Saturday, June 26, 2010

Song of Unrequited Love Played to Arabic Music

A long time passed
and he didn't come back.
Today and tomorrow...
today and tomorrow...
I was so full of pain
i could cry for one hundred years...
day after day
he was deaf
his ears
would hear only things
that he liked.
And he would walk the ground
like a blind preacher
who doubts his step and belief.
As I grieved
he would write: SMILE
and to my sorrow
He made holes in my heart
the size of large coins
and my mind became a desert.
I couldn't reawaken his soul.
He never said the word LOVE --
only LIKE.
And I thought: what a waste
What a greedy heart
with no use!
It needs to die!
And I KILLED him.
That's the truth.
I do not lie.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

The Primitive Song of Life

Life, aoulidi, is strange
the day goes by
and another comes.
Today and tomorrow.
Today and tomorrow.
It's not the pain or sorrow
but nothing and time
and we wait it out.
Because what else is there?
And when doubt
crawls like shaitan-snake
and says: WHAT IF?
we pick up the fat kif
and inhale.
And then life disappears...
sweet, short and whole
this life of ours
so full of holes.

Life, adoni, is strange
and it can get long.
The Lord does as he pleases
and the Lord knows best.
I just sit here like the rest
and sing one-worded song
monotonous, like the life of a dog.
Today and tomorrow.
Today and tomorrow.
And the smoke of kif
caresses my sorrow.

Eastern Song of Childhood

On my childhood street
there was dust and stones.
It was long, crooked, narrow.
Dogs and cats walked their bones
They looked from behind like an arrow.
Acacia trees were in bloom
and skinny boys squatted and smoked,
getting high.
For hours on end I looked up from my window
into the sky.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Brooklyn Ballad

for Vadim K.

You were shooting it up on Avenue Z
and blood would squirt.
Outside sparrows and gulls
pecked the dirt.

Their light and faithful hearts
tore off from the street.
While yours --red and heavy melt into mud
or slowed into sleet.

In your worn-out armchair --
pale and thin
you listened to Joplin.
Lokiing half way beetween fallen god
or a goblin.

Demons squeezed into your veins
hissing of love.
Possessed -- you spoke of crime and Cain
like the young Kirilov.*

Your ashes roam on Sheepshead Bay
above the waters.
Sparrows and gulls live day to day.
They never faulter.

* Kirilov -- character from Doestoevsky's novel The Possessed