Friday, 29 May 2009


I want to extort all my dreams
Consign them in a kettle of boiling water
Stare at it for a long, long time
And watch its content evaporate into thin air
And never dream about it again
Never again


I want to extract all my feelings
Drown them in a nail polish remover container
Place the container under the sun
And watch its content evaporate into thin air
And feel nothing about it
Just nothing

Thursday, 28 May 2009

*Ode to 24

I’ve been meaning to write something about turning twenty four. I actually wrote a couple of sentences, all of which ended up deleted. There is something weird about this age. It is not a turning point. It is just a year, like any other year. Nothing special. No fireworks, no sparks, no noise. One year away from being alive for a quarter of a century.

It is weird, not knowing how to feel about getting older. At twenty four, I still do the same mistakes I did when I was fourteen. I still paint my nails black. I still fall in and out of love, without having a mere grasp of control over my emotions. I still don’t know my stand on several issues like the existence of God, my future career plan, whether gay people make good parents, whether or not I am alcoholic, the veracity of fate, or the color of my hair.

At twenty four, I still have no idea what I want to do when I become old.

At twenty four, I am afraid I became too old, not to know what I want from this thing called life.

Of a dreadful correspondence

I wrote you a letter
With the blood of my period
I enclosed it in a pink envelop
With the scent of strawberries
I know you love the scent of strawberries
But you will not love my blood
It will disgust you
It will scare you away
As many features of my being do

Once you get over the idea of the blood
You will come to encounter my words
Of abomination disguised in admiration
Of adoration shielded in the mask of lust
Of a possessive resentment tainted with the sense of deference

But my words will not touch you
My words ceased to stir your fascination
They can scarcely budge your palpable sense of sight
Even less sway your brains
You will be repulsed and dismayed
Refusing to experience any kind of emotion
That might thrive in giving me a sign
That you still have a heart to feel

And I signed my letter

Truly yours,

Sunday, 24 May 2009

Of acid nights - part two

We had dinner out in the real world, surrounded by flesh bounded people, discussing earthly matters, sharing the same plate of bliss. Hours later. We drove into the mountains to enter our world; to enter the white room of our delirium.

“If I wake up tomorrow with your scent on my skin, does it mean that tonight was real?”

“Why do you want to wait till tomorrow to avow the reality of the night? You have a piece of me on your neck; I have you under my skin”

“… But the clock is still not ticking”

“Well … It is said that time knows no distance, yet it conditions to exist within it … Do you think it takes time or distance to stop a clock on the wall from ticking?”

“I think the existence of the clock is deliberate of time and distance”
“You are wrong. Even death could not cheat time and distance. But I am willing to do so … Maybe by cheating; I could steal you for a moment in time, take you some place that is not encircled by earthly substance – a place that does not exist in space – and embrace you for eternity”

“So it is not existent”

“So we exist in our non-existence”

We leave the room. 12:45. We watch the skies turning from dark blue to white. We sip our coffee calmly, out in the real world, surrounded by flesh bounded people as we discuss earthly matters, sharing fresh memories of our one delirium … watching it fade its colors, slowly but surely, into the world of black and white.

Saturday, 16 May 2009

Duty free_

I had omelets and black coffee in Pristina
A chicken salad and black coffee in Thessaloniki skies
And a beer in Istambul

I will have dinner up above the Mediterranean Sea
And another beer in Beirut

All day long
You lingered in my mind
Coming and going
Being your transparent self
Crossing the walls of my brain
Itching, sweetly

All night long
Your shadow will cast through my body
Your eyes will be on me
Your arms will be longing to hold me

We will be on the same land

But we will never be there...

