LITERATURE IS MY MASTER

Literature is my Master and I am its slave.
I write books and poetry that my readers crave.
Literature was not my first love but now I feel,
It’s my friend and companion and a steady shield.

I write whatever and whenever I feel like it.
In light bulb moments or when I am fit.
I write in my dreams too if my brain cannot sleep.
Although Literature does not pay for my upkeep.

I write not for fame, award, fortune or money.
I write whatever my thoughts reveal to me.
So far, with my books and poetry many are pleased.
It’s easy to tell from book reviews I have received.
Copyright@Brenda Mohammed

I am a former Bank Manager from Trinidad and Tobago and I love poetry.
I have written 57 books of which 15 are poetry
THere is nothing unusual about me.
I love life and I love to travel with my family.

My beautiful country – Trinidad and Tobago is a peaceful country.
Set in the Caribbean Sea, here every creed and race finds an equal place.
I believe that peace begins with each of us.
Before peace can be achieved in the world, we must all realize that God is our Father.
If parents bring up their children in the correct way, we will live like brothers and sisters.
We must respect all humans as members of one family.

POETRY BOOKS BY BRENDA MOHAMMED
2019 – Strength for the Disheartened: Motivational Poems – a collection of poems to motivate and inspire.
2019 – Dreams of the Heart: A Poetry Collection –  a selection of a number of unique poems for romantic poetry lovers.
2020 – A Road Travelled: Poetry to Delight – the book features a wide range of inspirational poems on Love, Love’s woes, Travel, Happiness, and effects on life during lockdown at the time of CoVid 19.
2020 – Soothing Poetry in English and Spanish – The poems are didactic, fun to read, and full of hope and insight. Dr. Arabella Persaud, the author’s sister, who has a PHD in Spanish, translated the poems.
2020 – Sweet Medley: A Poetic Joy contains a medley of poems by Author Brenda Mohammed on varied subjects of life, love, and nature.
2021 – Just for You: Poetic Flowers – contains poems of love, childhood, and sundry thoughts, as well as Love poems.
2021 – Truth – Both poetry and prose within this book are about truth.
2021 – Teatime Poetry – A collection of different styles of poetry.
2021 – Treasured Memories – A collection of travel poems that will motivate readers to achieve more in life.
2021 – Islands in the Sun – Poetic verses about Trinidad and Tobago, the author’s homeland.

NO

1917

Postoji duga uspomena
na ljeto 1917. godine.

Uspomena na oči
koje znaju zatvarati vrata,
na zemlje bez imena,
i na mornare sahranjene
kao da su
okeani.

Postoji dugi trenutak,
sestre pijuckaju čaj, kradući zvijezde iz ljeta,
i onda drugi trenutak,
gdje iste te sestre
kidaju suknje
da izliječe rane
građanskog rata
i onda još jedan,
Uvijek postoji pendulum koji daje dah satu.

Postoje uspomene,
zamišljane u bojama i poeziji,
i zatim su tu druge
sa pejzažem iskrivljenog željeza
i duhovima mladića.

1917
Ova spomena će zauvijek ostati zapisana
ovako.

1917
Existe un largo recuerdo
del verano del 1917.

Un recuerdo de ojos
que saben cerrar puertas,
de tierras sin nombre,
y de marineros sepultados
como si fueran
océanos.

Existe un largo momento,
de hermanas tomando el té, robándole estrellas al verano
y luego otro momento,
donde las mismas hermanas
se rasgan las faldas
para curar heridas
de una Guerra Civil
y luego otra,
Siempre hay un péndulo dándole aliento al reloj.

Existen recuerdos,
pensados en colores y poesía,
y también están los otros
con paisaje de fierros retorcidos
y fantasmas de muchachos.

