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Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, October, 2020

Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, October, 2020 - ISSN 2458-0198 ISSN-L 2458-0198
Founded in Constanţa, June 2020
The magazine appears in Romania
editorial office
Founding President Lenuș Lungu
Director: Lenuș Lungu, Ioan Muntean
Deputy Director: Paul Rotaru
Technical Editor Ioan Muntean
Covers Ioan Muntean
Editor-in-Chief: Ion Cuzuioc
Deputy Editor: Stefano Capasso
Editorial Secretary: Anna Maria Sprzęczka
Editors: Vasile Vulpaşu, Anna Maria Sprzęczka, Pietro Napoli, Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim, Zoran Radosavljevic, Suzana Sojtari
Iwan Dartha, Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim, Destiny M O Chijioke, Nikola Orbach Özgenç

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Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, October, 2020

  1. 1. 2 authors ... p. 2 editorial ... p. 3 poetry ... p. 6 prose ... p. 33 essay ... p. 41 confabulation ... p. 44 2 authors ... p. 47
  2. 2. 2 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 2 Gabriela Mimi Boroianu Romania Autodafé Die Kerzen schmolzen und sie strömten auf meinen Körper von dir ausgezogen Und das Licht drang in mich bis Jenseits der Stille, und das phosphoreszierende Blut ging durch die Nacht wie ein Schrei vorbei... Jenseits des Lebensendes eine Seele sucht ihre Flügel; In meinen Wunden wachsen Feder... Warte auf mich an den Toren des Traums, damit wir zusammen fliegen. Arderi S-au topit lumânările și-au curs pe trupul meu despuiat de tine, Și m-a pătruns lumina până dincolo de tăceri, iar sângele fosforescent a trecut prin noapte ca un țipăt... Dincolo de marginea vieții un suflet își caută perechea de aripi; În rănile mele cresc pene... Așteptă-mă la porțile visului, să zburăm împreună. Vladanka Cvetković Serbia Hemija osećanja Nebo je boje limenog cinka. Moja osćanja nevoljna u obelodanjivanju svoje hemijske strukture. Uostalom, kako se mere osćanja? Epruvetom? Pipetom? Vagicom? Sreću nosih kao oreol, ali ljubav je bezbojna, nestalna tečnost. Naši povremeni pogledi nosili su mnoga značenja. Iskrice su sevale pržeći poslednje presne komade razuma. Tvoja emocija bila je jednostavno osećanje i nije tražila suvišno objašnjenje. Ja sam secirala osećanja. Sada tišina pada na nas iskreći srebrnastom srćom koja preti da nas povredi. Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198
  3. 3. 3 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 editorial 3-4 Paul Rotaru Romania Music and substance The concept of absolute silence is neither an utopia nor an ideal itself, but a way of abstractization of all our notions of sound. If you ask someone when was the last time they listened to the voice of the stars, you might be answered: either never or that voice doesnʼt exist. And yet, the voice of the stars does exist; we hear it whenever we search a channel on the radio and it is that mix of waves that sometimes disturbs us before reaching the desired channel. Earth has its voice, too; its very low sound vibration is indistinguishable to our ears and that is why we are unaware of it. Sound is one of the primary factors which influenced the settlement of the world and universe in the order we see nowadays; it determines the physicl, mental and behavioral development of all living beings; it organizes the internal and external structure of any matter, system and group. Pinching a guitar chord creates a vibration that we realize as being sound. The same way, humans have the ability to create sound by their biological constitution; more precisely, they have the capacity to create a unic sound vibration and that is called voice. The vocal print of any human – and animal – is unique, it has its own wavelenght and it canʼt be met anywhere else around. That being said, we can appreciate that two violins do not sound egually when tested with high precision devices. Man, guided by the need to understand the sound, established some frequency categories named ranges. The ranges are disposed by the vertical infinity rule and they relay their origin over and over in octaves. The becar, chromatic, harmonic or arpeggio progression of any sequence of notes is a tendency of returning to origin; it becomes valid and controllable only within the limits of this conventional interval. Nevertheless, as seven musical notes were enough to create the diversity of works of which we are aware, the return to origin on a higher plane of the sound vibration strives to an enlargement of its horizon. The flexibility of the matter leaves us with countless miracles at hand; it allows us the adjustment of all the things we use on infinite frequencies. When two musical instruments from different categories meet on the same wavelength, they form a chord. Several chords on different frequencies form harmony. The notion of absolute sound in terms of musical instruments is still a topic under discussion today. When we ask the violinist to reproduce the note Fa, we must also take into account the squeak resulting from rubbing the bow on the string, a sound that is or is not the same as the note Fa. Therefore, from the multitude of sounds that surround us, we choose only the one that is the object of our interest; but we never listen only to the note, but to the set of notes. At the same time, through repeated exercises, man became able to recognize the notes of sounds in nature without reproducing
