#bilingualpoetry
A voice whispers in my ear:
“Be a wolf. Enough of being sheep.
It is the Eid of Sacrifice. Shed blood.
Slay the sheep inside yourself.”
🐑🐺🐑🐺
Qulağıma gəlir bir səs:
"Qurd ol, day qoyun olmaq bəs.
Qurban bayramıdır, qan tök,
İçindəki qoyunu kəs."
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 2:19 AM UTC
The endless sky beyond
is impossible to see,
so I looked instead
into the world of microorganisms
living in a puddle at my feet.
Watching them rush about,
I thought—
We worry about tomorrow’s weather,
while they are absorbed
in what is right in front of them.
From where you are,
you cannot see my face.
—Ah, I see.
Perhaps our world, too,
is nothing more than
something simple like this,
after all.
水たまりの宇宙
あの果てしない空の先は
見ることができないから、
足元の水たまりにいる
みじんこの世界をのぞいてみた。
忙しなく営む彼らを見て、思う。
明日の天気を考える僕らと、
目の前のことに夢中な彼ら。
君たちからは、
僕の顔なんて見えないだろう。
——ああ、そうか。
もしかしたら僕らの世界も、
ただ、
シンプルに
そんな感じなだけなのかもしれない。
Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 9:52 AM UTC
Nuda è l’estate quando muore
si abbreviano i giorni
corre la lucertola al suo rifugio
nella sera le garrule rondini
rispondono all’assiolo
ancora il giorno è caldo
ma da Nord spira un’aria nuova
mentre ti accorgi che della tua vita
un’altra estate è finita.
Nackt ist der Sommer
Nackt ist der Sommer, wenn er stirbt;
die Tage werden kürzer,
die Eidechse verzieht sich in eine Ritze,
die geschwätzigen Schwalben
erwidern den Ruf der Zwergohreule,
der Tag ist noch warm,
doch von Norden weht neue Luft,
während du wahrnimmst, dass
ein weiterer Sommer deines Lebens
vorbei ist.
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 3:51 AM UTC
Bu yol xoşdur, əniş, _(This road rises and falls)_
Somewhere, sometime, you’ll vanish.
Yol al; yetişmə, yetiş, _(Take the road; it’s not about arriving)_
**You're here to pass, not finish.
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 3:25 AM UTC
I am a poet,
This is our duet—
I write, and you read,
Such sweetness indeed.
✏️✏️✏️
من یازار، سن اوْخوجو Mən yazar, sən oxucu
سنه ساری اوْخ اۇجو Sənə sarı ox ucu
"یازی" یایینی چَکدیم Yazı yayını çəkdim
دای سندهدیر سوْنوجو! Day səndədir sonucu.
Oct 22, 2025
Oct 22, 2025 at 5:50 AM UTC
Quanti amori perduti, quanti ritrovati
(Italiano)
** lasciato lungo il cammino
volti, mani, promesse,
che credevo parte eterna del mio viaggio.
Li ** persi nelle pieghe della paura,
nelle lacrime del non detto,
nelle attese che bruciavano il cuore.
Ma ogni amore perduto era una soglia,
una prova scolpita nel tempo,
per insegnarmi che il dolore non è fine,
ma passaggio.
E nel ritrovare me stesso
tra rovine e silenzi,
** visto che quegli amori
non erano svaniti,
ma trasformati.
Erano semi,
e la mia speranza l’acqua.
Ora fioriscono nel giardino del cuore
che ha imparato a distinguere
la paura dall’amore vero.
Perché l’Amore, quello vero, non si perde.
Si ritrova quando si è pronti
a guardarlo senza più fuggire.
— Masi Roberto © 2025
---
How Many Loves Were Lost, How Many Were Found
(English)
Along the path I left behind
faces, hands, promises
I once believed eternal in my journey.
I lost them in the folds of fear,
in the tears of unspoken words,
in the waiting that scorched my heart.
But every love lost was a threshold,
a trial carved into time,
to teach me that pain is not an end,
but a passage.
And in finding myself again
through ruins and silence,
I saw that those loves
had not vanished,
but transformed.
They were seeds,
and my hope the water.
Now they bloom in the garden of the heart
that learned to tell apart
fear from true love.
Because Love — the true one — is never lost.
It is found again
when you are ready to face it
without running away.
— Masi Roberto © 2025
Oct 4, 2025
Oct 4, 2025 at 6:24 PM UTC