Whether you are a parent,
or it’s not yet apparent,
I do call upon you
– for the sake of everybody,
and for my sake as well
(since I had no such education),
you need to enlighten your child.
People are wild –
animals living in the wild will be less;
less brutal, brute and brutish than man.
Real predators have language –
the tongue of people kills and torments;
not for the weekly nutrition,
not for meat or blood,
but for their own pleasure
they kill and wound by their words.
Tell your child the truth:
that fear that makes you jump feets
from spiders or snakes,
that fear that freezes you with a cramp
from rabid dogs or wolves
have all mistaken the real object of fear:
(the merchant, the classmate,
the servant, the stagnate,
the young and the old and even the dead,
then even the poet by whom this lecture is said)
are all worse then animals,
from the bottom of your heart,
for that fear may save your heart
may save your heart from becoming like us.
It rains drops,
drops of water molecules,
drops of Hydrogen and Oxygen combinations
with dust-like minerals and pollution
from the skies.
It drops rains;
rains of human feelings,
rains of coziness and shivering fevers
inside and outside of homes
been and never been.
It’s raining drops;
drops of eager-living hormones,
drops of synthetic concepts like poverty
with any form of possession
and with the lack of any’.
It’s dropping rains;
rains of drying happiness,
rains of sadness in a winter-like summer
with all the humanity
Cats and dogs;
it’s raining ceaseless happenings
it’s dropping away human-made humanities
and gives away paradise
for unknowing animals.
I’ve met spiders in human form,
web-making and trap-setting.
Their venom feels you as a final blessing
what they’ve been actually for.
I’ve met flies flying around garbage,
birds catching them starving.
Cats murder nests, then just sitting
they wait for the applause stage.
I’ve met packs of dogs and wolves howl,
killed as individuals by snakes hiding.
On their bones votchures and ants parasiting
in a while of a sleeptime of an owl.
I’ve met fish eating fish in silence,
elephants walking miles for dying.
The rave symphony of surviving
is painted in a greenish violence.
I’ve met all these dangers of shapeshifters,
the wild abilities of molting.
Like chameleons changing, hiding and biting,
I’m the same shapeshifter of writers.
When people will travel through light atoms by atoms,
When we will change thoughts by mental mediums,
When some of us will reach cosmic singularity,
When it will be close to exceed humanity,
There will be us, still fighting on the side of ignorance.
Tonight is not a particular night;
This is a night among the nights:
I woke up in the middle of darkness,
Not knowing what to do with my own darkness;
So, I lit up a cigarette and faced the mirror:
There was only darkness in the mirror,
And a half face blazing up time to time –
Sometimes, we just want something to happen, it was a time.
I was thinking of summoning Bloody Mary;
I hoped for a ghost girl appearing behind me –
Something that signs me that I’m not alone.
But, the only monster closest around me
Was me, nothing, just me alone.
No ghosts, no robbers, no Bloody Maries.
It was not new to me that monsters were not real,
But it’s always surprising that I am –
Finding myself always as my own Boogeyman.
We’re in need of Satans, devils and evil polititans
To avoid facing the mirror of darkness;
That reveals only us and us again.
These are dangerous thoughts,
Knowing about the darkness in the man;
Because we’ll see Satans, devils and evil polititans
In us, and so as in every man.
Once seen, there will be no more hiding;
We will meet darkness again and again and again.
Is a curse –
The course of pathos –
To unsense the nonsense,
At first, your heart must be locked.
Call a locksmith, or become yourself,
Tho’ one lock won’t fix the life –
The ever strife of study –
To escape the legging,
You can never hide,
Your pocket cries out –
Not the tailor is the traitor –
To silence your empty stomach,
Again, your heart ought to lock up.
The ever hardship being a human,
Defenselessly desires the love –
The ever blazing consuming –
To unblind the avid eyes,
The fourth lock hies.
The locks sacrifice,
For the sacred conscience –
The ironed et rusting heart –
To fend the sober brain’s cogs,
Lock the heart and even the locks.
Grey-blue pastel strokes brush the sun behind,
Leaving just enough light to the ground
To see the city, see the city with its toxicity;
Concrete jungle with vrooming sounds,
Soulless machines, and in them souls with wounds.
There’s no greenness behind greyness,
But meaningless parks as mere illusions
To keep our primal instincts alive –
Keeping them machine-fed, coma-like.
The art of nature’s hard to realise.
Parks are the new heart of the city,
Us – not even feeling pity,
Going there to fetch our nurture,
So-called being in the nature
As hypocrite machines.
Is there other machines lying
To themselves as we do –
By laying plants surrounding
While concretely it’s not
The green we went through?
How come then on the sky,
On that grayish sunbeam
Made of pastel and bluish dye;
We’re still a part of this sight,
Human machines as we are.