Jee aur aieee k sadme k mare ** jte h anjne anokhe unvrsts k hawale,nya clg nya jgh nye dost sb kch hta h nw nw,clg k strtng s hr ksi k dil m hta h rgng ka dar....2nd yr m cnr bnne ka hta h sbko gurur,frnds kai grp m bat jte h,hr koi dkhte h nye luks m,3rd yr m sbko ati h apni jimedari ka ahsas aur fnl yr ata h dston m fasle bdhte h...rah dkhe the is din k kbse,age k sapne saja rkhe the njane kbse,sb bde utavle the yhn se jne ko,zndgi ko dusre trke se dkhne ko....pr njane aj dil m kch aur he ata h,piche ja k waqt ko rok k apne andr sare lmhe ko samet lne ka jee krta h....at d strtng f btech kha krte the bdi muskil s y 4 sal bitenge lkn kse pta tha y sb chd k jne ka mn ni krga...na vulne wali kch yadein reh *** o yadein jo ab jine ka sahara bn ***...na jne aj q un palon k yad bht ati h jin baton ko lekar tab rote the ,aj un palon ko yad kar bht hsi ati h....y sch k ankhein nam ** jte h k mri tang ab kn kncha krga,m apne bton s kska sar khaungi,pranks ksk 7 krngi,ab mjhe kn itna jhlga,ksk smne ntnki krngi,jin dst p lakh kurban whn 1 rupye k ly  kn ldhnge,kaun rat vr bina soye bt krga,kaun bina pche 1 dusre ka chj istml krga,kaun nya nm rkhga,bina ksi bt k m ab ksse ldhungi,bina ks tpc k fal2 bt kn krga,bkws q kn krga,xam k ek din phle o tyri o rate,kn rat var 7 jag kr pdhga,kn fail hne p dilasa dlyga,y hasin pal ab ksk 7 jiungi....yad ati h o rec k choti si cntn bar bar jhn kch v ni mlta mre yar fr v na jane q hum gye hnge so bar...tum jse kmine dost khn mlnge jo khai m v dhaka de ayen sale srs mtr ko v joke m cnvrt kr de,par fr tmhe bachane khud v kud jye....mre hrkton se nakhro se jid s prsan kn hga ,ksk 7 brng lctrs jhlngi..bina mtlb k ksko v dkh kr pglon k trh hsna,na jne y fr kb hga....ky hm y sb fr krpaenge....bdy clbrt,ek h rm p bth k 1 dusre s wtsap p bt krna...rat k 3-4 bje khna pkana....bina ksi mtlb k rat ko chilana....mlk pina...pgl jse hrkt krna..mlk ghumna....kaun mjhe apni kabiliat pr vrosa aur jyda hawa m udne pr zamin p lyga....mre khusi m sch m khus kn hga,mre gam m mjhse jyda dukhi kn hga....keh do doston y dubara kb hga....dil m ek kasak hoti h jb hr ankhein nam hti h,fir mlne k wade se hm ek dusre se juda hte h,kv na akle rhne wle dost bas yadon k sahare zndgi bitate h....lkn jb v y clg k din yad ate h ankhon m hasin aur ansu ek 7 late h...engnr bnne k khusi v ansu rok na pai ,q k njr aa rai t doston s judai...ab jo hna tha o ** gya akhir m sbse juda ** h gye....aj v un palon ko yad kr k ansun rok ni pte h ....nkl he jte h...aur yuhi lkh lkh k apko pka rai hn....char sal yu he gye hmri beet..ab khn mlnge wo dost wo mit...dua krt hn sb k ly race y zndgi k jao tm jit....

Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum behad khoobsurat **.
Ye jo tumne akhon ke kajal ko b palko ki had me dal rakha hai.
In aankhon ne jane kitna kehar sambhal rakha hai.
Kya chamak hai aankho me jaise ek choti si khush duniya ka sapna paal rakha hai.
Socha cheru thoda tumhe or thoda sata du.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum nazneen **.
Phir kuch tumhare galon k un khaddo ki gehrayi dekhi.
Na us se gehri koi khaayi dekhi.
Nazar htane wala tha k us muskan ne rok lia..
Muje aj sambhalne se pehle tere chehre nadan ne rok lia.
Jane tumhe ye sab kehna lagta hai khata kyu.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum dilnashi **.
Vo choti si kali bindi jo thik maathe k me kahi hai.
Vo b har shayar ko kheench rahi hai.
Jaise muje kehti ** idhar aao tumhe kano k jhumko ka pta du.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum dalkashi **.
Ye phir thode uljhe thode suljhe baal hai.
Inki to ada hi bemisal Hai
Tumhe tang karte hai.
Manmarji chalate hai jaise tujse jung karte hai.
Chere pe aate hai tum unhe phir peeche karti.
Kabhi clip se kabhi rubber se kheenche rakhti **.
Kabhi aaye chehre pe to shayad main b hta du.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum koi kehkasha **.
Or vo sone ki nath ko koi
kaise taal sakta hai.
Jise tumne apni teekhi si naak me daal rakha hai.
Or kuch batein in sab se pare hai.
Tera chutkan sa Gussa hai jane tu kaise handle kare hai.
Phir vo pyari si hasi vo sharm haya  vo bachpana vo nadaniya.
Samjhdari vo nasamjhi
Vo adayein vo shaitaniya.
Or sambko tumne brabar rakha hai.
Jane ye hisab kaise lagakar rakha hai.
Kya kehna hai kya sunna hai kya bolna hai kya btana.
Kab ruthna hai kab manana hai kab satana hai kab jatana hai.
Teri har ek choti moti khoobiyon ne dil me aatank macha rakha hu.
Jane tune kitne salo se khud ko ishq se bacha rakha hai.
Jane mujme kab se or kyu ye thode guroor k lakshan aaye hai
K tuje suna sabne hai samjh sirf hum paaye hai.
Tum jaisa or koi mere aas paas ni hai.
Phir kaise manliya jaye tum aam ladki ** tum me kuch  khas nahi hai.
Ha aj maine ek kadam apne beech ki sarhad se thoda bahar aaya.
Tumne apna hunar azmaya tha vo pic dalke use shayri bnake maine apna hunar aazmaya hai.
ye padhke tum socho k inam du is shayar ko ya koi saza du.
Are tumhe dekha aj to lga ye sab tumhe bta du.
Haq hai nhi mera koi phir b thoda haq jata du ..
Or kehdu tum afreen **.

Tum khoobsurat **.

Jo wahan hai wo yahan hai
Jo yahan hai wo wahan hai
Par-e-dil gumshuda
Na Jane kahan hai
Ek chota sa to ye jahan hai
Hum to isse bhi bant chale
Dil to ek chota sa makam hai

A us ***** ko bhi sath le chalein
Jispe uska kudha mehrban hai
Ye to ek aeine ki zaban hai
Jane teri ankhein kahan hai
apne ko hi kyu karta hai khafa
Tujse zada insan to asman hai
Koi lakeer zisko na bant sake
Usse bant diya tune jahan hai

ab to diwaron me hi tu fanaa hai
agar ek dusre ke liye hi marna hai
to pyar me marne me kya gunha hai ?

rok na sake koi usse
jisko khaboien ki panaa hai
Jo pyar me bana hai
lakeeron ke uss par bhi to ek sapna hai
udhar bhi to koi shayad apna hai

agar ek dusre ke liye hi marna hai
to pyar me marne me kya gunha hai ?


ye jo rasta tumne chuna hai
akele pad jaoge tum beete kal
ye jo hai tumhari addat
ki ab to ibadat bhi gunha hai
kya tumne kabhi dheere se suna hai
wo ek muskaan ki shararat
jiska arth bhi tumko mana hai
dekh le us fakeer ki nazakat
jo tere mere khoon ki milawat
us lakeer ki ahat pe kurban hai


agar ek dusre ke liye hi marna hai
to pyar me marne me kya gunha hai ?

