English

THE MORPHOLOGY OF THE HORSE

Do not kill the zebras, not even a single one

In East Africa such animals appear and disappear

Carrying the whiteness of the day and the blackness of the night with themselves

Covering in them head over heels

Never shoot at the zebras

Do no shoot even a single bullet at them

Nature can govern itself without the help coming from you

O killers and eaters of cannibalistic taste that have made your offices into slaughterhouses

Do not allow the killing of the zebras anywhere upon this globe

Even if your own territories are empty of such species

Do you love the zebras to settle in your homelands?

Africa has been giving for free exemplary black survival in the course of centuries

You have been giving for free exemplary white survival in the course of centuries

Are you giving it to Africa?

The zebras, yes, the zebras

Those solid-hoofed mammals so beautiful and elegant dancing on their heels

Their bodies white and their skin wearing black strips

Each reminding us of the roads leading to the dark depths

The history of the egg is written on the zebra’s papyrus

Starting with the fertilization of the egg and ending with the living creature

That, at the precise moment, will again enter inside the egg shell

To dissolve in the black dirt

Never kill the zebras, not even a single one

The morphology of the horse laying down its live together with the knight suffices

The form of the sea waves can neither be killed nor desecrated

Poseidon, the monstrous sculptor, with His own hands

Gave the horse morphology to the wave of the heavenly water

Pegasus, I guess, was a zebra with lines of poetry put on the body

May you finally have enough light in your eyes to look at the zebras

The zebras, yes, the zebras

Wearing secret and open love letters down to their speeding legs

Of arrhythmic passions

Wearing hopes and sorrows and ideals and pieces of advice

Each of the zebras covering in black strips down to the shoes of bone

To mourn for all the lost sons and daughters

The missing ones with no grave, and their own mothers

Wearing white shrouds on their heads

The scary paranoia in the art of sculpture

So excessive abundance

The myth of monarchic lions and their rule carved in stone

The zebras, yes, the zebras

In every capital of the world, at least

The Statue of Zebra should be erected

While in Kosova, ah, in Kosova,

In Syria, alas, in Syria, in Myanmar, alas, in Myanmar

People must certainly build up the memorial monument called

‘The Zebra of Memory’

HAVING COFFEE IN JERUSALEM

Once the word ‘Deism’ was said and written

The world’s false idols took advantage of it

All kinds of clergymen appeared on the sage

Temples have remained unchanged in the Holy Land

The Western Wall

The Wall of Tears

(They belong to Hebrews)

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre

The Stone of Golgotha

(They belong to Christians)

The Dome of the Rock

The Journey to Paradise

(They belong to Muslims)

Jerusalem

The City of God

(It belongs to all humanity)
Is the coffee that you drink in Jerusalem merely coffee?

Use the temple as a coffee cup

Put it to your lips

Touch the ground as if it were your mother’s skin

And you will feel the heavens’ goodness pouring inside you

Who knows?

Coffee might be coagulated blood

In that pilgrimage place

Of souls

With or without bodies