Behind the Scenes
words that nobody utters: he is an orphan
like any coloured vapour he dissipates
into the tilted sky or lose himself in the world
letter on a rattling goods train:
smooth graze in man’s history
lost vestige: is it truth or ample
extension of imagination?
crumbled face among worn-out decorations
stranger: itching, with the litheness of death
he searches for his own life
and if he doesn’t find it
as an orphan with parents alive
he dresses himself with somebody else’s
eternal is only the place in which we cannot hide
everything that can be lived: is death
did the clock needle stop? or is the world spinning with it?

FAR AWAY

I would like to tell you a memory…

But it seems nearly erased…and as though nothing remains—

because it lies far away in my youthful years.

Skin like it was made of jasmine…

That day in August—was it August?—the night…

I barely remember the eyes; they were, I think, blue…

Ah yes, blue; a sapphire blue.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1723961833

Πατρίδα – Patria

Dilawar Qaradaghi, Ποιήματα