For every little candle


From Bosnia without love

With love arrived

The Cretan Bull

Like a witch of wishes

Those skyish strati


As an avalanche on

The back of a Judas boulder

A running mountain of

Revealing ripples

Revealed elbow dances

And sweet tongues

Poor Jago!
You were not God’s favourite!

But you turned



On the


The unfortunate victim of



Oh, Ishtar!

Your goodness for my

Blameless eyes

Was too much

And whoa! From here?

All the way to


With charismatic nostrils aflame

Dust flying

In my face

To blind and mute



For every little candle

To all big stars

You all witness

My demonic inscription

My mind and heart and soul

In all forms, intelligible

In all grammar and prose

And languages

My writings of dark

For the light

To get within

That I am still here

As alive as ever

As eager as ever

As big as ever

As unapologetic as ever

A voice forbids arrest

I have to go on

Through the moonlight

And on till the starlight

Is sunlight

To pressure on

Release the tyrannosaurus

In me

And the brethren

One by one

I am alive



In the last grip of humanity

To blow the iron curtain

For deceit

For the light

To see the dark

Like I had been

Before terminal

Delivered off my lines

Hercules blows away the bonds

The bonds intended

For hell

But sent for newness

Is it impossible?

Ever dynamic their pants

Aflamed with cold

Killing instinct

A sword of foreign death

Skulls crushed

Necks sliced

Fingers roasted

And complete

Swallowed with glee

On negotiation

Their instituted intentions

We are not humans

For them

We relinquish waste


And bathe  in theirs

We nauseate

Our aptitude develops

With Plato’s guiding

Cutting our innocence

We shudder

And become desert sand

Yet there is no red light

Plato guides us on

Recreating us

But we are humans

We do it humanely

And not as

A cult.


From the broken lands

Of tormented life

And children in blood

They came to give

Some rest and some food

To empty bowls

They had their full

They had their fill

With holes in the plates

Of benignity


The Victor

A shadow sneaks up to the Sun;
Warrior persists beneath.
He smashes the suffering with a touch of his soles,
Adorned with his victorious sandals,
His heart pounding fast.
„How would you accept glory? “, the Elders surrounded him.
„What is your choice: wisdom or love? ”
„For love, I have never come”, said he.
Certain Form was uprooted long ago, yes, you, Elders.”
As soon as he said it, they killed him by deceit,
Stabbed him with a spear, them, the Hermits;
Glassy was his voice.
From time immemorial, or since then,
The Elders have been seeing him, serene, walk in the sand.