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SimpleWritings Dec 2018
Ma
Inħobbok

Mhux dejjem naraw għajn b’għajn
Imma nħobbok

Naf li dejjem pruvajt mill-aħjar li stajt
Biex tagħtini dak li int qatt ma ngħatajt

Imma sfortunatament mhux dejjem irnexxilek
Il-Mulej mhux dejjem provdilek

Jien qatt m’għidtlek meta nqasstni
Meta bin-nuqqas tiegħek warrabtni

Qatt ma ridt niksirlek qalbek
U ngħidlek li ħadd mhu qed jisma talbek

Imma iva Ma,
Weġġgħajt

Għaddejt minn ħafna u int ma taf b’ xejn
Alla ħares tkun taf kif u x’ fatta u fejn

Bħalek Ma,
Għaddejt minn dak li m’ għandu jgħaddi ħadd

Ġarrabt id-dlam
U bkejt fis-solitudni

Imma issa Ma
Sa fl-ahhar...

Inħoss li sibt il-kuntentizza
Inħoss li qbadt it-trejqa li qed nibni jien

Ma rridx nibqa naħbilek iktar
Għajjejt nigdeb u nħaref

Allura għidtlek

Ma flaħtx inżomm iktar
U għidtlek

Kienet diffiċli għax kont beżgħana
Imma ridt naqsam din l-aħbar ferħana

Stennejt li ser tifhimni
Stennejt li xorta waħda ser tibqa tħobbni

Imma

Ir-reazzjoni tiegħek ma kienetx dik li stennejt
Ma kienetx dik li f’ moħħi pinġejt

Għalfejn Ma?
Għalfejn ma tridnix?
Għalfejn mhux taċċettani?

Għidli Ma

Lil min inħobb ma għandux jaffettwa kemm inti tħobb lili
Lil min inħobb ma għandux inessik li jien xorta waħda bintek

Mara offritli dak li dejjem fittixt
Mara għallmitni nagħraf x’inhi l-imħabba

Mara urietni kif jidher id-dawl fost id-dlam
Mara qed tgħini nsir inħobb lili nnifsi

Iva Ma

Inħobb mara
U mhux raġel

Għalfejn qed tħares lejja b’ dak il-mod Ma?

B’ ħarsa ta’ diżappunt
B’ ħarsa ta’ diżgust

Bintek għadni Ma

L-istess b-i-n-t li kont tgħannaq miegħek
Meta kont tħoss li d-dinja qed tikrolla

L-istess b-i-n-t li kont tiftaħar tgħid li hi tiegħek
Lil kull min taf meta tilmaħni fost il-folla

Ħobbni Ma
Nitolbok

L-istess għadni
Biss, ħrigt mill-moħba

15/10/2018
This poem is written in Maltese.
Julian Delia Sep 2018
Is-solitudni hija inkredibbli.
Il-pinna tirtogħod jien u nikteb,
Estensjoni tat-taħwid ta’ ġismi.
Inħossni qisni forti imwaqqa’, inaċċessibli.
Xi kultant, nitħajjar nitfa ruħi għall-irkant;
Nagħmel patt ma’ xi dB jew xi Gasan,
Jew inkella, mal-mexxej, l-aqwa negozjant.

Mhux xorta?
X’fiha billi nilqgħu il-partit f’darna?
X’jimporta?
Mhux l-aqwa li mmorru l-fosos bi ħġarna?

Iżda, mhux dak hu l-messaġġ;
Minn dil-lejla siekta, nixtieq niehu vantaġġ.
Xtaqt neżamina għalfejn ninsab waħdi;
Qiegħed id-dar b’ommi u missieri sular taħti,
Iżda, minflok ninsab hawn, magħluq f’kamarti.
Mistoħbi, bl-iskuża li qiegħed noħloq l-arti.

Sħabi kollha xogħol jew isaħħarhom xi eżami,
B’hekk, ninsab nirrifletti, b’espressjoni gravi.
Fejn tobsor, li ta’ tlieta u għoxrin
Tkun weħilt go ħabs mentali agħar minn Kordin?
Ċella magħmula mill-ħsibijiet,
Joħorgu qishom ħalba mis-smewwiet.

Tgħix b’mohh mixgħul ġo pajjiż li jħobb id-dlam
Tħossok distint daqs tazza inbid aħmar li waqgħet *** l-irham.
Xi kultant, mejjet tkun biex titfieh;
Xejn ma jirnexxilek tagħmel biex tistrieh.

_________

(in English)

The solitude is incredible.
The pen shakes as I write,
An extension of my body's agitation.
I feel like a ruined fort, inacessible.
Sometimes, I fancy putting my soul up for auction;
Strike a deal with dB or Gasan (1),
Or maybe, with our leader, the best merchant (of them all).