1917
Así quedará para siempre escrito
este recuerdo.

Soy Luis Alonso Cruz Alvarez. Nací en Lima, Perú en 1981. Me formé como Ingeniero Industrial y a la vez estuve en el Taller de Poesía de Renato Sandoval desde 1999 hasta el 2003.
La poesía me ha llevado a conocer distintos lugares entre festivales y ferias de libro como Cuba, Colombia, Chile, Bolivia, Alemania y España. Mis textos han sido traducidos al inglés, uzbeko, italiano y bengalí.
He sido semifinalista en el premio Internacional Paralelo Cero (Ecuador, 2020 y 2023), primer finalista del Premio Cope de Poesía (Perú, 2021) y Nominado para el Premio Nacional de Literatura de Poesía (Perú, 2019 y 2023)

El principal problema para la lograr una sociedad pacífica en Perú es el diálogo. Creo que la solución es justo lograr espacios para las personas donde podamos compartir y dialogar

Lumen (Lima, 2007)
Radio Futura (Lima,2008)
Osario de Criaturas Perplejas (México, 2014),
La Música del Hielo (2015)
Hombre Fractal (2018, mención para el premio Nacional de Poesía de Perú, 2019)
Jardín Mecánico (Lima, 2022).

YES

KAKO IZGRADITI KUĆU
Ima ljudi koji žale zbog nesavršenosti stvari.
Naprotiv, ja cijenim nedovršeno.
Važna je pukotina koja odlazi otvarajući
se na zidu dugih ljetnjih popodneva,
mrlja od vina na nedjeljnom stolnjaku,
mrlja na starim plahtama gdje su
ljubavnici gorjeli u jesenjim noćima.
Cijenim krhotine i ruševine, izgubljeno,
sve propale ali ne i izumrle projekte.
Možda zato što je moja duša sačinjena od zakrpa,
ili krhotina tanjira, šolja i čaša i zelene patine noževa,
viljuški i kašika koje su potonule u prah starog doma;
možda zato što sam sazdan od tog materijala
od kojeg su sačinjene želje za životom
i smrću i svi oni zaboravljeni snovi na portretima
starih ujni i svih predaka.
Pravim prognozu za one stare stvari koje
su izgubljene pale na pod tajnog braka,
obraćam pažnju na biser koji je pao na tavan sobe:
nikad pronađen, a ipak postoji i sjaji.
Možda me tu uočavanje nesavršenosti počinje
tjerati da počnem iznova, kao neko ko gradi
kuću uprkos svim vjetrovima.Translated to Montenegrin by Anđela Turukalo Dabetić ……………………………………………

COMO QUEM CONSTRÓI UMA CASA

Há pessoas que lamentam o imperfeito das coisas,
pelo contrário, eu dou valor ao inacabado.
Tem importância a fissura que se vai
abrindo na parede nas tardes longas de verão,
a mancha de vinho na toalha da mesa de um domingo,
a nódoa no lençol da cama de madeira antiga
onde os amantes arderam em noites de outono.
Dou valor aos escombros e às ruínas, ao perdido,
a todos os projetos malogrados, mas não extintos.
Talvez porque minha alma seja feita de remendos,
ou de cacos de pratos, e de taças, e de xícaras,
e do azinhavre das facas, dos garfos e colheres
que afundaram no barro primordial da casa antiga;
talvez porque eu seja feito dessa matéria
de que são feitos os desejos de vida e morte
e de todos os sonhos esquecidos nos retratos
das velhas tias e de todos os antepassados.
Faço o cômputo dessas velharias que se perderam
derrubadas no chão de um secreto casamento,
fico atento à pérola que caiu no desvão da sala:
nunca mais foi encontrada, e, no entanto, existe e brilha.
Talvez daí venha que ver o imperfeito me faça recomeçar,
como quem constrói uma casa contra todos os ventos.

I’m a doctor, now retired. I have been a poet and writer since I was young, and I have written more than 30 books, including poetry, short stories, novels and books for children. I am a translator, mainly from Italian and Spanish, having translated 9 books by Chilean Pablo Neruda. I write essays in newspapers and magazines and have received awards in my country and abroad, such as in Romania, Moldova, Italy. My texts have already been translated into more than 15 languages. But the most important thing of all is when a poem makes its home in someone else’s heart and resonates forever.
I am married to Virginia, I have three children and two granddaughters.

