Eureka

Cheer up, my Old Baby country.
Do not weep as our unipolar omnipotent pillar kneels ــــــــــ Kissing
high heels ـــــــــــ Presenting his Sword to a diabolic jezebel.
Do not weep when the arch-colonel is a pederast;
his diligence and notion of logistics are reincarnated as a peg
and a hairless blond fellow soldier.
Curse all, my country; feel no pang…. heave no sigh
if a currish rat could divide the native mice into Persians and Romans  ــــــــــــ  then smother of a domestic ghost dance soared high.
Eat, drink and sleep, my country! No, do not mourn!
Neither your tears eradicate the Arabian tribes' shame,
nor can your sob sheep's eyes titillate their dormant honour.
                     
But ـــــــ who are you?
How can I substantiate an imperative primitive Word?                                              ــــــــــــــــــــــــــــA Country?
How can I differentiate what-you-are from anti-what-you-are?
Eyes befriended rheum, ears to hear lies, a tongue to swallow echoes!


Oh, cry-inducing ladies!
Another form of a country?!!
Had you not been deformed?
Had you not ـــــــــ being deformed ـــــــــ been our cemetery?
Eureka! A cemetery…..
Passionate learnt Crazy Horse!
How could you conclude that "one's life is one's country"?
Who does lead a self-country-making life?
Brutuses? Deformed empty women?
Who else? ــــــــــــ
For what is life to that who does not know how to live?
Death…….. DEATH?
Eureka! Death…….. A cemetery.

*  *  *  *  *

                For reasons not unknown, the time of indoctrination has failed to go:
- Your sticking-in-brain tanks, guns and the Standing Hills and Planes need
brains to exist.
- Your Don Quixotic victories that are scattered on the sheets of the paper warfare
need listening ears.
But ــــــ Wait! 
Can your tongues dance anymore? 
Do you have any sheet of paper?
Do you have ink?
Red? Green?                                                                                                       
Orange? Do you have Ink?
For reasons not unknown, you shall fail, quail, wail, sail back…. Back.
Back ــــــــــــــــــ I am sure of what I have bled.

*  *  *  *  *

Smoke latakia and drink maté: for Che was a hero.
Break a hymen each sunset but live in a barrel: for Diogenes was a sage.
ــــــــــــــــــــــــ Great! ـــــــــــــــــــ Today Saturdays, the Che ache for a new factory.
Today Sundays, the Diogenes angle for upholsterers. ــــــــــــــ Great!
The swimming nine Tenths shout "Open Sssss ـــــــــــــ Open".
As the Baker imprisoned Ali Papa and the forty Godots.
Void to void, nothingness to thinglessness;
Rest, my Cemetery.

*  *  *  *  *

Rest, a begetter of two Helen-like sons!
A Westerner has avenged you on the East
and a sturdy Easterner of audacity is struggling to stand up
with His eyes closed and ears blocked.
Today ـــــــ Today the next ـــــــ The next-year Today He arises and drinks
the sea.
Void to void, nothingness to thinglessness.
Rest, Gea.



*  *  *  *  *


Between a pen and pain, a despot naps.
Between an Imam and his supplication, hypocrisy thrives.                           
          Between an infant's mouth and his stomach are the WTO principles.
Between the Word and a dot, a believer is supposed to feel lost.
Between a Between and a Between lies our Cemetery.

The Wind has never gone astray
nor has it been in love with a Fay……
Get on!.......... Tomorrow is another Today.
Black, skillfully tarred ـــــــ Dark. I said a Cemetery,
and by each headstone three Dogs bark ــــــ also in the dark.
          Today ـــــــ Today the next ـــــــ The next-year Today the Statues,
          in eleven-button suits, say:
"Obey.. Obey.. Obey..
For it was written on a leaf of bay:
'When glorified bats abandon the light of the day, don’t cry out for Clay'''.

Void to void, nothingness to thinglessness….


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