The brownish Yukon April first
passing bisons and buffalos herd
slowing down to quench their thirst
and  moving on on April third .
walking clouds are mountain sheep
the sheep are fluffy as clouds of June
 you see the mountain stabbing so deep
the sky and sheep crowding the moon
The moon of Alaska is the biggest moon

ladies and gentlemen
glad to announce that:
I'm no longer cursed with hope and reasonability
I'm cured !
no longer different from you , I worship reality
......
My neighbor was dying
I  kept petting my dog, enjoying my pizza, movie and my stability
normal, very normal ..the usual nature of morality
........
the borough cut my pine tree to make a street.
I didn't rebel,  I gave them an ax.
normal ,very normal
the usual  madness of Municipality
........
a woman gave birth to a fly ..a fly egg hatched into an ostrich
a man sneezed two elephants..  I wasn't surprised
normal, very normal ..the usual  nature of fertility
.........
ladies and gentlemen I'm just like you!
no longer cursed with hope or sick with reasonability
..........
I used to  see spots in my ceiling and say "" how beautiful this colored sky", I assure you  that I'm not cursed with hope and know it's mold
normal, very normal ..the usual  nature of humidity .
.....
I used to see dark magenta bread and say " how colorful our east and west
, I assure you I'm cured from hope and I know the bread is soaking wet , with blood , sweat and anxiety.

If hatred wins any heart
we all lose as human race
if it wins anywhere
we all lose everywhere
......
if hatred wins
noise of chains will be our music
our streets will be dead ends
infants will **** on b u l l e t s not on  n i p p l e s  
martyrs will march back to their temples
praying for love and peace
......
love and love only melts all races in one race
" the human race"
melts all faces in one beautiful face
" the human face "
see an  infants and you see  sunflower
turning  her head toward her mother.

A man saw a flower
and said : it's a marigold
he didn't find her in the name
  he  smelled her
but she wasn't in the smell .
he picked her, held  her and  squeezed
her with  a sweaty hand
..he couldn't' find her in  the touch.
he walked thinking it's a marigold
..without knowing   he  ripped her  into pieces
she wasn't in the petals .
he thought of his only love
he ripped her a part
to find her heart
when he walks alone
he feels her fragrance in the mist

This city is bedwetting
herself every night
and her face is so yellow
....
Ammonia leads you
to the bar or to the temple
no tourist guide to follow.
...................
Drunkard mapped it all
wall by wall  and
willow by willow
..........
This city bed wets
herself from the toe
to the pillow
......
It's not too young or too old,
too big or too small
too harsh or too mellow
...
At first it stings like Habanero
then hypnotizes
like a constant deep cello .

I long  to someone I don't know .
to something about to happen
your eyes are the hidden green fire in smooth stones of the valley
the giant sprit of Charleville
The call of mighty Rimbaud.
crawls beneath my skin like a warm wind
I was about to give up
till  I saw a promising smile like a lily glowing in the deepest darkness  of my soul different from all lilies of the Ardennes

O bleeding lilac within my heart
I feel your presence in every room
How could you undo my twilight
With staring shortly at your blossom

My coffee is an imperfect crime
No witness knows who has gone a way  
With a timeless smell of a placeless time
In a brownish trip in a snowy day

Chewing on silence thinking of you
Planting your lilac in a Mayan vase
dipping the sun in misty hue
Making your bed and washing your face

talking so much and saying a few
you placed your ear on echoing  chest
of a leaving man on traveling snow
you breath him only in a morning mist

Mom,
scrach my back
and my Chest
So I give birth to the
Moon
rub my eyes with a bat
So I see after the moonset .

When you are gone
i hang a sign on the glass of my soul
"i'll be right back"

He wrote three lines
killed humanity in the first, the language in the second, and the reader in the third, and  sat waiting for condolence cards and flattering flowers .

" is he dead" ?
Vultures picking on my chest and
whispering
anxiously , waiting for the final heart beat .
After this bitter disappointment
miracles still happen to me all sudden,
like this big one :
" i'm a live"

Oh gosh !
how dusty these books are
Beneath all this dust
a word about to explode
"You"

Freedom said to me
If you slave yourself
nothing can set you free
Birds lose loose feathers when they fly.
Be  free
Be free even from what you think of me
Freedom said to me

every December
lovers among history meet within my heart
as lights intersect in a drop of water
to be hanged by the same woman.
like unknown date of death passes once every year
her last look sprouts in my veins
every December.

