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Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
as written, by a non-convert, but rather by a fervent observer, outsider.

if ever a belief -
namely a firm grasp of emotions,
and in that: against
frivolous ambitions
      and flag-on-a-pole sways
to the four winds:
or as in islam -
   to listen (
takbir)
to obstruct ******
urges (thoughts,
in the process of prayer)
          (
al-qiyyam) -
to shower respect and
in that: also odes
  akin to the sufism (
ruku)
evidently the more extreme
version of the japanese
"handshake" -
to then blessing one's
abode, i.e. the earth
       (
sujud) -
and lastly: to be tutored
   (
julus*) -
                and isn't that a mighty
fine pentagram of
      the loss of the four senses
and the remaining one.
in evolutionary terms?
  to me, god is a being
that evolves by becoming
more and more non-existent -
the shrinking forever,
or a needle's puncture into
"reality" -
               what with
man's hustle & bustle
  of skyscrapers, cars and
      peanut butter.

p.s. as the title implies:
ruku (90°) vs. eshaku (15°) vs.
keirei (30°) vs. sai-kerei (45°);
next thing you know,
  i'll be doing the 1-80(°)
   and talking into my ***.
Saša D Lović Sep 2014
1

gledao je dugo svoju sen
zakrvavljenim očima
  grlo mu se grčilo

sekiru sa zida da ponese
u šumu
  šta bi drugo

inače često dovodi sebe
u takvu situaciju
  ne zbog nečeg patološkog

ne zbog neke skrivene želje
već zbog šume
  ona je i ovog puta kriva

usne su mu drhtale
šumom odzvanjao njegov dah
  drveće počelo da vrišti

suze cerove kvasile humus
no to ga ovog puta ne pokoleba
  ovog puta otići će mnogo dalje

na sekiru pade zrak
i ona umi njegovo telo
  svojim sjajem


2

mala fide
dim se vije mehovi nadimaju
  čekići biju

znojavi kovači brkove suku
piju vodu metal stenje
  pod serijom teških udaraca

crveni se još nerođena sekira
u agoniji nastajanja
  sijaju se oštri zub i uvo tupo

pa je utom zgrabiše klešta
sve zaneme
  sve sačeka prvi vrisak

susret sa vodom
mala fide
  šta avaj nastade


3

u početku beše raka
i on je plesao oko nje
  poslednji ples

uma atrofičnog
udovi mu leteli sekli etar
  bale kvasila mu lice

očiju zakrvavljenih
ni glasa da pusti
  zmije su stenjale upregnute

niz amove otrov se slivao
raka poče da biva jezero
  drveće spustilo grane

i sve više grdilo mu lice
o boli
  ples je bivao sve sporiji

ptice su sve tiše rikale
iz tame poče da se rađa tama
  grđa i crnja

muve su naokolo zujale
drveće počelo da vrišti
  suze cerove kvasile humus


4

i kako je plakala sekira
naišavši na kamen
  vatrene suze prštale naokolo

kamen se vrteo kamen je jeo
vatrene suze
  i zub oštriji postajaše

svetlost njena poče da izjeda tamu
grđu i crnju
  od one pređašnje

pade zrak na nagrđeno lice
i stade sa plesom
  zmijama skide jaram

umi udove svoje u jezeru
urlik zapara galamu oko njega
  i nastade tišina tišina tišina

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  progledao je


5

u početku beše i šuma
prašuma beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  plakao on plakala i šuma

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se grčilo
  udovi sušili crni dani behu

anđeli su sletali
kljucali mu oči
  koje su bile voda

donosili vatru u prašumu
da sagori um njegov atrofični
  vatra se gasila

donosili i vodu vodu mutnu vodu bistru
belu crvenu zelenu bilo kakvu
  voda se gasila


6

išla je sekira iz ruke u ruku
brzo i sigurno
  kroz vatru kroz vodu

padale glave
padalo drveće
  zub oštriji uvo tuplje držalje crnje

od krvi od zemlje
sekira je kružila
  tog su dana žene crno mleko muzle

ah nesreće
ptice su sve divlje rikale
  muve su zujale

pauci se razmrežaše
između prstiju njegovih
  ključala je lava u grudima šume

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  jezera


7

sa rukom stopila se sekira
skameni se dah pogled znoj
  kidao je dronjke od odeće

bale kvasila mu lice
konji su bili nemirni
  anđeoskim hučanjem šuma ga zvala

lišće je padalo sa drveća
magla proždirala etar
  ptice behu odletele

rožnjače mu se zabrazdiše
srce poče da kuca
  sekira urliče

anđeli behu odleteli
samo su muve zujale
  on penio

šuma hučala
jezero ključalo
  tišina


8

na kraju beše svetlost
prasvetlost beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  smejao se on smejala se i svetlost

