Dear Friedrich, the world's still false, cruel and beautiful...
I left parts of myself everywhere,The way absent-minded people leave
التعقل البطولي في مواجهة العبث هو تقريبًا كل ما نمتلك.
Eyes Fastened With PinsHow much death works,No one knows what a longDay he puts in. The littleWife always aloneIroning death's laundry.The beautiful daughtersSetting death's supper table.The neighbors...
At some point my need for a solution was replaced by the poetry of my continuous failure.
The SomethingHere come my night thoughtsOn crutches,Returning from studying the heavens.What they thought aboutStayed the same,Stayed immense and incomprehensible.My mother and father smile at each ot...
MY SECRET IDENTITY ISThe room is empty,And the window is open
If the sky falls they shall have clouds for supper.
Because the light is always with usand the hush of an early morningtime propitious to plain speechspace between the premonition and the event
الحلم الأمريكى الجديد أن تصبح فى غاية الثراء وينظر إليك على الرغم من ذلك بوصفك ضحية
To submit to chance is to reveal the self and its obsessions.
There’s a book calledA Dictionary of Angels.No one has opened it in fifty years,I know, because when I did,The covers creaked, the pagesCrumbled. There I discoveredThe angels were once as plentifulAs...
The stone is a mirror which works poorly. Nothing in it but dimness. Your dimness or its dimness, who's to say? In the hush your heart sounds like a black cricket.
On this Very Street in BelgradeYour mother carried youOut of the smoking ruins of a buildingAnd set you down on this sidewalkLike a doll bundled in burnt rags,Where you now stood years laterTalking to...
Nationalism is a self-constructed cage in which family members can huddle in safety when they’re not growling and barking at someone outside the cage.
I was already dozing off in the shade, dreaming that the rustling trees were my many selves explaining themselves all at the same time so that I could not make out a single word. My life was a beautif...
لابد أن عدد ساعات اليد وساعات الحوائط الموجودة اليوم هو تحقير للأبدية
أنا أبتهل للفرصة التي تمد إليَّ يدًا تشير إلى مخرج من هذا السجن الذي أسميه نفسي
The stars know everything,So we try to read their minds.
The ProdigalDark morning rainMeant to fallOn a prison and a schoolyard,Falling meanwhileOn my mother and her old dog. How slow she shuffles nowIn my father’s Sunday shoes.The dog by her sideTrembling...