, a trick, a click!

see i had nothing
and something
but not anything
like theirs, so thinking,

at last, see, i found my own.

you don't?!
no see you don't.
and i thought you were fond
of my smile, and there was a bond,

between us to do the trick
why, everyone has,
a blip, a trick, and a click!

Pepper

So it is true;
Dog is man’s best friend.
He is loyal,
And friendly;
Sometimes annoying,
But mostly, friendly.
As my dog is.
He is so friendly
That
Once I took him out
For a walk
With a book in my hand
And goggles on my eyes,
He happily wagged his tail
And followed his trail.
But you know what?
If I were to take him out
Stark naked
And screaming
And with a dagger on my back,
He would still follow me
And wag his tail happily.
Yes.
Dog is man’s best friend.

Dicken's Dublin

It’s always the same:
Whenever I hear Dicken’s Dublin,
My heart is squeezed by the past;
The familiar pain rises
Through my trachea –
But can’t find a way out.

It’s always the same:
The remembrance of idle days,
The warmth of afternoon sun,
The children’s voice,
Mixing with my silent one.

It’s always the same:
The silly silly smiles;
My hand, on my nape,
My head, on my pillow.
And the passing of the afternoon sun...

It’s always the same:
Always. Old ways.
We remember them
We try to let them
Off the hook
To disappear with the sun.

But then,
I hear Dicken’s Dublin again.
And the familiar pain rises,
Though this time,
Through my
Fingers.

The Dream of the Blue Bride

I

I have flown
Through my gown
Through my window
Through my eyes
To the purple rain
To the purple sky
To the purple fly
The fly saw me
The fly bit me
The fly bit me!
I shrieked!
I cried!
I died.

I I

I fell back
Through my ghoul
Through my soul
Through my window
To the red room
To the red gloom
To the red groom
He slept
He snored!
He snored!
I cried!
I shrieked!
I lived.

my queen? thr xtras in the hive!

then you'll see mee
glad would sing shee
I will kill hee?
hush- hush- don't bee.

a taste of early manhood

at the top; some streaks of black.
murky drops of white; at the bottom.
emmeline; by your side,
at hand, an aching heart.

o gentle Night, music.

hey, you, I caught!
at last! Night!
your finger, gentle
was on my lid, of eye,
touching,
telling,
hoping,
hope it whispered to me.
and, I, I, listened, in glee.
then!
then came the morn,
on my vision, blowing her horn.
rising,
in awe, I touched the lid's mark,
then sang like a meadow lark!

Pitcher Preacher

Whispering through the lives of dead oranges
Can make you free if you want to be,
But twinkle, twinkle, little star,
Hope your dust spreads afar.

Flowing casually towards outer space
May seem as a liberation at first,
But never forget to reach
To your loved ones, and the beach.

Playing down the importance of your eyes
Can sustain your life a little bit more,
So just pick up the old band, and
In triumph, raise your hand.

Dreaming your life as a didactic poem
May fool you to the extent that,
This is a simple reminder
Of J.D. Salinger.

raving resulting from severe restlessness at 1 a.m.

a.m. 1 a.m. who?
you who do
1 a.m. 1 a.m.
you do what?
a.m. 1 who you
do?, 1 a.m. that,
who did the deed.

killing me softly

poet,
flow down my toes.
narrow down my thoughts.
hear me out.

poem,
bring the blossom to my hands.
bring the water to my soul.
bail me out.

can,
cut your fingers.
sever your legs.
lost, is the final bout.

funeral for a friend

i was just about to say something.

certainly.

i'm sure.

i know what to say.

i had them in my head, definitely.

they were there moments

ago.

let me gather myself.

i know what to say.

all i need is

a few minutes.

then,

you will appreciate

me.

and the words

i'll utter

to the faithful departed.

shit! and a jolly and smelly one! read it!

... then, shall we go for a short ride which you will be testing and tasting the shape of things to come, so that you will know your money’s worth and now that you know it, you will instantly be allowed by yourself to trespass on my territory of dear self and in that self you will stare everywhere, scrutinize my very fibres of being and touching here and there, dissatisfied, running around if there is anything in here and when you find that nothing what will you say, eh? that this young man or old child is just fooling around and his wee bit worries are none of your business and oh these days, these days they are letting everyone to write a blog full of shit that no matter what patience you show them, and no matter how many chances you give them to give you something back to stay with you during the day and especially, night, when you lie down to your bed and fart happily and say that this Passacaglia dude wrote some real shit today but I can’t really recall it, and, sorrily, that does not change the fact that it is still shit and shit stinks ...

reminiscence / recognition / reconciliation

while you were making me sad;
i kept thinking about
the tiny particles
of dust
floating in our living room
visible in the warm rays of sun,
when i was a child
and came home alone.

of course,
it was summer
and late afternoon.

/

be it the particles, or be it the dust;
they reminded me the soleness
of my self, and my
beautiful being in the world.

to something like that,
one can always hold on.

/

still, you can make
some one with a be-
ing,
or one, be-
auty,
sad.

i am sad.

yet, they keep floating in the sun,
i see them.
and they land
on
my
cool
skin.
no one can stop that?
no body.

yes, i remember them.
i always do: the particles
are with me.
here, you see them on my arm?
touch.

god.

i will make you happy now;
no more sadness.

the problem with bearing the light

no, no: it does not make you blind
I assumed, that, for a long time,
no.

so, bear it then, you say?
no way.

why, you ask,
what is the problem then?

that,
you cannot put it down.
yes.

three men at table

a tuesday night in the winter;
I am sitting at a table,
with some men as my guests.
the first one says,
he’ll love me if I kill the third one;
the second one says,
he’ll hate me if I love the first;
the third one says,
he’ll kill me if I hate the second.
what can I do?
they are my friends.
for both spring,
and fall.
I hate them and I love them.
so.
I killed us all.

I guess, that makes not three,
but four.

the thin king

the year was 1900 and I was a king,
a sparse one, with no kingdom left.
so sad, went to a bar,
and started thinking,
not about being a king,
but,
drinking,
and thinking about drinking
more and more;
so that, eventually,
i started to enjoy myself.
why not?
is not the greatest thing
about drinking
thinking about your next pint?

electric verse

bulb, bulb:
why am i still not blind?
on the ground of my room, lying,
for this long,
i should have been that,
blind, bulb, but i am not yet.

yours are my eyes, are they not?
they should have been.
do you not know my devotion?
my, heritage, bulb?
i can see something, i still think, there, no?
yes?

bulb, bulb, bulb!
bulb, bulb, bulb!
stop lingering,
stop the lingering;
think of me, lying,
penetrate my body, vying,

for your great trophy:
the final, tranquil atrophy.
o bulb, i am the son,
and i am the heir.
so let me, then:
will you please kill my ken?

bulb!
bulb?

our mutual city

it is cold in here,
really, so that,
it is inhuman.

persons should not be cold,
but they are here.
really, nearly,
frozen.

but, if he is really willing,
his fairy is waiting,
to warm him,
with her lovely
arms.

really. she is lovely, and beautiful.
beyond comparison.
as is this city.
but not cold,
she is warm,
unlike amsterdam.