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Thapz Kolatsoeu Oct 2017
Ngiyakuthanda. Ukuba nginepeni nephepha ngabe ngihlezi phansi ngidansisa ipeni ngaphandle komculo ngikubhalela lenkondlo yothando!

Kondlo lena akuyona inkondlo.
Lena into ephuma kimi uqobo.
Ngoba inkondlo ikhuluma ngamaphupho necabango engasoze yafezeka nothando oluhambiselana nemigomo nemibandela.
Manje mina angiluphuphi uthando lwami ngawe ngiyalwazi lukhona. Angicabangi ukuthi ngyakuthanda kodwa ngyazi ngyakuthanda ingakoke ngi
Ngeke ngiqambe amanga kuwe ngithi ngeke ngiphile ngaphandle kwakho, ngingaphile, ukuthi nje impilo ingaphileka kangcono nginawe.
Ngeke ngikuqambele amanga ngithi ayikho enye into engiyicabangayo ngaphandle kwakho ekubeni kukuningi okunye engikucabangayo, ukuthi nje imicabango enawe iyintokozo nenjabulo kimina.
Ngeke ngiqambe amanga ngithi akulaleki ngicabanga wena, ukuthi nje ngilala kangcono ngicabanga wena. Ngeke ngiqamba amanga ngithi, ngendlela engikuthanda ngayo ngingatshela umhlaba wonke ngoba angeke ngikwenze lokho, kodwa umhlaba ozozibonela wona ukuthi ngiyakuthanda.
Ngalokho futhi ngizishaya isifuba. Empelini mina engizama ukukusho ukuthi ngyakuthanda.
Uyihlolo nonyoko bazala ingelosi sekusele nje ungivezele lezimpiko ozifihlile.
Sthandwa sami ngiyakuthanda, angizenzisi, kodwa kusuka ngaphakathi kimi.
Ngaso sonke isikhathi wakhumbula la mazwi ami, ngiyakuthanda.
Love expressed in isizulu.
Najwa Kareem Aug 2017
Ramadan 2017 in Sarajevo, Bosnia                      

The first day and the second

What a blessing!!!

Brothers and Sisters in the Old Town speaking the words Salamu Alaikum

Sisters wearing veils with colors like in the bright rainbow appearing before me and my two new friends from Bosnia in a sky above a bussling bazaar, there a smaller group of humans watching and a larger group of tourists capturing a rare moment in Sarajevo on photo

Many brothers wearing kufis and many brothers with trendy hair styles paired with Western outfits gathering in the courtyard of Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque, the largest in Bosnia and sixteen centuries old. Tourists from Africa, America, Europe, and other landscapes and many locals exchanging words and gestures in a month better than a thousand

Families spending time together at the Grand Mosque and at smaller mosques and in other places surrounded by picturesque hills and green plush trees

A father, a mother, their toddler son...he practicing walking on a masjid's cobblestone, and their young daughter...she smiling at her father as he walks by. Each family member physically at a distance from each other. Each family member at a cell's distance in communion with each other.

In the mid afternoon on a Ramadan's day, a sister from Munich and I having met for the first time at Bey Mosque ride together in a taxi up a steep hill to see a guest house she knows

A smell of lingering cigarette smoke permeating the air within the house so thick beckons me to leave politely and quickly. Unaware of the smell's degree, the owner learns of its' offensiveness as I disclose my sensitivity to & the dislike of the smell of cigarette smoke, both acutely heightened while fasting

Careful steps back down the steep hill to the city center, me avoiding stumbling on a large rock or being runover by a speeding automobile, interestingly instead I stumble upon a beautiful grave yard of uniquely shaped white gravestones and a charming mosque with a high minaret

At the bottom of the hill sits a crafts and artistry shop, one of many in Sarajevo's Old Town. Upon entering and a brief conversation with the owner, a piece of generosity is handed to me, a square shape piece of wood with Ayat tul Kursi in hand calligraphy

During the late afternoon hours, a time for reading Quran by many at mosques in the city. Sisters and brothers sitting on carpeted floors, some with backs supported by mosque walls, some with bodies sitting in chairs, fasters occupied with the most perfected Divine Scripture

A brief leisurely stroll with my two new friends Dzenita and her sister Amina through part of the Bazaar, they sharing opinions of their favorite restaurants, best eating experiences, and other things

In the early evening, a time to buy food to prepare for the Iftar meal. Showing me how it's done in Sarajevo, Dzenita and Amina invite me to join them on an excursion up a hill to buy Somun, a Bosnian flatbread topped with black seeds from the city's famous bread maker. Standing in a line longer than Georgetown Cupcake, Dzenita surprises me with a gift of Somun for myself

Two dates, one cube of Bosnian delight, and one cup of water to break our fast with at the Bey Mosque. A canon bomb sounds off to announce the time for Magrib prayer and Iftar, customary in Sarajevo during Ramadan

Startled and alerted by the bomb's depth and volume, I stand up to join the congregation for communion with God, The God Most Gracious, Most High

Out of nowhere I'm invited to Iftar at a shop nearby the Grand Mosque, about 8 of us guests being served by the warm owner, she offering a meal for Iftar at her shop every night during Ramadan, a big-hearted tradition of hers

Cevapi, Cevapi, Cevapi...I'll say it once more, Cevapi -- sold in Bosnian restaurants, cafes, bazaars, and made in many homes, eaten happily by many fasters at Iftar. Served with freshly chopped onions, some served with a soft white cheese, some with a red peppery sauce, many served with Somun, all ways tried by me and tasting as scrumptious as my first experience with Cevapi in Germany, then falling in love with it

Cold winds at night from the surrounding mountains, a refreshing air yet taking my breath and power away from the chill of it, completely disappearing with my start of Isha prayer with other Muslims and the declaration "Allah hu Akbar"

