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Poetry pieces from the burning scale
by Moustafa Al Yassin
2010-06-28 09:33:47 |
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Let’s burn
Let’s burn there where we want
in the eyelashes
in the faraway of autumn
in the amputated eyelids forest
in the river of icy vein
in the spongy capital cities
in the counterfeits sea-shells
which is giving to sea ....
marble braids..
hand
and neck
let’s burn
perhaps a moon complete in us
perhaps a roaming star can rightly be guided
Let’s burn
our tomorrow is heat
our tomorrow which we dig it by our hands as trenches
which we put in its bag’s guns
our tomorrow which we trace as a road
is drowning died in our hands
let’s burn
the night is gibbet of the sun-set
who can buy the sadness of curtains?
if the dawn wake up a stranger in our tomorrow
how can you buy JACOB’S sadness for yourself ?
how can you buy the night of NOWASI in BOSSRA ?
how?
And still BAGDAD is sleeping over the flames !
how will compliance !
which miracle god ?
which prophet ?
which cross ?
Let’s burn
TROJA has closed its own doors this evening
and the merchant of sand in his deserters desert ,
still searching in his tent for a virgin sheep or camel
let’s burn
let’s burn there where we want
because the meat has the smell of acid
and an eye in our street
and a new W.C
oh !!!
what an excellent tribes expel iron piles
for our generation...
let’s burn by the torment name
the crown is skull
and canine
Let’s burn
for the observant doors of foreign life
for the years of bleeding wrist
for the silence in TROJA
rising own shadow as acid gray plate..
-without choice-
that the love in TROJA of secrets this evening
-without choice-
has been equal with night and crime
and becoming like a blockade
Let’s burn
without question
the cemeteries silence
does not need any explanations
or any improvised wash-words
but
knocking the absurd doors,
by the absurd means
Let’s burn
even burden
the light has been born on the hills as a lark
as a traveler poet
and the poetry and the imagination
has been born....
Let’s burn
atom by atom
yesterday does not exude more than a ditch
and
and the light today has been born on the hills
as corpse
as cemetery
do not minded
the thoughts do not
the thoughts do not condescend from own thoughts today
or does it die!!
do not mind
the light has been born together with absurd -by chance today-
as two pyramids in a coffin....
Let’s burn
without friend
as the wild grass without friend
let us burn as mint fields...
in our ashes the perfume
and surround me … my traveling dawn surround me
the universe in my ribs has been burned
and still I am here as the simplest bar
its curtains has got old
and its night
and its street
has lost in it...
Let us burn
from nearness or farness
and do not mind
who will distill the sea -this evening- as a bottle
and then he will be burned
who is coming to search for a lover
in the storm of drunkenness and sadness
who?
can’t you see the dawn of Damascus flooding on the cheeks as NOWA
as formerly flood and as the following
can you see !!!
from nearness or farness
the tears has smell of acid
and the time has smell of
iron piles
and paper leaders
and sense of comedy
So let us burn
because the sea is safe tonight
and most beautiful waves calling us to sail without ships..
and the morning today is safer than demolish belt
and the silence is safer than love
and the love is safer than archive
and the night is ....
bullet
so let us please burn
and tell me who drawn all colorful fish in my hand
and who murder my god and the temple in my glass ?
who?
who has been taking the old man instrument from my bar ?
who clip my lip?
who arrest the dove in the east gate which has been drowning in my veins?
who besiege the wind my god?
and who finished my memories?....
Let us burn
and
let us born
TROJA had burned in my wings
and the horizon continue blind
wherever walking it is burning ...
without guide ..it is burning
in the dark green .. it is burning
in the pure red ...it is burning
in the eyelashes
in the orbit
in the marble … it is burning
alone
voice of song …burning alone
a small bird without guide
came to us from the far farness
in its wings pulls
in its eyes feast
we shoot a thousand bullets on it
and we throw in prison
to born alone
Ovi+poetry Ovi |
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