…I’m still here on the path that turns before it vanishes for good into the legend with you reading these verses about the utopia we call life built on pain the fake knowledge of history where each word tries to come out of the speechless generations sail out to the ocean without choosing the time they wander from craft to craft been in the dream up to the end of the dark lust a world that distances itself time before and after time where you belong, they never say goodbye the stars learn to survive but not to love don’t expect replicas the thread of the depth transcends you seed of a seeder that sprouts into mortal eternities preplanning silence and distance
…all corners of the plain torching your territory innocent blood of the first seethes for revenge as you lie here in the dark unnamed lane facing sky from where your first moon arched over trash bin in its solitude shadows your good fortune with stale piss and sick fumes diners laugh at irony on menu-board bison steak with wild berry reduction Arch of canoe emerges in center of your pupil while disembodied echo
They sat under the olive trees in early afternoon sieving the gray light with their big fingers they took off their cartridge belts and measured the anguish fitting the path of night how much bitterness fits in the wild mallow’s knot how much courage in the eyes of a shoeless child holding up the flag Past its time the last swallow remained in the plains weighed himself in midair like a black band on the sleeve of autumn Nothing else remained Only the burnt up houses smoldering
…because one switch was turned against the direction of the engines and Mike hadn’t seen it. He felt as if that splashing of the stone in the little pool sounded as if someone had slapped him on the face, and he accepted it with forbearance and patience, like another lesson in the work he was doing for the big train company. Mike suddenly felt the need to hide somewhere so others couldn’t see him as he was leaving with a lowered head as if he had been defeated in the afternoon battle of survival. Time flew, and eventually Mike went home, where he narrated the event to his wife and son, who started laughing at the imaginary sight of a train engine on the ground. Mike felt a little lighter, and he too started laughing without knowing why.
The Lost 1% Finally you turned me into yourself, my love! Or perhaps I’ve been this way all along unable to answer the same way when they tell me “I love you”. Unable to say, “me too…”, or “I also love you.” The phrase almost reaches my lips but is not stated. To observe other men with that sad and full of agony glance, the one I noticed in your eyes for a long time, and not being able to answer. Now I can understand what you felt. I feel the same way. Now, I know what it means for the other person to expect something from your lips and you unable to utter a word. And it is not that you don’t love the person, it’s not that you don’t care for them. The opposite, you care and you hurt more so. But that 1 % that is missing, that you miss and without it the word isn’t said. That 1 % you know you won’t ever find. That, as if you came faulty out of the factory and you miss something, what you’ll never acquire and as a result you’ll never be able to give it to anyone. And you’ll remain like Sisyphus to go up and down the mountain with the weight of love on your back, forever searching to unload it and to offer it somewhere. 70 But there will never be anyone to lighten up your load no one will ever walk along with you up the mountain and no one will ever give you a hand just to stop you from slipping down the slope. Because simply you can’t grasp onto anybody’s hand you can’t grasp onto anything.
…We are all like the Dead Sea many fathoms lower than the surface of the Aegean. Come with me and I’ll show you the landscape In the dead Sea there are no fish there is no seaweed nor sea urchins there is no life. There are no alive creatures that have stomach to feel hunger that nourish nerves to feel the pain, THIS IS THE PLACE GENTLEMEN! In the Dead Sea contempt is the property of no one other than the mind. Heart and thought congeal in salt that’s bitter they mix with the mineral world. THIS IS THE PLACE GENTLEMEN! In the Dead Sea enemies and friends children and wife and relatives go and find them. They are in Gomorrah in the sea floor very happy and don’t expect any message. GENTLEMEN, we carry on with our tour many fathoms under the surface of the Aegean.
Difficult years of hunger and persecution experiences that flowed together like water then a door opened to our north and we all scattered like dry leaves. Yet, father, I now know you well I see that cheap words and useless happiness never touched your life, now that your presence burdens me less and less with each passing day.
Caricature A bad imitation of a human, faceless, like the company he served, arrived and hiding the packaged freedom silently in his pockets deaf freedom choked from the excess lard he had consumed in their last feast sorrowful leftover of our old glory and I, saddened by the momentary loss of logic leaned and smelled the tiny jasmine flower, letting its aroma fills my nostrils emotional that I had become to the point of tears: then, it wasn’t far away anymore, it wasn’t impossible. It was here on the dusty sidewalk here it was the Heavens into which I surely entered
Full Moon Nothing, nothing from you, oh sky, anywhere I held, I tumbled noisily down from your airy ceiling with the shells the rusty bunch of your stars. A disproportional moon rises inside me. It swells dangerously on my hilltops. It’ll rise a full moon that shatters me.
Berutiano (Let’s not forget of Alfonso Allais) I am flabbergasted by this girl’s vast knowledge! Is she from Cairo or Alexandria? I’d lie to you. Regardless, as she says, she completed her fine education in one European college (catholic of course) in Cairo or Alexandria. With such dedication and endless information, she talks of the teaching personnel and what she owes to them. Pere Magannat, mere Aklantan (Ann Merntez) and mere Vitsialis. The brother d’ Aisance! Fils Tik, doesn’t hesitate to add continuously and she teaches me of Europe with all its secrets and details, true European, even though she’s an Afrikaner.