9 Muftis with impeccable Tajweed each taking turns to recite the words of our Grand Lord before sunrise, me weeping from God's messages, the reality of His greatness, my servitude to Him, and a recognition of sounds similar to that of my Mumin Father's, those familiar to me since birth

Three dear sisters, university students from Turkey and I journey together on foot after Fajr from the Old Mosque to a street train, along the way stopping by a community center, our destination - their home an hour or so away to rest, the four of us coming to know each other and each others' thoughts with every step. Contempleting my desire to spend more time in the city over sleep, the three sisters showing great generosity and I embrace and exchange Salams at a stop near the main station, the three walking with me to an open place before continuing on

In the land of a marriage between the East and the West and where newspaper is used to clean a cafe window, on the list of to-dos -- shopping for gifts for family and for souvenirs, window shopping done along the way, asking myself Shall I buy a Dzezva, a hand-made Bosnian coffee set, or a vintage wood Sarajevo box, or a woven wallet, or Bosnian sweets.

In a bazaar walkway, Maher Zain's song "Ramadan" playing loudly. At another moment, lyrics about a month of devotion and sacrifice from Sami Yusuf echoeing. Shop owners in Old Town with dispositions of calm and quiet grace greeting me and others cordially and respectfully. Shopping a few hours more until near sunset for post cards with a real version of the Grand Mosque, finding only less than satisfactory versions. Time running out for shopping, another reason now to return to Bosnia, God-Willing

Magrib prayer a second night at the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque. Observing the crowd, a striking occurrence taking place, a teenage boy walking a small length behind a man on to the mosque carpet. There the boy approaches an older man giving him a respectful hand shake. After prayer, a native of Sarajevo shares with me in wholesome conversation, "You are known in the town not by what you have. You are known by how well you behave."

Another invitation, this time for a cup of a tea at a cafe. Overflowing with people mostly young adults, men and women sitting at tightly packed small tables inside and a few outside, conversations merging into each other with a loud volume flowing throughout, Shisha being smoked by some, cigarettes by some, smoke in the air and the temperature inside melting away heavy make-up on sisters' faces. "This is Ramadan in Sarajevo." Madia says. "One aspect of it." says I. Not having a good feeling right away when walking in and not wanting to stay, the two of us leave quickly.

My two new friends Dzenita and Amina aka angels of hospitality and kindness reciprocating my gift to them of Milka chocolate give me a gift before departing the next day. "Tespih!!" A burnt red and yellow colored set with sparkingly gold thinly cut wrapping paper looking stripes purchased at the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque gift shop. Not knowing then I collect Tesbih, their gift is now my most favorite of my Tesbih collection

Husbands and wives, men and women both young and old, well-groomed and well-dressed, some holding hands as they stroll through narrow pathways in the Old Town on a Ramadan's night. Families talking and eating at restaurants, friends in groups sharing laughs, so much to see, so much to experience. At a cafe where baked goods, ice cream, and other sweets are sold, a lady sitting with a group of others initiates speaking to me, stopping me in my tracks. Bidding me farewell, she extends me a gracious compliment

Ramadan 2017 in Sarajevo, Bosnia to Remember

The first day and the second

What a blessing!!!

by Najwa Kareem
Adasyev Aug 2018
Z iniciativy české státní správy byly na stránky hellopoetry uměle přidány reklamy. Ty se nejprve začaly zobrazovat na stránkách mých textů s cílem je zakrýt a odradit moje čtenáře. Návštěvnost textů byla také bloknuta. Poté, co jsem do profilu přidal info o tom, že se zobrazují jen před mými texty, se začaly zobrazovat už všude. Státní správa se rozhodla kvůli mně ničit i texty druhých. Pro srovnání se můžete na hellopoetry připojit ze zahraničí, zda se zobrazí nějaké reklamy. Cílem je mě donutit k tomu, abych smazal tento účet a svou tvorbu, jako pomsta za mou (možná přehnaně) satirickou tvorbu proti pražské státní správě nebo poslancům. Pokud jsem někoho urazil, tak se mu omlouvám, ale útočné texty pokládám za užitečné a dobré, jak uvádím dál. Nikdo si na ně přímo nestěžoval a pokud ano, tak by bylo nejlepší, kdyby to řekl přímo autorovi, tedy mně. Moje adresa: Mezi Domky 255, 251 68 Kamenice. Cenzuru pomocí reklamy bez dalšího vysvětlení považuju za zbabělou.

V reakci na cenzuru a reklamy jsem smazal několik textů, které zasahovaly do osobnostních práv lidí, kteří se jich žádným způsobem po mně nedomáhali anebo neměli odvahu to udělat. Likvidaci nebo poškození zla považuju za dobrou věc. Agresi proti úřední nebo institucionální (firemní) nadřazenosti, která někoho druhého považuje za nekompetentního a ne sobě rovného považuju za dobro, které přináší změnu v myšlení. Rozhodne lepší a lepší ovlivní víc lidí. Můj text v angličtině ("A message from me") platí dál, po smazaní špiclovského účtu (můžou si založit nový) smažu i ten.

Zpráva zaslaná uživateli hellopoetry.com/retardnnn:
Predchozi upravou jsem tady skoncil. Navzdy. Muzete pracovat az do dalsiho ministra vnitra nebo reditele BIS nebo deseti dalsich, az do konce veku.