Peace in the world is the desire of most people. However, economic and geopolitical issues are powerful, and old politicians have no limits in sending young people to die for causes they know nothing about. Every war is an act of barbarism, and only education can improve our civilizational stage. And poetry can play an important role there, where the beauty and deep meaning of things through words can lead to unity and the maintenance of cordiality, friendship and peace between peoples. It’s not too much to dream when we dream together for a better world.

Poetry
1.Permanent Mining
2.The Condemned Cities
3. Love is geometry
Tales
4. The record-breaking athlete
5. Wild Lions of Tanganyika
6. The owl collector
Novels
1.The Kingdom of Macambira
2. Mel de Lechiguana’s fabulous journeyThese are some of the 30 books I have written.

YES

IZDANCI

I.
Jedan udah hladnog zraka
prodire u tišinu mog bića,
odjekujući u dugim otkucajima
uspomena davne prošlosti.

Osjećam, razmišljam, promišljam,
vjerujući da sam svjetlost koja ulazi
u dubine mojih pluća,
umornih od prolaznosti vremena.

Zrak se iscrpljuje u meni,
u infarktnim stanicama tvog odsustva,
žalosti pred praznim prozorom,
ugnjetavanim pred jednom mišlju.

Ovo je žalostan prikaz moje agonije,
gdje izgledam poput svijeće koja se gasi,
što odlazi sa sjenom prošlosti,
bježeći od pjesama tvog zaborava.

Otkrivam svaki potez, svaki list jeseni
koji pucketa u padu zvijezde,
proždirući strpljenje i povraćajući strahove
vezane uz manžetnu moje košulje.

I ne znam hoću li moći izdržati sljedeću zimu
sa snijegom u emocijama,
sa ledom na oštrici noža,
sa mojim suzama na jastuku.

II.

Otvoriti oči sljedećeg dana;
ponekad je izazov titana.
Bojim se pozvati te i ne dobiti odgovor
na izgubljene uzdahe među vrbama.

Tajanstvenom magijom, tvoja slika se gubi
među mojim prolivenim suzama,
otapajući šećer mojih osjećaja,
bivajući indigo ptica jutrom.

Moje patnje odjednom prestaju;
nada se rađa u meni.
Iz pijeska izranja druga slika
krunišući moje izdanke zorom.

Translated to Montenegrin by Anđela Turukalo Dabetić
……………………………………………

RETOÑOS
Jorge Antonio Encinas Cladera
(BOLIVIA)

I.
Una bocanada de aire frío
penetra en el silencio de mi esencia
que late en las dilatadas palpitaciones
de mis recuerdos de antaño.

Siento, pienso, medito
y creo ser una luz que ingresa
en los socavones de mis pulmones
cansados de tiempo.

Se me agota el aire
en las celdas infartadas de tu ausencia
que plañe a la ventana vacía,
que se angustia ante una quimera.

Este es el lúgubre cuadro de mi agonía
donde parezco una candela que se extingue,
que se marcha con la sombra del pasado,
que huye de los cantos de tu olvido.

Voy desnudando cada trazo, cada hoja de otoño
que cruje ante la caída del astro,
que se come a la paciencia y vomita temores
anudados a la manga de la camisa.

Y no sé si pueda soportar mi próximo invierno
con nieve en mis sentimientos,
con escarcha en el filo de mi navaja,
con mi llanto en la almohada.

II.

Abrir los ojos al siguiente día;
es, a veces, desafío de titanes.
Me da miedo llamarte y que no respondas
a mis suspiros perdidos en los sauces.

Con magia arcana tu imagen se diluye
entre mis lágrimas caídas
diluyendo el azúcar de mis sentires
de ser ave añil en la mañana.

