Echoing Day

Echoing Day awakens hand
to possess earthly words of others.
It’s heartening for a soul to be in surrender
to either the cruelty or the mercy of stone.

The flames will open as
an imaginary eye scans
through the dark walls of a dungeon
with threatening asymmetry.

The mind, once blind has its sight resurrected
through the valleys it passes through;
then the exploded pits with the skeletal closets of men
of how I have become in the gloom, lifeless.

Heartless, awake, I raid their devilish picks,
I reflect cast moons, I feel cloudy,
I echo time, still…all the fire’s silhouettes
unsettling lunacy in death’s valley,
non-found gem I bestow, I feel cloudy!

Grievance with hours wrapped in rotted mind,
may I be lulled by buried voices?
I delight the dark plots of traitors,
though never knew breastfeeding
by echoes of that cunning sideways
along fainted valleys. Oh mercy to the river’s shape!
Being nailed by the dreadful dreams to my terrors,
I cross this cloudy space ended in poisonous spark.

look back in laughter

she remained in Belgrade too long,

no less than twenty-five psychopathic landlords

during her ordeal.

money-laundering rednecks, Nazism at its best

inconsequential,, just look back in laughter


weird amorphous blobs with their cellphones alight in their underwear

everything worked on a clan-like basis! If you had an opinion you were fucked

inconsequential, look back in laughter


The convulsing man pulled a knife.

like a sailor and flinging at them the last remaining copies

of my poetry book

. ‘Cultist bastards! Out!’ ‘Damn gargoyle, I will kill your twitchy ass with my bare hands’

The Dark Will Understand…


inconsequential, look back in laughter


all of the dinosaurs resting in me,

being revived in that final clench of humanity

for me

Diabolicus in Blockus against the stalker,

and what is stalking other than a performance par excellence

just look back in laughter

D’you know how many pharaohs lived through twenty with it?

I’ve read it, I swear!

The book’s called Eight-Month Fetus.

all of it is prenatal stress with brain damage


look back in laughter


akin to the wish for immortality

survived the 1991 Ustase slaughterhouse,

a gossip keeping track of world trends

and claiming to possess ‘encyclopedic knowledge’.


look back in laughter


o try a few different blowdrying tricks

this time to reign in her hair she was never satisfied with,

not to mention bathing, pedicure,

the bus ride from one side of the room to the next


look back in laughter


Niels Bohr was a riot despite being a dickhead,

Wish I had a wonderful dream, namely, I was in Dubai,

in a luxury hotel, fascinated by the mint on my pillow

and that Spartan dishes make me go nigh-insane


it doesn’t matter so look back in laughter


She’s been planning her death for years.

She wrote a cruel set of laws for herself, and others too.

She carefully used her at times bloody shirt to hide the gorgon

she had been secretly growing on her tit

for years.

She dug her sharp venomous teeth into it,

the skin, used her flesh, skin, tit

as a sacrifice for she had long decided

to set the clock, let it tick, until the end.


Look – look back in laughter


– Give, give – the imps surround and push me. –

Look at her!

How she struggles, pushes us like we were beggars!

Look, look at the proud, desperate sorrow.

Gambled away, wasted away, haha!


take a look back in laughter


– Are you insane? Why not give money to me and my kids?

I sit here all day, begging by the fountain, sleep

in the public transportation,

and I used to have money like you.

Take care of all that money.

Don’t lose it, or we will be on equal footing,

and they’ll say Look at the poor insane thing.

What’s with your head?


look back in laughter


No apartments here The meter was running.

Once was a beautiful woman,

brought onto Caucasus from Egyp

t by the sons of Ommaya as per ibn Shaprut’s order,

the minister of Abd al-Rahman III and Sebikhasim,

was slandered and sold,

a demigoddess of full breasts, thick hair and plump lips.


look back in laughter


rejected the Omayyad caliph,

he told Shaprut to sell Selima (her name) to the Khazar king Josef

to do as he pleases, and this Hebrew king made Selima

the slave-woman of Allah

Selima was like a bamboo

while a squealing breath of disgust escaped,

a breath of a justified EW!


just look back in laughter


A bunch of psychopaths which I met along the way

grew to a dynasty so powerful that the torchbearer

allow them to serve him,

not to butcher them

when he smells competition.


just look back in laughter


Not a single NOBODY.