Ještě chci dodat, že "likvidací" myslím hlavně literární zesměšnění, které mělo v této zemi vždycky tradici. Původní inspirací napsat krátkou prózu "Bezdomovci z kolonie Bubenské nábřeží založili kurýrní společnost" bylo dokázat si, že dokážu napsat něco satirického, tak jak to udělal třeba Jaroslav Hašek. Moje texty vadí právě proto, že jsou dobře napsané a jsou úspěšné. Kdyby dobré nebyly, nikdo by se jimi nezabýval a nemusel je cenzurovat. Pokud mě chcete posuzovat, věřte při čtení hlavně sami sobě, ne informacím někoho druhého, a už vůbec ne státem placeným trollům na sociálních sítích. Žijeme v době druhé normalizace. Pokud nemáte odvahu a vlastní názor, tak v ní žijte dál. Uznávám, že v textu "Orangutani z pavilonu Indonéská džungle založili Poslaneckou sněmovnu ČR" jsem to přehnal a bezdůvodně pourážel hodně lidí. I těch slabších a citlivějších, kteří se nemůžou bránit. Hlavním podnětem k jeho napsání byly ale agresivní reklamy (bannery) ODS, které se mi neustále zobrazovaly na mých vlastních stránkách adasyev.deviantart.com a ve kterých se autoři snažili rýmovat, stejně jako já.

Zkusím vysvětlit některé rýmy:
"Vlez na úřad a všechno sněz, Praha volí ODS".
Narážka na člena ODS JUDr. Luboše Záveského, vedoucího inspektora OIP Praha. Jeho činnost spočívá v tom, že u práce, kde nedostanete ani minimální hodinovou mzdu, dal takovým podnikatelům ještě lepší smlouvy než před kontrolou. Z pokuty, kterou inspektoři vyinkasují od podnikatele za nelegální práci, si sami sjednali odměny (vedle státního platu). Touto námezdnickou prací jsem si prošel.

"Kdo nedává na žrádlo, sponzoruje divadlo."
Narážka na pražskou podnikatelku Ing. Hanu Černochovou, majitelku superúspěšného švarcsystémového podvodu s názvem eKuryr, s.r.o. Paní majitelka se svým manželem byla nebo je mecenáškou Národního divadla v Praze. Na to, že podnikání této firmy je v podstatě sofistikovaný podvod, jsem přišel já, ne státní úředníci, a to ve stížnosti dostupné na tinyurl.com/svarcsystem. Po odečtení nákladů na provoz si kurýr s osobním autem v podstatě nic nevydělá a díky tomuto podvodu firma docilovala nejnižších cen na trhu.

Rovněž třeba parodie "Prague Connection" byla inspirována jiným autorem, který zase parodoval některé verše z mojí tvorby. Nic není bez příčiny... Ani já.

A tak dál
a tak dál
nic jsem tady nenapsal
jen tak

pro nic za nic.

Svoje básně přesunu na nové místo, protože je o ně zájem. Nemůžu už tady zveřejňovat žádné další nové příspěvky. Když to udělám, jsou na veřejném profilu smazány (pro ČR). Takže tento text je jediným způsobem komunikace se čtenáři. Upozorňujte na cenzuru a sdílejte moji tvorbu. Díky, L.

POZNÁMKA: Počet zhlédnutí tohoto textu, tak jak je dole, je ZFALŠOVÁN, s cílem vytvořit dojem, že ** už vlastně nikdo nečte. Aktuální zamrzlá hodnota je 34 (5. 8. 2018). Vyzkoušejte sdílení tohoto textu a uvidíte, zda číslo stoupá nebo ne. Číslům u ostatních básní se teď už také nedá věřit.

AKTUALIZACE: Hodnota zfalšována (snížena) na 45, opět bloknuta. Jako nové číslo se může objevit cokoliv a bude opět bloknuté.

AKTUALIZACE: Místo reklam se může zobrazit rádobyvěrohodný inzerát na sponzorování tohoto serveru. Server Hellopoetry je ale dobrovolně financován členy komunity bez zobrazování jakýchkoliv poutačů nebo reklam. Díky tomu je zachována grafická čistota textů básní. Srovnejte při připojení ze zahraničí.

AKTUALIZACE 22. 4. 2021: Co se tady na Hello Poetry vlastně stalo, doteď nevím. Moje nové příspěvky se nezobrazí na mojí profilové stránce. Při aktualizaci anglického textu A Message From Me byl po přihlášení k mému účtu na zadávací stránce vložen škodlivý HTML kód, který periodicky útočil na operační paměť a shazoval prohlížeč. Došlo k prohození napsaných odstavců v mém textu A Message From Me, kdy verze, která se zobrazovala veřejnosti po odhlášení z účtu, se lišila od originální uložené verze se správným pořadím odstavců. Tento samotný český text byl zpočátku (srpen 2018) zcela překryt nesmyslným obřím černobílým bannerem s nápisem Sudoku, který se prodlužoval na výšku této stránky jak rostla návštěvnost mojí výzvy. Samotné počty zhlédnutí/přečtení tohoto a jiných mých textů jsou skutečně zamrzlé, tj. nerostou pro různé unikátní IP adresy i identity (testoval jsem s prohlížečem Tor). Soudě podle publikovaných textů ostatních uživatelů z Hello Poetry, jejich zkušenosti s tímto webem jsou rovněž podivné, např. někdo uvedl, že nemůže psát vůbec komentáře (to by vysvětlovalo, proč můj text A Message From Me se současnou návštěvností téměř 22 tisíc přečtení nemá ani jeden komentář; to je to, co vidím po přihlášení ke svému účtu). Při mé snaze logicky vytěsnit překrývající reklamy, kdy jsem se domníval, že jsou dílem inteligentního útočníka, jsem paralelně napsal anglický text A Message From Me a toto české Sdělení. K odkazům pro veřejnost jsem použil krátké odkazy služby tinyurl.com. Při jejím opětovném využívání během zdejšího zápasu s reklamou se mně najednou reklamním bannerem zcela překrylo i zadávací políčko pro adresu na stránce tinyurl.com, tak, že služba bez blokovače reklam nešla vůbec použít. Celá věc na mě působila tak, že si ze mě dělá nebo dělají srandu nějací počítačoví šachisté s plošným přístupem k serverům a alespoň částečnou možností modifikace přenášených dat. K účtu hellopoetry.com/retardnnn se pojí rovněž fiktivní jméno "Sarai Hladká" a další podivný účet instagram.com/adamlanza92 (podle jména a roku narození amerického masového vraha). Tento instagramový účet měl před pár lety v popisku text právě jen "Sarai Hladká", tedy stejná "sara" aneb retardnnn, který mě měl mezi sledovanými zde na Hello Poetry v červenci 2018 (a který nebo která má účet taky na deviantart.com/retardnnn). Pokud náhodou víte nebo tušíte, čí je to účet, anebo máte nějaké nápady a připomínky k výše uvedenému, uvítám vaše e-maily na adrese lukas.vejsada@tiscali.cz. Kontaktujte mě také prosím, i pokud narazíte na nějaký "můj" profil na Facebooku. Děkuju, L.