  4. 4. 4 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 them on a musical instrument. For example, Rachmaninoff had fun saying to a visiting friend: ʼThe creaking of unconfined hinges is a succession of Mi, Sol and Si, meaning a Mi minor. You opened the door differently than yesterday's visitor, who only gave me dissonances!ʼ In the general chaos of all the sounds in the universe there is a stable whole, similar to the liquids in which the Brownian motion takes place indefinitely. As long as there is movement, there is also sound. One of the most common postulates in physics and chemistry is that, although nothing is lost but everything is transformed, any substance tends to a state with minimal energy and maximum disorder. From this, the sound vibration is a substance in itself, whose apogee is extinction. Let's keep in mind that any sound is consumed much later than the ear can perceive. So we are governed by sounds, accompanied by them beyond conscious boundaries. In addition to a prelude by Chopin, we hear the atmospheric movement, the urban noise, and only our interest in the main factor, the musical work, implies a harmonization of the psyche with nature, with the world and with the self. It is a psychic process similar to the one in which, when you look at a painting, you have the impression that at some point its frame has disappeared. So, through the exercise of attention and concentration, the original point becomes conscious uniqueness, and the whole becomes an unconscious secondary plane. You don't see it, you don't hear it, because your interest destroys the secondary plan, but it is there permanently and only the involuntary attention preserves it in order to complete the original setting. Through this exercise of attention and concentration, you have the opportunity to process any substance intellectually; as in telekinesis: the stone does not rise, nor does the spoon bend by itself, but the psyche rises and bends under the influence of its own flexibility! Thus, you have the illusion that the substance undergoes the transformations that you order, while it remains the same. Music therapy - or sound therapy - has existed since ancient times, as man has understood that sound vibration is one of the basic binders of all cells in a substance. The production of sound vibrations aims to reduce the intensity or even eliminate those already existing at the place of interest; in other words, it aims to restore an original harmony that the cells need in their structure. Even when we are silent, we make sounds by breathing, by heartbeat, by swallowing. Therefore, the concept of absolute silence is relatively even in a vacuum. There is an invasion pressure around any vacuum environment, just as a vacuum exerts a conservation or explosion pressure, which of course implies sound waves. We fool ourselves into believing that we separate ourselves from sounds when we are in soundproof rooms; the shell itself produces vibrations that drive away those from which we have moved away. Even statues have their vibrations, perceptible by specialized measuring devices, vibrations that are distinguished as follows: sound by moving electrons at the atomic level, physico-chemical by emitting radiation from the substance of which it is composed and by arranging the
  5. 5. 5 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 magnetic field that surrounds all elements existing in the environment. The masters of music understood the influence of sounds on matter better than we, their humble listeners. For example, Haydn composed works specifically for each newly invented musical instrument; Mozart held a glass of water on the piano, watching the liquid bubbles play as they formed into well- defined formations; Beethoven, during the period of deafness, "listened" to the vibrations of the piano with the help of a pencil fixed in the ear, the opposite end of which placed it close to the strings inside the box. The effect produced by sounds on matter is also called induced state. It is not the lullaby that calms and puts the child to sleep, but the mother's voice, which the baby perceives as a unique communication of all emotional states, through which he feels encouraged, protected, transformed. We all know that a sung word is longer than when it is spoken, which means that the pleasure of listening to songs is a need of the psyche to receive messages in a harmonious, organized form. In other words, a message sent in the La minor range will seem more lyrical, more elegiac, regardless of its content. Also, songs that start in Si flat major induce a state of pessimistic meditation through serious accents, even when the octave is played at an acute level. Songs beginning in Do major follow a primary harmonic alternation with Sol major and Fa major; but, if, instead of Fa major, we put Re minor or La minor, the vibrational structure organizes the context differently, allowing the multiplication of emotional states. Thus, the instrumental message may be different from the textual one, whether the performer intends it or not. There are opinions according to which, originally, music was instrumental, in order to invoke the beneficial forces of nature and to repel the evil ones. For example, primitive man struck a drum with a controlled frequency and intensity to attract game. A group of drummers could remove the tight clouds over the village. By this they understood a way of transmitting the message to the divinity, to the superhuman spiritual governor. But there are also opinions that music was born as a manifestation of their own pain. For example, the first sound a baby makes at birth is crying; we can recognize it, crying is a song of the pain that the baby endures when leaving the placenta, when it passes from passive breathing, through fluid, like aquatic beings, to the mechanical, pulmonary one. Few are aware of how much effort and pain the child endures to catch his first breath. And from here begins the great and only symphony of life; hence the deep sufferings are first sung, then verbalized. Just as dance is a form of manifestation of worship, communion with the environment and even sacred sexuality, so music is a form of manifestation of our consciousness and participation in the evolution of the whole. Through music, man understood to convey both the happiest and the darkest feelings. Through a succession of notes, the psyche notes the invisible and inherent evolution of the universe.
  6. 6. 6 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 poetry 5-24 Ion Cuzuioc Romania *** azil în flăcări – dintr-o odaie păpușa rostind mama *** pălăria tatei – în pânza paingului cuibul de molii *** vrăbii în scrânciob – datina strămoșească legănată de vânt *** roadele toamnei – luna și soarele pe rând în carul mare *** daruri de Crăciun – păianjenii țes pânze la orfelinat *** dor de moș Crăciun – din curtea orfelinatului plânset de păpuși *** picuri de lacrimi – copacul își petrece ultima frunză *** ninsoare în toi – vecinii de peste drum se bat cu pernele *** târgul de Crăciun – cu zdrențele în stradă sperietoarea *** Regina nopții – îmbrobodită după prima ninsoare *** pe amurgite – soarele spre orizont cu dealul în spate *** postul cel mare – cerșetorul și porumbeii din același colac *** copilul orfan – pe – o filă de hârtie desenând chipul mamei *** moștenire – ocrotită de – un paing icoana mamei
