Peycho Kanev

No skies, no sun, no sounds,
I live in darkness.

When I think of light
it gets darker.
No candles, no matches,
not even fingers.
Just my soul pretending
to know everything.

Let me hear it:
“Time is like worry-beads!”

Oh, shut up, you all-knowing,
all powerful thing.
I think of shadows and their
shadows sticking on the walls,
as the hands of the clock chase
each other, endlessly. The fibrils
of the Universe are my own veins,
and the horizon’s edge is clear, but…
Suddenly I hear the divine
footsteps and the dog of Poetry
whisper in my presumptive ear:
“Word!”

I run into the bookish darkness.

Now all are born, those who will accompany me
at my funeral

My burial shroud is prepared and stocked
somewhere

The one that will drive the hearse
just got his driver license

All those who will hustle down the roses
now walk together

And now all starts all over
again

The clock is ticking
The time hangs still
The clouds are gathering

The rain that will fall then
now vaporizes

The ground is smiling

Walking down the street,
pass the Pawnshop,
the Deli,
the Police station,
the bar,
the Serbian Café,
the Korean store,
walking among the hippies
showing me piece signs
and the yuppies
talking promptly on their cells,
nodding carefully to the bums
and the kids,
observing their mothers and fathers,
feeling scared of the police officers,
feeling obscure on the hospital’s
sidewalk,
humble in front of the church at the
corner where Sunday people remain
silent;
I enter the store where the Bosnian
shop boy sells me Jack and Coke
and then I continue to my apartment,
crossing the street,
thinking of Caesar and Rubicon
just for a while,
and then feeling too distant
for the rest of the day.

Put the cigarette out.
The night is falling down,
climbing the pines in the back yard.
The smoke is drifting under the ceiling,
sketching grotesque paintings,
of unforgotten memories.
Put the needle on.
Let the music crawl around the room,
inevitable and slowly like leprosy,
dwell with it.
Your hand is strong now!
Put some hard drink in it,
hold tight to it.
The moon appears,
dispersing the grey clouds,
penetrating the shades.
What was before
will never be again.
And now it is time.
Open your eyes!

stupidity, obviousness and abnormality;
what conclusion can we make of this?
feeling trifling,
not knowing about the geniuses of the
world-
knowing nothing about the H-bomb or
the expanding of the galaxy.
which one will tip the balance?
as we stood still and watch how all of
the greatest finish their subsistence
in the trash can of nowhere
and the question now is which direction
should we take?
as the modern heroes burn into the green
of their bank accounts
as the phony knowledge about the Art
dwell in the college auditorium
as the twisted politician keep on
telling me that there is hope for Humanity
I live with my minor wisdom;
I continue to empty my garbage outside
because I know that when death comes
almost nothing is
lost.

The alarm of the clock is killing the insomnia
Turning this new day into motionless pain
Coffee milk and cigarettes as the TV is showing
Nothing at all of the present or the future
The sun is climbing the sky behind the shades
Fighting back the lovely night’s melancholia
Stirring and sipping and drinking as the pages
Of the newspaper shows me that there is no war
Or peace that we’re longing for all our lives
The world is still incomprehensible
And it will remain like that
As the next M.M or A.N.S or M.J is dying
On the first pages in every household
Feeding the hungry souls with stupidity
As the books of Tolstoy, Kafka and Celine
Keep collecting dust on the library shelves
And all the lovers in the world run away
With unfaithful women to wake up
In the morning forgotten and cold
As the only sound in the universe is this
String without soul.