Wednesday, 13 May 2009

A piece of life in Pristina*

She would sit there
Watching this total stranger

Talking and philosophizing
Over imperative issues
Existentialist questions

Most of which stand rhetorical
But she would not be listening
She would be lost in her imagination
On a different planet
Speaking another language

Imagining scenes
Noting mental scenarios
Of a story of a stranger
Sitting there in front of her
Talking and philosophizing
Over imperative issues
Existentialist questions
Most of which stand rhetorical
Why would she care about the future of Balkan
Why would she bother her brain cells
To think about the destiny of ex-Yugoslavia
When her reality is not even in question
When her world is somewhere else
Above the clouds and beyond the seas
Drafting itself in the form of a poem
About this total stranger
Who was ten minutes ago
Sitting in front of her
Talking and philosophizing
Over imperative issues
Existentialist questions

Most of which stand rhetorical


I lay on the carpet
I am nude, exposed
Deceived, by my own mind

Your words, they utter
In my ears
After you’re long gone

The night is young
And am isolated
Static, I remain
Under your spell

The skin aches
But I have no nails

The memories flow
But I cannot touch them
They look so real
Disguised in colors

Scratch my memory
Smell my skin

Lay beside me
And remind me

To remember you

Tuesday, 12 May 2009


You can’t hurt me
I am plastic
My skin is fake
You can just imagine
How my heart would be

You can’t adore me
I will not feel
Your emotions will go to waste
Your vibes will be colorless
Compared to my nothingness
Compared to my nonexistence

Save those feelings
Save that spur
They will not pay off
They will only melt
Just by considering
Being in the vicinity
Of my sun

Monday, 11 May 2009


Look around you
Do you see me anywhere?
Smell your bed sheets
Look at your neck in the mirror
Does it still have a piece of me?
I cannot find myself
I got lost
In your contemplations
I diluted in your reveries
I no longer exist
For the outer world
I am but a silhouette
Rambling around
As invisible as the air
Blow a gasp of life in me
Color me
And make me real again
Make me feel again

The road to Prizren*

I wish my memory had the power
To retain all the breath-taking scenery

I have seen in my quarter of a century years

But my brain cells are transmuted

They only retain what I feel
Never what I see, hear, smell or touch

My mind is sensationally dysfunctional

It cares not about the outside world
What matter are the colors inside

A constant state of oblivion
Throwing me in the world of my dreams

Reality is shaded

Veiled, under my forgotten reminiscences

Will the colors ever disappear?

Friday, 8 May 2009

The pinnacle of delirium*

Rummaging around for a reason
To keep me up

Through the night

Because this is the only moment of time

When I feel close to you
When I can listen to you humming
Even though you are millions of miles away
When I can feel your hands caressing me
And your body shivering
From touching my coldness
It is only at night
When all sounds are rancid

And all colors are rubbed out
That I am with you
Sharing one delirium

Of some insane lass
Who enjoys making up characters
Out of dreary individuals
She meets in her everyday life
Never too satisfied

With the outcome of humanity

It is only there
In her mind
At night
That we exist

Verification of existence substantiated*

You piss me off
I paint my nails red

I dry my hair
And go out walking
Under the rain
In a world that is not my own
In a strange city
I buy myself a hot cup of coffee
And spill it on my bare feet
I grab the hand

Of the next stranger I see

And go to his house
Make his laundry
Eat his food
And go to sleep
On his couch
Next morning
I open my eyes
Am still in my bed
Thinking of how much


the vicious circle in me.

Too much feeling can make you master the art of not feeling.
Think about it

It is like … too much thinking leaves your mind with nothing to think about.
So don’t think about it!
Just feel
But don’t feel too much
Or else,
You will be feeling just nothing.

Wednesday, 6 May 2009

The long letter I never sent.

I wake up
In my empty bed
I look around
My infinitesimal room
You are not there
I look for you
Out in the streets
Smell what remains of the scent
Of your specter
That just passed by
Minutes before I got there
But all in vain
You are never there

I sit on my desk
Wait for a sign
To have a substance
To daydream about
But there are no signs
I am left alone
Even my dreams walked on me
Even my imagination betrayed me

And I thought
I would give up all I have
All my emotions
All my perversions
The most dear illusions and hallucinations
For a moment of liberation

But the minute I grasped this liberation
Between my miniature fingers
The moment I smelled emancipation
It just lost its golden swathe
It lost the adrenaline rush
I thought it would entice in me

Deliverance is nothing
Compared to being trapped
Inside that shielded mind of yours

For what is a dream worth
Without being able to share it with you?