  7. 7. 7 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 *** pădure în flăcări – plânsul puiului de cuc înecat în fum *** lacul fără pește – paznicul de serviciu dus cu pluta *** pe prispa casei – un scaun și o cârjă doar amintire *** surpriza nopții – soțul de la cazino în frunza Evei *** vreme toridă – căruțașul dormind la umbra cailor *** de gardă la muzeu – lângă stative motanul torcând în voie *** pe ultimul drum – în urma sicriului florile călcate Poemele de sorginte niponă (Haiku, Senryu și Gogyohka) semnate de Ion Cuzuioc au fost traduse în limbile japoneză, engleză, franceză, rusă. S-a născut la 16 septembrie 1949 în familia intelectualilor Valentina şi Pavel Cuzuioc din comuna Ţareuca, judeţul Orhei, Republica Moldova. A absolvit Universitatea de Stat de Medicină şi Farmacie ,,N. Testemiţanu”. Eminent al Ocrotirii Sănătăţii. Medic specialist Sănătatea Publică şi Managementul Sanitar (categorie superioară). Distins cu Ordinul ,,Gloria Muncii”și Medalia „Nicolae Milescu Spătarul”, Titluri Onorifice: ,,Ambasador al Păcii (ONU) și „Ambasador al Culturii Păcii”(Asociația Europeană a Societății Civile) ; Distincţia ,,Coroana Păcii”(ONU); Premiul Uniunii Scriitorilor din Moldova (2000), (2009), Uniunii Ziariștilor Profesioniști din România (2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019), Premiul UNESCO şi numeroase premii şi menţiuni la Saloane Internaționale de Carte, Concursuri și Festivaluri Literare Naţionale şi Internaţionale. Cetăţean de Onoare al comunei Ţareuca, Rezina, Orhei. Membru al Uniunii Epigramiştilor, Uniunii Scriitorilor și Uniunii Ziariștilor Profesioniști din România. Membru al Uniunii Cineaştilor, Uniunii Umoriştilor, Uniunii Epigramiștilor, Uniunii Jurnaliştilor şi Uniunii Scriitorilor din Moldova. Membru al Asociației Naționale a Oamenilor de Creație din Moldova. Membru al Senatului Asociației Oamenilor de Știință, Cultură și Artă din Moldova. Membru al Confederaţiei Internaţionale a Cineaştilor, Membru al Federaţiei Internaţionale a Jurnaliştilor. Membru al Asociației Canadiene a Scriitorilor Români. Membru al Academiei Româno-Australiană. Membru al Academiei Națiunii Române. A editat peste 40 de cărţi de epigrame, aforisme, proză (romane, nuvele, poveşti şi povestiri pentru copii, schiţe umoristice), versuri lirice, poeme stil nipon, publicistică. În toţi aceşti ani publică cronici literare, eseuri, sfaturi medicale, articole ştiinţifico-populare. Selecţii din creaţia sa literară au fost incluse în peste 200 de antologii şi culegeri din România, Rusia, SUA, Austria, Australia, Franța, Canada, Coreea de Sud și Muntenegru, Macedonia etc.
  8. 8. 8 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Bozena Helena Mazur-Nowak Poland Scheherazade You are like the lost treasure, which I managed to find without a map, he said Your lips are like a mystery I want you to share with me, he added. If your eyes could talk, they would tell the story, to which I could listen forever and ever, let me, he begged. And just using the word he dressed me up in jewels. He became my confidant, and I am like Scheherazade, I am filling out our nights telling stories about love. Grandmother Maria In the evenings she loved to sit by the window in which stood proud geraniums, she chased longingly with sight after the clouds and she sang like no one ever after her. I used to sit silently at her feet and I listened to the longing in her poems. Grandma Maria taught me as the first one to listen only to my inner heart. She showed me also all shades of love, she taught to distinguish between smells, and told me, I should forgive, because life is a little more gracious then. Every summer I spent with my Grandma was so different and unique to me. I remember everything well to this day although she is forever gone. from the series "heart with Polish origin" Zbigniew Michalski Poland Audrey Hepburn kiedyznalazładlasiebie wymarzoną ścieżkę przez życie poczuła powiew szczęścia który wyniósł ją bardzo szybko pod niebiosa choć musiała porzucić złoty sen za gwałtownym zakrętem losu pośród plejady hollywoodzkich supergwiazd zabłysła pełnią swojego talentu nagradzana za profesjonalizm częściej niż utytułowane aktorki czarująca i dystyngowana obywatelka świata zapisała się wielkimi kreacjami na kartach historii kina do ostatka bawiła publiczność oraz wybrednych krytyków jakby nigdy jej nie zmęczył spacer po cienkiej linie sławy
  9. 9. 9 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Iwan Dartha Indonesia Inspiration From the beginning the roots shine Straight lines move sharply Shielded by membrane To establish many nice surfaces Paint the dimensions of spaces Color the stretched time The empty labyrinth for contemplation The stormy air also fills up with chronology Sincetimeimmemorialandfuture Morfem Monyet Konon suatu saat, monyet- monyet mendadak mampu membaca. Monyong menjulurkan matanya membelalak. Malah mencoba pula menulis mantera-mantera membeda. Meringis mengkernyit pada daun-daun kerontang yang ber-jatuh-an. Berlaga pintar menganalisa hubungan angin dan daun-daun. Membanggakan kronologi angin mengguncang pohon. Monyet satu berceloteh: "Ini rimba kita, bukan Kazan, tidak ada Baudoin. Kita juga mampu menciptakan linguistik struktural". Monyet-monyet itu saling bergumam cekikikan. Seekor dari mereka menclok di dahan tertinggi, berteriak: "Hai sobatku, ayolah kita menulis mantera morfem versi kita, pasti bisa menembus dunia". Seekor lainnya pun menjerit: "Benar kawanku, mari teriak sekeras petir, agar penghuni laut ikut mengobarkan angin gemuruh kerinduan pada kebenaran". Episode Psikiatrik limbung di sudut-sudut kelu kaki-tangan bertahan hidup bulu-bulu akal meregang mata-mata juling memicing mulut-mulut ngotot melotot mabok merampok hari esok oksidasi paradigma bergema ber-imaji pada ragam bait merekayasa logika kosa-kata beralibi mengukir makna baru melahirkan teriakan murka ketika lari ke sudut bangsa otak rusak enggan ozonisasi akal-akalmiringtakmerasagaring senyum retorika pamer kepalsuan komat-kamit sembur aroma beracun kaugila,menikmatibekalneraka kita melukis warna-warni pada kanvas ampas terhempas di bumi getarkan aneka dinamika meredam perbedaan berwibawa benih-benih berbuah bahana menyapa insan suka-duka sadarlah: kita pencipta damai penulis larik-larik melankolik pemuja sajak mantra multimatra pencinta pertiwi pusaka pilihan pemilik laut dan bumi belum beku gunung-gunung pun masih berjalan nyanyian ragam nusantara mengalun