Is it not all the same?
So what if we let the party in our household?
What does it matter,
As long as we go to il-Fosos (2), en masse?

But, that is not the message;
Of this quiet night, I'd like to take advantage.
I wanted to examine why I'm all alone;
I'm at home, with my parents a floor below me,
Yet, I find myself here, locked in my room,
Hidden, with the excuse of making art.

My friends are either working or bewitched by an exam,
Hence, I find myself reflecting, with a grave expression.
Who would've thought, at age twenty-three
I would be stuck in a mental prison worse than Kordin (3)?
A cell made of thoughts,
That come out like a storm from the heavens.

To live with an enlightened mind in a country that loves darkness
Feels as distinct as a glass of red wine spilled on a marble tile.
Sometimes, you just wish you could switch it off;
Nothing helps to give you relief.
1 = enormous local entities that have amassed wealth through the exploitation of my country and its people.
2 = a popular spot for political mass meetings in Floriana.
3 = an area in Paola where the local prison is.
Julian Delia Aug 2018
M’hemm ebda mod ieħor
Li stajt niddivina, biex forsi tisimgħuni –
Bil-Malti issa qlibt, jekk forsi qegħdin tinnutawni.
L-ewwel ħaġa:
Fehmuni għalfejn għadha tezisti d-duttrina.
Akkost li xi ħadd jibgħatni nieħdu jien u nirfes il-bankina,
Ser ngħidha!

Għax ma ngħallmux lit-tfal tagħna
Jifhmu l-imħabba lejn il-proxxmu
Minflok il-liġi inuffiċjali
‘Min mhux magħna kontra tagħna?’  
Għax ma nitgħallmux niddiskutu u niddibattu,
Forsi nċedu ftit, flok dejjem nċaħħdu u nirribattu?
Forsi immexxu bl-eżempju; flok immorru sa’ tempju
Nitpaxxew b’deheb misruq u b’moħħ magħluq,
Nitgħallmu nieqfu niskappaw u nistaħbew,
Wara wiċċ imżejjen falz, jew xi metafora.

It-tieni ħaga, u għalissa nieqaf haw’:
Fehmuni għalfejn lesti li l-futur taghna ninġazzaw?
Nikkompromettu, nidħlu fid-dejn,
Il-valuri tagħna nirremettu, basta fl-aħħar tax-xahar
Jidħlulna imqar dawk l-elfejn.

Qabli hawn oħrajn li dan il-kliem diġà qaluh –
Malta m’hijiex ward u żahar u kollox ifugħ.
Anzi, l-intiena tal-korruzzjoni tqanqallek id-dmugħ.
Jien ma ġejtx hawn biex immaqdar u nitlaq,
Nixtieq li nkunu konxji u nieħdu dak li jixraq.
Jekk inti tixtieq hekk ukoll,
Mela ejja ningħaqdu, għax għandna ħafna xoghol.

__________________

­[in English]

There is no other way I could divine
To make you hopefully listen to me –
You may have noticed I switched to Maltese.
The first thing on the list;
Can someone explain why (religious) doctrine still exists?
Although this may elicit someone’s anger as I step out on the sidewalk,
I shall say it!

Why don’t we teach our children
To understand loving one’s fellow man
Instead of the unofficial law
‘Whoever is not with us, is against us?’
Why don’t we learn to discuss and debate,
Maybe concede a bit, rather than deny and rebate?
Maybe lead by example; instead of going to a temple,
Awed by stolen gold and closed minds,
Learn to stop escaping and hiding
Behind a fake, decorated face, or a metaphor.

The second thing on the list, and I’ll stop ‘ere:
Can someone explain why we’re ready to ruin our future?
Compromising, racking up debt,
Our values we are regurgitating as long as, at the end of the month,
We get a couple thousand (as in, money).

Others before me have already said these words –
Malta isn’t all flowers and roses, and not everything is fragrant.
Actually, the stench of corruption will make you cry.
I am not here to complain and leave,
I just wish we’d be aware so we can get what we deserve.
If you want this as well,
Then let us join together, for we have a lot of work to do.
A poem in my native tongue, Maltese.
Julian Delia Apr 2019
Li kieku jerġa jiġi Kristu,
Lanqas jilħaq jitma ruħ.
Tilħqu taqfluh ġo skola,
Imsallab mill-punt tat-tluq.
Jilħaq jitlef ruħu fi xmara dmugħ,
Hekk kif il-ħajja jduq.
Jerġa jħoss x’jiġifieri in-niket,
Kif jarana naħxu dak li nibet,
L-ambjent tagħna, b’passjoni neqirduh.

Swied il-qalb;
Mument ta’ skiet,
Mument ta’ talb.

