The Shepherd of the highland,
The land on which the wind
Chills, any wind chills many ewes.
My ewes, my pride,
I do feed them my will
I do heal them with wit
Oh yes I do!
I have been such, since I was
And still, I need my self
I harvest reap,
I water deep,
I lurk heaps
Of stressing peeps.
And from day to day,
I, my healthy ewes take
To the slaughter house
To slaughter them.
They give fresh meat
To people to eat,
And beneath my feet
Their blood fleet
Feed the highland.
I kept away many winds:
Winds that chill
Root out and ****
Emptiness fill,
In the highland where I__
I after a drill
Still the shepherd, still.

I am allowed, I am a poet
And what shall I say,
But convey and state
A right so many deny,
With sterns of cursed
Stone brains and stone hearts
Of stone bodied beings
Of a stone age.

I am an excellent wine,
Brewed by life,
Bottled by fate.

Running behind it
I went far,
Far than myself
Then, far from myself
I was to be near it,
And if I could run it back
I would humbly do it.

To Heaven I will ascend and hail thy name,
I will make it my right and my duty,
To live again that is the aim
And fight for an eternity.
I will opt for a soul and reclaim
Thy self as an entity,
Then I will purchase thy frame
And beg for an identity,
I will build thee anew oh Dame!
With the hands of my tenacity,
I will do it without a shame
Nor yet, fear any calamity.
I remember once thy flame
Lit a world of diversity,
And thy kindness and fame
Made bearable any adversity,
Now gone thou made praying lame
In front of such an atrocity,
I swear to thee I will set aflame
All that eyed such a monstrosity,
Or stood still, with no shame
Will too ******* untamed ferocity.

Hello,
“My name is Life,
I am very old
But I do end
                 Fast.
Well,
If you seek a friend,
I am the one indeed,
And if you don’t,
You are the
           One
                   In need.’’
 Hello,
“My name is Death,
I am not that old
But I do hap
                 Fast.
Well,
If you seek a friend,
I am the one in need,
                   And if you don’t
                   I am not really your
                   Foe,
                        Agreed!’’

Alive I was all that night
Hearing that creature,
Out of the reach of my sight
Deeply a misleading feature
A voice and a bright light,
A hollowness then a rupture.

I had to listen and cite
And try to imagine her picture,
Like a deaf in a rite
Trying to build up a structure,
From a lip’s mite,
From an arms gesture.

I had to wait and fight
Till the nearest future,
Like an errant knight
The bad temperature
Of an evil sprite
To save myself, Oh torture!

I had to stick to smite,
By my divine culture,
And to believe in God’s might
My sole voucher
Till the break of daylight,
I won back my precious nature.

Antara sheddad a man of letter,
                       Born to suffer and to write,
For worse or for  better,
                        He thought he was doing right.

Antara found himself in a pickle
                        Over a mighty promise,
His love went, although fickle,
                        From a melody, to a hiss.

Antara voiced his mind,
                       A lustful mouthy dirt,
Mindful he might find
                       Joy in agony and hurt.

Antara wrote for a nickel,
                       Not to expect a dime,
Clever and whimsical
                        With a rhythm and a rhyme.

Antara wrote a little and knew
                        His audience expected a lot,
He went cold on the few
                         And on the rest went hot.

Antara wept and laid down tall,
                      Now out of breath
His dying words call
                      For life and for death.

Antara lived in rumpus
                      No home, no rest, no treat
They named after him a campus
                      A library and a street.

Antara Sheddad lived a helot,
                      Unfed on Obedience,
A heart of a zealot,
                       And an ill-fortune expedience.

Let the lady disguised
Behind the doors of mind
Emerge and never mind
Men have realized.

Tell the lady torn
Between the two presents,
Father Christmas lorn
Brought his best presents:

A New Sun and a deal
Of reverence and quality
Thus, you will deal
With men with equality.

Trust so thrice a lady
As for men it is so,
And once more, we must know,
For being simply a lady.

I asked a Wise Man about us
We human beings, he said:
“Half good, half bad,
Half happy, half sad,
Half heart, half brain
Half nature.
Half male, half female,
Half body, half soul
Half normal, half fool
Half animal.
How about you?’’ the Wise Man asked.
“I am all those halves and a half. Am I perfect?’’
The Wise Man answered shaking his head
“Things done by halves,
Are never done right’’.

Yet with no other doubt
You look further
Till you are down and out
But to see the same order.

Time will resemble
History and future,
The same preamble
The same feature.

Time with his hyperboles,
His everlasting soon
His walls and holes,
His appetite to tune.

Time takes a long time
A novel to understand,
A story to rhythm and to rhyme
A poem to contend.

Time is the now
Time will last
And if you ask how
You will be passed.

Pull my doors or push
It’s a hard row to ***,
While loving around the bush
Is a pain for me you know!

Deep in his heart__
I in mine was to suffer,
My friends in art
Judge tenderly this take-over.
He was an artist
A great patient,
He was an antagonist
Of the whole nation.
I was stronger than him
Much more vivid,
He was sensitive than me
Much more stupid.
We tried to change
We thought of each other,
We tried to change
Rather than to trust one another.
That is the reason why
I am asking for this:
Attention my friends!
Shoulder arms!
Ready!
Aim!
Fire!

We spoke between inverted commas,
And we spoke between brackets,
Our question marks were shouting
Our exclamations were brief.

