WORLD POETS MAGAZINE

  I Am Not Clever Enough To Exchange Kisses With a Dynamite in my Mouth   1. Bring me face to face with the new born day               unbutton my shirt                                  and throw it to the wind! For, news came; that life has accepted me! I’ll spend some time more in life                               in the company of fishes and trees; Trees, our handsomest face. Otherwise I’ll be taken to task              for having failed to show men                  ...

  Mati, 2018 A.D.   ( The poet was inspired by and is conversing with the poem  "I2 Bottle in the Sea"  from the collection "Mythistorema" by Giorgos Seferis)   Three rocks , three burnt pines ; memory is whirling persistently , just like the wind on deserted paths . Here when Summer came, tongues of fire appeared big and blazing, they descended from the heavens in mid-July . And those people were swimming in the sea carefreely. The others had seen the omens as ‘smoke saddens the blue distance of the sky’ .   And that old man held in his hand some earth before fire passed over him. And the young mother hugged her children , taking on the appearance of sorrowful Mary. Let me talk about heroes , let me talk about the firefighters about the fishers who rallied on their caiques; however , we just found ashes, only ashes and a Gulf of Euboea flourishing with dead bodies scattered all along.   Unquenchable...

    To Write Poetry   To write poetry stop writing poems about poetry   To write poetry try to understand the deeper meaning of letters and words which you use to write poems with even when at the first instant they seem senseless   To write poetry remain restrained towards words offering themselves from the tip of your lite winged tongue   To write poetry refresh and wash your soul more often with the other poets’ verse   To write poetry learn how to love people despite being yourself a man and scared of them to death   To write poetry find out the possible about darkness so that you would know how to enjoy the gifts of light   To write poetry Don’t write poems with already given themes like a poem you are writing right now because it is also a poem about poetry but not poetry alone   Poetry never flatters anyone avoiding crowds and expecting nothing from it poetry doesn’t teach about the meaning and beauty   Poetry is meani...

  Alexandria   In vain I searched for you on the sandy beach of Alexandria covered by the footsteps of goneby authors desiring that which once was and now seems like dried algae that flew away with the wintry north wind. How long can one endure the past listening to the sea of Seferis talking to you with the sweetness of sirens that never dared to appear on this beach? Even the rocks are exhausted waiting. It is best to forget all accept this turqoise sea gently crushing the lost future. Yet, spring will soon arrive and the blossoms will bloom.     Nefertiti   Whom shall I talk to now that I lost you in the Nile reflecting your beauty from your childhood awaiting that someone will visit you again?   You are the modern Nefertiti your beauty surpasses your presence it adores the sun the one god she believed in.   And now that you vanished without trace we shall pray to Aton to take care of you.   And hence started the reign of silence!   ...

    Last night someone cut down a tree that was three thousand years old   Last night, someone cut down a tree that was three thousand years old, standing tall over the field. In the night, its pieces burned, warming the frozen men, and in the mist, the glow marked the site of its death, the same as its long life, the same as its brief bonfire.   Yesterday, its shadow stretched to the distant house, crossed the creek that was not there when it first emerged. Today, a pit with dangling roots, fragments of branches and bark, marks where its powerful sap flourished through the centuries.   In its crown, animals that no longer exist nested, and under its branches, infinite storms erupted. Its high arms rose from among the low clouds. Between its roots, our ancestors hid from the beasts, and later, treasures were hidden, love letters, stolen objects, and someone carved with a pocketknife words that cannot be read.   Last night, someone cut down a tree that was...

  I African, confess   I African, confess Bird with roots buried in the wind Trunk with fins on petals Ruby flower born in the quagmire Shouting in the middle of the desert The song of the sea of islands   I African, confess Woman of imponderable wanderings In a world of dystopias Following routes of despair Toppling all suffering   I African, confess Woman of the world and unbridled passions Of unyielding loves Inconsequential and fearless But always with clenched fists Resilient in the desert of hope   I African, confess Visionary and idealist Searching for oases of life Dreaming of a free Africa Without martyred people Nor people in devastating convulsions                 I African, confess...       A new Dawn   I sought Cabral In the chapters of history In international seats In government elites   I looked for Cabral On the Onusian benches In the busy arterie...

  You Love Obscure Words  You no longer feel pain and you no longer feel cold   You’ve started to love obscure words to love low output and a steady pace   You’ve come to love sparkling water and the smell of old books to love deep sleep, though your mind is cloudy   You love to recite a poem in a voice too quiet to hear to leave indecipherable traces of characters penciled on paper towels like a broken dream that can’t be retrieved   You no longer feel pain and you no longer feel cold   Your beloved springtime sees its blossoms fall in battle as well they carry the chill of the season that came before (Translated from the Chinese by Andrea Lingenfelter) (From “A Summer Day in the Company of Ghosts”, NYRB, 2022)     To Say More Would Be Risky   To say more would be risky, my friend But don’t forget to laugh Don’t forget the flaw is in the wheel Don’t neglect the inevitable grief of colleagues Don’t let damaged friendships fade away like ...

  Excerpts from “Palestiniada”   1.   Tales never end. Everything here in Palestine tells us a story from the clay tablets of the soil: a stone near a grapevine bathing in light at noon. An engraving on a rock breathing between the hills. Shadows gathering birds' feathers to play with a little girl the game of hopscotch. A shirt on the clothesline dripping with blood. An Archaeological Flame blazing on a mountain, speaking at the end of the night about a man wearing shooting stars, who goes to the spring and then vanishes behind absence. Everything here reclaims speech, and tells us a story from the book of the land: ancient shadows speaking in the morning about a woman who, when she moves toward the garden, is followed by two planets. And here, at the shrine of the female captive, an oak tree speaks of a jar she filled with the voices of the dead. Here is a flower for the martyr, here is a star hanging over the tombstone at sunset. And here is a petrified tear in the e...

  Fallen Angel II   The woman with straight hair drawn back on her neck lightly shaded in blue like her eyes occupies the centre of the photo in the symmetrical composition Behind her to her left an Angel detached from her shoulder looks up to heaven with his wings folded There is no stain on his airy state his pure spirit although from the pink shell of his ear doubt rises, like fire.   (Translated by Rowena Hill)     Poem of the Two Heads   This is the poem of the two heads   Sun Severed Neck was resting on the grass   Miss Haughty Head set out for the South Pole   Sun Severed Neck let an insect flutter al his lips   and slept for instant   Miss Haughty Head tired from her journey tugged at her lover’s feet   They chattered for a long time   One storm followed another but these heads had a lot to say to each other   Sun Severed Neck jumped on to the snow   and placed his lips on the swollen mouth that was boili...