{1} WHISPERS OF A BROKEN SPRING nothing is moving, even solitude seems immobile and infallible. my room has stayed on with the nonchalance of the last winter. ใ คใ คใ คit smells of roasted potatoes and damp laundry. silence walks around barefoot, with a candle perched on its head. ใ คใ คใ คeverything has become more imminent. the air outside is…
I. In the language of a city inseminated with fallen teeth and broken bones. I dream in the language of dead. I dream: my mother’s poems resemble the dark blotch on my left temple. a green horse kneels beside the body of a dead boy. a rat nips at my only letter addressed to the…
We will meet,somewhere, sometime,in the nuptial embrace ofour grey and white memories. With your blessed arrival;The celebrated idols of our dark history,(their faces yet so rough and ugly),The explosives implanted in thewombs of our senile mothers,The bloodied trails on the ashenheads of our brides,The gunpowder, growling underthe rubble of our beloved palacesโEverything,Everything would get metamorphosedInto…