I saw him there this morning
          his golden hair was burning
his lips were sealed with yearning
                  yearning to place many forces
                  ten thousand things are voices
                   the tribes of voices are choices
     I faked my face n my laughter
             I hid my fear n  my anger
he pulled my chains n my anchor
                    laughter and anger are choices
                    ten thousand things are voices
                   the tribes of voices are choices
he shock my hand n my soul
my " who are you's " protocol
         I leaned on him as a wall
                           I could hear only his horses
                    ten thousand things are sources
                          sources of voices are choices

Oh little Mano ,
what are you here looking for?
- I lost the keys to the seventh door.
when I was walking  beside that pine.
-then little Mano,
why are you looking in the shrine?
because it's night
Here the lanterns are so bright .

Oh woman of a jacket smells like peach
lonely lonely
as an empty bench on an empty beach
my wrinkled hands around my face
lonely lonely
as wooden words around a space
too hard to fill, to hard to delete
lonely lonely
I see you leaving on my feet
waiting for nothing in the aftermoon
lonely lonely
seeing nothing but the yester noon
oh woman of a hair smells like mine
smells like madness only
we were the prayers and the shrine
I feel so lonely

You are me  outside the garden fence
You walk barefoot on my feet
The garden wakes up
and lites two lilies  in the dark
.....
Mebi
I almost survived
but I looked back
I saw your name choking
I shouted  and shouted and shouted  your name
till I fell off the shoulder of  the speech

What is in your hand?
is it bleeeding or just a rose flower?

when light and shadow share your face, justice bleeds all colors
when you smile the sun beneath my skin cracks a pomegranate
red garnet comes to life.
this tango of lights ripens  my  heart as a fig,
crowded with seasons ,
on your fingers I counted my absence and my presence
  when i think of you. ,you are the tribes in my voice
every mom like every city has her unique smell and yours is the smell of life, Mom

I secretly love you
for the sake of your name
without you knowing
I pass you as i pass anyone
yet your my only one
I adore you and i'm hiding
as a question mark
not feeling my surrounding
posted as an outlaw
numbered with thieves
a broken totem pole
no roots no fruits no visitors or leaves

Bayo's the last of his people
The only guard of their farm
The living sun of their life
  They are tattooed on his arm
Holding his wife and his knife
.....
Waiting for her to give birth
to queen kandake  of the Nile
  She'll lead the tribe to new earth
With hope and wisdom and a smile
...
Bayo's the last of his people
He will live for what he dies for
standing  as firm as a steeple
a crouching  panther by her door

Human tree of knowledge has two branches . Greek evidence and Indian advice
if Delhi aches once , Athens aches twice. if Athens couldn't sleep Delhi sings her a song and kisses her dimples
if Delhi couldn't breath Athens
blows the the flames of love
in  her   timples  
if  our tree witheres we all pay the price.
breath my beloved India breath
we are all with you when death casts his dice.

waves are horses of invaiders
I was a horse In a life
and a wave in other life
I made so many widows and bathed many virgins
when I was a horse I chewed on my leash
I ran not to pull any wagon but to flee the merciless whip .
now I looke  at wild horses runnning by the sea
I know tomorrow  I will be a bird sleeping for good in a tree  
I will die and wake up a peice of
wood in a ship or a cross raised by invaiders

My mask is nothing but my real face
they do not believe
as they try to tear my face their masks start to tear.
They fear my silence because it makes them hear the echo of their collapsing souls.

Pine needles poked my horizon
Told me I’m not alone
Your eyelashes did the same  
Last night!

My heart is a bunch of grapes
Your hands are two vine leaves
On my chest.
Your feet are two doves
On my tiled dream

The six o’clock train
Knows I clouded my juice
Kissing your face
That I see when I drink your voice

I climb your name
And pick some stars
To prepare my light lunch

When you are gone
I hang a sign on the door of my soul
“I’ll be right back”

If you think of Things with your brain you  reach the limits Of  your brain . only With heart You reach the limits   of  thingS you think of
I saw   every  soul trapped in
One of these orbits
1    -  The orbit of the queen: the mind shouts “I’m the queen”, this orbit is a denial of the
roots where the mind lives this imaginative happiness.

2- the orbit of the lost crown:every mind catches a crown trying to convince the other
that she found the lost crown. In this orbit the mind is nothing but a continuous
comparison.

3- the orbit of fear: in this orbit the mind fears the truth , what if the crown that she
catches is a fake crown? What will happen if the main reason of existing doesn’t exist for
real?Will she throw the crown a away? Will she give up on its lies? Questions in this
orbits are nightmares.

4- the orbit of mechanism: in this orbit the mind hides the crown within what attracts her from outside to rest. Isn’t the dream just the mechanism of the mind to avoid the
disturbing outside to sleep? Isn’t the nightmare the mechanism of the mind to disturb the body to get comfortable to sleep? In this orbit the mind needs to sleep, she solves the questions with denying herself as if everything she needs just exists outside.