Mi sufrir cesa de pronto;
renace en mí la esperanza.
De la arena surge otra imagen
coronando de aurora mis retoños.

I am a lawyer, but i am a teacher too. I enjoy to work in a Highschool and at a University. I am a dreamer. I am a writer, i play in the teather. I am a human

Narcotrafic and coruption. Teaching value,with poetry, can help to give a solution to my country Bolivia.

Blue Wolf, The sirens of the wind, cristal flowers, darks butterflys.

YES

POLOMLJENA ARKA, NIčIJI VRT

–Naša ljubav je drvo od papira –rekla je.

–Ne –rekao je–. Naša ljubav je list otrgnut od drveta koji se oko istog vrti, očajno, vučen vjetrom.

–Naša ljubav je drvo koje se ogleda u lokvi –rekla je.

–Ne –rekao je–. Naša ljubav je duplikacija lista u njegovoj sudbini, gledajući ga, drhti i podsjeća ga na svoj izvor.

–Naša ljubav je osušeni list spaljen suncem –rekla je.

–Ne –rekao je–. Naša ljubav je list proboden svjetlošću, ostvarujući se u svom padu ka vibrirajućem ležaju u potrazi za odmorom.

–Naša ljubav je crtež izbrisan sjenkom –rekla je.

–Ne –rekao je–. U sjeni drveta porijekla, naša ljubav je bijeli list potopljen u njegovim korijenima.

–Kad ljubav završi, riječi počinju –rekla je.

–Ne –rekao je–. Kad se riječi vrate, ljubav se utemeljuje.

Translated to Montenegrin by Anđela Turukalo Dabetić

……………………………………………

ARCA ROTA, JARDÍN DE NADIE

–Nuestro amor es un árbol de papel –dijo ella.

–No –dijo él–. Nuestro amor es la hoja desprendida del árbol girando a su alrededor desesperada arrastrada por el viento.

–Nuestro amor es el árbol reflejado en el charco –dijo ella.

–No –dijo él–. Nuestro amor es la duplicación de la hoja en su destino que la mira y tiembla y le recuerda su origen.

–Nuestro amor es una hoja seca quemada por el sol –dijo ella.

–No –dijo él–. Nuestro amor es la hoja atravesada por la luz consumándose en su caída hacia el vibrante lecho en busca de reposo.

–Nuestro amor es un dibujo borrado por la sombra –dijo ella.

–No –dijo él–. A la sombra del árbol del origen nuestro amor es una hoja blanca hundida en sus raíces.

–Cuando termina el amor comienzan las palabras –dijo ella.

–No –dijo él–. Cuando regresan las palabras se funda el amor.

I was born in the city of Mar del Plata (1971). I live in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I have a double life based on two passions: as a writer and as a scientific researcher, since I am PHD in Physics. As a scientific researcher, I work at the Institute of Astronomy and Space Physics, being my research specialized on atomic collisions. As a writer, I collaborates with literary magazines in the country and abroad. I have participated in several international poetry festivals and I have several awards: Honorable unique mention in the poetry contest from the Publisher Ruinas Circulares (2012) and general mentions in stories and poetry (2014); second prize in the poetry contest organized by the National Fund of Arts of Argentina (2019) for the book “Upside down sky (Metaphysics of “Teresa” image dreaming the South)” and the second prize in the national poetry contest organized by The Fund Victoria Ocampo for the book “Sister, garden, thorn” (2021).

One of the consequences of a low quality of education and the economical crisis is the advent of new fascist tendencies in my country. I think that more education should be implemented to help people to understand the importance of tolerance and the role of science and culture in the development of societies.