AKTUALIZACE 25. 5. 2021: Profil instagram.com/adamlanza92 byl zrušen.

AKTUALIZACE 14. 6. 2021: Dostal jsem e-mailem reakci k původu účtu hellopoetry.com/retardnnn a dalších. Má jít o účet pubertálního dítěte, pisatel mě ujistil, že rozhodně nejde o účet založený MV ČR nebo BIS.

AKTUALIZACE 6. 10. 2023: Moje zkušenosti (nejenom) s tímto webem jsou nově shrnuty na adrese adasyev.tiiny.site

Krátký odkaz na tuto stránku: https://tinyurl.com/nechcemecenzuru
Ngizwe kuvuka usinga kwathi angibhale
ngesizulu
Bathi ayibe isazekeka uma isinkulu...
Ngicinge amagama alula okuloba lendaba, le
ndoda yathi izongilobola, angazangake ukuthi
kanti nangomlomo sekuyalotsholwa...
Aybo phela mina le ndoda yangthembisa!
Igama uNomathemba odabuka eMzumbe..
Hhay limnandi iTheku ..ungezwa ngabantu
bethi.. phela mina lana ngidla ama fish and
chips ..anginichomeli phela mina
bengizijwayelele umdumbulu namadumbe..
ekhaya eMzumbe..
Aybo phela mina lendoda yangthembisa..
Sengazitholela uThemba.. Loluthando lunginika
ithemba! UNtuli wam' ! Ugodide ! Ofake izinyo
legolide.. Ngyamthanda uMphemba wam' !
Phela yena ulithemba lam' !
Ngimenze uNkulunkulu, ngamnika lonke uqobo
lwam'
Wangenza ibhange lakhe, wangnika yonke imali
yakhe..
Uthe angeke angiphule inhliziyo, akasoze adlala
ngemizwa yam'
Ngamtshena ukuthi angisiwo ulayini wokuhola
iqolo angeke ngimmoshele isikhathi sakhe..
Ihhe angikazikhohlwa izethembiso zakhe..
Ethi uzongenza umkakhe.. :/
Aybo phela mina lendoda yangthembisa!
Amagama angbiza ngawo amnandi, ethi
ngimuhle ngathi ngigeza ngedanoni
Ekhuluma ngama bhanoyi, ama private jet,
phela lana sasi planner umshado wethu and my
wedding dress..
Ngazigcina ngifunda eNyuvesi yaka Zulu..
Angsayaz ngisho I timetable yama class..
Phela mina shangane lakaMakwakwa sengzobe
umfazi womzulu..
...Ngaphuma ekhaya ngiyofuna ulwazi
olunzulu.. Zulu khuzani niyabuka elikaMthaniya
elihle lifa phambi kwenu ..bheka njalo ekhaya
banamathemba ngam'..
Ngakhetha ukwanelisa uThemba ngakhohlwa
ngezidingo zam'.. Ngazikhohlwa izifiso zabazali
bam'..
ERes ngahlala inyanga eyodwa ..phela mina
senghlala ehotela... Lol angisiye umculi kodwa
ungangbiza nge 'Hotel queen' ..
....................... -- ........... -
- ..........................................
Langa limbe ngavuka ngaphuthaza
..ngaphuthaza embhedeni.. UThemba
akekho..ngivuke ngiye e
bathroom..akekho..ngimshayele ucingo..his
number doesn't exist.. Ngimelwe
yingqondo..ngicinge khabetheni lezingubo
izimpahla zakhe azikho :| .. Ngimemezise
okohlanya 'Themba ! Themba ! ' Pho ke
izindonga ezine zingigqolozele, zingabuye
zenzenjani?
Ithemba lam' lingishiyile ngizokwezenjani?
Aybo phela mina lendoda yangthembisa!
Iphelile I semester yokqala, kwamele
ngiphindele ekhaya.. Ngizwile ngomngan' ethi
aphumile ama result.. Awami
ngizowathathaph' ..
ND>>eMzumbe
-- -- -_- 'Nomathemba'ukube bayaz
ngemikhuba yam' ngabe abangijabuleli kanjena
.. Uphasile koda, yebo mama ngamalengiso..
:/ ..
Aybo phela mina le ndoda yangthembisa!
Ay ingibelesele le flue,
Umkhuhlane onje angiwazi..
Sengkhwehlela negazi..
....Ngyonda..kodwa isisu sami si.. Hhay
ngisuthi.. Ya ngisuthi.. Cha bakwethu ngisuthi..
Yekani isisu sam' ngisuthi.. Yebo ma ngondiswa
izifundo ngifunda kanzima.. Cha asisikhulu isisu
sam' ng gqoke I jacket enkulu..
..Ziyahamba izinsuku ngagula kakhulu ..
Dokotela, umkhuhlane wam' awupheli ..
Ukhulelwe.. 5 weeks ..aybo! Mina angeke..
'Angikaqedi, unegciwane.. Ingabe uyamazi
umuntu okuwuye oku ..Themba!! Ubani?
Nomathemba, Nomathemba vuka!
Saphuma isisu.. Ngafa mina.. Lashabalala
ikusasa lam' .. Aphela amathemba abazali bam'
ababenawo ngam' .. Kwaphela ngam' Themba
waze wadlala ngam' ..
Izethembiso zakho ..
Owangithembisa zona
Mphemba wam' wangthembisa..
Cody Veal May 2010
i sat there mystified,
my eyes lost in hers.