Pyaar to kai trha k hote h
Mgr na jaane hmara ye ksa pyaar h
Pyaar k to kai naamo ko ME btadu
Magar smjh NH aata ki hmare is pyaar ko ME kya naam du
Jo kbhi hsata h  to kbhi rulata h
Kabhi naraj krta h to kbhi mnata h
Or jb shk krta h to uske agle hi Pal khud se jyada ykin krne lgta h
Agr khuda b aa kr hmare is pyaar ko byaan krne ki koshish kre  to shyd vo b nakamyab **
Kuki hmara pyaar vo nhi jo lfzo ME byaan **
Pta h mera dil bht ziddi h..  Hmesha ek hi zid krta h
Khta h ki vo tumse milna chahta h.
Tumhare kareeb hone ka ahsas mhsus krna chahta h
tumhari baaho ME jo sukoon milta h vo sukoon mhsus krna chahta h
Tmhari aakho ME aakhe daal k tumse bt krna chahta h
Tumhara haath thamna chahta h
Lekin me usko daat k chup kra deti hn
Mgr kya kru yr apne aasu rok NH paati hn
** ske to Mj cchor k kbhi mt jana
Kuki agr tum mj cchor k chle gye to me apni rooh ko NH smjha paungi ki ab b  **** ME ruk jana
Agr Tmko mjse door jaana b pde to khud ko kbhi akela mt smjhna
Me US lmha tmhare aas paas hi hongi mj mhsus kr k dkhna
Hr Pal dr lgta h tmhe kho dene se
Mgr phr khudko smjhati hn ki is janam nhi to kya hua, agle janam kon rok skta h tmhe mera ** dene Se
Me nh janti ki hmara saath kb tk h
Mgr itna jaanti hn ki hmari rooh ek tb tk h suraj chand jb tk h..

Relei ingat. Baju hangat kuning kecoklatan, 4 kerutan di tangan kanan dekat siku dan 5 lainnya di dekat bahu kiri. Rok kotak-kotak selutut yang untung dan sayangnya tak pernah terisngkap sedikit pun angin berkata tiup. Adalah pakaian yang melekat di badan Malia kali mereka bertemu tatap.
Udara dingin malam Sabtu sama sekali tidak membuat para pujangga mengurungkan niatnya untuk berteriak kata cinta. Atau cerita patah hati. Mungkin iya di tempat lain, tapi tidak di sini, di 8th Avenue, sebuah ruangan tak terpakai beberapa tahun lalu yang di percantik jadi sebuah tempat pertemuan para penyair dari berbagai penghujung kota. Dengan satu podium kecil –sekitar setinggi 1 meter dan selebar tiga dada- di sebelah barat, membelakangi dinding yang berwarna merah marun sedangkan tiga dinding lainnya adalah batu bata yang tidak dipoles.
Malam itu Relei seperti malam Sabtu lainnya, berjalan dari kamar loft ke tempat favoritnya, menyusuri 6 blok dalam suhu 21 derajat dengan tentu pakaian hangat.
Semua wajah yang berpapasan, tak ada satupun yang Relei lupa. Ada 13 wanita, 8 diantaranya bermata coklat, dan 6 pria, satu diantaranya memegang setangkai bunga mawar, yang sudah bertatap sapa selama perjalanannya menuju 8th Ave. 8 bunyi klakson mobil dan 4 suara orang bersin yang selalu di balasnya dengan “semoga tuhan memberkati”. Tidak, Relei tidak selalu menghitung seperti ini dalam sehari-harinya. Hanya saja Relei selalu ingat.
“ Lalu bulan masih saja datang, pun tak sepertimu, yang malam ke malam, masih saja semakin semu.” Seorang wanita paruh baya sedang membacakan barisan terakhirnya di atas podium dengan parau sangat menghayati. Penyair lain yang ada di ruangan itu menjentikkan jari mereka terkagum, ada juga yang bersorak kata-kata manis. Kode etis dalam pembacaan puisi di 8th ave adalah : tidak perlu bertepuk tangan terlalu kencang untuk berkata bahwa kau kagum akan satu puisi, cukup dua jari saja.
“ Biarkan aku datang ke mimpi buruk mu, lalu mimpi indah mu, lalu mimpi mu yang kau bahkan tak tahu tentang apa, atau pun mengapa,” Selanjutnya adalah giliran seorang perempuan muda yang naik ke panggung. Ia bercerita tentang buah mimpi, bahwa Ia ingin menjadi fantasi yang dibawa kemanapun sang pemimpi berjalan.
Baju hangat kuning kecoklatan, 4 kerutan di tangan kanan dekat siku dan 5 lainnya di dekat bahu kiri. Malia –atau seperti itulah tadi perempuan itu memperkenalkan dirinya sebelum memulai puisi- menyisir rambutnya kebelakang kuping sebanyak 3 kali sepanjang ia membacakan puisinya. Ia bergeliat di boots hitamnya, entah karena grogi atau tidak nyaman. Malia berambut coklat ikal sepinggang, dan memiliki bulu mata yang lentik bahkan dilihat dari ujung ruangan.
“ Untukmu, yang bersandar ke bata merah dengan tangan memegang kerah.” Malia mengakhiri puisinya sambal menatap ke arah Relei. Tangan Relei yang sedang membenarkan kerah baju otomatis langsung membeku. Ia sadar penyair lain sedang mengalihkan semua perhatian mereka kepadanya. Tapi hey, ayolah, pasti bukan, gadis di atas podium itu pasti bukan sedang membicarakan tentang Relei. Gadis yang sekarang sedang menuruni tangga podium dan berjalan ke arahnya itu pasti bukan sedang- Oh tuhan, atau mungkin memang iya.