1. “The shape of water” (ed. Universidad de la Plata, 2010) (short stories)
2. “Seven ways to say sadness” (Lima, 2011) (poetry)
3. “Sisyphus in the North” (ed. Ruinas Circulares, Buenos Aires, 2012) (poetry)
4. “The house without shadow” (Buenos Aires, 2014) (poetry)
5. “The empty city” (ed. Trópico Sur, Uruguay, 2015) (poetry)
6. “The Machine of allegories” (ed. Buenos Aires Poetry, Buenos Aires, 2016) (poetry)
7. “From caos to intensity” (ed. Hijos de la lluvia, Juliaca-Buenos Aires, 2017) (compilator of this poetry anthology)
8. “Broken arc nobody garden” (ed. Valparaíso, Spain, 2018) (poetry)
9. “Upside down sky (Metaphysics of “Teresa” image dreaming the South)” (ed. La primera vértebra, Buenos Aires, 2020) (poetry)
10. “Sister, garden, thorn” (ed. Detodoslosmares, Córdoba, 2023) (poetry)
The poetry book “The house without shadow” was translated and published in the anthology “Experimental writing: Africa Vs Latin America” (ed Langaa Research and Publishing, Cameroon, 2017).

YES

HOLIDAYS ARE HARD WHEN YOU ARE AN IMMIGRANT

Holidays are hard when you are an immigrant!

Alone in foreign country,
Always reminded of your accent,
that you are not an American,
that you don’t belong,
that you need to go back where you came from.

Holidays are hard when you are an immigrant!

You live in the tiny studio, in the roughest parts of Brooklyn,
because your bank account do not permit you to live
where Americans don’t lock their doors and don’t have
the metal bars on their windows,
with their perfect, white, picket fences,
nannies, and country club memberships.

Holidays are hard when you’re an immigrant!

All the streetlights and Christmas decorations everywhere you go
don’t change the fact that you gave up your family
Slavas, Quinceanera’s, and Hanukkahs to have a better life,
because this Land of Dreams doesn’t take a day off!

But is it a better life?
All alone in one tiny studio in Brooklyn,
reminded everyday that you are different,
that you don’t belong, that you are an immigrant.

Holidays are hard when you are an immigrant!

What is the price of an American dream?
Tarator by your kind; always outsider here,
So, what do you do?

You just get up! Step up! Shut up! Fight up!
You just go to work, because holiday
is just another day to survive
in the “Land of free and home of the brave”.

I love to volunteer my time, One of the ways in which I love to give back to my community is through the work with college students at the Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society. I am an alumina representative for the entire state of Georgia. Helping students reach their academic and personal goals is something that I truly enjoy doing.

I am naturalized American, but my roots are Serbian. I am actively involved in our Serbian community here in Atlanta, Georgia. I have been part of our St. Peter and Paul Serbian Orthodox Church for the past 23 years. This year, I was chosen by our parish sisters to serve as President of Serbian Sisterhood Circle. This is one of the greatest honor to serve because this non-profit organizations was created in 1903 with a mission to respond to the great human suffering of their brethren living under foreign occupation. We help sick and people in need in our Serbian community, We organized various events and workshops to teach younger generations Serbian traditions and specially Serbian language. This year, in celebration of preserving the Serbian language and poetry, our perish published a beautiful poetry collection.

Poetry and literature connect people from all ethnic, racial, and religious backgrounds. The beauty of literature is that one can express feelings, thoughts, and ideas. It allows writer, or in this case a poet, to reflect on world around them and to express deepest feelings of love, passion, happiness, but also pain, agony, and despair. Today, America is facing one of the most challenging times in the history. Despite of constant efforts to bridge the gaps of inequalities, the majority of American people have a very negative opinions on oppressed groups, minorities, and immigrants. One way in which people can advocate for peace is through poetry. Writing pomes about oppression, advocating for minorities , or current issues in the world can all be seen through the eyes of empathy and compassion. Teaching people, specially young people, about empathy and compassion will allow them to better understand differences among people today. We as a collective, need to stop teaching kids to hate. I believe that all those terrible things that are happening in the world are the product of hate. Nobody is born to hate. Hate is something that you are taught how to do. Working with young people most of my life, allowed me to gain valuable input about their diverse cultures, ethnicities, religions, and they also taught me about love and importance of traditions. Through the stories of my students, I got to see their struggles and help them overcome anything. Being an immigrant is something that I can connect with my students. 90% of my students that I teach are immigrants. The poem I wrote for this round was for my students and myself, too. It was for all the immigrants that had to leave their homes and come to different country for a better life. Many came because they wanted peace. Many lived in horrific conditions with terrible governments. Many are still adjusting to this new way of life in America. Although, it is safe it is not always equal or supporting living in America. In my school, we have Poetry Club that gives our students a safe place to express their thoughts and feelings and speak about oppressive issues. They can write about governments, about race, inequalities in immigration laws, rights for certain groups..etc. The biggest reward for me is to hear their beautiful poems. Words are the most powerful weapon that one can use to change the world. I hope my students will change the world and bring peace, one poem at the time.