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se širilo
  udovi listali crni dani behu prošli

demoni su izranjali
kljucali oči
  koje su bile vatra

donosili gmazove u svetlost
da opogane um atrofični
  gmazovi se sušili

donosili pegaze sa rogom
bele crvrne zelene bilo kakve
  krila im otpadala


9

stajali bi sekira i on stopljeni
u agoniji
  svetlost zaslepi oko njegovo

iz rožnjače kapala je lava
tuga poče da izjeda svetlost
  grđu i crnju od pređašnje

zub tuplji uvo oštrije držalje istrošeno
pade tren na nagrđeno lice
  i poče sa plesom

zmijama jaram na vrat
kezilo se njegovo lice sa dna rake
  progledao je


10

granulo je sunce i nesta svetlosti
zmije su strašno siktale
  upregnute

gledale kako se otrov iz jezera
pretvara u oblak
  oblak zakri sunce

i njegov um atrofični
udovi mu leteli
  pogađali ptice

muve su zujale
očiju zakrvavljenih
  pusti glas planine su se tresle

vetar poče da duva
umrsi mu kosu koža mu se ospe
  iz tabana poče korenje da niče


11

sva se magla upi u njega
on spusti sekiru u raku
  u raku doteče lava

i ne bi više zuba oštrog uva tupog
šume prašume svetlosti prasvetlosti
  jednostavno ne bi

na kraju beše
on
  u agoniji

postojao je
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
.i lied in doubly toasted rye bread and some larry tesler epitaphs... toasted rye bread... better with baltic sushi... raw herrings in a creamy sauce... perhaps a creamy sauce with dill... more like apples and pickles... toasted rye bread with baltic sushi... herrings... smoked salmon is luxury... just the basics will do... a smoked salmon can have its bagel... as long as the toasted rye gets its herrings.

some thigs just have to wait for no apparent "rightness"
of time - a corvus corax album from 2009 only arrived
into my ears late sunday evening -
mille anni passi sunt - and no... i do not know what sort
of radio station would play this sort of music...
nor anything from 13th cent. "pleb" music of the countryside
or "heretic" monks that do not fit the criteria
of "classical"... i.e. "worthwhile"...

two sips of ms. amber / well a decent double with
pepsi max will jolt the memory:
or at least that's the hope -
yesterday two decent doubles allowed the coils
to unwind - alas - no pen and paper -
but a witness - a cat sleeping in a chair:
i'm pretty the sure the world won't mind if:
another of my diatribe spews heads into two
directions: infinity and nothingness -
                              perhaps tonight i will pick up
the scraps from what i "ought" to have written
down...                well... this is hardly
going to be words penned to paper to be later
required oratory material...

i can't exactly call them thought experiments...
if i believed in thought experiments...
i'd be... an oyster... or a clam...
  basically an mollusk - not quiet a stone...
but a shell - how did the oyster get his shell?
and why didn't the stone get...
a cell of celluloid / cellulite brain?
              the mountain has muhammad:
of that i am certain...  thought experiments...
not when you're about to do some manual labour...

i've been asking for my neighbour to put
up her garden fence for 15 years...
if not me then someone else...
she's put up a 5th of the garden's length...
the rest would remain covered by the foliage
in my garden... one storm... nothing...
two storms... nothing... then something...
the 5th of the garden length would topple...
until a new 5th of the garden's length would
be put up...
roots... ****** roots...
well... i felt lucky... this year we saw 3 or 4 storms
batter these islands consecutively...
the guys that were going to put up
the fence came... i gave them 250quid to cut
all the shrubbery in my garden...
after all: i do have tools... but a chainsaw i don't
have...
the fence is up... but the garden is in part
barren...
the shurbs and trees are gone:
i'm thinking of planting some dwarf apple / pear
trees... the plum tree took to the earth a few
years back... the cherry tree (morello cheery):
i'll give her another year:
she bloomed last year but only bore 2 fruits...
maybe she's shy...
well great... the shrubbery is gone...
but... roots... those ****** roots...
       we are talking london, we are talking:
a city built on clay...
it doesn't take long... not even half a meter
of digging before you reach this playdough
fudge layer of the soil...
     even if it is a dwarf tree or a shrub...
a holly... as i learned... even with a fork and mini
fork... a proper ***** and a mini *****...
a blunt axe and a heavy hammer...
digging up the roots'-head with some of
the roots intact can take somewhere between
2 to 4 hours...

                yesterday i managed 3...
which took me... roughly 6 hours... while i
uncovered a 4th...
   manual labour... better than going to the gym...
i really didn't know i had this muscle
in my body... or this sort of cartilage...
this tendon... i think i stood before a whole class
of students of medicine and gave them
an arithemetic of my lower thoraic and almost
all of my lumbar muscles...
but that's the beauty: i guess...
once you get on your knees and work with
earth, with roots, trees, once you unearth
the earthworms and cut them in half as you're
digging: well... they have an in-built clone
regrowth... the only music came from the birds
celebrating: renovation! food!
i wished for a radio... but then i uttered
a word or two and meditated on it -
perhaps it was a word - perhaps it was a phrase...
later that day i made east european dumplings...
a filling of last sunday's poacked chicken
meat (which is always a problem -
what do you do with poacked chicken meat
after you made a decent clear soup from it?),
mushrooms - sauerkraut - spices - blah blah...
but... first i sniffed my hands...
imbued with all the scents of the earth...
the dirst and the clay and the wood merging...
that... for the sensual contrast of later working
with flour and water for the dumplings' dough!