  10. 10. 10 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Fresh flowers in a vase, next to the dried one precious flower since last summer, morning fogs and night frost, toothy sun, streets full of people, a house full of warmth, basket full of fruit - all echoes of painful silence. At night in my alley is darkness and desolation, only the puddles glitter like lamps. I'm listening droplets ratling jingling, Car brakes creaks ... Maybe, someone knoks at my door too. That's how it happens when it seem, like a naive child, you fall in love on the threshold of fifty-fifth. You open yourself like a book, show hopes, fears, worries ... You bloom like a rose in the fall, spread your arms wide not knowing that you are hugging north wind. With a heart in an extended hand, with dreams in the wounded soul, with the letters in the open book, with a tear in each petal say farewell, say goodbye! Wake up, grow up! No matter how painful it is to walk alone, don't come back in that summer any more! Aunque caiga la noche Y yo no pude llegar, Tal vez él viento El sólo me irá a contar. Sus caras lo dicen todo De mí tal vez hablarán, Mí suegra muy preocupada Porque no pude llegar. Seguro que mí señora A ella le explicará, Que yo ando buscando Un vino para tomar. No es que a ella le guste Sólo es para festejar, Que tengo una suegra bella Para mí no hay otra igual. Dicen que está preocupada Por el yerno que no está, No creo que esté diciendo Ojalá que no pueda llegar. Las suegras son un regalo Que uno tiene que cuidar, Pues le pasan los años Y le cuesta el caminar. Ella es joven y muy linda A su hija le fui a robar, Una tarde muy hermosa Que no me podré olvidar. Bueno las letras se hicieron largas Cuántas cosas le podría contar, Es mí suegra, mí perla hermosa Jamás la podría regalar. Jaja Selma Kopić Bosnia and Herzegovina The last beats of summer Fabian Historias Argentina Tranquilas nadie escucha
  11. 11. 11 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Adam Gwara Poland Błazna cień [A Jester’s Shadow] z przyzwyczajenia mrużąc oczy szedłem choć ciężko było iść a za plecami cień mój kroczył choć raczej wlókł się, aż tu myśl zmyśliła się że wrócić mogę w dzieciństwa czas w słoneczny dzień i cień wyskoczył mi pod nogi jak gdyby błazen wstąpił weń za każdym razem cień mój błazen za każdym razem błazna cień kiedy wyjść z domu się odważę dogania mnie przedrzeźnia mnie ja kroki trzy on kroki trzy przyśpieszam on się śpieszy i nie wiem już czy ze mnie drwi czy się z pomysłu cieszy ja w lewo krok on w lewo też ja zmieniam rytm on zmienia ja przez kałużę i on przez no zgrywus głupi szczeniak za każdym razem cień mój błazen za każdym razem błazna cień kiedy wyjść z domu się odważę dogania mnie przedrzeźnia mnie tak odprowadził mnie do drzwi gdzie objął mnie ramieniem poczułem się zmęczony i sam byłem cienia cieniem piwniczny chłód ogarnął mnie skórę przebiegły dreszcze i pomyślałem - jeszcze nie spróbuję przejść się jeszcze za każdym razem cień mój błazen za każdym razem błazna cień kiedy wyjść z domu się odważę dogania mnie przedrzeźnia mnie Good morning yesterday są takie puste herbaciarnie gdzie spotykają się po latach pomaturalni nierealni wagarowicze z końca świata można ich poznać po stolikach łączonych całkiem bez potrzeby bo może Hanka... może Michał... to niemożliwe żeby nie był... podobno Janek się posypał popatrz... a taki był sportowiec wierzyć się nie chce... pewnie grypa nocotypowiesz...cotypowiesz... Halinka wyszła za ministra... Marek w Australii...w Belgii Ewa... no popatrz... kto by to pomyślał... no co ty...kto by się spodziewał... kapią na obrus stearyną całują zimne filiżanki no popatrz...czas tak szybko minął jak tamten singiel Paula Anki pamiętasz jak pachniały drzewa? pamiętam tylko że nie przyszłaś czekałeś? kto by się spodziewał... do dzisiaj...kto by to pomyślał...
  12. 12. 12 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Maria Strzelec-Leszczyniecka Poland Magic Magią był dom wymarzony który budowała latami smak wiśni razem zrywanych kilka zasuszonych wspomnień głos cykad i trawy jedyny orzech laskowy schowany na wieczną pamiątkę w pudełku po złotych kolczykach i ślubnej obrączce które jej kiedyś podarował Omar Aburto México Escrito con estrellas Fulgente, sin dormir es mi sueño y dormido brota sugestivo, clarividente no intuitivo yo y mi yo de nuevo somos uno. En noche invernal de ensueño envíos en cielo cerúleo veo escritos con estrellas, lo entreveo, furtivo, c0n celo vidente leo En fulgor iluminado viajo levitando desde el inicio, fino cruzo, puro en el espacio en fúlgida luz fugaz yo vago. Sutil vibra mi alma, devoto, áureos mensajes que etéreos veo con polvo de estrellas en rocío “…fecha fija, desierto ignoto”. Sameer Goel India Poem let not the fall, ever crush thou be strong in the heart and the mind.. bounce back harder to soar new heights a stronger thou must incarnate.. never let the setbacks, set thou back for they deserve a stronger comeback.. pick up thine ashes, refill the fire rise like a phoenix, soaring new heights.. across the horizon, the sun awaits thou rise and shine, denouncing every setback.. Walls walls, once created to secure the faith those walls seemingly imprisoned humanity.. whence dividing brother from brother culminating compassion, this inhuman vanity.. suffocated breaths, humanity's last sigh a call so it makes, for revival of posterity.. wake up o' sleeping hearts, the time is high this division imparts, a host of insanity.. let love bloom, for there is only one religion compassion and brotherhood, the only solution.. let's break these shells, without a single word for now we want, One Nation: One World..