Miili Dueli, International Poetry Collection (2014)
Sa Verom u Hrista- Zbornik Poezije, poetry collection (2023)

YES

ZAVRŠILA SE NOĆ

Te noći si se plašila.
Mjesec nije izašao,
ali njegova zona energije željela je da se čuje.
Velika duša puna mačaka,
riba u njihovim ustima,
trulih, razjarenih boja,
vještica, magnetske magije,
ptica,
ukočenih ptica bikova,
digitalnih fotografija,
duhova koji se ponovo susrijeću na ulicama,
sati koji se gledaju,
i tvrdih voda u tebi.

Ta rijeka koja može da se udalji od tebe,
rijeka je koja se udaljava od rijeke.

Otišli smo da spavamo,
i mogao sam ponovo početi u tvom budnom krznu.
Ono gori, ono se udiše,
ako skočiš na ćebe s mirisima koji se smiju iz zemlje.
Voljela si sebe sa strahom.
Mjauci zvijezda,
tvoja putenost bješe toplina u zraku,
tama u kojoj se šire uzdasi,
rijeka temperatura.

Za mene, ti si bila ta noć.
Za tebe, ta noć je bila dovoljna.

Prestala si se bojati,
i sljedećeg jutra pozvala si da se igramo.
Iščetkala si se
da baciš svoje crne zvijezde na zemlju,
izbrišeš stvari napravljene kao noć.
Dlaka đavolje mačke
na mirnom životu.
Više života od dana,
življa od života.
Pročišćena jednostavnost.

Skvasila si svoju vodu vodom,
obrisala pjenu i stavila je kao osmijeh na moje lice.

Stavila si svoju ženku,
ono malo tebe, na moja prsa.
Više nego toplo:
tanak dah,
bez straha,
izlazi,
gotovo pokušavajući jesti,
usmjeravajući se na novo srce odraslog muškarca.

Translation to Montenegrin by Anđela Turukalo Dabetić
……………………………………………..

THE NIGHT ENDED

That night you were afraid.
The Moon didn’t come out,
but it’s zone of energy wanted to be heard.
A great soul full of cats,
fish in their mouths,
rotten, angry colors,
witches, magnetic magic,
birds,
the hardened birds of the bulls,
digital photos,
ghosts resuming encounters in the streets,
hours gazing at each other,
and those harsh waters within you.

That river that can distance itself from you,
the river that moves away from the river.

We went to sleep,
and I could start anew in your sleepless fur.
The one that burns, inhales,
if you jump onto the blankets with the aromas laughing in the earth.
You loved yourself with fear.
Mewing stars,
your essence was the warmth in the air,
darkness where moans spread,
a river of temperatures.

To me, you were that night.
For you, that night was enough.

You stopped being afraid of yourself,
and the next morning you invited me to play.
You raked
to throw your black stars to the ground,
blurring things made like the night.
Satanic cat hair
over a peaceful life.
More alive than the day,
more alive than life.
Clarified simplicity.

You moistened your water with water,
you wiped off the foam and placed it like a smile on my smile.