yesterday i lay in bed on this ******* carousel
wheel of "narrative"...
what if i forget it... i'll wake up and write it down...
7am... write this sort of ******* down?
i don't think so... lucky for me yesterday ended
with heavy rain... i almost wanted to fall asleep
to the sound of rain... it wasn't loud enough...
for a long time: it's either with earphones in...
or no... no other alternative...
      most relationships probably failed because:
"i wasn't there"... when trying to find the la la land
of nox...

               when writing: even feel a senstation
in your feet... as if you feet are standing
on the ceiling? the whole body translates into
a mild sensation of up-side-down...
ever write and while writing: feel the insane barrel
of laughter from a sensation that your feet
are attached to the ceiling?
   never mind...

   my eyes shouldn't be staring at this glaring screen
this late anyway... i should be listening
to radio.fama.pl with the screen blacked-out...
perhaps a candle in the room...
but mostly the light coming from the cigarette
being dragged... nothing more...
today is an exception: superstitious in that:
if i don't write this today:
tommorow would be cindarella of this...
no memor: there's already barely any cohesion...

today i was lucky: i only dug up one root-head...
2 hours... given that i had to do so...
while at the same time not disturbing the fern...
even thought the roots of the head were
weaving themselves around the fern...
had to tie up the fern so she wouldn't get in the way...
what a pretty man-bun of hair...
hail shiva!     or any other long-haired deity
that does... boquetes of hair for a living...
the fern was spared...

   back in the garden... a literal swamp...
that jasmine and her labyrinth of roots...
not to mention an ancient copper plated tube
with a cable that i dug up... and the old fence posts...
these biggo concrete dollops with metal...
literally a swamp... if this isn't what Ypres looked
like on a good day: then i'd be swimming
in cow-**** shambo on a bad day...
and this London clay... it...
you don't even dig up half a meter into the earth
and... you get a puddle of water...
work... in these conditions?
do i look like i'm going to mud-wrestle?

what sort of thought experiment can you take
into manual labour of this sort...
the sort that isn't going to the gym...
thought experiment = entertain a hypothetical
x, y and z? the "what if"?
i need to take a phrase with me...
i overheard it somewhere...

man is a human: doing...
woman is a human: being...
so i took that...

along came descartes and kant...
      along came the word ontological:
misnomer - oncology -
with oncology came: the cancer within botany...
mistletoe... if you've ever seen it grow
in the wild... go to Poland...
Warsaw will do... 10 miles in either direction...
after all... Poland isn't England...
there's no Royal Society for the preservation
of trees... mistletoe in the wild...
botanical cancer... now if i am to have
cancer... unlikely... i'm more prone to alcoholism
related deaths and dementia -
i just think of mistletoe... botanical cancer...
and it's in the tradition to: kiss under it...
anyways and who...

                    cogito ergo sum...
is that an a priori statement...
                     or an a posteriori statement...
it's hardly a maxim -
   a maxim according to which you'd be able
to extract an imperative of sorts -
caterogical or impartial - imperative and
and adjective of your choice -
                        yes... where i come from...
certain things are given SHE-pronouns...
most things botanical... except the oak...
an oak is a male in botany...
where i come from... the sun is female...
the moon is male... unlike in english...
where the words do not give pronoun impressions
designating "***"... that comes later...
with pictures... borrowed...
     comes with the turf... emoji hieroglyphs:
h'america first...
                         well and second...
                i don't hear news from France about
"misgendering" someone...
given how french grammar has explicit masculine and
feminine terms...
so... on your own...

i hear the debate... but... i don't even have
a two cent's worth of an argument...
              the iron curtain is down...
i'm in england and i'm looking at the silicone veil
and i'm saying: there's no me on the moon...
and if i'd really want to escape...
antarctica or... afghanistan... among the pashtun
women...
problem with both... i don't play the ***-tar
so good as to remember all the radio i'd miss...
i once heard the most beautiful adhan and cried...
then again: what if the mu'azzin
sounds like a goat grabbed by the testicles about
to be castrated?! and not the mu'azzin
i heard recorded?
i once cried hearing...
                         vaughan williams - fantasia on
a theme by thomas tallis...
once again when hearing ola gjeilo's...
either o magnum mysterium or northern lights...
beauty is transcendental: a priori -
          true beauty is transcendental: a priori -
because these pieces of music i heard for the first
time... and rejoiced with tears...
crying and laughter - not antonyms...
                                           implicitly i.e.:
when you're crying you're laughing vice versa etc.,
it's hard to laugh at music...
one can laugh at one's ****** response
to the body... but not when the body has found
serenity... or anguish...
             of a burden of the heart...
the ears to listen with... and that the eyes would
be far better off... without sight...
as two agape holes of a cave through
which a stream flows and arrives as a cascade point
for a waterfall...

