Train to Crewe

An incident,

Here I stand, avenging the blows of catastrophe.

Generation after generation perished within this prison,  Repeating, believing it was déjà vu.

I, a black night howl, a rebellious spirit from the abyss of death,  Sprouted from the blood of choice.

With the touch of love in a forbidden zone,  And the experience of the deepest political kiss,  I freed myself from the shackles of symbols and saw the gap between your force and your law.

I wanted to ally with the children against their fathers,  But they sided with their fathers and brought me down.

A deep valley, instantly emptied of magic,  Became a fleeting height.


From sin, poetry, and the anthem of lust,  To the holy trinity of love, madness, and nakedness,  Your pull took me into an empty memory,  The wine of the whip and the sparks of doubt, the sweet last supper,  A bitter free frame,  Where I wanted to expose the rulers to the audience,  But the audience exposed me to the rulers,  Like the naked body before the officers’ bullet.

Naked, my thoughts, a howl from a monster,  In pursuit of truth,  I am merely a criminal Christ behind Judas’ kiss,  But without a hymn, death,  Stared into my lifeless eyes.


I killed all my commitments except thinking,  I couldn’t be bought; they sold me.

A path without a destination, full of taboos,  I learned from iron cells and embraces,  The border gap crushes the refugee.

Tell me, where is the border of freedom?

I am a thorn in the gap of politics,  Metaphors bear witness to the murder of dance,  I am evident in the heart of the poetic feast,  An experience more scandalous than death’s close call,  Unafraid of warnings,  I am not the watchdog of a dead gaze,  So I didn’t dwell on the narrow path,  Warm and audacious, I broke traditions,  So that the preacher would bleed.


The feel of soil, the wound of the blade, the tragedy, the bottom of the bottom,  Dance to the rhythm of darkness,  Comedy of discrimination, spit on the law,  I am outside every systematic process.

We are the blood of the streets, the scene of crime,  The border of the tremor of truth, the lie of hyenas and lions,  Meaning going to the bottom without support.

Try not to tame me.


I fell among the blind.

Blessings fell from the sky,  They filled you bundle by bundle.

This was a contract between earth and sky,  To organize chaos.

God died, security broke,  Left a more fearful group and the thought of war flames.

The next day they gathered and drew their grudge from poverty, starting endless work,  The era of two-legged tractors, plowing security and sowing ownership,  Profit, production, export, bundle by bundle and the whip of tyranny that blinded the faint hope,  And God’s light,  Bound to bars and a science that didn’t prove this defeat.


Kiss me, I am a wild biped,  Free from decor,  The thought of terror.


A gap between culture and molten nature,  And every duality of choice and compulsion,  Which became the opposite of choice.  You, surrender time to poetry,  So our kiss would reclaim every place.


Sway with your laugh,  In the name of the deprived, in the name of the heartbroken,  In the name of the prostitutes, in the name of the weary,  In the name of the handless, in the name of heroin,  In the name of addiction and wound,  The voice of terrorism,  The image of dandelions in the Middle East,  The red of news,  In the name of the bound hands and the dryness of danger on the thin skin of the earth,  And blood, and blood that went towards the Qibla and there’s no event other than the sword,  In the name of the broken chains and the back pain after every leap,  That like my chest, your body is a purposeless story.


In your name, who are bound thirsty in colonialism, tyranny, and oppression,  A thousand crosses, a thousand poems without weapons,  And the rejected who don’t accept nothingness, In fact, they die every day,  Yet In the end, they will come back to life.


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