Nobody and somebody.

Nobody there.

All is Nobody and Somebody.


When I eat I do not take the food at the table.

Books of wisdom make me feel nauseous.


The numbers mean fate.


One day you’ll look back in laughter

sync with mine wishes for the better days for all

a hinted thought within my head’s grasp

processing attempts as each memorising
sublime flash of evil genius
penetrates my mind

blinding ringing echo of fire
awaiting for the return of some being
I personally have never witnessed before

and yet continue bearing like
a treasured secret code of the heart

to share yet long as if to cherish
as the 1st discoverer
place pregnant backup aids by not
chasing dreams


cherish its prized moments
along well-penned lines of living it.

Fates will always be differentiating
between origins of true life.
However, origins of free will
truthfully never differ

in any fate brought
between those trying to be heard.
A whisper triggers thirst for knowledge in

While a panicked scream can send us running
in the wrong path, secluded from all else
I can finally close the lid of my eyes

in being inspired, eyes wait not for
the dawn’s whistling birds’ dream
in sync with mine of better days break for all

to see us walk past through another evil eye
on its way,
of poetically rhythmic challenge
to pledge in well-penned form.

Everything is without my past weakening crutch
in our daily healing needs
if ever we hope to carry our torches healthily
throughout our chosen marathons of life.
to share something as oneness itself.

Editor: Obinna Eruchie

The Darkness Will Understand, N0 8/Analysis

He George

Very powerful and shows one accepting of God’s will and only fearing Hi above all else. I felt this poem could been broken into two chapters. There is an inner struggle to both accept your fate and at the same time demand and control it. Your most powerful poem.

Daniel Brick

WOW! This is genuine poetry… This is the real thing. I’m stunned and at a loss for words, which is very uncharacteristic of me because I taught Creative Writing to high school students for over 15 years. And you probably know Language Arts teachers always have something to say! Let me focus. Your title is excellent – it is ominous, suggests a hidden even dangerous knowledge gained from experiences most people don’t have. Your poem develops by means of images which is what a poem should do. And these images are fused together – that’s my word for imagery which isn’t just a pretty word picture, but rather part of a developing theme. Finally your poem expresses a Big Idea very effectively, namely, it’s the silence of God, that’s a hevy idea, but the violence you’re describing demands an accounting. In Macbeth, when MacDuff learns that his wife and children have been murdered by the tyrant, he says, What? Did Heaven look on, and not take their part? That’s the kind of Big Question your poem asks.

[Act IV, Scene III, lines 201-240], MacbethDid heaven look on, / And would not take their part?”
“A man must accept his fate… Or be Destroyed By It” ~Batiatus, Spartacus

The Darkness Will Understand, N0 8

In the bed I do not rely on commandments
The roses already fraught with wind
How many clocks do you ask
While the morning overladen with eternity is late
Delirium morning

They foresee the end of the world
Through stargates
They will wish to open them, open them they will not be able to
They will wish to close both them and the road
The poems shall herald the dead
The dead and the living will depart for false mouth
Without a single sense

My God sleeps murmuring prayers
After which I inherit sadness, wind, mountains, birds
Yet hands and bole resist

I do not fear bullets
And horseman of the apocalypse
But you
My beloved Father

Fate Of Two Young Lovers

You will go blind soon I think
Like the dead that squint
Near strong light
The victors at the end of all suns
Who brought forth the octopuses on the shores
Usually rising
With a finger on the lip

The dead are hungry on flame
Joy is their power
By the vermilion of shame
Each new morning is provoked.
The sign of shame before the living
Is achieved by watching:
Roams the eye oblique onto the elbow
And the sharp taste of the living.


Tell me what I merely remember
And what haunts me in the dream to remember
Uncertain is the speech
The hush curses it.
You get the sun used to dieing
On the place where I dissolved
Speaking and hushing,
I hear only that which
With barking silence.

Who extolled the dead
Who sang,
Ash or fire?
Do I hear a voice?
Or is it just the falling of the leaves?

I no longer hear you
Nor is my throat strained by vessels.
So have the dead decided
Young lovers
With tongue under the throat
Flung back
towards the twisted death of the living.