Events 2023

POEMS BY: MUGDIN CEHAIC

HOW SHOULD I CALL YOU?

A piece of the truth stuck

in my life

vigor stolen from your eyes

the smile of the redheads as your lips

Perhaps…

Glimpsing together the dreams of my hopes

With the scent of awakened, healthy thoughts

wrapped in my sincere expectation

Perhaps…

Candor of your arms around my neck

With my lust

drunk in your glass of the unconscious

Perhaps

Contrite of the sunbeams

on the day of our escape

from twenty

that bring the rain

of dry tears

towards horizons to be discovered, sweet

Perhaps!

THE EVIL TIME

I see

the air of the sick is stagnant.

It's time to dig

dead numbers.

Together red carnations indefinitely

with white redheads

who cry.

The streets silenced.

The dark and, that it is not.

Dead numbers...

We are not.

Forced to scrape the silences looking for salvation.

I'm looking for the answer

in dead numbers

but the answer is not there.

I search with my eye

of those who no longer breathe.

I forced my ear to listen

the dead numbers.

Scares...

remembering the ways of war.

Today is different...

it hurts inside.

They cry my tears

for dead numbers

stuck in evil time.

TRANSIENCE

We are transitory winds that do not breathe.

Dust poured underfoot

in the vortex of ordinary words.

Darkness tightens around the neck

dark enough.

Hands seek its belated shadows.

Sleepy they walk to meet her dawn,

pulling beds of sick seconds.

There is no difference

Over and under

Nice and right

The heart beats on the left.

Certain,

bark the beats for the hours of him.

The minutes stretch

in seconds of him,

the seconds a flash.

And our transience opened the windows of heaven,

hoping for the light that never comes.

THE HUMANS OF THE ROAD

I search in your veins

mercy wrapped in dignity.

For those who can't have

a piece of bread

a piece of wall

a piece of cloth.

For those who buy happiness for little money

with a smile on his face.

Those who have no dawn.

Who don't have the sunset.

Those who crawl with a straight back.

Who don't talk about what they were, but what they are.

Howls wrapped in the past.

Mirage in today is without having sense for tomorrow.

Those who don't seek much.

Who are satisfied with little.

I speak to you who hear dawn

and see the sunset

You wrapped in the embrace of contentment

You lucky ones

Offer has those who do not have

Mercy wrapped in dignity.

THE DIFFERENT WORLD

You tell me about a different world

saying;

“That I have to watch her

from a different angle.

From a different perspective.

From near and far.

And that's my way of looking at it

it's not how you look at it."

You who look at the world

in its frantic runs

of meaningless accumulations

of useless things.

Research racing

of fake well-being

of selfies

the photos

places

where you've never been

and you will never stay.

Where the thought of being able to have

It drowns you in the illusions of your dreams.

Thinking that's life

you will want.

And me

I look at you.

As if you were my eyes

they are not mine.

Incredulous.

Wondering me?

Where did you lose

that extraordinary Nirvana

to get up early in the morning

no hurry

giving smiles has strangers

for nothing in return?

A coffee enjoyed together.

A hot sandwich with mortadella

shared

and the bite done

with great pleasure.

The newspaper of the day

freshly baked

to read it together.

Listen to the mornings in waking her.

Enjoying the sun in burning her.

The twilights called by the nights.

And the stars that don't turn

giving you places to hide.

.

The beauty of fresh snow.

The streams frolicking flowing down.

The ponds waiting for the east winds

to offer flat greenery to passing guests.

The sea...

The sea is calm and stormy.

The waves that call fishermen of the day.

Giving away the smiles of those who were there.

And the distant ones

its immensity.

I wonder?

Where do your frenzies end?

Your illnesses?

Our world is turning upside down

with the earth tired of us.

She is teaching us

once again what is life

it is how it should be lived

before it gets late.

I beg you!

Try listening to it

She tells you everything silently.

I started some time ago.

IN THE SEA OF POSEIDON

Their souls freeze

forget from us,

in storms

of desperate innocents.

Salt blood score

in the seas of Poseidon.

And U.S,

miserable clowns

in a time of puppets

of souls sold

where our indifference

drowned together

their dead hope.

The storms of despair

of empty hearts.

Nailed by salty tears

who seek

the dignity of the human being

on the other side of life.

Worthy of that little:

“Breathe the air instead of the salt water”.

He ate Kronos his children

out of fear of losing what he doesn't have.

The heart and the soul.

HUMANS WITHOUT

(A poem dedicated to the people of 80 million refugees from all over the world who are fighting on two fronts these days. Against our indifference and on the other hand the pandemic. I honestly don't see the difference. They both kill!)

There are naked and barefoot.

No looks no smiles.

They cry with the eyes of others

looking for crumbs of light,

together the guinea pigs of indifferent.

There are those who crawl

in tomorrow's wombs.

With unexpected cries of dry tears.

With clinging screams

on the way out.

Searched in the womb of stagnant waters.

Searched in the whirlwind of the unknown.

In worn out words.

In the promises of fresh air.

Of a piece of wall.

Of a piece of peace.

There are blind people who do not hear.

There are non-speakers,

who are silent.

They are invisible to you

those that cover the sun.

Scattering the dust of hope in fleeting winds.

Images drowned in dreams that never woke up hurt.

Where family practice reigns

squeezed into a story of unfinished happiness.

Where terrible becomes doable.

Where suffering envelops from afar

fitting into our daily lives.

Like the rotten stump

without the soul.

There are... humans!

RUN AWAY

Sometimes, just sometimes

My troubled pallor seemed to echo my outcast gloomy wet solitude

from the sweat of my memories,

from my dissent.