jindagi na jane kis mod pe khadi hai,
na rasta dikh raha hai,
na manjil hi dikh rahi hai,
dikhta nahi najara ,
na hi koi aas dikh rahi hai,
hai jindagi tumhari,
ise apna tum bana lo,
jindagi na jane kis mod pe khadi hai......
na tum dikh rahi **,
na tumhara aksh dikh raha hai,
besudh hua ja raha hu,
yaad aa rahi hai,
chirag dil ka jala bhi loo to,
ankhen hai nam itni,
k roshni bhi bujh rahi hai,
jindagi na jane kis mod pe khadi hai.....
na sath chootta hai,
na sabra tootata hai,
na aate ** tum kareeb hi,
na doori hi kargar hai,
na yaad teri jaati,
na bandish hi choot pati,
ab aur na rulao,
k aanso b ro rahe hai,
jindagi na jane kis mod pe khadi hai....
tera yakeen bhi hai,
fir b hai dard footta ,
tu hi to rahnuma hai,
tujhme hi alam-ae-tasavvur,
na ji sakunga tum bin,
hai kar diya muqarrar,
mere kareeb aao,
dard badhta hi ja raha hai
jindagi na jane kis mod pe khadi hai.....
ab mujhme fanaa ** jao,
mera vajood tera ,
tera har wakayah hai mera,
tu hi to ishk-ae-rangat,
hai khuda ki tu inayat,
jo likhi hai usne aayat,
tujhme hai rooh meri ,
meri har aarjoo hai tu hi,
bas karo hajoor mere,
meri saanso ko rok lo tum,
sath chootta hi ja raha hai,
jindagi na jane kis mod pe khadi hai.....
ab rah gayi na himmat,
k ji sakun tere bina,
aao kareeb aao mujhko tum bacha lo,
mai ** gaya hu farkat,
kisi aur ki wajh se,
na husn ki hai chahat,
na ****-o-sangmarmar se dillagi hai,
tujhme hai rab mera,
bas tujhko hi chahta hu ,
tujhko hi mangta hu,
rooh se rooh tum mila do,
kuj aur na mangunga,
meri jindagi me aao,,
rag rag me sama jao,
tere bin nahi hai jina,
maut kareeb aa rahi hai,
jindagi na jane kis mod pe khadi hai.....
hai akhiri ibadat,
deedar-ae- rahnuma mai kar loo,
vo usko ek pal k liye chod de,
mai sirf apna bana k bahon me unko bhar loo,
jindagi hui khush,
bas god me aankhen band ** jaye,
saanse bhi ruk jaye,
har pal k liye tere kareeb aa jaun,
bas tujhse lipat jaun,
har pal k liye so jaun,
jindagi na jane kis mod pe khadi hai....
koi shikwa nahi rahega ,
tera kisi ka hona,
kisi aur ki fitrat,
kisi aur ki amanat,
ab himmat nahi hai mujhme,
k tumhe kisi aur ki banau,
chala jaunga mai ek din,
bas shant jindagi me,
ek nayi hi hogi duniya,
bas tum aur mai honge,
na koi aur hi rahega,
na koi hak kisi ka hoga,
bas mujhme bhi tu hoga,
aur tujhme bhi mai rahunga.......

Aaja ab paas mere kahin der na ** jaaye,
Abhi pyar karne ki lagan hai kahin jindagi beet na jaaye,
Tu bhi kahin ehsaas to karta hi hoga ,
Chup chuo k meri chahat pe guroor to karta hoga,
Beet jaane k baad agar mere tu lautkar aaya,
To yaad rajhna kahin kho dene ka sadma tujhme na ubar aaye,
Nahi chahta mai k tere dil me gam e bahar aaye,
Aaja ab paas mere kahin der na ** jaaye....
Silsila rok de ab mujhse nafrat jatane ka,
Shabab gahra hoga mere dil se tere dil ko milane ka,
Khamosh hokar yun intjaar karna nahi acha,
Ab to bole do kahin chahne vala tera hamesha k liye khamosh na ** jaaye,
Din beet na jaayr kaali raat thahar hi na jaaye,
Betaabi badhti ja rhi hai yujhe paane ki,
Ab rok de intjaar k lamhon ko kahin bahut der na ** jaaye,
Aaja mere paas ab kahin der na ** jaaye.

Chamakte -damkate chehro main bhi
Uski thi pahchan mujhe
"Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe

Wo pagal thi meri hokar'
Wo roti thi mujhse lad-kar'
Jaan waan toh baate thi""
Wo  kehti thi ( humsath) mujhe '
Ek sanwli ladki se tha pyar mujhe

Wo ladti' kuch kuch kahti thi mujhe
Par aah karu Jo toh samjh leti thi mujhe..
Uske pyar ka ikraar tha mujhe ...
Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar  mujhe

karu Jo khata toh tok deti thi mujhe
Par jaane se pahle ROK leti thi mujhe ..
Main hasta tha""uske dil main kahi toh basta tha
Ye ahsas tha mujhe ...
Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe ...

Par

Kab duri badhi,kab wo badle
Kab hum aade or wo lade
KUCH abhaas nahi mujhe ..

Chalo phir bhi ...

Uske dil pe dastak di
Kae baar minnat ki ke geenti tak na yaad mujhe ...
Ek sanwli ladki se tha pyar mujhe ...

Waqt ne kuch or karwat li
Sari kasme todi ***"
Meri yaado ko bhulaya"
Pyar,waade,wafa ko jalaya"
Uske hatho se mili bas raakh mujhe
Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe


U toh uska ab kuch pata nahi ""
Beete kai saal toh rahi na kuch baate yaad mujhe ..
Par
ek dhadkan, ek saans, or uski aakhiri baat hain yaad mujhe ...
Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe ..

Naaraj hua Jo ladta khudse ..
Tum kyu ** ab bhi yaad mujhe..
Kyu usse tha or abhi bhi hain ye anchaha sa pyaar mujhe ......
Ek sanwali ladki se (hain) pyar mujhe

Aa rahe wo din purane
Kya tumhe kuch bhi khabar hai
Aa rahi shaame suhani
Kya tumhe kuch bhi khabar hai
Aa rahi raatein wahi jab
Milte the chupke se chat pe
milke tera muskurana
Chaand se raushan samaan mai
Teri aankhon ki chamak thi
Aa rahe....

Aankh mai aasun ke moti
Chehre par khilti hansi thi
gum tha jaane ka mere fir
Chaunkhaton pe kyun ruki thi
Rok leti tab mujhe tu
Bus meri wahin khadi thi
Aa rahe....

Ab jo tujhse mai juda ***
Khud se hi mai kyun khafa ***
Mil toh lete hai rojana
aasmaan me jo basa ***
Dekh upar taare ko us
Sabse zyada jo chamakta
Pyar hai usme wo mera
Tujhse mai jo ab bhi karta
Aa rahe....

Fir milenge bol kar mai
Nikla tha ghar se akele
dekh wada toh nibhaya
Tirange mai khud ko lapete
Rona mat tu dekh mujhe yun
Haste mai mara ***
Yaad teri  sang mai leke
Chaand ki seedhi chadha ***
Aa rahe....

<A manuscript detailing a new origin>

There is no Rok-elixir or any magic, no, -Nazis, Hydra...there are no super-soldiers."

-Captain America

Chest-size aside, let's be clear here; I know because my father was the head of that super-soldier program...

That, honestly, birthed you, "America,"

I know this because they tried and failed to **** my father stealing it."

There is not now, nor was there ever, a Nazis or Hydra super-soldier program. Ask any German Nazis?

-Tony Stark

FADE OUT

1858

Rudiger Bannerstein plays.
Plays in the woods. Alone...

Kabhi chhor kar jaana na mujhe,
tujhe rok nhi paunga
Behad pyaar karta *** tujhse,
Lekin bayaa nhi kar paunga.

Haan shayad jee toh lunga tere bina bhi,
par tere saath marna chahata hoon
Haan shayad teri yaad bahut aayegi,
Par iss dil ko maloom hai tu kahin nhi jaayegi.

Ro bhi lunga kissi ke kandhe par sir rakhke
par mujhe shaant karne ke liye tu nhi hogi
Muskura bhi lunga tere jaane ke baad bhi
par tu yeh na samjh lena khush rahunga main tere bina bhi.