  13. 13. 13 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Bhagirath Choudhary India Ubuntu I am Because we are And my dear you Says Ubuntu ! I came All innocent Without past lament As a moon crescent I came With creative courage To light up earth Her days and nights With joy and mirth I came to share All the heavenly ware How could I ? Be happy When all others My sisters and brothers Treading hungry and sad Did I come ? To compete With others My sisters and brothers Denying them Without shame Mother Earth's ware Coveting their legitimate share Hadn't been Gifts unseen Bestowed and given Like benevolent bacteria hidden Energy ATM in my every body cell Where pious Mitochondria dwell As cosmic cooperation warriors Truly as cosmic goodness carriers. I am a cosmic cooperative I am a cosmic narrative Born of evolutionary hope and charity O, Ubuntu Let me discover anew my humanity. Lenuş Lungu Bhagirath Choudhary Bhagirath Choudhary is part of the category of people who look at life in an amalgam of colors, dreams, sounds, senses, but, above all, has the rare ability to share them through their language: rhymes, lyrics and figures of speech. The poet Bhagirath Choudhary says what he thinks. He is a painter who paints his vision of the world, and in his hands is the power. The sheet is the support, but its strongest weapon remains the word. He is the only one who can capture the oxymoron of life, the pain of a tear, the intensity of a smile, the love itself, he dresses worlds and dreams. His soul is like a violin. Once its strings are delicately touched, music is able to awaken emotions through a pure symphony, transform feelings into absolute knowledge and knowledge into feelings. But the fragility of the soul determines the possessor to dress it in a rhyming robe, a coat of verses capable of retaining silence and calming the tumult of the heart by sharing thoughts. Poetry represents the way to speak one's own truth, to escape from everyday life and the way in which readers soothe their souls by immunizing them to the decay of society. This is for the poet a bridge between reality seen as a contradictory mixture of happiness and pain and the sublime universes in which he finds refuge. He offers us a white sheet and a pen of a poet. It will shape our world because poetry is basically the protest of emotions, the art capable of offering the human eye the perfection of imperfect things, refuges in which peace and calm dominate. Bhagirath Choudhary is able to create worlds and universes!
  14. 14. 14 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Omar Aburto México Escrito con estrellas Fulgente, sin dormir es mi sueño y dormido brota sugestivo, clarividente no intuitivo yo y mi yo de nuevo somos uno. En noche invernal de ensueño envíos en cielo cerúleo veo escritos con estrellas, lo entreveo, furtivo, c0n celo vidente leo En fulgor iluminado viajo levitando desde el inicio, fino cruzo, puro en el espacio en fúlgida luz fugaz yo vago. Sutil vibra mi alma, devoto, áureos mensajes que etéreos veo con polvo de estrellas en rocío “…fecha fija, desierto ignoto”. Smart Oyedeji Nigeria The Chosen One.... Your garment and sparks of affection are enticing every bit of second under the influence of the rising sun The butterfly that dances on the blue surface of your shoulder will make the heart of men submit to thebeauty of your spirit Even from the dark side of nature, Men could sight the appearance of the summer sun that puts on the image of your peerless face, Bringing out a beauty like a sky cloaked with a plate of rainbow Spread your cloth of affection and ease the pain of thousands weeping to have a taste of your presence, For you're the only one capable of unleashing the sparksof joy amid the sobbing cloud Time and season have respect on your value The stars always align themselves in honour of your glory And you're the only angel known to ever feed on the amazing production of the spring Jupiter has enclosed you in the riches of nature Venus has organized your spirit in love and beauty And the marks of heaven upon your body has being a source of illumination for all You're the joy of the present and the future, You're the sweet-smelling rose, The wild honey of the spring You're the chosen one!
  15. 15. 15 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Antonia Rodríguez Ferreiro Spain Té Sentada delante de una taza de té, en una conocida cafetería, mirando al mundo con osadia, esperando encontrar mi fe. Enfrente, un viejo caballero está a leer, una revista de pornografía, levemente teniéndola escondida, entre las páginas del diario de ayer. Llegando está el tranvía, bajando una jóven mujer, acercándoselecomounaarpía. Sentándose frente a él, recibe el talón de regalía, hipnotizada por su poder! Graciela Beatriz Sovran Haro Argentina A mi esposo Por tantos malos negocios, por tanto impulso fallido, a la vejez he venido sin un pasar decoroso. Por tanto error cometido, por los caminos torcidos, hoy ya no gozo una casa que a mí me ha pertenecido. De tanto como tuvimos tú yo lo perdimos todo, y en la vejez busco el modo de continuar el camino. Pero hay algo que agradezco a tu consejo tan sabio: volver al verso de antaño con más fuerza que al comienzo. Porque a escribir me impulsaste, a esta sensación radiante, mas,los bienes materiales, por cierto,los expulsaste. Malos negocios reprocho, reprocho que no me oyeras, mas,en poesía vieras, este futuro que noto. En parte voy a la pena por lo que tú me quitaras, en parte el verso me hallara en una sabia faena. Y el verso a ti te lo debo porque a escribir me impulsaras.