Sometimes, just sometimes

Rebellious footsteps follow me

By biting

they want to reach me

But I keep running away

Escape from empty words

of those futuristic looks from my existence

Where you wish spilled badly

they look for another starting point

asking me

where i want to go

Sometimes, just sometimes

The smile is not sad.

TWENTY OF THE NEXT

Me, I dragged the sublime ways towards the finish line.

I teased the sentences towards the pronunciation.

I crumbled crumbs endlessly

to starve hungry love.

I landed on the dunes

the winds of the neighbor

and without realizing it I arrived "at the starting point".

Point where everything had to be different from the path taken before.

Where needs, emotions

the feelings

they disturb the air I breathe.

Where movements had to be less rational,

less hard,

less harsh.

Point

where seeing everything with my eye

the road is made

for a better tomorrow.

Where hope is alive!

Where I am alive!

Where I keep landing

on the dunes

the winds of the neighbor.

THERE IS NO COMPARISON!

“Immense beauty and those who know how to read aloud and excite”,

Of those who know how to transmit the messages of the flying letters collected in those

extraordinary gems called books.

Of those who know how to dig inside us

the hidden emotions,

bring out the anger, the tears,

the joy, the smile.

The crumbs of hope.

To those who don't know,

the privilege of listening remains

those lofty voices

the tasty items

the ambrosial voices.

My admiration goes deep into that grain of infinity

where you are that restless grain of my sincere soul.

Where your light dragged by the word beauty

is reflected in a million books,

infinity of diamonds,

watered down with tears,

in the drops of yellow

of scented honey.

Shattering the barriers of vertical horizons created by books

silent howlers

hidden in your sublime souls

Thanks to you

Our souls are shaken,

dragged into a parallel world

imaginary world…

where everything is extraordinary,

where everything is possible.

SWEET THOUGHTS

Your crystal clear skin.

My feather hands.

The wind rose

that touch brings

of one who sees.

Your eyes white swans.

East sea of a thousand nights.

Naked truth.

Forbidden dreams.

Trampled the grapes of September.

Your lips

cranberry blood.

The flesh of sweet lust

chewed.

The door to heaven

of one who sees.

Your fireplace

gazelle in the horizon.

Nymph of dreams.

The visual harmony of pure beauty.

Space time that does not exist.

There is only you

and my sweet thoughts.

I WILL GIVE YOU

The fragrance of the linden harvest

the pure tears of the sweaty sea of August

Together the scorching sun calmed by the mistral

Finest autumn rains that pregnant rainbow

Together the candor of the shimmering white

freezing December.

I would close my heart

with the song of dawn.

Accompanied by the light rustle of white birch leaves

Together the dogs in the distance barking.

To hear you

To see you

To see,

like your eyes

they envelop my pure desire, toying.

I'd give you the blue sky with white clouds,

placing it in the palm of your outstretched hand.

Stars in crystal powder

and the scent of a thousand roses.

For once…

that you look at me with my own eyes.

BE MY

Be a flash of light

The horizon to sculpt

The breeze of smile

That tale of sleeping eyes

the caress,

the caress of unfinished stories

Be my hope

in your hands

Grains of rice

Olive branches

The grass in the barn

Scent of bread

I scream,

Howl of my miserable imagination

awakened in the dreams of toys

Be the dawn of the East

A thousand sleepless nights

The sweat from the forehead

And those ripped white shirts

Singing ode of love.

Be that tear

one way

Madly sought after in my dreams.

COFFEE BEANS

You and I,

I would wake up at dawn.

I would paint the sun in yellow color.

The clouds would move

as if they were colored feathers.

And I'd crush the coffee beans,

to make dust.

But the water is not there?!

I'd use tears to make you coffee

and I would not have cried.

Be humble, kind, at home

maybe like that scented powder

in waking you up

who never sleeps.

Who seeks caresses endlessly,

never satisfied

in the clouds asleep.

I want to give you dreams.

Where you are the dawn of the impossible.

Spark of the burning fire

in eager eyes

who look at me.

Mirroring the springs

search madly

in your cup of coffee.

Where I satisfied

I drink my sugary fortune.

WHAT IS LOVE?

A pair of shining eyes

Two cups of coffee

A croissant ripped apart

Silence in waiting

A kiss

A hug

The tears of joy

And those less

A bottle of good wine

Two glasses

Sliced just enough

And the words to infinity

Two fights

to feel better

And crying in the crib

The life

Aged life

Together

And the sunset captured

in the loving gaze

who remembers.

LIGHT TWILIGHT

Your mindset

to look at me

different from the others

and remained the same over time.

That mental habit of talking to me

in a soft voice

murmuring the sparks

of consummate loves

in distant times

of clear twilight.

Where moving dreams

you trapped temptations of one who sees.

Scattering raindrops

in waiting looks.

You knew how to look with eyes of sweet lust.

Instigating hands

to follow the shadows

of tomorrow

together the prayers in the air

in one time

where everything was possible.

Where dreams intertwined

with reality.

Beautiful as you are.

Listen to me!

Leave the rains pulverized

of weeping clouds

and come under my sun.

FIRST LOVES

If I could talk to you

I would tell you

as I waited under your box in the hours of sleeping birds,

your awakening.

How my steps were still in our silent way.

How I embraced the fantasy

in waiting

together dry leaves underfoot.

With the air you breathe

married with stomachache.

And trembling legs

together sweaty sensations,

in the first time.

If I could talk to you,

I would tell you,

how the half-closed windows of our youth opened.

As our hands locked in intense gazes embraced the

world of toys.

Where I told you about a non-existent distant future.

And you, who looked at me in disbelief

asking me: "Do such beautiful fairy tales exist?"

I used to tell you about what we could do together, but you were too young.

Your desire to discover the world.

The World stole you from me.