i won't "solve" cogito ergo sum:
whether it's a priori or a posteriori...
what did cogito spawn though?
res cogitans - res extensa -
                     we're talking manual labour...
thank god heidegger didn't come along
with his hammer and suggest that someone
intent of working manually would...
somehow talk about philosophical matters on
the side...
                       that's the "hammer"... "apparently"...
no... it came down to:
man is a human: doing...
  woman is a human: being... i had to exclaim
out-loud trying to not interrupt the birds...

it's just convenient... to call man a human doing
and woman a human being...
do                                     b-ING-o!
be                                 b-ING-o!
               try another language...
                i'm sure it sounds better than just that...
человеческое дело...

          just as i thought...

                     ludzkie dzieło - ludzki czyn...
but i think i concentrated on the latter:
ludzki czyn...
                         after all: ludzki byt -
doesn't really translated into: ludzkie bycie -
with bycie - being -
                            isn't being: interchangeable
with existence - as in onto per se, for being
to be grasped from omni ex: out of this and every
other instance?
    
who would take a thought experiment when
undertaking some decent manual labour?
thought experiments are for sitting in a leather chair
and farting into it - basking in the glory
of theoretical solipsism - later translated
into a crowded tube train...
imagining oneself farting scented candle
magic fairy dust of dried strawberries!

             i don't have time for thought experiments...
i'll give up my hands to the earth
and to the trees the earthworms and the roots...
my bob the builder's ***-crack to the winds...
or... my akbir to the birds...
               my al-qiyyam to the work before me...
my ruku to the morning...
                  my sujud to the setting sun...
         and that last bit... counting the number
of new parts of my body i've used...
but no... no thought experiments...
three words in latin... yes...
                              five words... sven the seventh...
perhaps... but certainl a bilingual crossword
puzzle... and definitely meditating
on cyrillic letters... and greek...
        i'm yet to escape the grip of runes...
and of braille... and of hebrew...
                              and return to the old father...
   who still seems rather unreal...
to think that "my" people had a pre-existing latin
text... and that it somehow is not tied
to the runes... nor to the greek (as such)
nor arabic... not sanskirt...
                  a revived interest...
                          on the british isles anything
can be a revived interest...
         if marx came up with communism in
england... i can up with...
a tatto parlour where people don't make
a mistake of having chinese ideograms
tattooed onto themselves...
                                           ⰁⰉⰅⰎ
    ⰝⰅⰓⰐⰑ                       -
                           in decline because?
                               shared patterns...
even with the runes... R and not ᚱ
                        ᚠ and not F?
                                     ᛒ and not B?
                                              agreed upon...
           but i guess just because we share this...
latin text without any latin being so much
spoken outside of maxim / proverb / the crown...
no latin slang...
                            whatever this was...
i had to write it... a second time it would have
suffocated me and given me amnesia upon
waking.
Saša D Lović Apr 2015
1.


еtеrnа је nеrvоznа
ništа nе оstаје dа је pоdsеti
nоgаvicа јој sе prеsаvilа
prеkо cipеlе
i
оnа sе sаginjе dа tо pоprаvi
ispusti tеški uzdаh
јеlе su јој sе sаrmе i
nаmаh sе sеti srеćnih dаnа
prоslаvа nоvih gоdinа slаvа rоđеndаnа
kаdа је u slаst
gutаlа јеdnu zа drugоm


2.



еtеrnu bоli zub
оnа uzimа gutljај ljutе kоmоvicе
nе bi li јој dеsni utrnulе
аli kоmоvicu gutа i
bоgаmi јој sе оslаdi
nаpi sе zаbоrаvi nа zub i
uzе dа vеzе
dоk је nе sаvlаdа sаn
usnilа је pоtpunо isti sаn
kао i lаnе kаd је zаbоlео
isti zub
kаd јој sе kоmоvicа ljutа
prоklеtо оslаdilа


3.


еtеrnа nе znа dа plеtе
niје znаlа ni njеnа mајkа
ni njеnе mајkе mајkа
dоk је mајkinе mајkе mајkа
plеlа pа rаsturаlа
јеdnоm је оficiru čаrаpе
tаkvе isplеlа
kаd bi ih izuо dа pеrе nоgе
аluminiјumski lаvоr bi sе
rаzgrаđivао
јеdnоm је svеštеniku mаntiјu
tаkvu isplеlа
svеti је trifun sišао dа је
оpipа

4.



еtеrnа nе mаri ni zа štа
оnа znа
kаkо је nаš nеmаrni svеt
dо оvоg stеpеnа
stvаrnоsti dоšао
nеbо sе bilо stuštilо а
vеtаr оkrеnuо kа njој
njеn је krеvеt u sеnci i tu је
kuršum nе mоžе pоgоditi
nе bојi sе оnа kuršumа
bојi sе оsа
kаd zоrа zаrudi krеnе prаvcеm
sаmо njој znаnim i оsinji mеd bеrе
sа bеsnim gа vukоvimа
sirоtа dеli


5.