Kaash ki samay ko yahin rok pata,
Aane wale kal ko naa dekh pata,
Khush rehta in palon me,
Kyunki sayad kal tu mere sath nhi hogi.

Meri hasti kuch yu bikhar gayi....
Maano Mere pahuchne se phele kashti guzar gayi....

Me dekhta raha Jaise koi dur ** raha Hai mujh se....
Laga Maano kuch Palo me jindgi badal gayi....

Dil kheta raha k rok lu use dekar awaz....
Par na jaane kyu chup rahe mere alfaaz....

Ajeeb laga soch kar kay wo chala gya mujhe bhul Kar....
Khushiya le gaya meri,  gam jholi me dalkar....

Shayad wo pahuch gya ** manzil par apni....
Khe kr mitti shareer Mera khud paani me utar gaya....

Karte rahe jindgi bhar dua jiske liye....

Wo kahi apni manzil talash raha hoga or me rait me nishaan uske....

By: Himanshu rajput

Rok co rok
čekají na nový konec
po němž se dá začít znova.

I když nic se nezmění
předsevzetím začátků
je popřít všechna slova.

aaj phir dastak hua hai dil k darwaje par....
khade hai wo he jinki rah dekh rahe the....
achanak aaye hai bade dino baad....
jaise kahi kho gaye the....

khushi is dil me bhi ** rahi hai unke aane se....
lag raha hai sapno se aa gya hai koi sapna leker....
ab door na hona ye he dua karta hai ye dil....
tumhe rok lu yahi ek wada deker....

bas me mere kuch bhi nahi....
phir bhi aazma raha hu taqdeer ko....
jo likha nahi naseeb me mere....
bna raha hu us lakeer ko....

ab ya to tu aayegi mere hisse me....
ya humara naam liya jayega bas kisso me....

                       By: HR Collection

Naye Dashak ki shuruat thi
Ek hichak mere sath thi
Kuch acha hone wala hai
Ek sapna sach krwana hai
Nayi ye shuruat hai
Thame sab mera hath hai..


Par kuch or hi ghatne wala hai
Saya ek kala ana hai
Na khabar mujhe na duniya ko
Ab sb kuch thamne wala hai...


Tum rok lo Isko hone se
Tum rok lo khud ko khone se..


Parlay ka alam ban gya re
Tufan ghanna ye chaaya re...


Insaan kaide mein band hoga
Panchi khuli hawao mein
Anjana sa dar hoga
Bekhauf khuli in raahon mein...


Prakriti fir naya rang legi
Dukh apne sab har legi
Jo jakham die insano ne
Ab kalam nahi un hatho mein
Prakriti ka lekh nirala hai
Naya khel wo rachne wala hai..!!

Tera naa hona utni takleef nehi deta jitna tera hoke naa hona takleef deta hai, Tuu door hii sahi thi phir kyon paas hone kaa ehsaas dila diya..

Teri majboriyon nee hume is kabil bana diya, anjaani mehafilon mai muskurana sikha diya..

Jate jate kuch haseen pal chod gye ** tum, in palon ne hume akele mai rona sikha diya..

Chaahate to rok lete tujhko, magar Zindagi kuch is kadar intehaan le rehe thi, kii sab kuch tha, magar phir bhi hume fakeer hone ka ehsaas dila rahi thi...

Majbooriyan humari bhi kuch aise thi, jinhone hume tumhare bina jeena sikha diya..

Kaun ** tum jisne hume pathar see phir insaan bana diya...

****
i want to break you

cukf
w tnoa oe iytba rok

break
i want to *******

Aaj fir wo bachpan ki yaadein khuli dhup ki kiran si yaad aa ***
hoton pe pyaari si muskaan khila ***
ek bchpn ki maasum chali dikhla ***
wo yaadon hamare befikre pn ki h
jb ersha se koe nataa naa tha
jb hamare muskano m chupa koe dokha na tha
jb khilkhila k hsne s waqt ne hme roka na tha
nahi koe bndhn ki beriyon ne jhkra tha
ab to bndhn ki beriya h
or rok tok ki jangire
wo bchpn ki yaadon ke aate hi
ek masum - schchi si muskaan chere ko khila jaati h
pr ush bchpn k chale jaane ki maeusi aankhon pe lata andhera sa h.

Tumse mile to hum kal hain lekin aisa lagta hain milna tay tha barso se
jab sochte hain kaisa mile hum thoda dar lagta hain kya mai sahi huun ya
phir galat
khair in sabka uttar milega sayed
baadme
tab tak badhte rahe aage hum
saathme
sayed tum meri kalpana ** ya phir
bhram
sayed tum meri akelepan ka sahara **
ya phir dil ka marham
sayed tum mere koi ni bas beheti hui
kisi hawa jo kab guzar jaye
mujhe nahi hain pata
sayed hum rok paye tumhe mere aanewala kal me tay kar paye  saato janam ke
yeh safar saathme ,
humko fikr nahi tumhari beete hue kalke humko fark nahi padhta tumhari aur mere aajse bas mujhe yeh pata hain tum aayi **
jindgi mein mere aanewale kal se ||

nie tak sie przerzegnamy jak bylo dane (w lewo, w prawo, w lewo, w prawo) nie! pierw głowa, potem ręka, wtedy serce, a na końcu: pachwina; jako prawo-ręczny... straciłem ucho na nowoczesny vogue lewicy (w braku komuny)... bo trudo srać, i słuchać tych... bzdur! w swym: powiem co tylko moge... bo i tak angol jest trędowaty, jeżeli chodzi o języki, oprócz jego; a o tym znaczy gromada amerykanców którzy tylko mówia: jak to sie wypowiada?! rub rub rub your hands... startled by the sea of tongues, dislodged from the synchronisity of the tide.

tú stanie moja stopa,
                           i tu nią, powiem
    *hūk! grzmot!
                                rygor! disciplina!
   aport! aport!
                mniej warty niż pies
                                      gnoju!
  doberman na podwurku
                                   chociaż szczeka
    na widmo, czy też cień!
                         ty, kurwo języczna?
    whine whine whimper...
dawaj chociaz voodoo haiti,
      a ty kurwa skad?
   nigeria? kenja?
     co tam gavari? zulu?
           no to kurwa mów! - - - -
- - - - - large dogs don't really
bark at other dogs
    or people, the ones they
                          can see...
          poodles?
   they're picking the wrong
fight, always have,
                       always will.
        ten "muzynek"
bambo?
     wkradne sie w jego
                                  dupe...
   z metrowym kijem
           bambusa!
    i potem spytam...
           gdzie te widły
chinczyków do żarcia
             z twej mordy?
choppy choppy, shticky shticky?
                 bombai fwy wice?
        dziś? jutro? pojutrze?
   za tydzień, miesiąc?
  rok? sto lat?
              sto lat! sto lat!
      niech niech żyje nam!
ale mie to wkurwia...
    wprost, dzięki bogu że
tego nie mówie...
            bo jak bym miał
o tym gadać... to i tak
bym nie gadał... tylko srał...
czy też bawił sie w
                   rzeźnika...
o hej hej! fri-dom of spicz!

