To My Goat

I remember your innocent reply

to the butchman’s grim question,

Your Naivety, never has a hangman

granted life as a last wish!

But fear not, you’re God’s martyr.

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I’ve executed your will with utmost care:

all your love poems are now ashes,

your biography has gone to the publisher,

all the royalties will be spent on your lineage

and your skin did not fly to London.

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your friends, the sheep, fell on the last day

wish I could say they felt no pain,

they were noble in life, noble in death,

looked the slayer in the eye

but alas, could not help bleating

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I am sorry that you tainted

my memory of you with lies.

No, sir, no goats were slayed

with guillotines in the Revolution.

your descendants will be slayed

like you were, guillotine is forbidden to you

even if you were French.

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Notes on the Fridge Door

im

In my dream, the old florist’s face
in scarf was a stale wrinkly rose,
her eyes drops of dew, she spoke
with her petals and wrapped with her leaves
a bouquet of rain-scented clouds
and wished you a happy birthday

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Remember what I said to you
On your sanity’s funeral,
that only a dive in irrational
will baptize you

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Today I have made for you
a glass of sea
And a slice of moon in lunch
With a sprinkle of grilled stars
And milky sauce of a galaxy
to give you a cosmic soul

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when i knew you for the first time
you were walking the lines of my hand
with your slow tread and hunched shoulders,
when you slipped and vanished in those
valleys of our hands where we
chase away the undestined things,
I knew that the hoax was real and
that it was love at last sight
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Flowers

before you pinched me on my burdened shoulders

I was picking flowers from barren boulders

to pluck their petals and settle the matters

still unsolved by centuries’ labours

of scientists, prophets, ‘sophers and lovers.

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Melancholia

211]

I heard you saying to the sunflowers
After the sunset and rain showers:
‘Despair not fellow brothers
After every nothingness is being’

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When you used to live
In the City of Melancholy
you would go to the drug store
And say to the man with gray face:
‘Give me some ointment of pity
For my chest craves a rub’
Then you would go to a dark street
Where sky seemed a still born baby
Out of an untouched woman.

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In your dream I saw the wailing waves
hitting their heads on the shore
in repentance, recounting the tales
of their sins in sobbing tones
and unforgiven they kept coming back.

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The Lovers

20160725_203017

moth-eaten moon

consoles the dull night

and together they remember

the days of virgin beauty

when they fell in love at first sight

 whispering in each others’ ears

promises of everlasting embrace

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A Superstitious Auditor

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*

On way to work a black cat passed me by
With a tail half cut and a mirthless eye

No flatty, no traffuck, no treachery from my horse
No sharp stinging sun, no thoughts morose and gross

No signal running tickets from the filthy tullas
No embarrassing fatwas from the zealous mullahs

No mumble, no tremble, a smooth presentation
No hiccups, no screw-ups, no loose perspiration

No moodswings in the bosses, none in the cooks
All debits, all credits, perfectly in the books

No excuses from trainees, no fly in the tea
No deadlines, no headlines, a blooming orange tree

A day well spent, I came out a happy guy
When a bird shit on me from the smirking sky

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*The Man in the Bowler Hat ~ Rene Magritte