You positioned that female of yours,
that little you, on my chest.
More than warm:
a delicate breath,
without fear,
emerging,
almost trying to devour,
centering the new heart of an adult man.

Translation to English by Anđela Turukalo Dabetić
……………………………………………..

ACABÓ LA NOCHE

Esa noche tenías miedo.
No salió la Luna,
pero quería ser oída su zona de energía.
Gran alma llena de gatas,
peces en sus bocas,
colores podridos, coléricos,
brujas, magia magnética,
aves,
los pájaros endurecidos de los toros,
fotos digitales,
fantasmas reanudando fajes en las calles,
horas que se miran,
y esas aguas duras en tu interior.

Ese río que puede alejarse de ti,
el río que se aleja del río.

Fuimos a dormir,
y pude recomenzar en tu pelaje desvelado.
Ese que quema, se inhala
si saltas a las cobijas con los aromas que ríen en la tierra.
Te amabas con miedo.
Maullando estrellas,
tu coño era el calor en el aire,
oscuridad donde los gemidos se propagan,
un río de temperaturas.

Para mí, tú eras esa noche.
Para ti, esa noche fue suficiente.

Dejaste de tenerte miedo,
y a la mañana siguiente me invitaste a jugar.
Te rastrillaste
para tirar tus estrellas negras al suelo,
desdibujar las cosas hechas como noche.
Pelo de gata satánica
sobre una vida apacible.
Más vida que el día,
más viva que vida.
Clareada sencillez.

Mojaste tu agua con agua,
te limpiaste la espuma y la pusiste como una sonrisa en mi sonrisa.

Colocaste esa hembra tuya,
ese tú pequeño sobre mi pecho.
Más que tibia:
un aliento delgado,
sin miedo,
salido,
casi tratando de comer,
centrando el nuevo corazón de un hombre adulto.

I am anarcho-socialist by conversion, transtheist looking for a great piety, western taoist, mexican chilango italian in the history of my ancestors, historian thanks to the University of Mexico, stoic with toc, epicurean despite being otaku and gamer, bisexual as a virtue of nature. I am your brother, daughters and sons of the blessed Mother Chaos.

Soy anarco-socialista por conversión, transteísta en busca de una gran misericordia, taoísta occidental, mexicano chilango italiano en la historia de mis ancestros, historiador gracias a la Universidad de México, estoico con toc, epicúreo a pesar de ser otaku y gamer, bisexual como virtud de la naturaleza. Soy su hermano, hijas e hijos de la bendita Madre Caos.

Anarchism does not imply destroying the system and the state in favor of an insurgency of individuals. Nor is it an ideology or a doctrine. It is a conclusion, a phanic distance that implies faith in another power, the force that is not the force of the ego, knowing how to ask for help to help ourselves. A auto-government from the lucidity born of burning the self in its erotic yoke.
As María Zambrano said, poetry undoes injustice by undoing the violence of justice, the “Maya”, the limits that disappear the miracle of creation. For this very reason, poetry is not a discourse, a reflection of reality or a committed pamphlet. It cannot even naturalize the readers or talk about nature. It is nature itself, which is everything that is not always imagined, including imagination. It is the internal rebelliousness of this open space.

El anarquismo no implica destruir el sistema y el Estado en favor de una insurgencia de individuos. Tampoco es una ideología o una doctrina. Es una conclusión, una distancia fánica que implica fe en otro poder, la fuerza que no es la fuerza del ego, saber pedir ayuda para ayudarnos a nosotros mismos. Un autogobierno desde la lucidez que nace de quemar el yo en su yugo erótico.
Como decía María Zambrano, la poesía deshace la injusticia deshaciendo la violencia de la justicia, la “Maya”, los límites que hacen desaparecer el milagro de la creación. Por eso mismo, la poesía no es un discurso, un reflejo de la realidad o un panfleto comprometido. Ni siquiera puede naturalizar a los lectores o hablar de la naturaleza. Es la naturaleza misma, que es todo lo que no siempre se imagina, incluida la imaginación. Es la rebeldía interna de este espacio abierto.

