1
The Stagnant Pond
……………….
Empty cans, fallen leaves,
dust and broken wood
have covered the face of the pond,
and everything remains
where it has fallen.
If this is its nature,
what spell
still draws you to the shore
to contemplate it?
Perhaps the pond believes
this is its inevitable fate—
that these are the things
from which it is made.
But its chest is wider than that.
The trees beside it
lean into its silence
and paint the most beautiful picture
beneath a blue,
unclouded sky.
Two dark-green eyes,
the color of stagnant water,
sad and brimming with tears—
with regret sleeping
somewhere inside them.
Small, exhausted fish
lie scattered along its banks,
suffering quietly
in the silence
of its shallow waters.
2
Right and Left
……………
When a sapling
grows away from its true line
and leans too far to the right
on its way to becoming a tree,
it grows crooked.
The air around it changes.
It casts a twisted shadow,
and the landscape suffers
another disaster—
wherever
it happens to stand.
3
Lizard Painting
…………….
You wanted to leave.
You pulled hard at the door,
but it would not open.
On the television,
you watched an elevator
open by itself
and close again
on nothing.
Then you looked up.
A lizard clung to the ceiling,
motionless as a figure in a painting,
staring at you.
You heard
the sound of breaking glass.
A furious wind
burst through the window.
You turned quickly—
and a gigantic corpse
was lying
across the floor.
Before you could
complete the movement,
the ghost vanished.
“Perhaps,” you whispered,
“it was only blurred vision.”
Your hand was still
wrapped around the door handle
when the last drop of water
fell from the tap
onto the brainboard—
and trembled.
You looked outside.
The fig trees
had withered.
You could not understand
the connection
between water
and the spirit.
4
Echo of Truth
…………
From far away
you hear the echo of truth—
then, almost at once,
it disappears within:
the details of the news bulletin,
the clamor of the market,
the invisible hands
manipulating the exchange.
Echo…
Everyone claims to possess it,
yet no one’s voice
carries its true tone.
The echo crosses
the walls of language
as though time were
two faces of the same coin—
night
and day.
By day,
cats appear domesticated,
meowing beside passersby
like a friend
asking for something.
But at night
they become hunting hyenas,
their growls rising
across the rooftops
of the mind.
Night lifts the masks
from the faces of day.
Under the dim moon,
they become pale,
uncertain, almost unreal.
The rustle of daylight
turns into a howl.
The figures of the day
become ghosts
inside the darkness.
And that echo of truth
you hear from far away—
it belongs to no one’s voice.
Before long,
the crowd absorbs it,
and silence
is swallowed by noise.
5
Timeshift
…………
You lost your watch
at midnight.
You did not wake.
It is not your time.
You search for your watch
through deserted alleys,
and inside the pupils
of homeless yellow eyes.
Oh—
Out of time,
a person becomes
a stray bird,
or the rhythm
of a dark echo
in a darker night.
You step off
the fast-moving metro
and look back, bewildered,
as though you have forgotten something—
something
you cannot name.
By your watch,
the metro has not arrived yet.
And yet,
at every station,
it bids farewell
to a group of passengers
who believe
they have arrived.
There are places
that exist outside time.
Nothing moves there.
They are empty
like this poem—
empty of the people
from whom
all beings are fleeing.
You are haunted
by the feeling
of cracks spreading through walls,
and by the emptiness
inside the heroes
of old stories.
So we search desperately
for the things
we have lost,
while never knowing
where
they are.
6
Dark And Light
………..
When the magic of life
unlatches
the heritage of all wars
will come to an end
On the boundaries
of light and dark
night and day
childhood and age
birth and death
the thin line
dissolving
on the breast of space
is lost
with all our comedies and tragedies
The moments of delight
like candles on a cake
die in the flickering of age
other spirits gather
shivering around it
Those who have passed
are quickly buried
alone
voices silent
no warning can reach us
A sound will come
out of the silence of night
pain struck from the smallest creature
the ailing tree
the moment when the weakest
reach to claim back their rights
in the dark
beyond everything
that and hand can reach
In daylight
under the powerful sun
light on our faces
like a hawk stooping out of the blue
or at night a bat
striking its prey in utter darkness
there is some thought
some anticipation to explain
our surreal dream
in an instant’s blinding coup
suddenly
turning all inside out
putting everything
in its perfect place.