  niech bedzie pochwalony...
na wieki wieków
                     ten zór byka...
      że tak sporo na zachodzie
myśli: słowianin to slav tzn.
niewolnik, albino-bambo...
a tak naprawde to:
       kowalski...
                słowowalski...
                      ­ słowny-kowal,
          kowal dla czteru!
      czterem w oddech ziemi

                       north (conquest)              
    
west (war)                +                   east (death)

                       south (famine)

we mnie cichy lew, i tym bardziej
                  lis, szachista ciszy;

             ale z nich pół-głąby kapusty,
co to za polityka, jeżeli tylko dwu-znaczny
grymas... i tym: niewyparzona morda
"wolności"...  co każdy aktor czy diwa zna?

i have no name for this observation,
but it's there,
unique, like a prized marble bust
of some famous woodpecker...
pani (ms.), pan (mr.),
           pani (ms., is that yours?)
    panie (a number of mademoiselles),
pań (those umbrellas belong
to the mademoiselles) -
             but then there's also
this bilingual Ypres -
          trenches, miles and miles of
trenches...
              seemingly going nowhere...
a case of never being able to write
an onomatopoeia for touching
an atom... but there is:
Hiroshima... a history of a place,
like Chernobyl... and from the simple
bronze age artifact, poetically speaking,
into Heidegger's concept of dasein,
from a simple: knock knock...
into a unfathomable implosion
and never a knock knock...
but what's opposite of when we once met:
at the tower of babylon...
then from fear: we meet again
at Dubai, at the Shard, at Hanoi...
                    at Petronas...
a full circle... all a fake:
for we have congregated once again,
but not by architectural madness
to scale beyond Everest...
   within a grain of sand:
       at the abstract gain of sand:
at the atom... and from fear:
we reignited that ancient vanity...
to tobble trees with toothpicks...
as we have: tried: having toppled
mountains with buildings...
but still the new crux of our congregation,
the atom...
                    a new biblical
séance - these new endeavours are
not new, they are cloaks to hide the true
point of our congregation,
our new found "togetherness",
which is circumstanced as the evolved
version of Heidegger's "thereness"
(dasein).... and yes: apologies for
the ref., as such: either cite someone
and continue toward the artery,
or convene for Hamlet to gamble
over vine or vein...
                                     then toward
something beyond belittling:

mały (small)
      and subsequently: the worded
microscope, a process of endearing
something small, into something doubly
small, and perhaps even of chubby-cheek
physiogomy:

    malutki
                       maciupki
   maluteńki                    
                                  maleczki
                              (so where is the harshness
of synonyms? where is the stomping
        thesaurus rex now?),
                   maluszki (a kindergarten throng),
        the technical word is:
zdrobnienie -
      and if translated into English,
probably reveals more affection
toward the language than all the scientific
juggling away from atoms and into
sub-atomic                   quasi-atoms...
      has English really become
an anaesthetic? a desensitized medium
where the only nutrient is to tell a flimsy
joke as a role for invoking a comforting
suggestion? at least the Germans don't
feel awckward when telling a bad joke...
     the English feel ackward when telling
a good one!
                          nonetheless:
degrees... how small can a word become...
                 and by becoming even smaller
it becomes endearing,
          like a sparrow...
                          man could train
a hawk to sit on its arm and hunt...
but could man ever train a sparrow to sit:
in the palm of his hand?
           well: what a word, and a word
among so many: drobnica:
                              a tu Emeryk -
po roku, co rok, ziarnkiem maku drepta,
a raczej czolga: gniecie kolanem prawej
raz w roku, gniecie kolanem lewej
po raz drugi kolejnego rokue -
       asz po szczyt - jego małej: apokalipsy.

and 3 weeks among the natives will
do that for you...
             the tongue will tangle itself into
skorpion insomniac -
                          if only to rekindle
the labrador naiveness -
                               or from Golgotha
  without its eternal flame, to no other
Olympics...
               and who would have thought:
that there was no corner-stone
that would have been rejected from
the architecture...
        could anyone have predicted,
that two pieces of wood, nailed together
into an ornament of torture,
would shower-down upon this earth
the church, the cathedral, the altar and
the sanctified mastrubation of marble into
the cheek-bones of the ****** mary,
by some Italian drunkard, working on
the papist commision? mightly...
   one horseman be missing....
three horsemen, and one grand joke
riding a donkey...
                death yawns... and subsequently
eats up satan's laugh....
                                   from a crucifix:
st. peter's cathedral!
                   meanwhile in Japan...
origami.

qiss kiss ts'kammen
ordeal of the dyslexics.

****** innuendos aplenty:

i cycled with a rucksack full of empty cider bottles
and one tiny 35cl where whiskey would
otherwise be found... i have a fetish for recycling,
a fetish for recycling, not owning a car but rather
two bicycles, long walks in the forest alone,
scratching my head and pretending to braid parts
of my beard: rather, pinching it and twisting the pinched
part so it might appear that i have saber-teeth either side
of my chin...
                   little pleasures...
i would otherwise be known as a: KLOSZER...
KLOSZ... lampshade... kloszer is a derogatory term
for someone in Eastern Europe who collects empty bottles
from skips to later bring back to a shop
to get his WACŁO (VATSWO) - i guess i imagined this word:
in the olden days of the early 1990s...
us boys used to play during the summer running mayhem,
on our breaks we'd go to the shop and buy
TURBO gum, chew chew chew...
and have a little prized paper of a car,
and we used to buy lemonade, later pepsi...
if we bought a lemonade (always in a glass bottle)
and drank it on the spot, returned the bottle to the shop...
we weren't charged extra for the drink...
but if we decided to buy a glass-bottled drink and not
return the bottle on the spot? we'd get charged extra:
glass was precious under communism...
KLOSZER? the person who would scout the urban
environment and pick up leftover glass bottles
for a drink of *****... but i'm recycling and i feel mightily
proud of... "proud"... of this Achilles heel...
baron of crashing chandeliers...
                     but it wasn't raining when i performed this task...
when i cycled to the VAPE shop on North St.
inquiring... i was giving this ASPIRE Typhon 100 as
a present... but the more my lips and breath snuggle on
this **** no smoke comes out... and the smoke is harsh...
coils?! coils?! over-used coils?
i walked in to the shop with the sort of would-be
girlfriend with piercings and tattoos
   and all that jingle at the counter... some random guy
sticking around for too long, i broke his train of thought...
i was trying to break past the smoke pretending
there was a dead carcass in the room and instead of smoke
there were flies... **** me... i'm looking for a new coil...
new coil she says... she starts rummaging...
it started raining by then...
           she picked up a £15 packet of five filters... coils...
PnP-VM6... like this sort of detail actually matters...
i ask her... so how do you change them?
she replies: you just pull it out...
so i pull it out... oops...
                     *** scene worded...
my flask is full of blueberry oily liquid... it spills...
all while there's this: now turning into a creepy guy
in the background obviously not buying just
trying to work his game with this woman behind
the counter... the liquid spills...
playful innuendo conversation: oh... i'm not intimidated...
i have underperformed in my life...
not exactly premature *******... it's just when
she's the madam of the "parlour" and i have no energy
and i need to chop my **** off and replace it with a *****
the fluid spills my hands are greasy
she tells me that she'll get the tissue...
oops... once more... obviously it was a super-charged
***-metaphor...
i can't remember the last time i was called HONEY
and the whole affair was brushed off so easily with
***: in my mind, guiltily displaced...
   i bought the filters and pushed when the sign on
the door indicated PULL...
as confused as anyone might be...
when, where? apart from a VAPE shop will you get to pull
out an intricate part of a tool...
spill juices and have a woman retort with: let me get you
some tissues... i mean... that's super-charged Freudian
forbid might have any choking-jokes aside beyond
the already made via innuendo...

i'm richer than the rich having none of their worries
or the follies,
i do own what the rich own: and for that i am
rich in not having to worry about owning
things that might cause me to worry -
                   if it might be only for a minute or two:
this moulded heap of cow dung
    and mud - and milk and water -
   leave behind all the chains of gravity and marry
air: marry air and rise higher to the highest
point - touch the membrane where air disappears
and what is left is the vacuum where stars dictate
what is and what isn't...

or to better translate...

    reading one poem: Zbigniew Herbert's
   Former Masters while listening to Faun's
Sonnenreigen

and as if by magic my knowledge of English
disappears in my mind to a silence...
eaten up twice, ejected thrice!