El aroma del dardo o Poemas para un shunga de la fantasía, forewords by Concha García and Eusebio Ruvalcaba, Mexico, Ediciones Camelot, 2019.

El Ser creado o Ejercicios sobre mística y hedonismo, foreword by Mauricio Beuchot, Mexico, Editorial Plaza y Valdés, 2019.

Plays: El cuerpo del Sol o Diálogo para enamorar al Infierno, Mexico, Julián Carrillo UNAM theater and Un teatro, 2019. ADIÓS o La reencarnación de Prometeo, Mexico, Casa Azul theater, 2019. Los reyes del impulso o La fiesta del cuarto jinete del Apocalipsis, Mexico, Julián Carrillo UNAM theater, 2023. Reviews in the newspapers Reforma, La Jornada, El Universal and Sin Embargo.

Essays on literature, history and philosophy published in the electronic media Pijama Surf.

YES

ŽDRIJEBE

Kad je neko mlad, sanja
da jednog dana otvori štalu
i pošalje svoju najluđu ždrijebad u bijeg, da se izgube u ravnici.
Kad si mlad, sanja se
o slobodi trčanja,
poput ždrijebeta. Može se,
uvijek se može sve, bar jednom.
Ali sljedećeg dana spoznaš bijes oca.
Već označen kao nezahvalna zvijer,
spoznaš surovost svijeta.
Ne može se to učiniti bez znoja na obrvama.
Moraš se preznojiti kao konj da bi donio parče mesa na sto.
Siroče od kostiju,
mislio sam da sam divlje ždrijebe.
Sva su vrata zatvorena.
Eto kako je čovjek nespretan,
jer je to jedini konj koji još sanja.

Translated to Montenegrin by Anđela Turukalo Dabetić
……………………………………………

POTROS

Cuando uno es joven sueña
con abrir un día el establo
y echar a correr a sus potros más salvajes para que se pierdan en la planicie.
Cuando se es joven se sueña
con la libertad de correr,
como los potros. Uno puede,
uno siempre lo puede todo, al menos una vez.
Pero al día siguiente uno conoce la furia de un padre.
Marcado ya como una bestia ingrata
uno conoce la crueldad del mundo.
Sin el sudor de la frente no se puede.
Hay que sudar como un caballo para traer a la mesa un pedazo de carne.
Huérfano de huesos,
potro salvaje me creía yo.
Han sido cerradas todas las puertas.
Así de torpe es el hombre,
porque es el único caballo que todavía sueña.

Nacido en Cuba, en 1991, C. M. Gómez abandonó sus estudios de Medicina Veterinaria para estudiar Filología. Fue expulsado de la universidad por criticar el marxismo, pero le concedieron defender su tesis y se graduó. Vigilado por los agentes de la Seguridad del Estado sus textos permanecieron inéditos. Ha impartido conferencias y coloquios sobre poética y poesía en universidades y ferias del libro. Miembro de la Cátedra Honorífica “Desiderio Navarro” de la UNISS. Coordina el Encuentro Hispanoamericano de Escritores y edita para la Editorial Capiro. Su poesía ha sido recogida en antologías de Cuba, México, Chile, Ecuador, España, Argentina y Colombia. Sus poemas han sido adaptados al teatro y la fotografía, y vertidos al inglés, chino, serbio y sueco.

La carencia de recursos, una desigual distribución de la riqueza y los bajos salarios han frustrado el sueño de formar una familia. Los jóvenes ven la emigración como una vía para ayudar a la familia que dejaron atrás. La poesía tiene el poder de abrir los ojos, la belleza puede cambiar el mundo. El poeta es ese que guarda el secreto de la belleza de las palabras y como guardián que es debe decir siempre la verdad y defender la belleza de los enemigos de la belleza.

YES