  16. 16. 16 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Muhedin Mahilaj Albania Mysafirë jemi! Mysafir të gjithë jemi. Si sotē edhe dje. Pēr tē marr asgjë nuk kemi, Veç një grushtë dhe! Asgjë smarrim e as fitojmë, Pse i shtojmē qiellit re? Kemi ardhur dhe do shkojmē. Ç'ndodh kështu me ne! Vritet , vritet pafajesia, Vritet plaku dhe fëmia, Lahet në gjakē djalëria, Mëndje pse na le? Hiqni dorë nga marrëzia, Të vihet paqia - dashuria, Të forcohet vëllazēria. Aq mē tepēr sot! Sehir bënë njerëzia, Në udhëkryq diplomacia, Mëndë na i mori babëzia. Çpo ndodh sot në botë! Mos afroni ditën e gjykimit, Por atë të paqētimit, Para Zotit kur të dilni, Mos të derdhni lot! Mysafir të gjithë jemi, Dashurin të parë të kemi, Para Zotit kur të vemi. T'na jap mëshirë të plotë! Labud N. Lončar Montenegro Jedna žena sanja more Jaweed Ahmed India Monsoon Every year in mid June The wind comes in her mellow tune From the vast sea and large lagoon Over the dusky hills and sandy dune Swiftly and smoothly she was strewn I think you may hear her so soon Dancing under the midnight moon Monsoon playing the fiddle soon She is the kind nature's prettiest boon To revive the mother earth so soon Nadošlo zrelo grožđe I vri u dojkama U glavi more huči Znojna noć niz trbuh curi Dok sokovi mame leptirove. U glavi Galeb klikće Pjesmom nekazanom Doziva San i Kao magla misli obavija Dok daleki talasi Ime dozivaju. Miriše rana jesen i Postelju pod prozorom Sokovima topi — Jedna žena sanja more!
  17. 17. 17 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Anna Saracchi Italia Guardo il mare Quel mormorio del mare che ascolto seduta nella riva quando assorta mi rilasso, lontana da questa vita ingrata immersa tra il moto ondoso dove naufragano senza remi i miei pensieri, guardo uno spettacolo reale soltanto io e il mare il vento che scompiglia i miei capelli e un onda sale bagna sincera la mia pelle e poi va via, rimango ancora assorta quasi immersa dentro un sogno dove nascosta tra la sabbia resta ancora la mia infanzia, una fanciulla spensierata che inseguiva un aquilone colorato correndo sfidando il vento senza paura di cadere, sono qui ora e guardo il mare vedo il mio passato resto nel presente spero nel futuro ma poi non vedo niente, tra le onde perdo la mia rotta cerco ancora, mmersa tra la nebbia offuscata dalla foschia cerco una barca che mi porti via Slavka Bozovic Montenegro Whisper of rain... I love when the rain rustles, her whisper touches me, the storm disappears in the soul, that beautiful feeling hugs me. I love that game of romance, the restlessness in me calms down, the wind flips through the pictures, the stream of love from my heart springs. Then the wings of longing carry me, through the auras of loved ones, I float between the drops of memory, emotions sway on the eyelids. I'm fascinated by the magical whisper of the rain, fountains in the veins overflow, the soul turns into a violin, well, the charms of the symphony do not cease.
  18. 18. 18 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Bajram Bajro Neljković Bosnia And Herzegovina Zavičaj mi u grudima spava Da sam soko i da imam krila, Da se vinem nebu u visine. Da obiđem moj zavičaj mio, Lijepi Plav i rodno Gusinje. Da je meni da preletim samo, Rodna brda Gusinjske doline. Da posjetim mezar roditelja, I Izvore da me želja mine. Da pogledam na našu dolinu, Od Gusinja pruža se do Plava. Jer me srce samo tamo vuče, Rodno mjesto nema zaborava. Ja te sanjam i o tebi mislim, Nikada te nisam napustio. Otišo sam moralo se tako, Ali sam te u srcu ponio. Da sam soko i da imam krila, Svakog bi ti dana dolazio. Na izvore napio se vode, Ali paša što nam ostavio. Preletio Gusinjsku čaršiju, I mahale našeg lijepog Plava. Da me želja i merak moj mine, Zavičaj mi u grudima spava. Luciano Zampini Italy Anche la notte Il silenzio bruciò le sue carte nella mano, appenacalateeranogiàprossimeallafinedelgioco come uno stallo restava seduto all'angolo di un tormento appisolatotraifantiimpettitisimordevalelabbra. Se non ci fosse stato quel colpo di vento se non fossero cadute vorticosamente le attese se tutto fosse così dichiaratamente semplice il patibolo avrebbe cantato un'altra vittoria scontata. Opale, ora azzurro ora grigio perla l’idea… roteava insinuando la soluzione in quel budello di lamento mentre le perle si infilavano nella buca delle disobbedienze si riempiva la sacca delle certezze apparenti. Fu colpa dell'ultimo lampo ad accendere la scia alla vita mentre tutto moriva nella dimenticanza del tempo qualcuno trovava il coraggio di risorgere come Fenice si, anche la notte più desolante deve attraversare il deserto... Per giungere a mare aperto serve una paura da raccontare...
