Adonis Diaries

Archive for the ‘Poems Mine’ Category

 

My Warpy World (2002)

I need to burn off my excess energy,

That stuff I used to have in abundance in my youth.

I burned it bending on desks,

Reading and learning.

About our warped literature and histories,

Warped theories,

Warped philosophies, of a warped world we created.

 

I now need to stretch time in my old age.

I don’t want time to fly by:

I am supposed to be scared

Of the imminent end.

 

No, I have to work double shifts to make ends meet.

I need to work harder to fulfil

Newly discovered dreams.

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Hell was created for me

 

I am still an outsider looking in the adult world.

I still abhor the maintenance part of life,

The mechanics of living and lasting relationship.

I am scared of owning a house,

Of getting married and keep maintaining choices

That I feel I can’t sustain for long.

 

May be that I was not trained properly in childhood

To learn taking responsibilities by learning to maintain.

The adult world is still a curiosity to me

Because, when the time was due to step in,

It was too late for me to learn a new set of behaviors,

In a totally different society, alien to me.

 

I like to discover the adult world and pay the price

Of my practical ignorance, but it should be at my own expense.

But, could anyone else not share the expenses in my miseries?

Indeed, the village will bear the upkeep and it refuses to admit it.

I am positive that I never fell in love, love shared.

 

I might not believe in Heaven,

But people like I, Hell was created for them, here on earth.

A song to failed relationship with women

My songs are for the divorced women, widowed and singles with children.

Still sexually active unmarried women.

My songs are short stories

Lacking imagination, of a grateful man,

Short on feelings.

 

Songs for women, who tried by action to be my teachers in matters of love,

Loving and feelings unknown to me,

Much of them still a mystery to me.

Songs of remembrances, for my own sake,

Trying to connect the strings of feelings among these relationships.

 

Each song has a single heroine and a single name, as it should be.

Names of children are sometimes added,

My way of praying forgiveness for my lack of attention to them,

For most of the duration of the relationship.

 

My way to say that I am sorry for failing to consider

The integrity and totality of the heroine’s life.

My way of admitting that the deficiencies were all mine,

A man from the outside looking in and ignorant

Of the new rules in this old game.

 

Songs for the women, who gave the best of their loving to men,

So Man could grasp the essence of life.

Songs for women, who need to be remarried for love,

With a man capable of learning a new gamut of feelings,

With a man thankful of discovering a wealth of emotions,

With a man becoming whole, lest the cynicism of old age creeps in.

Downgraded Gypsy; (Apr. 17, 2010)

I am a hero… Where’s my people?

I am a traitor… Where’s my scaffold?

I am a pair of shoes… Where’s my road?

I walk Downtown mixing with busy souls

I am in no hurry; the masses don’t carry me:

I am a leader and I am searching for my way.

 

I rest a while on the pavement; is it illegal?

I rest my eating tin plate by my side;

I learned to recognize the chimes of dimes and nickels falling in the plate

I don’t complain; I say thanks when I feel reprieve tired of my condition.

 

I am a downgraded gypsy who burned his caravan

Quit my clan, lured by greed in the city.

I extend my arms, feeling for a sheltered wall

What’s a clear stream to a blind deer?

What’s horizon to a caged bird?

My ears learned to screen off piercing sounds

I can’t hear the wailing of bereaved mothers

I can’t hear the howling of frenzied mobs

 

I hear the moaning of latent pains permeating the smog

I hear the soft whistling of permanent suffering

Converging from all directions

From far away scorched lands.

 

Slaves chewed off their chains:

They are nostalgic for chains smelling molding bread.

Up north terrors; down south famine;

Dusty winds are clouding the east; and crows are obscuring the western horizon.

 

A little girl is sitting by this modern gypsy;

She dips her left small hand in a little bag and takes out a handful of dirt;

She grabs the dirt containing a strange specimen of earth wealth;

Dirt holding half a wing of a butterfly, a decapitated bee,

Shreds of shrapnel of cluster bombs,

A whiff of blood, a stench of urine;

 

Concentrated dirt of fear, human degradation,

Contaminated greed of a dying earth.

No more revolutions, no drastic changes,

No activities demanding eternal God given human rights;

Mankind is on his knees, in abject humiliation

Begging pardon of his executioner

For the swiftest relief.

Note: I borrowed a few images from the late Syrian poet Mohammad al Maghout.

Name written in coffee grind

Soothsayer saw something in the bottom of my empty coffee cup;

Something was written.

She read the name of my love in the coffee grind.

It was inevitable.

It is rational:

I sing her name sipping

Off the lip of my coffee cup.

Why Hell is meant for your timid youth upbringing?

I am still an outsider looking in the adult world.

I still abhor the maintenance part of life,

The mechanics of living and lasting relationship.

I am scared of owning a house,

Of getting married and keep maintaining choices

That I can’t sustain for long.

 

May be that I was not trained properly as a child

To learn taking responsibilities by learning to maintain.

The adult world is still a curiosity to me:

When the time was due to step in,

It was too late for me to learn a new set of behaviors,

In a totally different society, alien to me.

 

I like to discover the adult world and pay the price

Of my practical ignorance, but it should be at my own expense.

But, could anyone else not share the expenses in my miseries?

Indeed, the village will bear the upkeep and it refuses to admit it.

I am positive that I never fell in love, love shared.

 

My mother is convinced that I ran away to the USA

Because of a spurned love affair.

I still cannot tell my mom that she is mistaken,

I cannot confirm her suspicions that

Her adored eldest son is a certified monster.

I might not believe in Heaven,

But people like I, Hell was created for them, here on earth.

Qu’est ce que ca peut bien te faire?

Je vis ce jour, je reve cette nuit

Je veux rire, crier, hurler

Je veux sauter, marcher, courir

La nuit avance, la lune s’en va

Le jour respire, Sannine eclate

Je vois de ma fenetre les jeunes marcher

Demonstrer pour une cause vieille comme le temps

Pour un petit detail, jeune comme hier

Je me sent bien et je veux grimper,

Je sent la fatigue et je veux m’assoir

Je me sent desesperer et je veux dormer

Qu’est ce que ca peut bien te faire?

 


adonis49

adonis49

adonis49

September 2019
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