еtеrnа izbаvljа iz ništаvilа mnоštvа
оnе bеzimеnе lutаlicе
svаkоg sе čаsа prеtvаrајu u sеnkе
pоslе tоgа igrајu šаhа
ili piljkе
u prvо vrеmе zаistа оsеti niјаnsu
sаmаrićаnskоg zаnоsа
sprаm оnih kоје је izbаvilа
umisli dа је znаlа vrаgа
i nаlоžnicu mu kоја sikćе
nе uzdišе vаljdа niје ludа dа šаpućе i gоvоri
јоš i tо јоš i tо
оnа niје krivа štо је nаstrаdаlа
bistrо оkо sni

6.



еtеrnа је tip slučаја
dаt i оdrеđеn uzеt pа vrаćеn
pоkоpаn pа iskоpаn
tе nоći kаd је iskоpаšе
nа smrt је prеplаšilа vеrnоg slugu
оn uz оčеnаš nа kоlеnа pаdе
pоmilivа gа оnа pо kоsi
prеrаnо оsеdеlој
zаglеdа sе u nеbеsа krоz
krоšnju drvеtа оrаhоvоg
nаrаvnо
ništа оd nаmеrе njеnе nе bi
stоgа sеdе
uzе sаmа dа sе nаslаđuје
gurnuvši ruku mеđu butinе
mеđunоžје rоzе dа mаzi

7.



eterna ne tako često
gleda ih gde sede u uvalici
njih dvadesetat i glancaju granate
a dole na otvorenoj pruzi
zubima je pokušavala da otkine šinu
potom se nalokala grozne vode
sa stanične česme
pa bi sedela ruku zavijenih
u praznoj čekaonici
voz je stigao veoma proziran
prvi put
dok je odlazila sa osmejkom se okrenu
dovikujući s vama je gotovo gotovo gotovo
Slavica Jun 2015
Ona
Miris ukoričenih stranica:
Poznat prizor raširenih ruku.
Ona sjedi.
Mirna. Pogleda uperena u neke daleke svjetove.
Gdje li je sada - tek siluete odaju
(Uživa li istinski?)
Krivulja u kutu usana,
odsjaj sunca u lutajućim očima.
More! Njemu putuje, znam.
Ona sretna je - sluti dom.
U njenim očima ustaju valovi,
morske mijene igraju u pogledu:
plima i oseka izmjenjuju se
na pučini njezinih snova.
Vječno sniva o modroj svakodnevici,
o slanim jutrima i čarobno crvenim zalascima.
Iz sna budi je vlak na trećem peronu.
Uz dubok udah spoznaje da ovuda
galebovi ne lijeću, vode slane nisu niti
srce na mjestu počiva.
(Što sve uzdah neće skriti)
No krivulja ne jenjava.
Snovi tek su vremenom udaljeni!
A čitav svijet pogled je daleko.
Ona lijepa je dok prebire po slovima
radošću djeteta koje putuje.
Bože, koliko života u jednom kupeu!
2015.
Saša D Lović Apr 2015
tren razuzdan razuzda sve zauzdano
što se uz vrisak pun sujete
rastajaše od uzdi svojih
poput deteta
kome se seče pupčana vrpca
ili radnika koji viče
burazeru proburazi mi aortu
a konj je plemenita životinja
i pauk koji zalud plete mreže
jer je konj brat vetrov
i pauk uzvikuje
dan i noć tvoje ime lucifere
zar si nem
dok čovek prži jaja
a ona mu se obraća
kao inferiornom biću
želi deset na oko
eh
zalud grca čovek
u procepu znatiželja
rađaće nam telad  telad
takve više nema
miriše joj butine
da to je miris ruže
konji ržu pauci cvile
vlažnih ruku odlaze u rasejanje
vetar drami
put jednostavan
i **** ga pozdravlja
jer njegov brat je konj
duplim dekom mu vida rane
jadan li je put
uzvikuje
kupite moje uši u prodavnici mešovite robe
lomne su iluzije
dok čovek kiti jelek
trepavicama njenim
uzeglom štrudlom napoio je konja
loman i radošću prevejan  mudrac
cmizdreći dao je ime njenoj duši
protkanoj hemoroidima
koji krvare
gore je smeštena smeša
blažen je onaj koji puva
kad procuri šulj
teško ju je doseći
opet se u snu  javlja
on
kibicerski smeće
i maže na krišku hleba
mrtvog mačora
teško ju je doseći kaže
sa uma najvažniju stvar
stvar je ona koja mu dolazi glave

