With oneself I found that:
My mouth is sutured
My hands mourning songs without masochistic pleasures.
Do you seek within her the aesthetic artistic utterance with truth and freedom?
Or merely an attempt to put things in their real place.
I knew I shall say the monstrous everything or I will say nothing.
(The Minotaur of Tales)
May the sword taste her stomach and breasts
After your fingers and face!
Kill her, and do not mourn her!
It is a gamble, card playing,
A splendid, glorious and retched plea,
To disclose and discover the flaming blade.
(Joan of Ark)
Stab her with a spear!
Remember the dungeons and betrayals!
Remembrance is death for repentance!
We met at one of the impossible places,
We were a pair of unforeseen miracles.
It was a gift, a curse and futility.
Where the glance hits both the one and the other.
The glance that brings and takes away.
The abyss among people laughs in the faces of those who give away their deepest thoughts
Or the histories of loved beings. At the end, a tatter thrown to the road is left.
A fable interesting to none, the secret in the service of the one who scares and enchants.
Will our great freedom and intrepidity judge us out of most noble incentives?
Will our anxieties, the magnificent relics with brutal renditions, whirl in other letters?
Monstrous legislations are governing people and the black hour chokes within us
Both the thinker and the emotive man.
Wrapped in black atmosphere, we buckle , grow pale, the throat spreads its limits
And fear sprouts outside with words attacked by assumptions
And the horrible remembrances followed by cruel pain, self pity and remorse.
(Shepherd Henry Roberts of Salem)
Burn the witch!
Hair by hair let her burn!
May she scream helpless!
Without the strength to continue the letter,
Stumbled by the free to:
I wish to sing
The way it should be or should never.
(Recommendation of Nemesis)
Kill the heart memento
Pertaining to the mocking bird!
She (it) is the boil in my stomach,
She eats it and minces it, destroys
The nightmare from which you cannot awaken by anything except walking and sleepwalking,
While she climbs to heights with a view to the Precipice,
That fills the eyes of the caught sleeper with horror.
Kill her in her own vomit
Without right for mesmerization.
Confession at 3.33
I confess to you, I of an unusual nature,
And all the kingdoms I offer to you- plain.
Lying tongues- orators and benefactors
The first one is of giants of song as of hay,
Through games of ancient history they peck on the intestines
Filled with the substance of nasty virtue,
With fruitful mouths they drink the wines.
Serpents hiss with human tongues…
The orator is amidst the ball and casts off damnations… with love.
Washerwomen wash the shores for incessant feasts,
For the water trough of the early morning peacock.
Tigers roar- damned by the fables-
To washerwomen, for labours sake, and the dishes plentiful
Fools drink the honorable regal wines.
Casanovas, drunks, erotomen and everybody’s merry Big Brother
Far less then geniuses
Who lead the fools
With fornication, cunningness and booze
To hidden thoughts.
Skilled at stuffing bones.
I raise my right hand and swear on the darkness of
With an unburdened mind and a truth in my heart
Within the light dewy with the ability of
Your knife cut through all the conditions of disorder.
It’s entirely safe in my hands.
With a frozen smile,
I walk through the fall
Of a zillion kingdoms.
Flags are waving and ships are sailing underneath the sky
Of a broken magnificence.
After years of absence
Colored in oddity,
To guard them while drowning in tears
Of my Arabian wrath.