i searched fruitlessly for something witty to say,
trying to coax out a smile, a laugh.

as her quiet discontentment radiated outward,
i yearned to pick the right words,
some way to calm the storm brewing.

my thoughts flickered to earlier that day:
her eyes, deep, sparkling jewels.

her hair framing every stunning feature of her face.

her laugh, a luxurious liqueur,
and i longed to drink and drink and drink.

all i wished to do, was to bring her to that place again,
to bring her joy; to make her happy.
(c) Cody Veal 2010
nothing-for-something-poetry.blogspot.com
Emma Jan 2014
In her bedroom she sits
Red knit cap upon her head
Windows serve no satisfaction
To her wish to play outside

Sickness envelops her bones
Her venom she can't see past
Seeking scabbed knees and mud on her shoes
Yet she sees tubes

Tufts of hair misplaced
Blonde curls to the ground
Holding on to hope
With a white flag in her other hand
This was written a little while ago about my best childhood friend who had cancer when we were seven. Thankfully, she survived and has been in remission for quite some time. Her journey through the chemotherapy still inspires me today and she means the world to me.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i've heard of women rereading works of fiction, entire books, rereading them up to 3 to 4 times... me? i can only muster the effort for a single reading, and the rest of "rereading" becomes a game of memory; but this "ideal" evaporates, as soon as i pick up a philosophy book, notably? heidegger's ponderings vi, aphorism vii; why? well, to pay a closer attention, to expand on attention, to solve a "puzzle", evidently this is true for both the medium of prose philosophy - yes, i agree, a tedious take on narrative, since these narratives have "characters" that amount to nothing more than nomen in relatio, namely? no notion of playing god, or, to be exact, a puppeteer. no, i agree, the narrative is plague with tedium, but so it samuel beckett's play not i; mind you, there's calm to counter beckett's feminine embodiment of ego-******; titillating as it already is: insinuating phelatio.

and what can a man best do, being scorned,
by an unfortunate short-term relationship,
that might have only lasted for a breadth of
encompassing only two seasons?
   having no knowledge of came about in rural
areas, during winter times, and how
people kept warm? body chess?
it would seem, that the shorter the love affair,
the more memorable it becomes...
     and that's all the more true (universal) -
when there's the topic of a summer fling;
mine? stretched from spring through to summer,
but the thing is: i have no regrets,
in that, as any solipsist might state:
                 i regret losing a part of my self;
didn't you know? i thought people would have
picked it up, that solipsism is the new "atheism",
and to be honest, i like that label... why?
well, it invites the mythology of kinship
of that of *thanatos
& hypnos...
   who do you think can be conjured to share
common thread of thought with a solipsist?
narcissus! hence? narcissus & his brother
    solipssus - as any single child will tell you,
esp. in china: i really wished for a twin...
children of many siblings do not share this
   sentiment, of leveraging on wishing for a twin;
and mind you:
        in the zodiac, taurus is just shy of gemini.
oh, right, this aphorism in ponderings vi...
actually... i don't know if i should verbatim extracts
from it, or just compare it to an atheist talking...
i'm side tracking, because i started thinking
about susanna hoff...
             as any man might, with half a fishing net's
worth of
fiddling-with-a-knitting-competence-worth-of-"wit";
what? a woman's beauty is a welcome distraction,
esp. the 80s... and i don't know why,
but i remember being implanted
the archetypal beauty of a woman dressed in the sun,
i.e. blonde... and, luckily enough, i received
my first kiss when i was 5, 6, or 7...
  can't remember her name,
but i know her surname - kot i.e. cat,
and she had twin sisters younger than her,
her father used to drive a truck...
             and drunk ***** like a skunk.
you know what, since i've entered the rambling
stage of narrative, i will not mention heidegger's
aphorism, i'll just let you buy the **** book
(30 quid a pop second hand,
  good luck)
               i'll just mention an offshoot of a thought
that came from it, being reread several times...
ah! the monotheistic trinity!
  step 1. you do know that in maltese,
   the word for god is, allah?
step 2. there is no more beautiful name
    for god than allah, namely?
   listen to alpha blondy's song sebe allah ye...
step 3. jews are really **** at singing,
    the name of their god reside in the cognitive realm,
and in the cognitive realm alone,
   hence: do not take my name in vain...
step 4. say jesus christ about 40+ times,
             great vanity project...
step 5. i seriously recommend this to you,
  go to a polish catholic mass, in poland,
  and wait for the believers reciting the creed

  p.s. tell me if you see any comparison with
a satanic mass murmur...
step 6. my thought belongs to elohim,
  my singing & esp. drumming to as sami (26) -
  (you ever think the arabs are all too
glottal, in their pronunciation?
   like glug glug: pucker, gug?);
and the "father"?
                  silence,
               and if not silence, then the most
mundane talk... and a respect for even the most
dumbest of possible carpenters,
   and let me tell you, the biggest *******
of them all, surname? griffin... t(h)omas...
hardly a θought in him...
          but hey, he got all the girls,
i got an empty pint glasses, and a shamed walk
home...
  come english... show us yer surd letters!
   what's v'eh θinking behind it all, eh, tomas?
sure it's not θomas?
                             whatever;
it's not like you're going to get another stab at
producing a shakespeare.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
of the muezzin & the iqama.

