Untitled Events
The memory couldn’t match the things. Events that remained
without a place, vanished. You could certainly imagine
an ashtray somewhere else, a hanger, the fragrance
of cologne in the neighbourhood barber shop just before
they close the stores on Saturday evening and
the beautiful woman who a little later after scratched
a mandarin with her nail, slowly, smelling her fingers,
vanished under the lights of the Station. Forgotten,
forgotten, exiled, not adaptable to the chaotic storage room
with the ammunition and the nylon curtains.

(If this poem spoke to you, find more about it in the following links)

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I’m the pounding hammer
who forms a few unnatural
flowers instead of swords and
I’m the tamer gypsy who makes
circles, shadows, griffins and
spells out of fire, some royal
crowns, ghosts, fairies, mermaids
for ships, for palaces that don’t
exist anymore useless, unwanted
and peculiar, sometimes missing
the face, the body and always
missing a name; and what angers
the people who sleep with their
eyes open and all that passersby
expel and all that root in this land
and all that love never woke up
and all that never found any fans.
And I’m the hammering man
who surprises, startles and still
keeps going since all easy work
suited another craftsman though
my breath blows onto my work
something barbarous and new
harder than the hardest granite
and when one expects in his
hands from my hands a creation
steady, motionless and hard
I unwillingly bring to him a soft
soul, a sun ray or a wave’s froth.

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Worm
Green grass in brown soil
moist in air, overburdening
black clouds on brown leaves
death in fall or spring
rich dirt excreting a fat worm
dressed in his nakedness
like a general declaring war or
a middle-aged man running to a feast
naked worm on his destination
to his daily walk along brown
leaves and saddened atmosphere
pink orphan worm with no arms, no eyes
just his instinct to stay alive
like tree roots leading to food
worm at the edge of nuisance
brainless, yet wise enough
to crawl on his skin
defining rules of destiny and
declaring in a respected posture
and with all expected fanfare
rules of life on his way
to the next page of history

(If this poem touched you, you may find more about this poetry book in the following link)

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Excerpt

“Nope, that’s not me,” I said with definite weight. “Have you seen
the movie The Rain Man? The story of the brother who has to be looked
after?”
She nodded and I continued, “Well, same thing here. I have an
identical twin—a talented guy, but one hell of an idiot and my job in
life is to look after him while he tries to make this into a better world.
Now, if you were in this position, you wouldn’t want a lot of attention,
would you?”
The women were properly sympathetic and I congratulated myself
on my escape. I shared the story with the Harris’s and we had a good
laugh. A little bit of humour was returning to my life, and it felt just fine.
Each day Ken Harris would ask how the story was coming along
and I’d reply that I thought my ruse might actually work. Some months
passed, and he couldn’t stand it any longer so he went up to the little
store to tease them about how I’d pulled their legs. And that was that.
My cover was blown.
As a result of jokes of this nature, there are many who consider him
either a walking ego, or a complete asshole. That doesn’t bother him either,
“Our assessment of ourselves and our place within the universe is flawed
at square one. What is missing is a sense of humour. It keeps a person
balanced.”

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Don’t Talk to the Driver

II
(About Winds and Waters)
Eternal memory to the master, the Kindest Ottoman
Ali Hantzar, a servant of the Empire, the great world
Benefactor, helped by the Italian Guglielmo Tzitzi.
This was also the opinion of Madam Artemis, whose
Confirmation consoles the wandering souls and greatly
contributes to the efforts of the sixteenth-century French
poets who tried to create the New School named
the Pleiades. Besides, none of us forgets that the monk
Schwartz discovered gunpowder. Thus, for the rest …

(If this poem spoke to you, you may find more about this translation book in the following links)

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Emotions
Emotions are the wire that reaches
the heart of the void.
So much blood, so many wounds
so many dead.
Each approaching winter is the last
an iceberg rolls down the ocean and meets us
a dark sun calls its name while it shines.
So much bloodshed, so many emotions
pulp
all aimlessly kneel in the indecipherable whole.
Armies pass along the heavenly spaces
salvos echo in the narrow air.
Emotions are the wire
that reaches from our hearts to the sky
brings the ice and fires our sun
emotions are the telegraph we use to speak to the dead.

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JUSTIFICATION
With a stone I strike a stone
to mould a spark
a fire to become and add
an inch onto the leg
of the limping man who
after he admires
the ridiculous turn of this earth
and after he immortalizes it
on his canvas
into a conflagration his fire will grow
to burn the unequal world
when from the bottom of the lake
I pull mud and place it
in the limping man’s palms
he alone, who in deficiency exists
will mould the perfect universe
from the beginning people concerned
and beasts he’ll create
women who laugh
with their loosened hair
in the afternoon breeze
unforgettable sunsets and
when the limping man has graced
all eyes with benevolence
I shall give him summer wine
onto the clouds I shall enthrone him
pure and mature and loosened
and after inebriation settles in
revengeful and spiteful
to justify the cry
Good Lord, have mercy on us
don’t drink again

(If this poem touched you, you may find more about this poetry book in the following link)

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HLY19M96

Three Tears for the Lord

II
This mountain is so close to me
I extend my hand and uproot
the trees and their shrubs
the electrical company’s poles
the hurting teeth
of a desperately lonely life
Crafty sheep run on it
are sheep ever crafty?
Yet these have hurt a lot
and have learned inhumane bleats
Here, the people became one with the stones
they strike the stones and rip their viscera
they surprise themselves; they don’t know how to cry
Today
look carefully at this mountain
look carefully at this tear of the Lord
because it will dry up by tomorrow
Tomorrow you won’t be able to see anything.

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