Flag of the words

Now, here I am
standing on my feet
holding in my fist
this flag...
This bloody flag...
The flag of the WORDS.

* * * *

Here In the south
under the hot, young sunshine,
In the kingdom of the love and snare,
To set free my soul from me
I am walking towards myself.

* * * *

My songs are the songs of Crikets,
who are in love with the earth and moonlight.
The songs of the bees,
the bees that sucks the nectars
to fill up their hives.

* * * *

I don't know and I am not sure
What could I do more?
with these young veins on my arms
in the Land of the vein cutters!!!

But, I know with no hesitation
my hands are carrying a message
they are aware of their mission,
the mission who’s flag is in my hands.

And I am going to nail it down,
on the land of the sleepy heads,
on the field of the crosses,
on the hill of the Leprotic soules.

By: J.D.
Edited by: Branka D.

Existansialism

To exist as an individual, it is necessary to be withdrawn from the entire world. The individual then is aware of himself -- that he exists -- and this is the greatest and most terrible thing. Indeed, on one hand, the individual recognizes that he is created by God, and hence that he comes from nothing. But at the same time this is the most terrible thing, for to exist -- as the etymology of the word indicates -- is "to stand out," "to emerge from"; the finite existent being is detached from God. Thus I must recognize that my existence denotes a detachment, an opposition to God.
In consequence of this, my existence is in itself a mystery: on the one hand I cannot be non-existent, and on the other, my existence is bathed in sin; I exist, and I am necessarily a sinner. (Kierkegaard, as a Protestant, accepts the doctrine of Luther that man, inconsequence of the original fall, is essentially a sinner.)
The consciousness of this contradiction causes anguish, and anguish ends in despair -- the individual accepts existence as a mystery which he cannot hope to fathom. But because of the coincidence of opposites, from despair rises faith, and faith gives the individual the hope of redemption by means of grace. I abandon myself to the grace of God; I pray, and the prayer gives me the "pre-sentiment" that time will be changed into eternity and death into life.

Is this enough ...?
J.D.

THREE POEMS
PABLO NERUDA (1904-1973)


POETRY
And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.



SADDEST POEM
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.



CLENCHED SOUL
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.

Hey People by Nima Yushij (1895-1960)

Hey, you happy people
who are sitting on the shore safe and sound,
with smiles on your face,
someone is drowning in the sea,
someone is constantly struggling
in this dark, heavy, angry sea, that you know it well.
You are extremly happy
when you believe that you are enemy free,
When you think in vain that you've given a hand to a weak person,
to eleminate their weekness,
When you tighten your belts,
When, when, when?
When shall I tell you
that someone is drowning in the sea
and is sacrificing in vain?
Hey, you people over there
who are sitting carelessly on the shore,
with delicious foods on your table,
wearing nice and couzy clothing,
someone is calling you from the sea.
He beats the heavy wave with his tired hand,
his mouth agape, eyes torn wide with terror,
he has seen your shadows from far away,
has swallowed water in the dark blue deep,
each moment his impatience grows more and more.
He waives from the sea
with his arm, at times,
and at times, with his head...
Hey you people there,
he still has his eyes on this old world from a far,
he's shouting and hopes for help.
Hey you people
who are calmly watching from the shore,
the wave beats on the silent shore,
spreads like a drunk fallen on his bed unconscious,
recedes with a roar, and this call comes from afar again:
Hey, you people on the shore...

And the sound of the wind
more heart-rending by the moment,
and his voice gets weaker almost lost in the sounds of the wind;
from waters near and far
again this call is heard:
Hey, you peolpe on the shore...

Tranlated by: J.D. Edited by: Branka D.

A nameless poam

OH, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating rounds the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
To which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends he will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.

BY: J.D. few years ago ...

Still and always I love Gypsy

I love you and I know I never see you again,
Still I remember all those romantic moments,
Still I can see the love in your eyes,
I will never see you again and still I remember How your arms wraped around me,
How can I forget your love when ?
I know you, but at the same time I know I can't kiss you again.
A part of me is lost I never get it again.
your words still make me smile and make me happy.
How can I love you this muche?
But, I will always belong to you.
I can never love any body else the same way again,I think you are gone forever.
Have a great life where ever you are...

J.D. Jan. 22nd Toronto