i really did find refuge in the chants of the templars, and any other christian music, esp. forging a templar chant alliance with the the *adhan
... and i have to admit: there is a compliment... oh don't worry with me being a jihadi by the name of: matta al-britanni... i'm just your typical music freak... plus daesh forbids song... so... that begs the question: you speak the adhan? you're a bunch of losers, aren't you? how can you strip islam from music, how else will call for prayer, via the catholic satan-esque mantra of reciting the creed? i denounce you, you *******, wahabi kafīr!

you just renounced the name: al samī...
you have made the 99 names into 98...
shame on you!
   shame! shame! shame!
    you *******, wahabi kafīr!
         you think christians celebrate
music, as you celebrate it,
unto the one, and only?
                    that deserves hearing it?
so why sing, and close your ears
turning them into oyster shells?!
that you may hear the passing sea
of humanity?!
      you already tasted the competition:
the chants of the templars,
  but i am already a convert riddled with
tears upon hearing the *adhan
...
but you can't, can't, can't, can't tell me
these barbarians will ever fathom the mere
basics of prayer:
the adhan is sung by the muezzin -
for his voice is worth the greatest joy unto allah,
which is why the iqama recite their turn
in silence:
  to imply - your words are worth
equal share in use among other trades:
but not that of a lark's call to spring, bringing forth
the lunar eclipse of day,
as moon be man, so too the sun be woman,
    (księżyc)                          (słońce)...
thereby­ reside silent,
   hear and at the same time do not
hear the muezzin...
    be the iqama, and say your prayers under
your breath...

blind wahabi kakīr of syria and iraq...
   to obstruct song, to obstruct the highest grace
of voice: as that in song...
bring forth your theologians,
and tell me of the sin to obstruct
a single name from the 99 names...
bring them before me!
   to obstruct al-sami...
          bring them!
             you recite your adhans like catholics
their creed, you wahabi kakīr!
  you pig-flesh-eaters, confused,
dropping amphetamines in night raids!
i know you, as i know of the dealings
of the luftwaffe!
               there isn't even a name
to state your sin, of forgetting al-sami,
26... i'll just call that: sin no. 26 for the eased
paperwork...
      speak your adhan! speak it!
and don't think you don't sound like
a catholic reciting his creed in church,
that doesn't sound like a satanic mass...
     you wahabi kakīr, think that obstructing
song, and thereby crafting heresy against
the adhan will make, a difference?
    this... a message from your shia brothers...
to make you understand:
you're, wrong!
   to abandon song in the adhan is to have
converted to catholicism unconsciously...
to have disrespected the spirit of music,
is to have disrespected the songs of birds,
and therefore the claims of paradise,
and it is to have subtracted
  a name from the 99 contorts of allah,
namely? al-sami.
        
what days are we living in, when kakīr iqama
silence the mumin muezzin:
by merely shouting, rather than singing!
who are these people!?

you want to know how this verse began?

so i'm sitting there "thinking", is it doable to
scratch your forehead with your big toe?


a few moments pass...

apparently so! and unorthodox yoga pose
coming your way
:

via watching a youtube video -
  and as hannibal lecter might have added:
i'm sure, she didn't come from new jersey, y'all.

so i did what my right hand would have
done, performing the sign of the cross,
in the most unorthodox yoga pose:
i just used my right foot instead.
Sam Bowden Sep 2017
This is a thoroughly post-modern phenomenon.

[Breathe, don't be nervous. It's fine. Wallah, you're not doing anything wrong.]

Digitally arranged meetings with ostensible strangers yet with more familiarity than our ancestors could imagine.
An arranged meeting,
a warm greeting,
a sensing,
a feeling.

“Are you Sami?”
“I am,” as I posture for a hug.

[She’s actually more beautiful than I expected. Her ample curls smell like conditioner and sunshine.]

“So you’re Kuwaiti?"
"Yea, I moved here when I was 18, to Kansas of all places."
"To be honest, I had to look up the emoji flag from your profile. My Muslim WhatsApp group helped me out.”
“Oh, okay. So you’re Muslim?”
“Yea, I was raised Muslim; my mom married a Kuwaiti in the 80s, blah blah blah.”
“What? Your mom lived in Kuwait?”
“Yea, kinda crazy, I know, but it’s a small world.”

[Small worlds make the gaps between souls smaller.
Who knew such a small place could leave such a big impact on so many lives?
Certainly neither of us.
Serendipity?
Allah y3alam.]  

“Why do lesbians discriminate against bisexuals? You’d think of all people, they wouldn’t be so judgmental.”
“You’d think, but you’d be wrong. It’s like we have a plague.” Her voice goes on, but my mind drifts off.

[Tortoise-shell glasses, beautiful lashes, manicured eyebrows that frame flickering dark eyes, encased in a forest of curls, legging laced thighs, oh my. ::Deepsigh. Pay attention to what she’s saying! Oh my, she’s my type. This is bad. No, no, hamdilah, this is good.]

“Do you want another round?” the bar keep’s inquiry snaps me back to reality. I interrupt to suggest a change of location. [Perhaps something less commercial, less public, less straight, more private, and more intimate.]
“It’s only a short walk.”
“Yea, let’s do it.”

[By short walk, I mean three doors down from the bar. The perks of suggesting the venue.]

