a face of stone and bloodred eyes
he is not dumb, he is not wise
a vampire, dressed in black attire
ruler of the world, lobby boss, a rock

a fierce narcissist being hurt
even by your friendliest words
knife-like fingernails, teeth spiky
he slits you up, devours your heart

cannibal lecter style for real
he just does not know how to feel
psychopathic soul, a tall goon
ruling from a bone-made throne

you can not make a deal with him:
he's like a bank and always wins
your family is dead my friend
today is your turn: you will burn

barbeque-images, intestines
human-scented steak with bloodshakes
festival of gore, you creature
since you are the vampire's feature

humans come, humans go, you know?
a vampire does not bother
he will tear your body apart
to carve a poem into your flesh

They won’t just touch my soul and set me free
Eagerly will open the deepest of wounds and fest on my worst fears
Harshly undress my faith and crush my hope

Victoriously laugh to celebrate my doom
Bleed me red to suffer in dry tears
Waltz with my ghost to slowly scatter my temple  

Taunt to enliven my mistakes
Proudly glorifying my shames
Only to win a soul that has been defeated

I sense them overstepping my shadow
The monsters catching up with my heart and mind
Will I score the final touchdown or will they devour me whole

Touch so contagious
The poison burns running wild in my veins
Won’t be long for when I am all at once taken away

Am I the one to blame
For my insecurities and shame?
Do I cause my own pain?
Am I the reason I'm going insane?
Do I allow the pain to enter?
Am I my own offender?
Do I let myself surrender?
What do I do with no defender?

I can feel myself get worse
And yet I don't do anything to change it
I feel how I welcome the curse
And make no attempt to disarrange it

I cannot escape the monsters inside of me
I lost all hope in becoming the kind of person I wanted to be
I smother myself with fears and anxiety
I am my own worst enemy

there is a monster in my closet, she speaks with two mouths and keeps dents on her wrists and feet.
The monster is terrifying, she uses needle teeth to tear through the skin of lovers. Her eyes brim with tears made from glass.
And sometimes The monster gets really really sad......
The monster uses her needles and blades to rip tears of copper into snow white skin and she whispers her sweet nothings into her closet full of sin.
Now my carpet is stained with copper and static, I can't walk in my closet or The monster goes manic.

They said monsters are under your bed
      with big claws
            and sharp teeth
some called it the boogeyman

mine offered me a seat
       at our dining table
with firm hands
       and a perfect smile
I called him dad

Mirror
by Kajal Ahmad, a Kurdish poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My era’s obscuring mirror          
shattered
because it magnified the small
and made the great seem insignificant.
Dictators and monsters filled its contours.            
Now when I breathe
its jagged shards pierce my heart
and instead of sweat
I exude glass.

Keywords/Tags: Kajal Ahmad, Kurd, Kurdish, translation, mirror, shattered, magnified, dictators, monsters, jagged, shards, sweat, perspire, leak, bleed, extrude, protrude, glass



The Lonely Earth
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

The pale celestial bodies
never bid her "Good morning! "
nor do the creative stars
kiss her.
Earth, where so many tender persuasions and roses lie interred,
might expire for the lack of a glance, or an odor.
She's a lonely dusty orb,
so very lonely! , as she observes the moon's patchwork attire
knowing the sun's an imposter
who sears with rays he has stolen for himself
and who looks down on the moon and earth like lodgers.



Kurds are Birds
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds
now belong to a species of bird!
This is why,
traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history,
they are nomads recognized by their caravans.
Yes, Kurds are birds! And,
even worse, when
there's nowhere left to nest, no refuge from their pain,
they turn to the illusion of traveling again
between the warm and arctic sectors of their homeland.
So I don't think it strange Kurds can fly but not land.
They wander from region to region
never realizing their dreams
of settling,
of forming a colony, of nesting.
No, they never settle down long enough
to visit Rumi and inquire about his health,
or to bow down deeply in the gust-
stirred dust,
like Nali.



Bi Havre (“Together”)
possibly the oldest Kurdish poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I want us to be together:
we would eat together,

climb the mountain together,
sing songs together, songs of love,

songs from the heart, sung from above.
I want us to have one heart, together.

Many words in this ancient poem are in doubt, so I have excerpted what I grok to be the central meaning.



And because Kajal mentioned Rumi, here are my translations of Rumi:

Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!