5- the orbit of the first maze:what makes the a maze is that all exits are entrances of the
maze at the same time. In this orbit the mind tries to remember where she hid the crown, t
thus it becomes under the authority of the outside, if she hid the crown in a kangaroo she will be tracked out when she sees a kangaroo. in this orbits “ things live instead of us” to remember the crown she tries to name, classify, and categorize the world.Instead of getting whatsoever in the basement out to find the crown, she tries to put whatsoever she meets in the basement might she finds the crown accidentally. In this orbit the mind is a prisoner of dualities.

6- the orbit of the second maze: in this orbit every pronoun is a mirror. She, he, and they
try to infect you, me and us with their absence, to get us out of here and out of now,  the “ we” is the masked “I” , he and she are two banks of a river just only far a away become one bank. I this orbit the mind tries to catch a center, but “every solid base becomes fragile and pathetic, in this orbit nothing is trustworthy,(  believes, ideas, values, concepts,ambitions , even the language itself , are not trustworthy).

7- the orbit of the creator : this orbit is the “ barzakh” ,then barrier , where the mind can
see through all orbits but no mind from other orbits can see her. In this orbit the mind
knows how other orbits can magnetize, possess, control, hypnotize, and how to flee.
When She laughs she is the laughter and when she dances she is the dance, she can make sarcasm out of any thing. She can sense when to visit an other orbit and when to
vanish.She swims within ambiguity without losing her direction. She stares within the
deepest well without falling down, she goes like light within dirt but stays pure. She is a
balanced beauty like a butterfly, she lives to recreate her own meaning of life since she is
grateful that God created the life meaningless so she can add her own meaning. She lives
according to her free will, not because of needs or fears. She is honest even when she lies. This exceptional mind is shapeless like a cloud, so who can stab her in the heart?

Children and poets do not lie, they only imagine ,word the sign   and  become the sight.
.....
lovers are poets till they fall out of love and see the sun before they see the light.
....
poets are fighters till they give up on the dream for what's wrong and what's right .
...
you are my finest lie
my endless dream
and the poem that writes me when I write.

: Hello !
: Pronto  
: Hello
: Si
: nobody is there  !

chewing on corpses to hand you this rose
seeking the bones of ancestors
to know why the embryo is deformed :
We tend to flee from  our suspicions
to be preyed on by what we know .
when we sleep we are within his hand
when we wake up
our illusions about him wakes up too.
love is the endless you.
the oldest we
the perfect she
the I-less I
and is the deepest sudden sigh

THERE IS
NO PERFECT
SILENCE
IF THINGS QUIT
TALKING TO US
WE DON'T STOP  
TALKING TO OURSELVES
AND WHEN WE LEAVE THEM All
THEY PEOPLE OUR SKULLS
THUS, SOLITUDE IS AS IMPOSIPLE AS PERFECT SILENCE.

I said in the face of the tyrant
what reminds us of a tyrant before him .
I said : " in the face of the tyrant what reminds us of a tyrant before him.
I said in the face of the tyrant " what remindes US of a tyrant before him ? "
don"t be afraid..say we are not  holding  rose flowers in our hands ..but deep woundes from the throne of thornes on his majesty's birth day .

This aftermoon.
I'll hide my heart In giddy laughter
and keep it far from wailers
when why's are seeking their answer
I'll inch with a tape like all tailors
I laugh and sing and hide in a song

It rained in my tea
the waiter climbed the table
and wiped the sky clean.

I saw my face on my tea
I told myself: don't drink more than me
when I drank my face , where was my tea?
...
I saw my face on a flaming vine
I told myself: don't drink what is mine
when I drank my face, where was my wine?

They fear my silance
because  it makes them hear the echo
of their collapsing souls .

i'm cracking my name
the verdant cocoon
seeming the same
but moving the stone
The day I was born,
I gave birth to my feet, steps and endless directions.
because Motion is the supreme purpose of the  soul,
The essence of Mine as in-completable work.
I need nothing
I want nothing
I ask for  nothing
and wait for nothing.

What a woman !!
I almost died to know your name
The one you gently taught me
With cunning lips of thirsty flame
A mantra of eyes that caught me
What a woman!!
Let me be your coming error
the one you admit and never regret
To be the man within your mirror
Who hands to you a black outfit
What a woman!!
Your eyes are dazzling dragonflies
hovering on shivering clover leaf
Storm of thousands of fireflies
Two blue cichlids on verdant reef
What a woman!!!

when I say :
You
I arm twenty three letters
and I disarm
  you.