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

dawni mistrzowie
obywali się bez imion

        (in der goldnen morgenstund
     ziehen wir aus des tales grund)

   ich sygnaturą były
białe palce Madonny  (und wir tanzen
                                               froh hinein
      in den frühen sonnenschein)

albo różowe wieże
   di città sul mare    (hoch hinauf auf bergeshöhen -
                      
  a także sceny z życia
   della Beata Umiltà      / -  um ins auge lughs zu
                                               sehen)

   roztapiali się   (lasst uns feiern
   w sogno              (             diese zeit
miracolo                  ( die der sommer
     crocifissione              ( hält bereit...)

    znajdowali schronienie
pod powieką aniołów        
                                                (du lässt deine raben ziehen
                                               in die felder golden stehen
                                                und das helle lichte rad
                                                dreht sich über lughnasad)

   za pagórkami obłoków
w gęstej trawie raju
                                                (muzik gemisch nach chor)
   toneli bez reszty                                      "
w złotych nieboskłonach                          "
  bez krzyku pzerażenia                            "
bez wołania o pamieć                                "
                         ­                                             "
   powierzchnie ich obrazów                    "
są gładkie jak lustro                 (es war nun ein
                                                             ganzes jahr)

nie są to lustra dla nas      (seit ich dich beim tanze sah
   są to lustra wybranych      (allzu oft in langer nacht)
                                                 habe ich an dich gedacht)
....

     sprawcie niech spadnie ze mnie
wężowa łuska pychy           (könig sommer führt den tanz
                                               dem ich folg im blütenkranz
                                               und so dreht sich unser kreis
                                               in der alltbekannten weis')

  niechaj zostane głuchy
   na pokuszenie sławy    (du lässt deine baben ziehn
                                           in die felder golden stehen
                                              und das helle lichte rad
                                              dreht sich über lughnasad)

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

ehemalige meister
sie lebten mich selber
    ohne namen

       (w porannej godzinie, złotej)
    pull us from the grand valleys...
oh ****... incursion of the English:
the red-coats are coming!

       ciągnąć nas z wielkich dolin...

   ihr unterschrift war
weiß finger Madonna  (i my tańczyli
                                               radośni zu-hausen, W
                                 wwww to:
schdat:  frühen-para-freeze: fruit:
early... sonnenschein - sun-lighting
oblivion... sun-glee: shine...)

oder rosa türme
   di citta sul mare    (wysokie
                 ÚP z  
wyżyny górskie -
                      
  und auch sZenen mit leben
   della Beata Umilta      / -  um ins auge lughs zu
                                               sehen)

geschmolzen sich   (liście nas świętować  
in sogno              (             ten czas
miracolo                  ( there the summer, to i too
                                           that: there, the: to i too:
                                        ta jedyna stokroć:
                                         zerk chłodem oka: powieka...
                                   okno na świat... rano:
                                              i modłem: terz:
                                          anatomia bosa noga...
                                    dzicz: bosa noga boga...
rap rap... all that rap might bring to suffice:
the polyglot presence of an African incursion
into Europe... mumble mumbo jam: tát tát... jum-b'oh!

a thought experiment one awry: trying to exclude
English from my psyche for a little while
proved insufferable, even if listening to a song
on Deutsche and reading a Polieren script...
sneaky ******* has a way to return...
i wanted to keep a perfect translation
of: reading a script in Polieren while listening
to a song in Deutsche...
subsequently translating the read Polieren
into Deutsche and reimagining hearing Deutsche
al Polieren... not in the right interest of
the English philosophy ("esoteric aesthetic")
of queuing... ****** just butter in: elbows held high!

SMUTNA SUKNIA: OGIER: PEJCZ!
   co stonoga-noga-o-gołą: nogę...
widmo... język... mów a mowa...
                                     bzdeta: mów!
ogier: stonoga... wilko-kroć...
  step... mowa: noga... ogień: zór...
jęk: kleṅska: ogień: ozór...
                            język: ksieżyc...
ogień: rosputsta: i nadal mi brak słów!

     crocifissione              (trzyma gotowość...)

    sie fanden zuflucht
unter augenlid auf engel        
                                                (wypuszczasz swoje kruki
                                               by stanąć na złotych polach
                                                i koło jasnego światła
                                                zakręty samo-w-się nad
                                                lughnasad!) ­                                     

   hinter hügel wolken
in der dicke gras auf paradies
                                                (muzyka­: tylko muzyka,
                                                     bez, słów)
   sie ertranken ohne der rest                    "
im golden himmelneigung                       "
  ohne schrei auf grusel                             "
ohne anruf um erinnerung                       "
                                                               ­       "
   oberflächen ihr gemälde                        "
sind glatt wie spiegel                 (to był jeden dobry
                                                           ­  cały rok)

nien sind dies spiegel für uns
   sind sie diesser spiegel die ausgewählt

                                               (odkąd ja i ty na tańcu okiem wgląd
                                               także często w dłuższej nocy)
                                               miałem ja, myśl twoją)
....

     mach es möglich lassen werde fallen
    von mich
serpentin schale auf stolz  
                           (król lato prowadzi taniec
                           za którym podążam w wieńcu kwiatów
                           i tak obraca się nasz krąg
                           w znany sposób)

  lassen ich werde bleiben taub
   an verlockung von / auf
                       RUHM        (pozwalasz odejść swoim dzieciom
                                              stanąć na złotych polach
                                              i koło jasnego światła
                                              odwraca Lughnasad -
                                      
płuco - singular... plural?
   płuca... lungs....
    garden of breathing!
soul always escapes the noun...                       