We were still in the present
We gazed along its past,
We asked about the future
Of our continuous present.

We spoke with subjective objectivity
We spoke of our credibility,
She had fifty percent and I__
I had fifty and much more.

You cannot write our story,
It is somewhere between the lines,
Our punctuation protects us,
Our love is so defined.

We were the established rule
And we were the exception,
Our theory is not so cruel
We are still making sure.

We hope,
And we forget to live.
We hope and we forget,
Our past.
Torn in our present,
We forget the future.
And we, in our present
Torn between hope
And our forgotten past,
We live without a future.

And for the third time, the third one of the two
Is the Chairman, to me?
Is simply time.
Both of you are brothers to the Sun
As, drole , as eyes!
Both of you without lies
Brethren to the fun.
So let it be two, yes two
Neither near, nor far
Dear to each other, both a star,
You will be used to.
And remember, once tied with Holly Mights
You will try your way
But once fey,
One is tied to hollow nights.

I forgot the days
                           Of yesterday
                                      And the past fouls,
I forgot to jot down
                           And weave
                                     Consonants with vowels,
I forgot to wrap
                     Your heart
                                     In warm misty towels,
And now you’re gone
                        And all that is left
                                      Are my bleeding bowels.

Do not tell me that you are human please,
When you can not understand
That your brother is not at ease
Why can not he stand?
On his feet not on his knees
Why can not you be a friend?
To the Flowers as to the Bees
And try to lend a hand
To his ill children who sneeze
In the slums and down to land
With devotion and please,
Pray for their souls and tend
Not to die and cease.

It is a door,
And you inside
It is a door
That opens from the outside.
You are waiting,
Maybe down and out
What is coming?
What is waiting out?
You cannot have a go,
It is too rude,
As all humans know
From their childhood.
And you are afraid,
What is coming next!

When I remember you,
Hidden behind your glasses,
Victimized by others’ glances,
Disdained and neglected
Cursed and rejected,
                         I accuse myself.
When I remember you,
Frightened by your ex,
Persecuted because of your ***,
Your genre and helpless will,
Afraid of the next will,
                        I disdain myself.
When I remember you,
Endowed by the Saint Hand,
Buried in the Saint Land,
Reminded by some,
Forgotten by some
                        I curse myself.
When I remember you,
Naked by my side
Along the nights’ tide,
Discovered by my hands,
And reached to your ends,
                        I long to myself.
When I remember you,
I call back the tears,
I turn deaf my ears,
I blow out my candle,
To fro the scandal_
And I forget myself.

When I remember you,
                          I forget myself.

The golden age is over
What can I do?
I am not getting older
I have somewhere to go,
Now all what I cover
Soon will emerge and show,
What was hidden forever
And the world will know,
That I was a good father
Only friends not even a foe
My good wife a shelter
I thank God for so
And for my nice little daughter
To whom I don’t wish any woe,
I keep hope in her laughter
As there is always something to do,
If love is great hope is greater
So I will let go what must go.

Not in a desert I saw the poet
But he was caught alone,
Struck and crushed against a wall
*******, then cut in pieces,
Then gathered in a corner again.
I asked him the matter
He said “it’s an idea my friend,
Just an idea’’.
“Shall I worry?’’ I asked,
“No my friend no! Don’t worry,
Beware!”

I left no head unturned,
                          
              No eye dry,
                                    
                        No tongue wet,
                                          
                 ­             Nor did I leave
              
                                     Any joy unearned.

Here we are hitherto pulling
The wheel of fate,
Leaving behind what once was forth,
And looking forward to what is behind.
“Ahead my wheel, ahead!
No wheel should stand lull,
Unless it pulls out what
It has already pulled in.”
Meanwhile, men stand watching the wheel
Wishing it never to stop.

“It doesn’t feed you bread,”
My father, trying to help me said,
And through,
I was left all of a heap:
A imbrued with poison sword,
Is better than an imbue word.

A Cambrian explosion
         That is what I need,
         That might calm my troubled ocean
         And beget me anew indeed.

Be I, who suffers and thanks
Pain the remedy,
Be him, who gives and takes
The illness, the comedy.
Redeem not what you tell
And tale your tragedy,
Thus you give yourself to hell
To tell apart you from thee.
Be blessed, you the upper be!
If my sins grew uncountable,
Forgiveness I ask it for me
Since I know it grows, abundantly.

We have just spoken our love,
But more still remains, let for the morrow
The night is long, and above,
The moon kind, but narrow
Too close tonight even closer
Than singing to a sparrow,
Together we will stand even longer
If not we will die with the same arrow,
Thus, we have chosen to be, nor yet
Feel any kind of sorrow.

Ah! If only can
Earth,
         Be my
                        Sepulcher.
Another tomb
Never thought of
Must only
              Be,
                       Oblivion.

I am the ash that covers my silent fire
The smart doubt that confirms any matter,
The only deaf who can hear what
Only a mute can utter.

You are supposed to be
                  
                   Stronger than a flower,

You brought up, steel,
                  
                    Don’t hide your power.


A flower, why not!
                    
                   Yes I am, and what then!

Powerful as a flower!
                    
                   Am I?

More fragile then!

In the beginning
                        
                              there was
                                        
                                               a kind sound
Then a voice,
                
                          then a word:
                
                                                   be.