Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Zlatno nalivpero

Sećam se pokojnog ujaka
Jedne srede na nekoj godišnjici
On je tada majci dao nalivpero TOZ Zagreb
Sa zlatnim vrhom od 24 karata
Kao štafetu da ga prenese meni

Rat je i to oteo sa mirijadama sećanja
Na imena ljudi, knjiga, natpisa, zapisa,
Opisa, spisa, slika, utvara i aveti
Ko ambis progutao je deo bića
Uvek spremnog za ljubav
I detinjaste nestašluke sa životom
Na bezbrojnim počecima

Na bezbrojnim krajevima


Video sam da pišu i levom i desnom rukom
Pesme koje se završavaju
Dok se jedna cigareta popuši na verandi

A kome je stalo do pesme dima
Po punom mesecu i milini
Koju iz te daljine nama šalje

I kome je stalo do zamagljenih reči
Koje donose astmatične napade
Mojoj sestri
Ženi sveta

Nalivpero- Fahredin Shehu, Iz. ARHIPELAG, Beograd


Lakše je bilo pre raspuklog
Ogledala tvoga srca
Da vidim mladež ispod
Adamove jabučice
I pečat sveznajućeg anđela
U desnom podpazuhu
Koji oslobađaše miomirise
Nebeskih cvetova

Danas mi oko levo
Aurske lobanje vidi samo
Tamno zelene lišaje kako lebde po eteru
I devet tekstura devet vrsta magle
S miomirisima mineralnog porekla
Dok slavim jačinu crvenog kristala
Kojeg ljubomorno s ljubavlju

Čuvam u nedrima

Thursday, May 14, 2015

At Gizeh street in 2005

How many waxing and waning moons,
and those sickle among the stars confused.

If for others my dear you seem
the same in every season,
for me here in Gizeh street in Cairo
You are different,
                        different every time
as I defer your face and bow
down so you set beside the face
ff the Sphinx and walk
gracefully pampered by the smell
of Oud and in balcony drinking with a friend
Lipton black tea with some fresh mint leafs
soaked in huge ceramic mugs and roasted
cashews, pecans and macadamia
to foster hard thoughts.
Then the thin long ropey slices of carrots
and cucumbers for refreshment- while,
the air is humid although is two after midnight.

So I want to visit a lady,
on whom many words have been spread,
as she is a princess of some south Arabian tribes.

The apartment in the 12th floor,
and on that very moment
as we eat the royal dates and ice cold water
we drunk- the earthquake started.

The lady was terrified,
more than I during the wartime.
…and she said:
There was not an earthquake in Cairo
since 12 years ago, may Allah
protect us all.
Then she continued praying in Arabic.

I never knew what. 

Në prehnin e nji jete tjetër

A të kanë diftue Xhan
Se sa e madhe asht zemra jeme
Te ajo ka vend për secillin me gjet
Ka i skut e m’u qetsue
Apo ke pa vet se munesh n’to
Me u sill tuj ma sjell erandjen
E parajsës i veshun me petkat morr
Që t’i kishin pre me dy masa
Njanën për trup e tjetrën për shpirt

A të kanë tregue Xhan
Se mue melaqet dhe Metatroni
M’i kan pre petkat për dy
Masa t’shpirtit
Mëndafsh jeshil ni petk për parajs
E armaç të’zi e t’rond për ferr

A të kan rrëfye Xhan se feja
Asht për ata qi i tuten ferrit dhe
Për ata qi shpresojn parajsën
E shpirtnia asht për q’ata të cillët i kanë
Parakalue udhët e të dyve

Eh…Xhan, mas pelegrinazhit
Me erdh ni engjëll
Ngroht më përqafoi me 600 krih
Në anën e majt dhe po aq
Në anën e djatht
Ja ndjeva erën e miskut
Nga gusha vallë e bojë qafërosaku
E pi nënsqetullave i vinte era ambër
U harlisëm si me pas pi venën
Nga vneshtat e Shirazit plot erandje

Ai më solli eliksir ku kishte
Lon inxhi t’kuqe t’gjakut t’ngurtsum
Dhe inxhi t’bardha pi palce t’kurrizit
Qi asht maja e detit t’madh

Ah Xhan se ma zgate jetën
Ajo melaqe qi m’tha se ata
Po u bokan tuj u nda e jo si na
Ata lindin si drita kur kalon nëpër
Vrima t’vrazhdta t’shpirtit

E mue nuk mu bahej von ma
Se vendosa me jetue
Me mendje t’kthimit

Në prehnin e nji jete tjetër
My silence

The world is getting full
with Plethora of particles
on a table I sit fully numb.

It seems in vain I have struggled
To please everyone
so to remain solely alone.

Those who were born before me and
those that are born and to be born
equally- expect my Silence.

Gentle Mortification

Piles of Men bones and then… digged from the holes hidden deep in earth.
Stones and ashes with sweat of slaves you think we don’t have them today.
My hair turned grey and the vision shortened. It suffocated by bizarre images
created throughout the world and beyond. Who said and who had ever promised
us to come down on earth and enjoy our vacation, for life demands more than
I may see, more than I may feel, more than I may utter the first word of
the first language- that of Silence.

There’s another Soul evaporating on the deck and in the shore the breeze blows
odors of their smelly sweat. They watch as they wait in the queue their turn
to death entrance. That Gate open-heartedly awaits so many …a way so many
guests for their retirement. There is a vast Space beyond blissful Knowing and
the bells rang beneath the roof of the utmost Heaven.
You see. Even Death is different, not only Fate, not only Joy, not only
uninterrupted Smile- The one that demolishes every hatred. Even Love is different

in the process of your Gentle mortification.
Then ask me where is Freedom, where is the Turquoise bone of Destiny and
the days as cheap minerals overwhelming Life taken as corn seeds by chicken
and a rooster with the chirping voice who calls them and don’t allow them
to have even a grain.

…and the flowers are frozen by the snow on the April’s end- this Spring has
betrayed us all- sour are the strawberries, you think you eat cherries.

…and what else do you think we shall do when the Sun burns your shadow
until it disappears.

Who said you have a right to call me Life- when in real I’m only
a Gentle Mortification.

Some hours after dark


Some hours after dark
Three hours after dark, a strange voice life had sounded
I got birth to Love while I smiled as a mundane imbecile
after each blossoming of linden in the late spring 2014.
People use to walk over-burdened with weight of the city
in despair for the assassinated young lad who left behind
a pregnant young lady waiting for a girl.
The mother cries and the spouse too- who shall represent
them in Men assembly? – Who shall be the voice of justice?
when tonight Justitia was raped mercilessly and the king
is mourning deep from within- secluded he is licking
wounds as an old Lion. Some say he is gathering forces
for the last roaring, other say he falls in unreturned sleep.
What can I say…what can I…? –  Who once again rejoiced
Life for who knows how many Man’s years. Reading in verandah
writing sentences that are percolated from the Soul as
a freshly picked black grapes, and the vine to drink while
the right cheek is moonlighted on the last Friday, June 2014
embraced with the sounds of Eastern magical instruments
Santoor, Oud and Nay blended with the chirping voices
of the grasshoppers.