lines written on the back of the last pictures i had taken of me whilst i was sm
lines written on the back of the last pictures i had taken of me whilst i was sm stories

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i am ismet ozel, a poet in his fortieth year. everything happened in my lifetime, i want this
By someonesopranos

lines written on the back of the last pictures i had taken of me whilst i was sm

by someonesopranos

i am ismet ozel, a poet in his fortieth year.

everything happened in my lifetime, i want this

to be known by all. i was there when the deluge came

i was present at the re-creation of the world.

i am at peace now, i have seen everything.

i saw the parting of heavens, the coming to life of clay.

all the evidence is at hand now. i can be lynched.

i earned the hatred of prostitutes

and the curses of virgins.

i have words which can’t even help you cross a bridge,

i have words which will not save you from burning fires.

i have lost the sword of my strength, i no longer

respect harvests. i flew but my flight

was detected by radar. i swore heavily:

this too was entered in my police file.

let everyone know, i am quite a holigan.

gendarmes and taxmen are after my soul.

in the eyes of the clockwork toilers,

nothing could be blacker than my soul;

if you ask the denizens of laboratories

my soul is a fake.

all the youngsters who sailed through school

with flying colours and an ey efor what is true

will tell you that my soul is a slovakian snail

whose home was left in nepal.

i wonder who knows the truth.

even i, busy as i am hiding my soul

in every crack and cranny

what do i know? whata do i possess

that could possibly tempt the devil down my throat?

dishevelled by anxiety, i selected a state secret

for myself. with a state secret in hand

one could lead a cinematic life,

one could enjoy refined living,

those secret trips to the fleshpots

of whore-houses, not to mention

high-class restaurants or simple bucolic walks.

who knows, it might all end

on the platform of an aesthetic execution.

yes, yes, but a soul is not enough

to rake in all these goodies.

if this verdict,

this conclusion,

this inference is right,

why is it that a conference postponed

or a late coach

muddles everything,

why are the trains of national leaders always white,

why are the russians marching on berlin?

how absurd, how stupid!

of the four bibles why do i choose to follow

the gospel according to john?

but here i am,

one out many, like everyone else

standing at this station

next to this spy in his black coat

waiting with my most legible face.

i stay in the game, i play it

for fear that i might miss my turn,

that my ticket might expire.

there are heaps of azaleas

and passion flowers lying before me

like corpes with rigid valves,

there are thousands of flowers before me.

i am afraid it might be my cue to step in:

what if they tell met o begin in order to make an end?

oh no, not me,

the world mustn’t do this to me.

tell me, when all is said and done

how many of us went as close as seeing?

their own skeleton in the mirrors?

come now, humanity,

let’s strike a bargain:

give me all the derelict thoughts

you left behind,

all the days you deserted, your past mistakes

all the moments of despair triggered

by your shortcomings, give them all to me,

give me your sorrows, the jokes you no longer

find funny, all the things you think

you have quelled, give them, give them to me,

the worries you tried to make light of, all the fallen,

broken dreams and the wild, failed ventures,

give them all to me,

give me also your crimes

documented with their entire premeditations.

i know, it wouldn’t be

the done thing if ý were

to hand out cheque exchange,

money is too coarse a unit

to measure the intricacies

of all these sustained plunders.

look, apart from my usual tricks

i can find other interesting ways of repayment.

when it comes to repayment i am a peerless expert.

for instance, what would you say

to a lecture at one of your club’s meetings?

a lecture: on the shining ideals of humanity.

or else i could arrange a raffle on your behalf.

with vertigos, nostalgias

and festering loves to be shared

by prize winners.

let a just bargain be struck

at long last!

again all your past offences

i have lined up all the crimes

i intend to commit.

no matter what i do

i’ll have to bear the brunt

of every impregnating, pestilent wind.

if still waters cry deep

let them run into me.

the forging strength of fire

and the wisdom of earth

shall not fail to restore

my sword to me.

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