  19. 19. 19 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Tu şi eu O amintire și o lacrimă de sare Tu erai ramul verde pe care înverzeam, Mă legănai în nopțile pline cu stele, Acum mi-ești dor,suspin de când nu te mai am Și-mi bântui cu amintiri gândurile mele. Soarta mi te-a uscat și mi te-a frânt, Mă vestejesc nemaiavînd unde înflori, Ai devenit doar un tribut pentru pământ Și roua dimineților reci ce îl vor stropi. Tu erai ramul, eu mugurul bobocului de floare, Ce răspândea în preajmă-ți miros îmbătător, Acum mi-ești doar o amintire nemuritoare, Eu lacrimă de ceară topită de al tău dor. Tu erai seva mea ce în viață mă ținea, Din care sorbeam ferice și eram împlinită, Astăziînneputințăgustdoarsingurătateagrea, În tăcere m-ascund și zac nefericită. Tu erai esența vieții,prin tine trăiam, Respirai prin mine și cât de fericit erai, Ramul meu drag pe care eu înfloream, Acum port o cruce,tu ești un înger în rai. Totul în jurul meu e trist și mă doare, Din ramul pe care îți înfloream gingașă floare, Dintr-o poveste de dragoste arzătoare, Atâtamairămasoamintireșiolacrimădesare. znów słucham ciszy którą nagość szepcze podsłuchuję wersy co za sobą biegną wybieram obrazy tylko te najlepsze i kwiatów naręcza co przy mnie nie zwiędną dusza ma wzlatuje ponad mgły obłoki znów szczęścia uczucie wypełnia mą całość w palcach zaplątane ukochane loki w oczach najpiękniejsza wymarzona nagość delikatny uśmiech pysznej kokieterii zapach co prowadzi me zmysły w szaleństwo kocham cię kochanie – płynie z papeterii jakże cudne nocą uczuć człowieczeństwo wśród dłoni splecionych dwa kochane ciała deszcz wieczorny szepcze monolog miłosny noc już wszystkie gwiazdy na zawsze oddała dzień nowy się budzi o nagość zazdrosny nie otwieraj oczu powiek nie przecieraj nie odpędzaj stanu w którym tak jak w niebie z biciem serc płonących nigdy się nie spieraj tu bądźmy na zawsze zapatrzeni w siebie niech nas świat kołysze gdy czas się zatrzymał myśli niech się złożą znów w wiersz o miłości w grzechu jak najsłodszym będę dokazywał w twoim ciele moje teraz się rozgości wy teraz znikajcie w swoje prywatności szaleństwo miłosne też wam się należy uskrzydlajcie miłość w cudownej nagości wiara czyni cuda gdy się w to uwierzy Pysznych Myśli Słowa ELENA TUDOSĂ Romania Tu și eu Adam Żemojtel Poland Znów slucham
  20. 20. 20 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Oana Lupaşcu Romania Salta la luna Saltavo piena di gioia Nel mio vestitino a fiori Fatto di primavera Di vento e di allegri canti Quando ti ho incontrato Ma tu mi hai portato via Tra un salto e l'altro Da sotto ai piedi l'allegria Siamo diversi è chiaro Mentre io ho scelto Le gioie dei miei giorni Molto prima di provarle Per condividerle con te Pensavo che l'allegria Fosse contagiosa Ma mi sbagliavo Tu hai scelto come sempre Essere noioso ed egoista Il solito te stesso E ti ritrovi con solo la tristezza Hai commesso Il peggiore peccato Hai vissuto senza gioia Nella tua veste triste Grigia, stretta e corta Senza renderti conto Della mia passione Che volevo regalare a te Non hai capito Preso solo da te stesso Che ti offrivo l'ultima tua occasione Di essere felice E l'hai sprecata Ma io, anche se sono caduta Dalla mia nuvola rosa Sono sicura che da sola Cantando come di prima La mia gioia di vivere Mi rialzerò Ancora viva Avrei voluto essere rossa, ma tutti mi prendono in giro, dicendo che sono un vampiro. Vorrei scavarmi una fossa, tutti quegli occhi mi danno il capogiro, e mi ritrovo a fare la finta bionda, anche se mi sento ancora presa in giro. Invidia, odio, rancore, per essere una bella giovane oziosa, così scostante, insopportabilmente odiosa, come l'esistenza piena di dolore. Avrei voluto non essere stata così innocente, così pura. Esser rimasta a casa, senza fare niente. Senza capire che la superbia non è la mia cura, e nemmeno desiderare che il mondo, là fuori, sparisca. E nel mio profondo, sopravvivo, con un demone incatenato affamato di sangue, interiora e cioccolato. Posso essere la tua immaginazione così reale, il miraggio perfetto che puoi toccare.
  21. 21. 21 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Avere il mio corpo ed essere divorato, abbracciarmi forte e finire strangolato. Sì, desideravo essere la reginetta del ballo, la bella principessa, salvata dall'uomo sul cavallo, ma col coraggio di una leonessa. Non volevo diventare grande, adolescente, non volevo arrivare a certe risposte, di certe domande, a bruciare una Bibbia per poi togliermi la vita così miseramente. Gli anni bruciati e la vita buttata, bugie così belle, la verità malata, finendo per guardare le stelle, tremendamente addolorata, e il giorno in cui son morta, ho solo scoperto, che in realtà ero risorta. Vorrei esser rimasta una vergine pura, con gli occhi innocenti come il cielo, ma son una peripatetica dell'ultimo secolo, con la pelle fredda e l'anima in gelo. Bere fino a toccare la luna, fumare con una grande voglia di uccidere, affamata di sangue, interiora e cioccolato, e con troppi peccati da redimere. Avrei non aver mai baciato, tradito, abbandonato, chi con me è stato solo narcisista, freddo, egoista. Vorrei aver solo amato, anche a chi mi faceva solo male, vorrei non aver mai baciato, anche chi mi voleva davvero amare. Vorrei non essermi mai incantata allo specchio, guardandomi un'ultima volta, scrutando quell'animo così consumato e vecchio, ripetendo che morirò sola, che la vita non ha avuto senso, ripercorrendo gli orribili giorni passati, e sentendo l'Immenso, sussurrarmi, perchè son stati così crudeli, i miei anni tanto amati? Sì, desideravo essere la regina della scuola, la ragazza stupenda, che ti punta contro una pistola, e ti fa fare una fine orrenda. Non volevo diventare così vendicativa, così crudele e assente, non volevo arrivare ad uccidere chi mente, pur di trovare la mia verità così cattiva. Non volevo arrivare a bruciare una Bibbia per poi vivere una vita eretica combattente. Gli anni buttati e la vita bruciata, l'anima disperata, la mente suicida, le dolci menzogne e la realtà cattiva, finendo per guardare le montagne, fra grida, morte e follia omicida, son morta, per scoprire solo che ero ancora viva. Il Diario dell'ultimo Nichilista
  22. 22. 22 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 destiny m o chijioke Nigeria Pillars of nation Falling of the mighty city When the ears is dumb How can the wise speak When the odd is in the Favor of the fool how can Nation produce men of Understanding. Cracking through the basement Of the interior and exterior motive of the heart and mind of men. It hard to kick against the pricks Curse have render upon us Because the heart is perpetrated with evil The mind thinks more and not attains nothing. What message do we preach" Who has taken advantage of our foolishness against us? Who has robbed us? Who has done these evil against us? Old men of the ancient Knew beneath the surface They got hold of the Pillars through strength and courage, They chase away fear and brought Peace to the land, the land rested. But who are these fluttering sparrows That has stolen national treasure. Men wake up. The house is fallen The pillars one have being Taking, replace with lies Providing us with mere riches But the secret that hold the riches Is taking away and turning to lies. Give us our nation. We need to restore back our nation! We need to chase away the pot belle We need to drive out godfatherism We need to practice democracy We need a brand new country Without spot or wrinkles. we need undefied nation with Great goal and plan for the upcoming generation. We need a nation of truth and blessing We need a nation of heart and mind. Not a nation of lies and curse Not a nation that is filled with emotional concoction and little mind thinkers. We need heart filled and mind filled.. Give me back my nation.
