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Saša Milivojev Sep 2022
Sasha Milivoyev
BLACK STONE

Mecca, Saudi Arabia

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska


By the Black Stone
Sinful, on my knees,
with tears in my eyes,
I'm pleading,
begging for forgiveness,
when blood-red turned the skies,
the stone grew darker,
blacker than night,
and it used to be white,
as luminous as the daylight,
when from the Garden above,
it fell many a warm Mays ago,
when it fell from Jannah,
far, far down below,
it was whiter than milk
and whiter than snow,
blackened from within,
from human malice and sin.

Never let it slip away,
the dushman came from far away,
tried bringing Kaaba to its knees,
killing Muslims,
the desert still bleeds,
covered in corpses,
devoured by rodents and beasts.

The Judgement Days are dawning soon.

The Sun will stop,
merge with the Moon,
Into the particles
the hills will be shattered,
spill like the honey that is melted,
Allah will be a righteous judge to everyone,
To the fires of hell, the monsters will succumb,
The stone will shine
with whiteness of dazzling purity,
The stone will be singing eternally,
The songs of joy, love and harmony.


Saša Milivojev

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska

www.sasamilivojev.com
Copyright © by Sasha Milivoyev, 2022
Moji K Jun 2016
god is
one

but we worship
a black box
in mecca

god is
one

but we think
you deserve
to die

god is
one

but we worship
a black box
in mecca

i choose a
veil for i'm
a willing slave

we cry just like
you & i

god is
one

but we worship
a black box
in mecca

you
pierce the
wrong veil

but we are not
people behind

the cries of
my brothers
silenced

god is
one

but we worship
a black box
in mecca

you laugh at
a tongue twisted
around your words

but ours still
sound crass
on yours

god is
one

but we worship
a black box
in mecca
Francie Lynch Sep 2015
I'm making a pub pilgrimage,
A malted Mecca trip;
I'm leaving all I love at home
Crusading with the Picts.
I'll be alone with all my thoughts,
It's what must needs be done,
To keep the demons off.

Publicans meet me on the steps,
On Sundays by the side;
This trip of three thousand miles
May **** should I survive.

My altar's elbow worn,
The finest oaken wood;
I'll climb the stairs on knees,
Hear bells, raise cups of cheer.


There's games of chance,
Some romance,
With songs and several fools;
It has trappings of Canterbury
In pubs all called O'Tooles.

There's Highland mead,
And broken bread,
With harps from inner rooms,
I'll have dispirited spirits
And revel inside tombs.

My cave awaits on my return,
It's dark and hard and cold;
But I know the light's within my sight,
If I move this granite stone.
I'll bring with me a scapula
To make those visions stop,
The relics that I sought,
Those demons of a sot.
Raleigh Jul 2014
Mystical Priest,
Come into mind,
Suffocate it,
And blame the truth(s)

We never disagree
Never comitting,
The Parade,
Of darkness, and solitude

We move, day by day
We learn,
From book to books
From story to stories

I want to meet
That priest
On the great journey,
Of life
Of value(s)a-investment

Surprisingly,
The Priest
Is me,
Myself.

— The End —