“Shoes off?”
“Yea, it’s habit, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”

She sits, crosses her long legs, and gives me this look. My heart flutters; I remember my manners:
“Can I make you a drink? What’s your poison? Gin or *****?”
I mix our drinks and think:
[She must like me.
This is good.
I’m glad we did this digital dance to find romance.
What a treasure, finding this post-modern habibi.
Alhamdulilah,
Lucky me.]
Dana Skorvankova Dec 2016
Ať už jsem, kdo jsem, co já vím,

Víš, že nikomu na světě
                 nepřála bych být tak sám
Přesto všichni jsme sami
                 a jsme tady spolu

A housle hrají nám
                 do rytmu kroků
A doprovázeny
                 vlastním bitím srdce

Zanikají tóny ve vlastní hloubce.
Luka D Feb 2018
Usred noći nagon me probudi
Moram na WC na visokoj sam uzbudi
Svjetlo palit odlučio sam neću
No nasred hodnika suze mi poteću

Na kraju hodnika On tamo stoji
Zovem psa u pomoć on se ničega ne boji
Na poziv upomoć on se nije odozvao
Čak i i nakon obećanja keksa nije se pojavio

Sada ja i Slenderman smo ostali sami
Prokleti lik koji stanuje u tami

Zajebi ti ovo, pišat više nemoram
Sad svaki put iz sobe sjekiru furam

Pod plahte skrivao sam se uplačen
ovu avanturu ponovit ne želim
Opran paranojom sada ti kažem
Iz ove kuće se što prije selim
It's in Croatian, it's about your mind playing tricks on you.
isidora mitri Jan 2019
daleka su duboka mora u nama
o srčane obale udaraju talasi samoće
na hladnim se vetrovima njišemo
suvi su naši pogledi u tami
zimsko nas nebo posmatra
hodamo nemim ulicama noći
u nama ledeni bregovi plove
pričaš mi o snegovima koji su tvoje gradili
pričam ti o brodovima koje su moji potopili

u glasu su nam zarobljeni snovi nedosanjani
u grlu nam se guše reči nedovršene
neostvareni zagrljaji plaču između nas

u kasno svitanje rastaju se naši strahovi
među senkama spava tanani sudar usana
u novom jutru ostaju isti sami svetovi
tvoj
i
moj
december 27th 2018
The Palestinians of Norway

The Sami people who have been living
in the North of the country herding their reindeer
on a cold plateau, are now in trouble.
The Norwegian government wants to let settlers in
and also build factories
The Sami who have lived here for thousands of years
protest and want independence, good Norwegians agree with them.
(Why anyone would like to live in the frozen north
is a mystery to me,) there are many other places in Norway
that needs people and factories,
unless it is political as a part of Lapland borders to Russia,
and they fear this part might be annexed
by a horde of Slaves who hitherto have had no interest
in this part of the land. There is an anti-Russia Propaganda
in the newspapers that are baffling, it was the Soviets who
came and freed the country from the Nazis and pushed
into the sea; has history forgotten this?
Twelve moons of the twentieth order
Ignite a long awaited transition
Which allows a thickened slender
Of the existence of a compound creation.

Awarded by time, one of your selves
Has held the joy of recalling liberation
From the prison everyone deserves
For the grand initiation.

The significance is obscured in your smile
That has abandoned your wrinkling face,
Due to a foolish old juvenile,
Seeking silver in gold’s place.

Your meadow is flooded and filled with mire
Your wise fool has poisoned your feast
And a despairing sorrow is all he can perspire.
Nevertheless, cherish this day Sthandwa sami.
31/08/2018
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
supermarket conversation:
tarah: matt, you feeling o.k.?
matt (me): i've been fasting, low blood sugar level.
tarah: why?
matt (me): i don't know... i could blame it on easter.

what are these addicts      doing here?
am i selling *******, am i selling ******?!
  what are these people doing here?
is my writing as addictive as to attract 20 or more
so people like it might be expecting a *harry potter

                                  instalment?
    is that code for: also dr. seuess?
          is my writing a bit like selling drugs?
dunno... ever heard the kresy accent
from sami swoi (1967)?
      - or that note that greeks have about
the turks having "constantinople"...
   i don't hear a lot of ******* about
               lwów / l'viv: lion: lew (lev).
             i could listen to a greek gay provocator
nagging about this sentiment ringing true
                toward the passing of the next two centuries...
                          but this is an anglophone world
after all... who the **** gives a **** about
           Lviv ever belonging to poland?
                  next time you hear an advert to
become a tourist in cuba... or costa rica...
                 so *******! eat yer bananas!
get yer suntan... and shove your cultural darwinism
where the sun doth shine...
                             and then choke...
       on edgy popcorn where 3 ***** croaked for a
                                                         forlorn sun
to exhibit the morn...
                               such suns are only worth the set,
or known egyptian ugly σεθ...
                          and nothing else...
    but then again: working out and
the cult of the gym is as ugly as any other that
might provide us with arguments against
    the gluttons;
       where's the cue prompt at which i start laughing?
małgorzata kożuchowska, maybe, someday,
but obviously never. what? you were expecting
a daydream involving paris hilton?! eh?!
Boby Fett’s adventures

I used to be a friend of Joseph when he was a bank robber
when he robbed a bank in Tbilisi, I helped him to get away
the money he said was to help his cause.
One can say he owed me a favour, which came in handy.
There was a revolution and Joseph became a president
that was ok, but he became brutal and one evening
when we sat drinking Georgian wine, we had a discussion
I called him a butcher.
I thought I was going to be shot, but since he owed me a favour
I was sent to Siberia with a bag of potatoes.
Luckily, I had a box of matches in my pocket a knife hidden
in my shoe, therefore able to survive to the last potato.
A wandering Sami people with their heard of reindeers on
the way to Scandinavia saved me.
For the Sami tribe, there is no border.
I took my old name back, Harry Finkelstein, a name I had kept
secret from Joseph, my friend from the bank robber days.
I got a job on the Manhattan project keeping tab of screws
needed to make a bomb, the rest is history.
Safana Jun 2020
Rayuwar ku, ai
Rayuwar mu ce

Rayuwar mu, ai
Rayuwar ku ce

Rayuwar ku rayuwar mu ce
Rayuwar mu rayuwar kuce
Kune sanadin komai
Iyaye kunyi min komai

Bani mantawa
Bani yadawa

Bani yadawa
Bani mantawa

Alkhairin ku ya girma
Ya wuce duk tunani ma
Sanadin rayuwar ku ma
Tawa ta sami alfarma

Bani yada ku
Bani manta ku

Bani manta ku
Bani yada ku

Bani manta koman komai
Tallafin ku ya wuce komai
Faharin ku shine komai
Kune dukkan komai

Ya Mahaifiya ta
Ya Mahaifi na

Ya Mahaifi na
Ya Mahaifiya ta
My parent

Your life, it's
My life

Your life it's our lives
Our lives is your life
You're the reason for everything
And, you did everything

I can't forget...