Qalb mogħdiet miksija bil-konkrit,
Nesprimi dar-rabja u dan l-inkwiet,
Ngħix il-ħajja mingħajr irbit.
Ngħid dak li nħoss,
Noħroġ dan il-kliem mingħajr intopp,
Nidgħi, meta xi gvern ireddali xi żobb.

Ilni ma nikteb,
Għax b’dan il-kliem ma nafx x’ħa nikseb.
Dil-kuxjenza li xogħla tniggżek,
X’għamilniela biex tfejniha, tgħid?
Għax jien nġibilha skużi, ġieli;
Ġieli, tgħidx kemm nigdeb.

* *

Vera ilni nipprova;
Nipprova naċċetta li nagħmel dak li d-dinja ta’ madwari tapprova,
Sa għamilt kors, ma nafx kif, imma ggradwajt u krejt it-toga.
Tgħallimt, u sirt għalliem,
Ktibt poeżiji li jħalluk bla kliem.
Ippruvajt insib il-paċi u s-sliem,
Qtajt il-pastażati bl-addoċċ,
Iż-żiblata ta’ bla ħsieb.

Xejn ma ħadem;
Xejn, kull ma għamilt inqridt,
Sa ġieli dħalt fid-dejn.
Qisni mort ngħix fi sqaq l-infern.
Donnu, d-destin tiegħi qisu ħaddiem tal-gvern.
Dejjem għajjien u dejjem m’hu sejjer imkien,
Destinat li nolqot in-noti b’mod stunat,
Imwelled f’did-dinja b’ritmu sfrenat.

Min jaf kif jitbellah Kristu,
Jekk jerġa jiġi ħdejna;
Jara kif it-tagħlim insejna,
Kif ngħixu ġo gaġġa mżejna,
Kif mingħalina li sirna s-sidien ta’ dil-gżira ċkejkna.

L-ewwel, inwerwruh bl-injoranza grassa,
Bil-passivita’ ta dil-***** ċassa.
Imbagħad, ngħaxxquh b’kemm hawn minnha jmutu bil-ġuħ,
Biex ma ngħidux *** f’liema direzzjoni sejrin,
Kif ilna għaddejjin; ‘l-aqwa li jien minn ***!’

Ejja ngħidu li ma nsallbuhx, ħa;
Kristu probabbli jtiha għal isfel, li kieku.
Qabel ma jerġa jiġi, jiġġieled ma missieru;
Jgħidlu ‘le, ma rridx ninżel!’

Qalbna, il-qofol mikul bin-nekrożi, tinten,
Bil-mewt madwarna, tittanta u tiżfen.
X’saltna t’Alla; mhux li kien,
Mhux li kien nerġgħu niksbuha maż-żmien.

____________________________________________

‘If­ Christ Came Back’

If Christ came back, he wouldn’t even have the time to feed a single soul. You’d lock him up in a school, crucified from the get-go. He would drown in a river of his own tears, as soon as he tastes life. He would experience sorrow anew, witnessing us destroying that which has blossomed, the very environment which we passionately eradicate.

Blackened, sorrowful heart; a moment of silence, a moment of prayer.

Among pathways covered in concrete, I express this rage and this anxiety, living life with no attachments. I say what I feel, pulling out these words without any resistance, swearing whenever some government shoves its **** down my throat.

I haven’t written in a while, because I don’t really know what I’m going to achieve with these words. This conscience, whose job is to sting, what have we done to it to switch off? I give it excuses, mostly; sometimes, I really do lie to it, a lot.

* *

I’ve really been trying; trying to accept doing what the world around me approves of, I even finished a degree, I don’t know how, but I graduated and rented a toga. I learned, and I became a teacher, too; I wrote poems that leave you speechless. I tried to find peace and serenity, I cut out senseless debauchery, the mindless ******.

Nothing worked; nothing, all I did was destroy myself, going into debt, even. It’s like I started to live in hell’s alley. It seems my destiny is like a government employee; always tired and going nowhere. Destined to hit notes off-key, born in a world with a relentless rhythm.

Who knows how shocked Christ would be, if he ever came back. He’d see how we forgot all his teachings, how we live in decorated cages, how we think we’ve become the lords of this tiny island.

First, we’d terrify him with our crass ignorance, with the passivity of the dazed masses. Then, we’ll make him feel worse when he sees how many of us are starving to death, not to mention the direction we’ve taken, how long we’ve been going: ‘as long as I come out on top, eh!’