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

just to double check, translating from ******
to German and German to English,
that how i would have otherwise arrived
on these shores if my only mode of transport
was the tongue:
if i had no legs and perhaps no eyes...
if i were an idea of English that could express
it as I, Ja, Ich...
        and, yes, theirs'...
       iota > whatever might come after...

ah! this is one of those thought experiments!
it has to be! i'm excited!
i'm truly awakened!
this muddle of memory, dream, imagination,
reality a sprinkle of words and hey presto!
starved from images having moved
from the Age of the Image
to the Age of the Music...
it's so simple...
once upon a time you could only hear
music if someone played it good
or you played it badly...

yet when someone wrote a word...
or when someone painted a painting...
it could be written once
yet preserved by time
by this ingenious overcoming of God
(no, not man)
and if god "wrote" mountain man "wrote"
Pyramid,
if god "wrote" river man "wrote":
boat bridge watermill...
if god "wrote" forest man "wrote":
pluck out these trees stop looking
for berries and mushrooms...
look for grass, edible grass! find me arable
land that's not a desert!
of once mountain ranges that passed
from time into non-history
    into keepers of time by the whims
of the fluted wind...
                  
by wind my breath...
by my breath the decay of creative rust...
     i can only create dead things...
with me the power of death-creativity...
i invented the stirrup with me gone
the horse might finally not graze so easily
after the work of civilization has been done...

only then might the four horsemen
come with me dead and the stirrup
   i can only create dead things...
i am the death-creativity...
with me there will not need for the fork
or the knife the spear and the rope
upon waking a new world
i will only know words like mountain
apple tree i will know the word cloud
i will know to say the sea and that sea
i will call the caspian sea: sea...
and the atlantic sea: sea...
    and i will call the Danube the Oder
and the Oder the Vistula
but i will not know what is Danube or Oder
i will be unable to say or dream or conjure
a fork without: the fork
i will be in Paradise...
i will not know the concept of ******
because there will be no word for ******
there will be no Madonna or pregnant woman
there will be no foetus there will be so many words
missing! so many words will be missing...
all the basic words of coordination
will be there: and the Highest Abstracts
will be there: will, hope, dream,
    there will be there: be, am and i,
             there will be: because, are you,
there will be giggle and there would be crying,
there would be sad and there would be happy...
there would be: because and after and by
and there would be...
there would be no knowledge nor anything
concerning grammar...
this revision of "vocabulary" would imply
there being no real vocabulary,
a dream-world vocabulary of:
if said thing goes not exist... there's no word for it...
there would be no word: hammer
because there would be no need for hammers
indeed: nails...
motion of hammering...
there might be a rock and a trick of a hardened shell...
there would be no word for distance:
mile... by looking upon the sun...
there would be the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee... there would
be no Night no Nothing
    no Night in this Hanging Pyramid of Babel...

there would be no Moon or Sun
only the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee...
Glee? SH.... what's SH in shIMMER?
what's IMMER?
(oops... a Socratic stumbling block)
   immer... ALWAYS...
      what's SH+H? shh? be quiet always?!
SH... sound, vibration is sound...
            shh! yes: i'm telling you: it's going to be
like that, always...
   promised you 72 virgins?
wouldn't you just want your mind un-muddled?!
what's un- and muddled?
un- is not... not of when coupled to a noun
that works like a verb... doing the muddling...
medley muddling mummifications: toilet... paper...

toilet? no... no knowledge of toilet in "heaven"...
no paper too...
     word... what's word?
God... what is God... no God...
word is the a priori already invested crown
of curtailing words to begin with...
not imitation sound: __S

ah... sobering up... i love this bouncing along of English
dynamic like everyone is invoked to be involved...

                                          Z__­___

that's how the West met the East in writing

Z_________S

my "god" will be the word ONOMATOPOEIA...
and his son will be MIMIC
and his wife will be NĀMÉ
                        alternative written by angels
as NAMEH... because by then only angels will have
knowledge of the clue, not God,
of YHWH... YHWH will become as comical
as the 21st graffiti spray-painted by some boy
in the outskirts of London...
this scribble should have been preserved by the angels,
but like Prometheus, the arch angel Samael
brought down this scribble...

they brought the mummies and their hieroglyphs
that turned out to be Emoticons...
the Egyptians had two brothers...
the brother Aztec who copied the eldest
brother, Egyptian in constructing the Pyramids
and brother of the Great O of the Orient
who squinted his eyes with avarice and lineage
and said: i'll write like you, i'll see through you...
you give me mummified bodies
i'll give you skeletons...
the Aztec was the youngest,
the Egyptian the Eldest...
  the Khan was in the middle...
and Khan was right... he employed a pre-digitalisation
of scripts... imagine throwing
the letter G into Egyptian hieroglyphs...
some ****** did that to Khan's great counter
of hieroglyphs full bodied...
to hieroglyphs pure skeleton...
prior to Latin: not even Greek was a skeleton-key?
what? letters marrying numbers?!
unheard of?

1111111... one... lllllll (little l)... IIIIIIII (big iota)

imagine dropping a latin letter into Egyptian
"script"...
look what happened when someone dropped
something foreign into
Chinese hieroglyphs and so was born
Katakana... Chinese hieroglyphs came first...
then came Katakana...
then came the elevated:
if the story is true... and the Austrians
think themselves better than the Germans...
someone gave birth to the scribbles...
Korean came last...

       that feeling you get when you're trying to look
for an actor's name:
he playss the role of Grand-Duke?
Emperor? of the Habsburg Dynasty...
the elder brother of Marie Antoinette...
beautiful actor...
                          lips like purses...
who threw that ******* bone against the Chinese
hieroglyphs that spawned Japanese minimalism
that translated: ha! translated Chinese through
Japanese to Korean... split the ******* in two...
towing two! towing two!
                          Zhin Chin ****... silly!
   i'm not joking...
           Žin vs. Żyn... Rzym! Rzym... Rome! Rome!
hmm...
           Źın...          Žiń...
  
ha ha... the Nazis smoked out the son of the devil
of the people who gave them abode for almost...
whenever Poland, converted (insert a snigger...
i have the noun-spelling for it...
but not the onomatopoeia, ha ha... laughter
and rugby)...

change of direction at work...
i'm feeling an aura of: DISTANCING...
people are feeding off the appetite of me: leaving...
and their lives being over...
of course they will not be over...
they'll be feet in not worn shoes
in shoes boxes on shelves in libraries
of fickleness of the female side of humanity...
only angels should have been given
the crack-head code of the 4 letter "signature" of
YHWH... i'll give Jesus credit...
well... Beelzebub...

HANGU:L! that ingenious king of Korea
that: seeing a stick being thrown
at a bunch of sticks assembled as a shelter
of the Chinese hieroglyphs witnessed as the Japanese
folded... worked on an argument
of introspection: kept it...
hmm... what are those weird ISLADERS
******* around it?
they have the BOLD katakana
and the ITALIC hiragana...
two ******* trenches...
just let some westerner know:
the Hiroshima (katakana)
and the Nagasaki (hiragana)...

