featured in the poetry forum October 13, 2017  :: 0 comments

The whole of me is a red blazer,
when the sun’s disk at sunset
is a glowing ember
yonder the islet.

Without a red blazer,
every dusk is a widower.

The fog over the valley
cannot smother the red blazer.

I’d so often wait for you at dusk hours –
a red blazer being the eye-witness.

Three red blazers
are three promises
in the grove of loneliness!

Give me a single red blazer
and I’ll then bid farewell
to my boreal nights!

Not even the most froward raven
would dare look straight in the eye
of a red blazer!

Only the phoenix**
will rest on the red blazer
through eternity!

* Red Blazer – a wild or decorative garden plant of the Sylvia Splendens
family, appearing in cultivars of varied sizes and colors, also known as
Scarlet Sage when its flowers are dark red.
** phoenix – a mythical bird that burnt itself to death to reemerge from
ashes every 500 years. Only one phoenix.

English translation by Arben P. Latifi

editors note:

Only one longing, reborn in every lover’s heart. (We welcome Alisa to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out here.) – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 15, 2017  :: 0 comments

a true Danish story

This is the land lot,
while the vegetation around – the only surviving mark
of the house that succumbed once the man did.

Every time he headed to and back from the seas,
the Viking descendant left and returned to his abode
surrounded on every side by trees as high
as his giant build.

One night, alas, he couldn’t make it back,
abandoning home all on its own – first time ever!

All that the following morning witnessed
was a catacomb
of roof and walls and trees flattened aground,
and a flock of seagulls paying their last respects
up in that patch of a mournful sky.

Copenhagen, fall of 2016
English Translation by Arben P. Latifi

editors note:

The story that place can tell when person has passed. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 28, 2016  :: 0 comments

We must learn something from the trees.
– Kasem Trebeshina

Death was not in Paris, my darling,
It had never walked
In Luxemburg’s Garden either.

Every Autumn leaf
Was less than loneliness,
And the naked tree was quite unlike
The hesitating sounds of your guitar.

(Abandoned from whispers, it threw oblivion away –
Faint waltz chords
Filling the air of eternity.)

My sadness looked like the light at the verge of dusk:
That tree should have at least taught you
Why death was nowhere to be found in Paris.

You should have learned all only from the trees…

editors note:

An aboreal adage, amorously applied. – mh clay