A Walk to Gamla Uppsala

London is a miserable city for a miserable man
Splendid, roofs of chimneys,
Running through the streets, it is a long time ago
Just like a night ago, where I lived and breathed, and the wind blows
Speaking to my friends of life, I guess the time has passed

Flowers of life have blossomed, in their raining fields, brilliantly
So the language you use means less, it is more to whom you speak
Bad ones are miserably failing, but do you love them?
So the Europe, where are you heading to?

All those writers and thinkers who failed, but remember who kept their silence?
Shall we think about the children who are yet to born,
Crawling on the places where we meet
On the rainy field, where the sun shines only seldom
If the snow falls, this is the time we love

So then how shall we go?
Through the meadows and mountains, where wanderers and climbers breathe
The dream we dreamed, as Plato or anybody else
Is not just found before you, stretching your hands and there

Don’t compare me with these people, they are no poet
I am not fueling their words, I am erasing their words, cold water, ice cold
Who has words to give? Who has ears to take?

Guns are firing, bombs are thrown, all these sounds, the night falls
We sleep like the dead, in the dreams we see, we fly
Yes, you remember this National Gallery, flying pigeons gathering
Turning on the television, reading newspapers
Hurrying up, the train is leaving
The windows became mirrors, yes the night has fallen

The room is empty, all these empty seats, the pianist fell ill
Do you dare to play a song?
Imagine the world with no songs, just pure praise
Is this the place you want to go, when you are dead?

Reading books, in the streets of Germany and Paris
Remember this story, a poor guy who died in misery
Just ask your friend of your life, what she thinks
She will probably say; I pity him, er tut mir Leid

There will be a time, I heard, a time prospers
The destiny is written, and the ink is dried, a long ago
The king of night and day, our Lord, excels
Excelling over all, poor servants know nothing

I guess you don’t know, you are watched
Just as birds singing, watched, flying in the air
The clouds blown, lightnings fall
Just as in the streets of Uppsala
And in the streets of Bagdad

If you fail, it is a shame
So why don’t you stop for a while
In this while you can reflect
Whether you have done it right
What else you should be afraid of?

People spend their time and go
To the place of the dead
Where the nobles and the poor sleep
Who will be holding the victory, not ashamed?
In the streets trams are running, up and down the hills
Seagulls falling, floating, singing

Chasing, as a tiger runs after a gazelle
Who is on the side, on the side of humbles
For whom the bell rings
Is it you, or else your enemy?

Don’t think you are in control, if you are not
Don’t behave as you are rich, if you indeed are poor
Wish for a good end, and a beginning
Before it is too late

People are asking, chasing again as a tiger
You tell them, what literature is
It’s all about loving, loving others
If you can’t, you miserably fail

So the girl never heard of Dostoievsky
And said, if she ever should do
No, you don’t, I replied
Remember this market place under the cathedral?
Where the old books were sold, in French?

It’s Myshkin, the prince, and Hamlet
Do you love them, can you love them?
And it’s Tartuffe, and all the others
If it is calm, you speak what you know
If you know nothing, there is nothing you can speak

All my friends, before it’s too late
Who speaks and is not pretending
Who has learned with patience
Behaving, as one should be?

People die and are born
You may be the next, so am I
And yet, you won’t wish to die in agony
Learning everything you have done was lost
Meaningless, you are ashamed

For what reason, you have been to a concert hall?
Look at yourself, carefully
You wandered and were lost in pain

On the beach the water is cold
We found a creature we’ve never seen before
And we laughed and the wind blows
You run on the water, to the far
It was in May

Before us, there lies the Persian water
Where the ships come and go, from right and left
I’ve never been to Persia, you said
But I am from there

In the desert, the sky was high, covering us like a garment
Tea was cooked on the fire, waving
The call for a prayer was lifted, stars missing
You were once here, said my dear friend

Fire on the coals, blazing
Black and red, changing
The heat of the fire, reaching and vanishes
Do you remember this Russian film? — Dikobraz -

Do you see Rabi’a running, in the street of Basra?
Fire and water in her hands
Don’t pray out of hope or fear
Pray out of love, only
Is that what she has told?

