by Ndue Ukaj
The smoke clattered...raised a ridge over me
Where my head is oscillating just as the empty glass of Raki on the exhausted hand.
Where we clap our glasses and create a smoke over us
And on the superficially, we read your poems, my poems.
Outside is raining, the thunders keep going
You are saying that fumes are walking over my poems,
Emerging from their invisible fire
....From a hand burning coal, and the cold look.
On top of which metaphors and allegories are fighting,
Everything, unseen, untouchable, superficial walks over the Earth
Under the sky superficially...the heels are sliding
The tracks are erased before taking shape.
I think my poetry doesn’t have smoke, neither fire nor a burning red hair coal.
Your look walks superficially over the empty glass of Raki
I fill it with a torn letter, turned into a pellet
I open it, with my staring eyes superficially I see the fumes
How they create a cloud over your head...my head
And over the rain drops falling softly over the window of life.
This is a superficial time-came from your lips and slammed your glass.
Over the Earth and beneath the sky.
Last updated September 27, 2011