"noos" poems
Godo Is Not Coming
Ndue Ukaj
In a stormy weather, The road from Ireland is closed
In rainy nights, the sea cannot be crossed with small steps
When swallowed by solitude just as the Earth cracked from the earthquake
When pain has no time neither scientific decoding.
Godo is not coming, is late, the welcome has contaminated him
In a confortable sleep, is bending your dreams and my dreams.
He is not coming, neither in the tree of life nor in the theater of surprises
He is doing the sleep of welcome which your time doesn’t recognize... our time does not either
You are waiting, just as the bride waiting for her husband on the abandoned bed,
Dreaming with open arms while he brings the sack full of dreams
When he places his hands softly, just as in lovely hair...you relax in there
And begging for your dream, which is intertwined in your long fingers.
Suddenly a bite astounded your body, the hand flew from the sack.
You are wiping your forehead and understand that Godo is not here, neither his puzzling look is not here.
Nevertheless you are not convinced that your dream is in a sack.
It was tied as a noos forever just as Godo’s arrival.
Just as the lightning crossing over the river of words flowing ferociously
Just as your steps through dreams full of surprises towards the guards of time
Which make the noise of life and the dream of welcome.
And instill hope that Godo is going to come.
No, Godo is not coming...!
You are crying frantically until your tears have made a creek
Between your cheek bones and their continuous flow.
When the heart beats are felt just as the steps of the unknown
When sadness is knocking in the black night
Even Godo would have taken in his nail and be thrown away.
(Translated by Peter Tase)
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
Mad archangel 2020 scam, dead weatherman noos report blam
be live-r to the umbrella storms;
“Stiffen up, you needa chief more
kid, you’re riffin’ with a
legend— as it is,
it’s a sewage drain,a bed
Pan the pipes of dawn’s
crack;at end of the tusk,
the silverback-gorilla camo on the lawn
kept the rusted metal on a locket-chain
hanging off his pocket;pocket-watch
hang from his eye-socket;
.seed sewn, from the cornrows
in his carriage-patch, 3-wheeled rig and [a battery-pack
lithium frame, told him, ‘slow down black’
—ain’t no money in that”
magazine gass’ed up -let me hand em the curls;
code to the Source,name
the names, bigstick for walking a sideways polemic
fortyoz forecast for
hisshadow stringed-up a harpwing tune
the maddog politick;
Show ‘em on the map
-where it rain tonight?-
(not that alley X the liquor store—sea the eagle
swim gelatinmass of marvelous cherrylime-green sky;
posse told him to pass
his flying colors, vomitspittle—
Magnesium flare—was all his
day in the dunya,(we all got’em)
bent youngblood ear like a
bloodhound:
What’s the static charge?
Smash!pumpkin brain s-p-l-a-t, rush to eat the seeds?
all the sparrows scatter cuz the lights
is red,white&Bluuuue on L juice
—Ah! Hell’s loose, call me a river and
press
snooze.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC