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I'd stop at November

let the bombs fall

heads roll

people’s knees break

let presidents change, human rights, politics,

the shift of power move from the right wing to the left and back to right again

and witness how fast November nights

turn to days

let new movements turn into history

lies turn into facts

see how contemporary arts in years get a name

and be replaced by the new work of art, "Brain in the canvas-- Splash!"

let writers die, poets, painters, prophets

those who preached soul and those who preached flesh

wither, change form,

lost in the prisons they created for themselves

forget them! - for a moment of eternity only ours to share

and lie here in my arms,

breathe in my chest--

breathe, sleep

for as long as you feel

and if you feel like leaving--


become left.

take the fast train,

yellow eyes...

watch as shapes distort outside the window

and from what is outside, be constantly afraid of what's inside;

closed doors now open wide

those open now shut

between your lips mumbling mantras

talking to yourself about chakras

babbling about karma, the third eye...

and God standing great amidst all.

because you knew Him once,

you knew Him! of course now He talks.

let your roots spread somewhere else

on the soft after the rain soil

and become a tree if you wish,

give birth to leaves and seeds that will give birth to trees

and smile,

as forests unveil under your feet:

high redwoods,

orange short-lived fruits,

purple Jacarandas... from you,

but none of them yours.

bathe in their warmth

grow in their color

and live,

as leaves in every season do.

or choose another path,

one, I've never heard about.

outside of art, poetry, paintings,

outside of the place where the sun stares into our eyes

and the moon silently judges us at night

where the cops do not ask, "What are you doing at this time of night?"

and we don't have to answer, smiling, eating apples, eyes red,

"Just taking a walk."

as for me,

I would stop at this month.

watch your eyes move as you dream,

measure your eyelashes’ length,

and silently dance with the rhythm of your heart.

such small lips...

but your life is your life.

Photo is courtesy of Kushtrim Thaqi.


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