I am like the peach blossom,
Loved by all,
Known by none.


Today you will not cry, dragon,
the rice has cried rivers for you.
As the grains count time, still as the water,
reflecting in the red,
I smile through the anger and pain,
carrying my scars with pride.
Today you will not fly, dragon,
stand ground, flower, rising from the mud,
yet the endless darkness
is faster than the sun.
Today don’t cry for your mother,
for you are a mother to her as well.


From the Vrbanja bridge,
all the way to the Hungarian border
through these crags, blood cuts it’s bed

leaving behind a bitter graft.


Pig heads
impaled by stakes couldn’t offend
the ones who have to pass through

Their home is ahead,
dust left behind, as they flee,
from the poisonous blood river

18th of May, 1992.

Four feet bravely pave the wade
between secrecy and testimony

Rattling of guns

Ten fingers intertwined
know everything about freedom

In a few moments
everyone will know the same,
but will not speak

Sarajevo-valley is echoing
The bridge is quiet


Your smile doesn’t shine
like it used to so you clench
your bloody lips
into the snow

cheeks of parched desire
The empty reach of
two slothful hands
is all that remains after us

Now I think the only blank
will remain in memory
The silver screen
of our symbiosis
doesn’t flicker anymore
and you hate me
don’t you?

Chipped down to the bone marrow
we’ve reached the point of
being unrecognizable anew
We stripped each other naked
of our flaws
only to put them back on
and it hasn’t helped
and it will not help to keep
coming back to the beginning
or leaving for the end

If you had been any stronger
my heart too could have been
petrified in this agonizing linger


Now I only wonder
what is keeping you here?
I am what I am
and everything I am not
I tried everything
to be the old version of me
leaving every verse free
of your absence

I tried everything
until I realized
all the casualties
of human intentions
and that you don’t even
see me inside

The blanks multiply
Only sometimes I wonder
If your mind once in riot
has too gone
more quiet?


You enter my room uninvited
so quiet, like rust
or oxygen
You enter my womb
and flounder
while I helplessly fly out the window
towards you
should we not exchange places
And so while you intrigue me
in the silk of your cobweb
you steal my thoughts and dreams
so easily
For the first time I think of love
But your flesh is not here
And it will be many years before
I tell you how much I hate
this platonic love of yours
However it will probably be
much too late
because you will inevitably
have yourself tatted
now a victim
and like a spider in a web
I watch you floundering
and by force




The glow you exude, my dear,
by simply sitting in your castle,
makes the whole world jealous.

I can hear your words in the wind,
but I have no codebook.

Are you there, God?
I can’t let go, I can’t!
But you’re not mine

Tell me, did she cut her hair?
Send me a wisp
I need it for witchery

You shine, my dear
yet the whole world still longs for you

These grey streets tell me
you still love me,
and the dry scent of vanilla starts spreading


Traffic lights wake me from dreams
I wish to give to someone new

I flinch!
If you deserve this poem, my dear
I’ll sing it to the wind


Years have flown by, lingering
It feels like all this time
I have been lying in the same sheets
while your hair covered me
although, you’ve never left your tower

neither on earth nor in heaven

You’ve gazed at many eyes
as if they were mine
but they all faded

I’m not yours
I’m not yours
But you don’t let go


Spider on the ceiling
Now some other thighs warm mine
Lights in the Boulevard go out
Another morning without you dear
But for a long time now
ur stare doesn’t hurt


No lights in the tower


Do you ever drink for the old times
as if I was by your side
on Tuesdays, at midnight?


I raise my glass but
it doesn’t weigh the same
I can’t let go
I can’t let go

A broken mirror lies somewhere
in Nikola Tesla Boulevard
or by the sea


Traffic lights now wince me from the dreams
I have no one to give to
Her thighs aren’t like yours


Spider on the ceiling
I buckle my belt
The black and white of the piano
smells of resin


I cut your hair out of my apartment
and washed your skin off my hands
and my mind

You didn’t even know
I left you to the grey
Freezing your imagination
and laid you down sleeping
on the stone slabs of your rising

I am keeping your flaws secret
Stay perfect to the world

Don’t let go
of the memory of a rare glance
This world couldn’t bare more


As I fly and I swallow the salty water around me,
I close my eyes to avoid the burning:
Babies jumping to the sky in rage,
Afrin river sinking into the red dust.
Blood is marching through my head hard,
to stifle the screams of childless mothers
overflowing the boats nearby. Thank god.
As dark clouds approach us in silence
to drop olives on our heads, I fly and swallow
my life, irrelevant and free, for death is heard
only after the dark clouds have fled.




*Dedicated to my Kurdish friend Hussein Habasch, whose family is suffering in the bombing of the city of Afrin, Syria.



You stole the apple from Adam‘s hand and
fled through a mist of arms.

Your hair is wild, it escapes me like time.
You stole the noise from my heart.

The silence is wild, even laughs at god.
I am standing here still, sinking in tempest.

Have you got any bites left, Salome?
Here, on the precipice, snow is yet falling.