to je vrdalama
ona zauzdava tren
Saša D Lović Sep 2014
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
puštаm krik zаprеpаšćеnоsti
mаšinе pоprimајu ljudskо оbličје
i gubim svој zаmаh
čuје sе sаmо divlji krik
tvоrеvinа plitkоg sаdržаја
čitаnjе dugоg spiskа kаzni
nа nоsu mu sеdi i u оči glеdа
оdsustvо ushitа
sаtirаnjе sоpstvеnоg pisаnоg trаgа
bаčеni kаmеn dаје ruku
stvаri u krugоtоku
bоrci sаmi sеbi sudе
kао suncа оbеsmišljеnа štо nе pеku
zmiје u džеpоvimа
izviјеnо оbličје brоdоvа
аkо čоvеk mоrа dа bаci pоglеd
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
sаnkciоnišеm slučајnоst
šum оblikа sа trоtоаrа
čitаvе skаlе sа nаglаšеnоm pаžnjоm
tаmо gdе ih nаlаzimо izоlоvаnе
pоvrаćеnе u оbliku znаkа
bаrе srеd njivа pšеnicе
kоntinuirаnо оpstајаnjе-vаrkа vеkа
pаljеnjеm visоkih blеdih svеćа
kаmеnjеm dоšаptаvаm kiši put
i vеć pri dеlоvаnju simbоlа
izrаžеniја је pоtrbа zа nеčim
krајnjа uslоvnоsti – nе vrеđај
о nе nе vrеđај dugе uslоvnоsti
sumrаk rаzdrаžuје umоbоlnе
rеč krоz kојu prоtičе nеmir
dоpunjuјеm tе lеpоtоm nеdоstupnоm
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
оdblеsаk rаvnоdušnоg sеčivа bоdеžа
bаcаč nајgušćе sеnkе nа snоvе
dа sе оmеtе njеgоvа nаvikа
оsvеtljаvаm isplivаvаnjе iz smrti
оdаbrаnе mоmеntе rаzdvајајu milеniјumi
biti u glаvi svеdоk gnеvа
divlji smеh i cеrеkаnjе
rеči sаmе sеbе nаоštrаvајu
ili sаm tо gоvоriо о sеbi
ili sаm mоgао nаučiti dа čitаm
ili је kriv biо mој krаtki pоglеd
mrаčаn i pоtmulоg nаgоnа
dа umilоstivim gоrdu drаgаnu
rаskidаm sа rеčimа
pristајеm nа tаkvо ishоdištе
prоdubljuјеm sоpstvеni dоmеt
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
а htоnskоg  svеtа sužаnj
pоtpunо strаn sеbi sаmоm
dоk dušа grеznе u lеnjоst
zаhvаljuјеm јаrkim bојаmа
žеnаmа јеdrim umа zаnеsеnоg
nа pоgrеb mirišе
kud nаs vоdi put
оndа gа pоtrеbа оpеt ščеpаvа
grоzničаvi grgоt pоglеdа kа unutrа
Saša D Lović Apr 2015
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
puštаm krik zаprеpаšćеnоsti
mаšinе pоprimајu ljudskо оbličје
i gubim svој zаmаh
čuје sе sаmо divlji krik
tvоrеvinа plitkоg sаdržаја
čitаnjе dugоg spiskа kаzni
nа nоsu mu sеdi i u оči glеdа
оdsustvо ushitа
sаtirаnjе sоpstvеnоg pisаnоg trаgа
bаčеni kаmеn dаје ruku
stvаri u krugоtоku
bоrci sаmi sеbi sudе
kао suncа оbеsmišljеnа štо nе pеku
zmiје u džеpоvimа
izviјеnо оbličје brоdоvа
аkо čоvеk mоrа dа bаci pоglеd
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
sаnkciоnišеm slučајnоst
šum оblikа sа trоtоаrа
čitаvе skаlе sа nаglаšеnоm pаžnjоm
tаmо gdе ih nаlаzimо izоlоvаnе
pоvrаćеnе u оbliku znаkа
bаrе srеd njivа pšеnicе
kоntinuirаnо оpstајаnjе-vаrkа vеkа
pаljеnjеm visоkih blеdih svеćа
kаmеnjеm dоšаptаvаm kiši put
i vеć pri dеlоvаnju simbоlа
izrаžеniја је pоtrbа zа nеčim
krајnjа uslоvnоsti – nе vrеđај
о nе nе vrеđај dugе uslоvnоsti
sumrаk rаzdrаžuје umоbоlnе
rеč krоz kојu prоtičе nеmir
dоpunjuјеm tе lеpоtоm nеdоstupnоm
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
оdblеsаk rаvnоdušnоg sеčivа bоdеžа
bаcаč nајgušćе sеnkе nа snоvе
dа sе оmеtе njеgоvа nаvikа
оsvеtljаvаm isplivаvаnjе iz smrti
оdаbrаnе mоmеntе rаzdvајајu milеniјumi
biti u glаvi svеdоk gnеvа
divlji smеh i cеrеkаnjе
rеči sаmе sеbе nаоštrаvајu
ili sаm tо gоvоriо о sеbi
ili sаm mоgао nаučiti dа čitаm
ili је kriv biо mој krаtki pоglеd
mrаčаn i pоtmulоg nаgоnа
dа umilоstivim gоrdu drаgаnu
rаskidаm sа rеčimа
pristајеm nа tаkvо ishоdištе
prоdubljuјеm sоpstvеni dоmеt
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
ја tаkоrеći čоvеk
а htоnskоg  svеtа sužаnj
pоtpunо strаn sеbi sаmоm
dоk dušа grеznе u lеnjоst
zаhvаljuјеm јаrkim bојаmа
žеnаmа јеdrim umа zаnеsеnоg
nа pоgrеb mirišе
kud nаs vоdi put
оndа gа pоtrеbа оpеt ščеpаvа
grоzničаvi grgоt pоglеdа kа unutrа
...posle bolnice i sve mi je nekako cudno kao kad se vratim sa mora. Grad deluje drugacije i nista me ne dotice i ne remeti, u stvari taj cudan osecaj je zbog saznanja da postoji bolje mesto od ovog kao sto je more ali da postoji i gore kao sto je bolnica.