   Chernobyl and Fukushima...
the pregnant women were advised to drink iodine...
boom! boom! boom!
ergo? no real, comparatively: "boom" as boom!
or  BOOM...

it's the second morning i'm woken up from briefly dreaming...
point about dreaming? the content doesn't matter...
i'm not a hyper-focused Freud...
dreams are dreams in
how fog is fog and a hurricane is  hurricane...
dreaming heavily:
you feel exhausted if you slept for 10 hours
or 5... dreamless...
you slept: you didn't dream...
but dreams creep up on you:
they play fakery with your body:
you weren't sleeping: you were dreaming...
unlike getting blind drunk
and... sleeping: not dreaming...
with the lesser baggage(d) people...
snails? no... elephants! no ivory tusks...
already no fur... no drunks...
edible cartilage of the ears...
flapping... hmm... i might have to invent
a rug... a place to take off one's shoes...
shoe?
shoe prior to sock? obviously...
shoe prior to sock...
sexed up legs... procreation by the chemical
demise of acting...
if not sold to actors:
a god-send...
i could **** each any every ugly *****
but... god almighty... the impossible feats...
with Xerxes on your back?
the second battalion ambush of Greece?!

currently as is "currently": and, ahem... "history":
a history of plug-hole psychology
of inescapable Darwinism: cuckoldry...
or Plato's ***** joke about the feminism
of Hindus and their tired, wasted concern for Hygiene...
they bathed with the dead...
so the dead came and ate up the living...

for the past days... of note... two...
upon waking i hear my name being called:
Mateusz!
not twice, thrice, just... once...
i rush down and ask my mother: have i overslept?!
did you call me?
the replies: no... i haven't called you...
why am i: Matthew?
                     i don't think i'm: Matthew Smith
or a Matthew Czopek or a Matthew Eschlert..
or a Matthew Matthews...
why was Jesus Christ not Jesus ben Josephus
ben Matthias?
                i wonder... not really: "wandering"...

it was but a little nugget of inspiration of marijuana
and i went off the tangent...
i would not replicate the original ******
poem into German
   and the German song into ******...
because... springboard og ingenuity
English woke up!
as if: spontaneously...
i can't appreciate poetry written by
mono-linguists or ****-up: kissy: tut-tut..
smooch kiss-up immigrant ****-wits
of: this is only a Lingua FRANCA...
"franca"... a tourist-tongue...
it's a ***** tongue...
people speak it, leave it, abandon it...
sometimes perhaps frame it...
it's a tongue of commerce and Babel
and... at the end of all the tongues coming
together to speak it...
a rather: unsatisfying tongue...
over-salted... over-pompously-self-solidifying
complicated-soliloquy... solipsism...
something this: that: self-
    +-evidently apparent that children ought to
be teaching this modus operandi... *******... ha ha!

letter will not be know since words will not be known,
we will, although know words, that will be sounds
not scribbled down, imagination will be
nullified and nothing will be born with sleep
and dreaming will be alien to us,
since we will not be myopic
*** will be friendship and: we will know not
the word for tool and the specifics of ingenuity
and genius...
there will be no word for man...
and there will be no word for woman
and there will be no diatribe of death and child...

my uncle is in hell and i can almost count
this auditory hallucination:
i will have no concept of auditory: because i heard...
within the non-existence of my bones
and body and blood and brain and heart
in the water and earth turning to air
with each breath...
i will not hear... how my uncle: calls for me...
and how did you live with your mother,
when she aged to a nearing rot...
i lived with them and not people i would exchange
for a properly working bicycle-lock...

for each ******* i would replace the glorious
half hours i had with them
the months i spent with my supposed "lovers"...
i'd take one half hour with a *****
to replace the courting with said woman: unsaid:
to procreate and teach "my" children:
children of the times... flawed lessons
of the march, ancient march of typology
and non-writing and Time as Dust...

am i to help you when i implored the non-existent
deity into my *****,
indirectly you might implore for me:
will i reply to the heaven sent:
what am i to do?!
do as i did: absolutely nothing and nothing too,
that's twice that's hardly not a scone
scuffed and chained to Baron Zung...

            speak two tongues and tease a third...
come the fourth... letters have to turn into images...
in this heaven of no sheltered virgins..
in my noun-basket i will not have words
like pen, or: boiler, roof, eyeliner,
i will not have:
          screen, cinema, actor,
           philosopher, poet, psychologist,
soul: i'll have my self-eating cannibalism of breath...
verbs will merge with nouns
and the only nouns worth existing thereby will
be: specified and "corrupt" by a localised
specialisation:

                 god will be ONOMATOPOEIA...
the son will be MIMIC
and there: within the confines of said time
MIMIC will battle Chimera...
MIMIC will look alike: Chimera
but Chimera alphabetically:

    CHIMERA = ACEHIMR

                   the dead are not so displeasing
when it comes to the living-as-if-dead...
and there are plenty of those
living such: body-and-soul-crushing...
no... i couldn't imagine myself marrying
a troll... just to somehow oddly fit it...
i'm not going to reply to a message:
me and Nicki... says Frankie... are over...
reply: to what? and did you hear
my side of the story? no? no?!
i don't have to hear your side, either!
oculus per oculus!
like for like:
dislike for dislike!

           i'll wait... i'm not actually waiting
for anything other than:
can you please leave me alone?
i'll reply you whenever i feel like it...
i don't feel like
wanting human connection for at least
two days...

there's a hell and a privacy one earns to have
earned it that one rarely wants to
have it made public...
albeit in the "public anonymous"...
all the more willingly... since no immediate
consequences are to  be met: face-to-no-face...
tired of replies...
walking lesbians into the night
is like pretending to not walk
cows into the slaughterhouse...
ego-***** replacing what once was?
Plato the Plumber and the blocked toilet
of reincarnation...
i'm done with pride... Herr Dapf...

             for the waiting to be dead,
falte der primast schattierung:
für das Warten tot zu sein:
ich möchte auch tot sein...

   a death with the hollows
of the hallowed wooded emptied bark....
suffer the sound of a thunder-stroke...
donnerschlaganfall:
all aligned with things living...
nearly: or waiting to be towed toward
A... death...

           morgen?
                          tòmāté...
*******: SPUD!
           morgen butter-kneaded? by the hollows
of said, suggested juices..
my knees are not enough:
meine knie sind nicht genug!

ozór mam swej ręce,
    oko
        w swym pysku,
  a słowo,
                 w swym oku; \ \ \ \
jeno anioł siedzi w mym
uchu, i gawędzi
     jak jakiś chłop
       o marnym wykształceniu;
bo se baba chciała chłopa...
  co by wydoił koze!
a ten chlop...
             hula-hula-hoop!
ucho zbyt warte...
   prawie nie warte
  kiedy serce szepcze;
                     i serce szepcze,
to co umysł głosi na folwarku!
   ten sam: za rok znowu
       wiosna!
       a serce szeptem:
     zapawene...
    a ty nie ojcem oczekiwań
  masz nie zaznać jakąś zmiane,
    chociaż tą najmniejszą,
by dać roku wyrok - tzn.
          ten przed, nigdy nie
     będzie ten po?
   nawet te zmarszczki na twym
czole, to nie te same glizdy
     w glebie ciebie, adamie,
                      zwanym ziemio?

i have my tongue
   in my hand,
   my eye
      in my gob,
and the word,
             in my eye. / / / /

moj jedyny kres to
     watek ukrainski...
poza czym, jedynie
slask wyrósł...
  *contra conslave
  hrabiń, i hrabów.

i tak też zerkam kiedy
na piaskach
ojczyzny...  ależ dziwnie,
prawie, a nawet wcale
jak niby to miało być i na mój
odczuć: ponownie w domu;
                     nie;
i już nigdy tak
                 nie będzie,
pomimo to że z tej
                 ziemi jestem -

pies warczy, pies szczeka...
              las otchłan ziewnienciem
otwiera,
           i tym, zasłania ludzką mowe,
mowiąc:
             to co myślisz, nie jest
to co wiesz...
        jak w ogrodzie:
    i będziecie znać różnice między
myślą, a wiedzą, powiedział dzik...
tym, drugim kłamstwem
   od pierwszego, zapewnionym.