Let’s say we wouldn’t crucify him, maybe; Christ would probably jump off a cliff, if anything. Before coming back, he’d argued with his father, ‘no, I don’t want to go back there again!’ Our hearts are rotting in their core, necrotic, with death dancing around us, taunting us. God’s glory? Yeah, right; if only, if only we could find that again, in due time.
Happy Easter, a*sholes.
Julian Delia Jul 2019
Ġrieħi miftuħin,
Xejn ma jrid jingħalaq.
Suppost, il-ġnus maqgħuda,
Iżda lkoll qegħdin mifruxin,
Donnu, xejn ma jrid jiċċaqlaq.

Feriti ifferoċjati bil-melħ,
Kruċjati, bla ebda sens ta’ ferħ.
U l-imħabba għal proxxmu -
Dik x’sar minnha?
Issa sibna x-xoqqa f’moxta;
Ħlifna, bit-tarf ta’ din il-pinna,
Naslu għal verità, naraw x’insarrfu minnha.

Allura, x’inhi din il-verità?
Qiegħed nassumi li hekk qegħdin tistaqsu.
M’hemmx dibattitu, ir-realtà turik,
Kollox f’ħinu, kollox f’waqtu.
Ir-risposta tiegħi hija din;
Tlifna kull sens ta’ valur,
Tlifna kull sens ta’ twemmin.

M’għadniex nemmu fil-valur tal-ħajja ta’ kullħadd.
M’għadniex nemmnu li kull azzjoni għanda impatt.
Nemmu li aħna progressivi, u Ewropej;
Jekk vera nemmnu hekk,
Lesti nħallsu għall-eċċessi u d-dejn?
Mhux dejn fiskali, iżda dejn immortali,
Id-dejn tad-demm li xxerred,
Dejn is-sudditti, dejn l-iskjavi.

In fatti, is-superjorità materjali ġejja minn hekk;
Mill-gwerer tas-slaten, u l-gideb ta’ dawn tal-ġlekk.
Daħħalna xafra disa’ pulzieri ‘il ġewwa,
Biex imbagħad ħriġniha sitta ‘il barra;
Ta’ parsi għandna l-ugwaljanza,
Għax issa jsawtuk xorta, iżda b’aktar ħlewwa.

Qabel, kellna l-ktajjen u l-forza brutali.
Issa, għandna l-kuntratti, u l-kodiċi penali,
Bil-banek jirrenjaw,
Bil-gvernijiet korporazzjonijiet statali.
Mhux ha nitlobkom temmnuni -
Nitlobkom biss teżaminaw il-fatti.
M’għandix spag x’jiġbduli;
Il-kuxjenza nadifa,
U m’għandix gideb x’ngħatti.

_______

’Open wounds’

Open wounds;
They aren’t closing.
Nations should be united,
But we are far apart,
Seems like nothing wants to budge.

Wounds, seasoned with salt,
Crucibles, with no sense of joy.
And, about that love for one’s fellow man -
What happened to that?
Now, we’ve found the perfect moment;
We’ve sworn, with the tip of this pen,
(that) We’ll get to the truth,
See what we can make of it.

So; what is the truth?
I am assuming that’s what you’re asking.
There’s no debate, reality shows you,
In due time and place, in the right moment.
My answer is this -
We’ve lost all our sense of valour,
We’ve lost all our sense of belief.

We no longer believe in the value of everyone’s life.
We no longer believe every action impacts others.
We believe that we are progressive, and European;
If we do believe that,
Are we ready to pay back our excesses and debts?
This is not fiscal debt, but rather an immortal one,
The debt of the blood that has been shed,
The debt of subjects and slaves.

In fact, material superiority stems from this;
From the wars of lords and the lies of the suits.
We’ve pushed a blade nine inches inward,
And pushed it six inches outward;
Pretending we have equality,
Just because now, they’ll still beat you, but more sweetly, more subtly.

Before, we had chains and brute force.
Now, we have contracts, and the penal code,
With banks reigning supreme,
With governments who are now state corporations.
I am not asking you to believe me -
I am asking you to examine the facts.
I have no strings, none that can be pulled;
My conscience is clean,
And I have no lies to cover up.
Dedicated to a nation full of crooks and *******.
SimpleWritings Dec 2018
Minjaf ħajti kif kienet tkun
Li kieku
Missieri qatt ma telaq mill-Eġittu
Li kieku
Karmenu qatt ma miet

Minjaf ħajti kif kienet tkun
Li kieku
Ommi kienet soda u tlaqna darba għal dejjem
Li kieku
Missieri fehem li mhux kollox kif irid hu

Minjaf ħajti kif kienet tkun
Li kieku
Ħuti jiefqu jħarsu lejja qisni ma jonqosni xejn
Li kieku
Jkunu jafu x’inhu jiġri hawn ġew

Minjaf ħajti kif kienet tkun
Li kieku
Nista ntir u naħrab minn dan kollu
Li kieku
Twellidt f’ familja differenti

2008
This poem is written in Maltese.

— The End —