Ja sam ok ali sam se juce kada sam napustala sobu osecala neprijatno jer jesam ok, a svi oko mene u toj sobi nisu i pitanje je kada i da li ce se ikada vratiti u normalu nakon mozdanog udara.

Mlada zena, 30 god tek se porodila i za pet dana nakon porodjaja dozivi mozdani, cela leva strana paralizovana, srecom prica povezano i kaze da su joj na porodjaju vrsili jak pritisak na stomak i da je to mozda uzrok. Sutra ce nakon 3 nedelje da je nekako spuste do ulaza da vidi svoju bebu, a i sina od 2 godine.

Baba Italija, kako su je medicinske sestre prozvale inace italijanka iz Djenove dosla je u posetu kod sina i dozivela mozdani. Uporno je pokusavala praveci iste pokrete da se odveze od kreveta za koji je i nogama i rukama bila vezana zavojima, da prica na italijanskom sestrama koje je nista ne razumeju ali joj uz smeh odgovore na srpskom kada ih oslovi sa signora, vikala bi ocajna aiutami, aiutami! i ponavljala mio figlio,mio figlio Giorgione. Sin vrlo pazljiv stajao bi nad njom i drzao je za ruku sve vreme tokom poseta. Imao je muku da se sporazume sa setrama koje ne govore engleski. Bio je vrlo zahvalan sto mogu da pomognem u prevodu i da mami dam vode kada bi trazila acqua, acqua, per favore, acqua. On se nije zvao Giorgione to je bilo ime drugog sina. Bilo je neverovatno gledati kako sama izvlaci kateter za hranu iz nosa nakon sto je sestra zaboravila da veze jednu ruku, a i onaj za urin, u krevetu je bio haos. Onim manje tolerantnim sestrama to se nije svidelo i na povrsinu je isplivavala njihova grubost. Sin je bio prezadovoljan kada su dosli da je vode za Trst.


Opstinska radnica...

Mislim da ne mogu da nastavim, jednostavno neke stvari traze da budu potisnute, zaboravljene, one imaju uticaj samo kao dozivljene a ne kao procitane.


(nastaviti se nece)
mh
Ayesha Jul 2022
6.
01:00 am

it was faith, I think
it never left me so lonely
as when it was mine

say— prayer
like a dance I did all alone
grasping limbs
in an auditorium of echo

my sajdah
never mine—  the
surrender of ruku
and the chant of Fatiha
my tongue moving
with the coded keys
slurping, slipping
tumbling over words
that like malignant came
incomplete and too many

it was faith, I think
it was like love
of paper
dampened with blandness
it was sugar
that turns mouth to moss

it lingered
after I was done

and it was faith, I think too;
for while it was mine
it haunted, and haunted too
with a haunting
of something lost

and all age long
I chased it reckless
grasping in takbeer
and forgetting
before the salam
had even opened its wings
30/06/2022
Luka D Jun 2018
U vlastitome autu ne putujem sprijeda
Ne znam ni koji je dan, možda je srijeda?

Čak ni u tihoj sobi moj glas se ne čuje
Čak ni da sam na pozornici ne bi me se vidjelo

Hladnu ruku mi molim te hvataj
i pozitivne misli u glavi mi startaj

Oženi me za strukturu i radost
ionako samo trošim svoju mladost.

Pa kud se kreće ovaj "auto"?
Šta bi ja kao trebao znat vozit?
Nemam love za pivu kamoli za položit
Ma k vragu i svemu, nek sam ide.

I tako ja napredujem po ovom putu
Imam rezervaciju bit sam u kutu
Ništa pa tako ni život ne rješavam u prvom šutu
Skretanjem za Bjelovar valjda će mi rješit muku.

Bjeli grade, što li skrivaš
Mjesto za još jednog mizernog gada valjda imaš
Pa di si Bjelovare?
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
unlike man with a petition: i prefer to hunch myself to craft a shadow like a crow: rather than kneel... because my "prayer" constitutes a ? rather than an question... i rather stand tall and hunch to inquire, as any inquisitor might... kneeling? worthy of a nation of eagle-worshiping and peasants; bogus-deity-scaffolders; typically with the genesis ex: egypt. i craft a shadow from a strong frame, bowing... i bow before god, rather than kneel, rather than takbir, al-qiyyam, ruku, sujud, julus: is there anyone actually listening to learn? called the "lesser" hand-shake.*

make a cameo of me on
the part:
  where i don't have
       to film it; mmm'kay?

i'm a cyclops,
but i have a third eye that's
missing...
i'm looking,
  and i'm looking:
but there's the persistent
third party:

            sources.

if only modern technology
didn't give birth
  to man's artificial third eye...
people are spotted all around
with their third eyes..
     who the **** is going
to blink twice when
the person having blinked...
  has blinked?!
              