Thank you
O' Mother
O' Father
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
/brandon tatum is one of two guys
I'll probably never have a beer with...

past the already generous helping
of *****, all that's left
of me is a pickled chilly...

hot in the head, soft in the groin,
and somewhere in between:
levitating limbs...

hard not to regress back to tribalism
ploughing through former efforts
to establish the beacon
of nations, denationalised,
or rather, demonarchised...

but back to the transcendental menu...
OK OK, past colour,
"imaginary" borders and...
globalisation means a freedom
of the movement of goods,
id est from the cheapest to...
and the robbing of talent...
for the good of the ominous populace
subermged in a tsunami
of apathy...

you can play the race card,
which is a black privilege...
couldn't tell me apart from a German
a swede or a Lithuanian...
when asked, I always own up
to being german...
a fetish like latex like any other...

playing the race card is like playing
the joker card
from a deck of cards
    that have set rules not established...
namely taking a joker card
from a deck of cards,
that consist of only joke cards...

see, I can merge into the zebra
concussion of a hunting lion,
that collage of hiding the biologically
weak, or intellectual prone to arson,
every,  single, time,
when asked on the British Isles
I joke with Indu Irish mongrels
about pedigree...
and am never a Pole, but a German...
Old Saxon,

I can chameleon the rest of the conversation,
for no greater good,
nor for any minute ill;
motto? sami, swoi...
   back where I was born I play
the tourist card, in central London
I play the country boy card...
                    in Essex I play the feral card...
in Paris I played the mute's card...
             the rest of other people's antics
seems ****,  and monodimensional...

you can play the poker card
only when using a deck of cards
with four kings, four queens, four
jacks etc.,
   the persistent commentary reflects
a sort of people, playing the joker card,
using a deck of cards
that constitute of only jokers...

       it's not even a boredom,
but the tedium of the lost surprise,
at least with boredom you can
finally attach a comfy chair to your ***
and admire a sunset...
but with a tedium of lost surprise...
the persisting mosquito biting...
like almost everything in film these days,
of fiction,
post-plagiarism ...
        namely that the viewer
     already knows the plot,
he knows the plot because the plot
is so disengaging and has been so blatantly
repeated that guess-work takes over
waiting in suspece,
playing the startled suspect...
alas, dear Watson...  

and poetry can hide behind
overt technicalities,
literary bureaucracy of an Ikea
put-together manual,
       less botanical I agree,
and it can hide behind an Antoinette
corset... came pride & prejudice,
ergo? must have come:
  POMP & CIRCUMSTANCE...

    25ml of ***** makes no sense,
kosher glug from the slit neck of
a bottle, might make me look like
a *** rabbi... but at least that's
a 50-70ml range of question,
followed by an apple-mint chaser...

I can appreciate the transcendental
menu of nation ethnicity etc...
but this headache came crashing
in on the grounds of St. Thomas'
non-canonical gospel...
      can't exactly transcend grammar...
on a blank doesn't mean it's
within confines of a formal / informal
conversational structure...
          on a blank i have a pink
elephant tugging the godhead
of flies by the name of Belzeebub...

             I can forsake all tattoos
and heritage...
        maybe these trans...
whatever you call them,
could do something productive,
become bilingual...
   and riddle in fractions
a movement away from Greco-Latin
etymology the words of germanic /
slavic roots, at hand,
with no clear etymology?

          guess work schlang...
pick n mix... a gamble...
          given whatever die zeitgeist...
roulette vocabulary...
          there was a time and place
with imagingy friends...
too many technical words in
the vocab. system,
      much akin to niche, planet U-2398v4...
noun category exhausted...
    came the yawning void
recycler...
                   this movement akin
to the political class of PiS...
    or the grieving twin...
                                
      it's almost funny how this should
be debateable...
       imagining the solipsistic world
of the upper echelon of the medical
profession... a surgeon denounces
title Dr. and by Herr is merely addressed...
like shouting past the gates
of Tartarus...
                            
                        ­  yet this debate
has gained public interest,
if not public demand, if not a civic
seriousness...
      in times when laws are past
frivolously, do many eyes turn away
from law itself, in search for
more frivolous affairs...
upon Samson's and upon Atlas'
hinges the crumbling world,
once more decided to spin
into amnesia...
     yet some perverted act,
unanswered lodged into
                    Alzheimer glitching...

by law itself I mean: orthodox
jurisprudence...
                    a return to
oculus per oculus logic,
not the turn the other cheek
rose blushed cought with a hand
lodged in the cookie jar...
   the more frivolous laws are
passed, the more of a joke
inacting genocide becomes;
and it becomes, and it becomes...
and this: the diabolical ferment,
a god as weak as not dead,
is a god that still believes
in the historically immune man...

already having missed the mark,
scared of a needle puncture,
craving fetish of a machete cut...
     such frivolous laws...
while the titans stand over
such establishment with neither
tear nor suffocated laughter...
brooding in the alchemy of shadows
a scheme worthy
of the daughters of Brahim,
the mistresses of puppeteering
as guided, by their mother Karma.

— The End —