Monday, September 22, 2014

A Tale from the Attic

“If there was any chance for our love story to be written, you spilt the ink by mistake or God-knows, intentionally...if there was any chance for our song to be composed you scared away the notes without knowing or God-knows you watched every sol and la flutter and disappear...if there was any chance to sleep on the same dream you set the alarm without me seeing or God-knows I felt every second drip on my heart’s wings...

Was it you rehearsing a melodrame or me running down an utopian rhapsody, or God-knows a vicious envier that chewed our names cruelly, to spit our crushed petals out on some deserted land...and you left me, God-knows you did...left me like a lonesome frozen peach hanging from a wooden hand that has been stroked by an early winter..” 

said Layla repeating it 40 times and woke Goliath up by mistake, or God-knows intentionally, whose yawn let her steal a glimpse of the ink spiller sitting behind his giant teeth with a three-eyed sunglasses..


Saturday, August 9, 2014

Lament for the Levant

Their minds threw up flowers
tears chased away dizzy bombs and bullets
they gave away their smiles even to dull strangers
Passers-by always got to taste
their evergreen zaa'tar and olives

but damn it! red is still red
borders drawn by red sharp rulers
are still haunted with open wounds
now their chests hold not hearts
but cullenders

Levant's ancient books and tablets
adrift in ruby waves from electronic outbursts
scream in vain, even the silkworms
and leaves listen

flood soaked justice and wisdom
drip occasional ceasefire
but these lands are now bloated
so are the heads with ceaseless pain
caused by the stitches on our hopes

how about grandpas' strawberry harvest

Monday, July 21, 2014

sleeping in a glass box

watch out for the cross-eyed hunters,
who lived and will live in every year of history

oh yes! ask them to hear how fine the search is going
with their sharp gaze
piercing everything having lips and ears,
with their blood sloshing - almost foamy
with their pulse wafting every thought
in their designated area

see how well the search is going
they are watchdogs with hallway addiction
every shoestep is an adventure  to them
everyone is a passerby
the joy of whose sight is mistaken for insight
compassion is a forgotten note in their chant

what choice has a candle got before their breath
either booing or over cheering
enlightened tribe members

what choice have you got,
you in your glass box
with some greenery
and cool sweet water

your intuition is freaky to them
your attention cheap
oh what choice have you got
when cherishing is degrading

your admiration belittles you in their eyes
let alone causing joyful humility
but don't you ever despair
overlooked beauty in details might choke, shake
and awaken them
just like they choke everyone with their cruelty

oh yes! remembering the past could be as good news
as the possibility of knowing the future
 

Monday, July 14, 2014

Permutation

(Scene 1: 4 min - Sitting by a pond, under a willow tree with drooping branches waving, lemonade glasses on side tables, lazy summer breeze)

Grandma reads out loud slowly from the 2nd draft of a book she is reviewing -
"..Enchanted by the beauty of chromosome-like sentences that are pure art, unique strings manifesting the divine rhapsody of creation, words whirling like derwishes... meaningful gems among pebbles and plastic dices...all mouth-processed yet the magic is in the array."

Grandson murmurs, absent minded,  staring at small fish in the pond , a newspaper laid on lap -
So is that how life is supposed to be?!..Some people, some events, some emotions...accumulated in your shoulder bag, and constant analysing under your one-of-a-kind hat..once you are done here the bag and the hat are left on the counter called, justice!?

Grandma adds -
loveful justice my dear, loveful. Hopefully.

Grandson sighs -
I saw the most disturbing dream last night...emancipotary at the same time

Grandma straightens her back as she takes off her reading glasses -
Interesting! Tell me about it, darling, for I saw a disturbing one myself
 

Saturday, July 5, 2014

Pendulum

Sum of daily tragic acts
and pollination of ill intentions, moreover
this terrible collective memory of ours
make the deaf, old, swallon globe
a lump in the universe's throat

such a relief, however:
sewer filth and rain clouds
sit in the same giant bubble

just like the sight from a prison window
of pigeons bathing
and grass growing
 

Sunday, June 29, 2014

Leaps and Cycles

flowers transform into fruits
thoughts into feelings
and we all flow through
the immense spiral of cosmos

we put on and off principals, ideals
in response to manuevours of today's ethos

why to bother whether history repeats itself
as long as we forget the first sin on earth itself
there will be more machines
to ream out humans
than fruits
 

Thursday, June 5, 2014

unhanded

apple worms were sleeping
neighbour's cat was arching his back
some radio with poor reception,
forgotten on in a mansion,
was dripping music
into the ears of workers having a slack
 
it was sudden
the curtains were rolled up swiftly
the new scene was unfamiliar
uncalculated
 
we were caught outside
unprepared
a lightning sliced our glorious tree in half
your hopes were stolen by this electrique
unpredicted
I didn't even had the chance to pull
my toes out of the creek
 
angel giggles froze in the air
snow flakes fell on my hair
your letter dated a future winter
unsigned

 

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

mighty and delicate

Sprinkles of graceful wisdom
boiling water, brewing tea
letting go of all that are shaking

oh there is enough time to rest your bones
yet so much to witness

piano flavored air
from some distant lands

postman's ring
swan's rising
justice's timely smile,
sparkling
so vivid

you are the luckiest person on earth

 

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Acacia

Teach me new words and
I'll wrap them around my neck, warm
in long winters
and whistle them into dandelions' ears
in careless summers, white

You teach me new words
and I'll lead you when they play salsa,
untie you if a spider strokes your limbs

You teach me new words
and  I'll sing them back to you,
and make a lonesome
street lamp wink at you, yellow
if not a star fleeing
from the auction table of the skies

You teach me new words
and I'll draw real flowers, heartred
sticking out from a frozen painting

You climb up to your attic
open the window shades, black
and I'll land the sun on your forehead
 

Monday, April 21, 2014

A pair of scales

Vast croplands, indigo clouds
empty stomachs around a table being set
a single poppy before wind
morning's touch and evening's smell
random acts of kindness

There are sparks of truth in everything
ancient stories and today's cheers
mixed with laments
what is to tell other than life's beauties
and man's injustice to man

Piercing swords, sneaky bullets
someone's bigger slice, someone's smaller hopes
poorly silvered mirrors
stab the light
in the eye
 

The body of the universe

An unworldly wind brushes dew drops,
leaves tremble
an early morning bird screeches and the skies
crack open
flip pages, ink dries
rays of light beat the drums of the suns
that tumble down the temples
to reach the eyes
and pull down their curtains.

cohesion of aspiring dawn and longing dusk
whispering secrets to each other

effortless absorptions
wordless revelations

some realms known to none
materialise and become one
and disappears to appear again
disseminates along hair roots, finger tips
chest-elevating melody swings
geography's letters melt away
lava meets icy waters
scented smoke rises
intoxicates minds
absolute clarity follows

night's cape brushes the continents
rocks of all shades chip away
content.

magnetic colorful marbles
roll on the surface of skin cells
vibrating some unidentified flying emotions
gently.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Time's Biography

No storm is here to stay
We were told,
A sacred dust in milky way
all that is,
Flowing, wading, flying up and down in a clock
between the two worlds through a rope,
the neck

Does it matter whether
a second or centuries old

Remove your shoes
We were told
and bow
before the lovingness of your own particules
all that is to stay
no clock, not even the dust