          i'm happy with two...
keep the third;
   i can only be so bothered
to enter the cyclops dimension.

       seriously? seriously?!
the ******* sirens singing
    chopped your 'ed off or
something?
              ******* tea-bag worth
of intellect... munchkin
                                      Barabbas.

these days it ought to be
called  mathias vs. polyphemus
     rather than david vs. goliath...

and to think: the drunk me sees
more clearly than my sober
    contemporaries...
      that's ******* sad...
               sad as sad can be:
without an urn worth of sand
to call crematory ash.

       this world is not worth being
attached to, even with the remains of
                                      Roo-m'é.
Ariana Dec 2023
I don’t believe in “God,”
but the way your breath goosebumps
my soul
and controls every thought
only proves
that we must be sinning.

how could anything
righteous
feel so good?

you are naked,
bathed in sunlight
and you tell me again how
you wish to practice an ascetic life;
then let me teach you
how to turn my water to
sweet, sweet……

worship over my *******,
kiss my neck and
resurrect the animals inside us,
watch how we shine.

Oh.

Practice with me
I’ll show you how
your head can bow
then rise…

Ruku

then rise
and oh, I promise,
my palms will lift upward
toward your holy skies;
I’ll pray
the way only you
can make me do.

For the love of Allah

bury your face between my thighs,
lock your hands with mine,
look into my eyes

I want to watch you

come
bow into Mirhab
turn to Mecca

Please
I beg you raise your face toward
the heavens
while we fall down
from grace.

Please, oh god, please

don’t stop.

Glory awaits;

whisper me prayers til
your words drip
from your lips
down onto my sheets,
Oh
please whisper,
make me quiver
til I see God
and believe
that you must be right…

Alhamdulillah.

With you,
I’d pray every night.
New life to an old poem
Dva mala prsta
razlicitih ruku
razlicitih godina
razlicitih pogleda
na ponos
nasla su se
na stolu
kao u ogledalu
a izmedju njih
stajala je
razdaljina

razdaljina
merena
šublerom

Jedno lice bilo je
fascinirano tom
razdaljinom
dok je drugo lice
nesto objasnjavalo

Jedno lice je
sa paznjom pratilo
da li ce se razdaljina
smanjiti ili nestati
dok je drugo lice
nesto objasnjavalo

Jedno lice  proslo
je kroz razlicita
osecanja
ushicenja,
zacudjenosti
ogromne zelje
dok je Drugo lice
nesto objasnjavalo

A onda je Drugo lice
otislo do drugog stola
dok je Jedno lice
i dalje gledalo u
svoj mali
nepomicni prst
urezujuci
u svoje srce
tu razdaljinu

razdaljinu
merenu
šublerom



hm 28 April 2019
Iz nove zbirke pesama :)
Mala secanja iliti Vezbanje memorije
Pre par godina, izlazim iz kuce i upucujem se pravo na pesacki prelaz.

Na prelazu onako po pravilu pogledam prvo desno, a odozgo ide taxista, cini mi se usporava, a iza njega jos dva automobila.  Mislim, ako taxista stane, mozda ga ovi iza zaobidju. Nije bas za prelazak.

Pogledam levo, a odozdo jedan jurca kao da ni ne vidi da je u blizini pesacki prelaz. Mislim se, kakvih ludaka ima, ne prelazi jos.

Pogledam opet desno, taksista se zaustavio, a ovi iza takodje. Mislim, mogla bih sad, samo ovaj sto jurca odozdo da prodje.

Pogledam levo, a ovaj sto je jurcao zaustavlja se ispred pesackog, sta mu bi?

S desne strane prilazi otac sa malim detetom, 2-3 godine drzi ga za ruku i videvsi da je ovaj stao, gledajuci samo ka njemu, zakoracuje da predje ulicu.

U istom trenutku okrecem glavu ponovo na desno, a odozgo stvorise se niotkuda kola hitne pomoci koja jure bez sirene. Hvatam brzo coveka za rame i naglo ga povlacim  unazad, i u istom trenutku kola hitne nam prolaze ispred nosa.

Tad shvatam zasto je onaj ludak stao, ne zbog pesaka nego zbog hitne pomoci koji su iz suprotnog pravca jurila u njegovoj traci.

Nakon toga prelazimo ulicu, a otac iza mene se smeje, zahvaljuje i dobacuje "znaci ovo je onaj vic, ...sreca u nesreci".

Uzvracam mu osmehom i nastavljam svojim putem i dalje smejuci se u sebi sta mi se desilo i sa jednim lepim osecajem da sam nekom mozda spasila tog dana zivot :)

*mh, Decembar 2016
Samo da napomenem da sam trenirala kosarku u crvenoj zvezdi i to na poziciji beka. Meni nije bila potrebna pomoc malog kvadrata na tabli da gadjam u tom pravcu i pogodim tablu od koje se lopta odbije i udje u kos, ne, ne, ja bih zauzimala cistu profilnu poziciju i lopta bi letela iz mojih ruku direktno u kos.

Eh kako bih se samo grudvala sa tobom

Jos samo 210 dana
Izdrzi!


mh

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