The poorest person’s the one who can’t dream,
but the poor are also the most creative;
I’ve just created a dream around her,
visiting her in her dream,
telling her the truths
that an awake
It was the most beautiful dream I’ve never had,
since it lived on our sometime memories;
when I had had someone caring,
and having been imagining
that she’s still here,
here to hear.
and I lost my time
dreaming without sleeping
sleeping while walking
wherever I passed by
I found my absence
I am nowhere
Except the nothingness
but I’m hiding at the top of the bowels
At the place where the lightning has hit too often
a heart where every word left its keenness
and where my life drops to the slightest move.
Translated from the French poem of Pierre Reverdy, “Tard dans la vie”(1960).
We are the nation of the sea,
who others could see her
as we see.
Not seeing her as she is, the blue,
but daily shilly-shally acting
of a sea of hue.
By morning, she calls for the light,
sounding smoothly murmur
against the night.
She is why the gloomy coasts revive,
her golden curves enlighten
the hurrying beehive.
By day, she is a mere Blue Queen,
the ace turquoise beauty
have ever seen.
The glass is full-poured, but still empty;
there’s inside me a thirsty envy
to write, to write, to write,
but first of all to live.
The pressure, pressure and pressure,
year to year, day to day
from people, people and situations
is smashing, crashing every one of us
with all possible forces.
Where is the possible counterforce
that could be against,
that could save you from breaking,
that could save others to explode on them
with a dark mushroom-cloud of anger?
What could be better counterforce
than just simply smiling,
and dissolve the pressure of others,
bringing a bright day into the cosmic mess
with radioactive kindness!
Boiling rice may be a bogey;
We are cooking, stirring, working on it,
Then, we get a gluing paste for our fatigue.
But boiling rice is a simple act;
Only if you’re following a couple fact,
My scientific, tricky receipt step by step.
Firstly, you measure the rice;
Take a mug once and twice and thrice,
So you see, it’s science, not a play of dice.
Then, the water is coming,
And here is my first trick coming;
How many times you must be mugging?
An ordinary cooker,
Would take double water,
Pouring six mugs of fresh blunder.
But me! The chef Benyamin,
I choose to put three and a half in,
Letting the rice to swim, not sinking.
But above all of this,
Here are my other magic tricks;
Frying the rice for five mins or six.
After it got golden brown,
I pour hot water on it muggly owned,
Then, I leave the rice under a cover to boil.
After lil lodge-podgy,
We can check our moody foodie;
And it was the first lesson of riceology.
Hope is the only bee
that makes honey without flowers…
…and that lil drop of honey
is the only sweetness in my bitter life
is the only, but enough for a hoping bee,
to buzz: one day I will get back my flower.
I walked out from others’ life
out of love and care;
isn’t it time to dare
loving myself just like others?
When the heart is the heaviest,
there you know that she’s meritless
because if you did worth her a penny
your heart wouldn’t be now heavy.