She learnt to be defensive
She knows she's mean
I learnt to be aggressive
I know I am deceived

We utter goodbyes
with fearful smiles
And decide to break up
minutes after

We know each other
like cats
when we are together
but then she leaves me
with bitter colours on her lipstick  
And a wandering third eye
of a princess in exile.

I don't know

Whether sky plays earth!

Water running in circles

As if it's inhaled

Or ****** by earthy lips

And so clouds also

move along as ribs

In a breathing chest


You pass your legs into water

"how it is cold and fresh!"

and Sun, is hotter than blood

Feeding the sandy flesh


Your eyes're green at night

sunny in the afternoon

And honey in the early morning

My own are really dark!

I cannot clearly see

where poems are born


They say that neurons

Sink in a salty water

-sodium and chloride-

Just like the sea


I look at those blackish

Brainy rocky islands

And think  :

Only sweet water

Could dig its own way

Through this earth's wound

gathering lonely colors :

"Schwarz, Grün , und Gelb"

On either banks of the Nile

passing by the cataract.


1st August 2017,
Aswan - Luxor

Masses flooding
running, gushing
in sclerotic streets
from Heliopolis to downtown Cairo
and from the great pyramid
to the stone lions
of Pre-colonial royalty
over the river Nile

lost in the way for country heart
me, my soul, and couple of my friends
whom I lead to end arteries
of the city hemorrhagic
were shot by snipers
of  Victorian
national police
  
and some years later,
I want to write a poem
let´s say cosmic
or universal
about that trio human
dream, death and deception

"Emilio, Lorenzo, Enrique
Fueron los tres en mis manos"

a cancer larynx revolution,
of bad alcohol and tobacco?
two holy hands of fate,
and one of eternal *******?
  
and a bored Lenin setting behind a screen?
(the algorithm will do the masses
when the masses are ready to run )

but time as God
is a lazy surgeon
forgot a scalpel in my throat
and I am being cured of every thing
even the nasty hollow
of my tired voice.

In a dolls’ city
nothing can be felt
but threads

nothing make sense
but shouts and laughter

blood is a mere color
that tends to catch the eye

and make the dolls speak
out of real passion.

My sweetheart
You were born
Right when I had just entered
Into the holy circle of death
Of eternity
Of chocolate and coffee despair
Both dark and bitter

Masses flooding
running, gushing
in sclerotic streets
from Heliopolis to downtown Cairo
and from the great pyramid
to the stone lions
of Pre-colonial royalty
over the river Nile

lost in the way for country heart
me, my soul, and couple of my friends
whom I lead to end arteries
of the city hemorrhagic
were shot by snipers
of  Victorian
national police
  
and some years later,
I want to write a poem
let´s say cosmic
or universal
about that trio human
dream, death and deception

"Emilio, Lorenzo, Enrique
Fueron los tres en mis manos"

a cancer larynx revolution,
of bad alcohol and tobacco?
two holy hands of fate,
and one of eternal *******?
  
and a bored Lenin setting behind a screen?
(the algorithm will do the masses
when the masses are ready to run )

but time as God
is a lazy surgeon
forgot a scalpel in my throat
and I am being cured of every thing
even the nasty hollow
of my tired voice.