WORLD POETS MAGAZINE

  When everything is lost   The clock did not stop but hours no longer show on Time’s dial, which has come to a standstill, contemplating.   Perspective still works, but objects are no longer clear against the pure expanse of unnamed Space.   Life has not ended but death no longer looms at the horizon waiting for someone to rise up sometime, somewhere, in the land of oblivion...   Everything is as it used to be though nothing has meaning when lost in a timeless space, in a spaceless time…   (English version by Adrian G. Sahlean)     That instant   A few words, you told yourself, just a few—and created a story whose present is yesterday by now, just as tomorrow will be past for another story left behind, lost forever...   One word, you told yourself, just one— and you are on your way the unknown, that unexpected step, free to think of who you are and are not, of that instant in which you can become and be you.   (English version by A...

  Question     My mother is growing younger in my thoughts,    And is recovering under the ground,    As the frail lily-like hand    Is petrified by agony and fright,    And I’m still wondering why in my thought    I see my mother growing younger.       So Much Searching   You told me in the phone call    That the last poem    I’ve sent you,    Is put in a Sèvres bowl,    An expensive one, inherited from your grandparents.    You read it from time to time and also caress it    And it smells like fresh earth,    Like a rose before the falling of hoar-frost,    Of dew and rain,    Sometimes it smells like me,    And a little dizzy     You do not know what to do with the page    From where so many vowels and exclamation marks    Are flying to your heart.    Offer ...

  I lit the match that set Laniakea on fire        you, Ely, could perform the miracle of carrying the linden flower down to the empty skull where there is a garden where nothing has bloomed to this day   and you don't know nor you can find out either and always again without reason you carry the linden flower to the empty skull                *     y ou will come with a scared light and a flying brain and the transparent queen will be deflowered   Leonardo in the the Lord's clothes will draw dazzling sketches and will let them fall from the highest height   so high the height is when Leonardo makes the sketches that they will never fall   the transparent queen will stay as virgin as a dangerous verse                 *     w ith the die in her mouth the empress was eating the numerous earthlings ...

  Psalm for Longing On my knees Lime flower In eyes open Apricot petals   Words ache Longing digs in me longing Bring fountain to the spring Water resurrects from death Like from death I start to fly Wingless, by only longing   Longing attempts me to rise Rise wingless My sky to remain ersatz In the cup with enameled stars   I fly like detached leaves Fly like snowy peaks Fly lime me towards thee Fly like you without me   On my knees Lime flower In eyes open Apricot petals   Lost, not to be found I pass in hurried landscape As they   built Ana I feel un-died poem   Un-died and it died Only silence between us   Longing for longing and longing for thee Sometimes I do feel like On my knees Lime flower In eyes open Apricot petals fall   My Lord, You made me outcast You locked me in words Escaping only in my dreams Of the eye open remained In thy unwritten poem I woke up already killed            Psalm on ...

  blindness   Jesus Christ has never worn glasses So as to keep His sight Out of the void. To be able to shield his eyes From the sands of the wilderness; He has never worn glasses And hasn’t seen myself On my beckoning to him About my intention to follow him: To go after him into the mirrors of sleeping Yielding and amazed and redeemed Like one of his apprentices.   In my home, Jesus Christ has never stepped To ask for lodgings For a night at least; He has never got in For me to treat Him to a dinner And to hand in to him the chalice From which to drink his crucifixion to the lees.   Jesus Christ has never worn glasses Otherwise He might as well have seen, Had He worn – My home with prison-like walls, The Street of the poets Fortuneless, deserted, obscure… The Street of the poets With en-spined white thorns From his wreath; The street of the poets With acacia trees blossoming in winter even,   He might have seen (had he worn glasses) My friend’s dogs Which I us...