Don’t be confused
No confusion is good, any good
Be clear and precise, if possible
Who is here, lying?
Who is the one, not telling the truth?

All of you who know everything
You know it is not true
You were not there
You did not see or hear
Who told you these stories?
Be clear and precise, if possible

All these disagreements
Scholars in aggression
Just accept who you are
Nothing is better than the truth, not?
Calm hearts and love, are not what we are all after?

Guitars are played, human voices heard
Be clear and precise, if possible
Don’t confuse anybody
Don’t tell your story, if you haven’t got one
People are like insects, jumping into the fire, I heard

Well, poets of confusion, they are here and there
As summer weeds return, they go and come
They challenge you, especially young and unexperienced ones
Telling you on the worlds that do not exist
Just know they don’t love you
Because they just can’t

Don’t follow them, or else you may be hurt
Just like you have been once hurt

Walking on the shiny streets
In the city of that cathedral
Haven’t I told you that I like this city?
Yes, this city of darkness
There was probably a war, a long ago
I grow old

Have you climbed this mountain?
What did you see, from the top?
People were generous, like flowers in spring
Like breeze in a summer night
So what is left to discuss?
I see nothing

Yet, voices are raised
Birds are shot, flowers cut
Children born, people left
And you dislike politics?
And you read Aristophanes?

Ask those actors and actresses
The great ones
who portrayed these characters
Fighting with anger, uncontrolled
These hard professions, truly hard

And all the conductors, the great ones
They are not Beethoven, nor Wagner
They are artists, poets, storytellers
Art of telling, their submissions

Yet, are there any stories left?
The past stories, and present stories?
No, no, no, please don’t
That time is over, yes, for-ever for me

And I go and look up the sky
You know, you should act
Don’t describe them, don’t portray them
Just try to help them, with your hands,
tongue, or your heart

What is your ambition?
What is your plan?
Remember, you should only live for God
Nothing else, should you care, never and none

Do you want to be a poet?
Do try, it is an important profession
But do not turn yourself a sorrow
Keep your silence, until you know your words

Do not confuse others
Do not produce in excess
If your words are heard and worked
Your job is done, forever, for that time

In Eden, I imagine there is no poetry
There should be no need
Just praise, simple and plain praise, only
There should be nothing you should fight against
Remember the great Abdul-Qadir Jilani?
Like a broken vessel, he said
Yes, you have to endure
Endure everything, sacrifice

I imagine the death is the same
We are dying, nearing to it, every seconds
So wouldn’t it be the same,
You must endure your death, sooner?

What can you carry with you?
None, except for what you have done
Good deeds and bads
So what have you done?

Do not start turing around
Do not belong to a sect of confinement
Do not betray your soul
And do not pretend you know a thing

It’s the same spring we drink
Even there were unknown poets
Not only the poets, but other greater ones
No, being poet is not the greatest deed

That cold well we drink
Nothing else, but clean completely
Deep to infinity, clear and calm
So we are all the same, you may just not know

Anything, I say, anything
You may do during your life-time
As long as you know what you do
Everything can be respected, everything possible

So do not start your first letter
It may be you who hold you back
You have visited Paris?
You went to Berlin?

All the cities destroyed, Poland
Who is the one to clean?
Clean the city, gather the bricks?
After the destructions?

All the bloods soaked
On the grounds of battles
Yes, you once stood on the hill of Constantinople
And heard the story of the Roman King?

Remember all the painters?
Great ones, like Michelangelo
All the Italians, worked in the land of piety
You hear the songs from Assisi?

So why do you paint?
Do not try to recreate
Yes, there may have been times
You could work as a painter
Yet, if you know the truth; why do you bother?
Things are the same
It’s true conservatism
Protecting the era once born
And exists to this day

Changing winds
Like waves in beaches
I see nothing
So many graveyards

And do not speak out
If you know nothing
Just wait until you know, until
You have, physically, the knowledge

That is the way you work as a poet
No illusion to this occupation
Just as cleaning the streets
A work should be done well and respected

(2022)

D.I.