  23. 23. 23 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Daniela Vîlceanu Romania Dilematic Spune-mi dacă mă primești într-un vis în care te plictisești? Spune-mi dacă aș face cu Luna prinsoare, Ai fi dispus să mă găzduiești în visele tale? Dacă aș toarce fir de dor dintr-un nor aș putea bandaja iubirile care dor? Dacă prin perdeaua de gene mi- ar pătrunde praf de stele, Mi-ai șterge lacrimile cu o batistă din flori de albăstrele? Dac-aș obosi și n-aș putea să mă ridic, Mi-ai putea căra iubirea până la margine de infinit? Dacă ar răsări flori din talpa mea, umblând, Mi le-ai uda cu lacrimile ochiului tău stâng? Dacă ar fi curcubeul cerului numai al tău, L-ai putea risipi să scrii în rogvaiv numele meu? Ți-ai dedica o noapte, de mai, să faci un pat din petale de maci Să-mi demonstrezi în răsărit că nu suntem de dragoste săraci? M-ai îmbăta cu vin de trandafir și boabă stafidită Să mă ataci șoptindu-mi versuri o noapte sau o mie o sută? Să-ți cad pe brațe fluturând batista albă, istovită, Cuceritorule, erou, felicitări, pentru a ta izbândă! Răspunde-mi sincer, mă iubești? Sau îmi văd de nimicurile mele lumești? Giovanbattista Fetta Italy – Libri imperdibili – Libri imperdibili (ma irreperibili) : – Guarda come dondolo! Da "Gli impiccati" di Villon a "Come tirare le cuoia senza paura: la canzone del boia". La pena di morte in letteratura. –In principio era il (cruci)verbo e dio lo risolse in sette giorni creando il mondo: l'origine mistica della Settimana Enigmistica. – Storia finalmente svelata di Gesù, il primo cosmonauta, che giunto sulla terra dallo spazio fu perseguitato come alieno, e per sfuggire allo strazio ripartì per il cielo in un battibaleno sulla "crux", un razzo-motore ad autopropulsione di sua esclusiva invenzione.
  24. 24. 24 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Lina Alfieri Italy „”Andate anche voi nella vigna” „Andate anche voi nella vigna; quello che è giusto ve lo darò”. Il proprietario terriero esce all'alba, in cerca di braccianti e li cerca fino a che c'è luce. Da a loro tutti la stessa paga, non toglie nulla a primi... aggiunge agli altri. Non è ingiusto, ma generoso. L'uomo prima del mercato, la dignità prima delle ore ... avvolge di carità la giustizia e la profuma. Lui dona,che non sa fare di conto, ma sa saziarci di sorprese. Nessun vantaggio, allora, a essere operai della prima ora? Un vanto c'è, umile e potente, ''aver reso più bella la vigna della storia." ''Verrai a cercarmi ancora, anche se si sarà fatto molto tardi?'' La vigna è il campo più amato, quello in cui l'agricoltore investe lavoro e passione, fatica e poesia. Senza poesia anche il sorso di vino è sterile. Antoinette DiGiorgio Corbell Italy Steam In the heat of the humid night Sanity can become obscured All I feel is the hot perspiration Clinging to every inch Of this burning body My mind is muddled fog Yet each pore is aware of the heat Exuding from them I think about the edginess Of the quiet darkness Not a breeze is blowing This stillness makes me gag There I am waiting For this ardor to be doused Ahhh, at last the caress of his touch A fresh gust of cool breeze Sending thrills throughout My impassioned form Releasing steam
  25. 25. 25 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Gianfranco Aurilio Italy Così è il tuo amore Lontano quel soffio di sole sui miei occhi erranti nella luce del giorno di un mattino d’estate, eppure così vicino che sembra nato intorno a me. Così è il tuo amore che adesso fugge per mai più ritornare. Lo conserverò tra i tramonti del cuore. Giusy Criscuolo Padovan Italy Or che ti domani Or che ti domandi, cosa c'è d'umano l'uomo, senza ascoltar avvinghia, l'aura funesta del tormentato stuolo. Ordunque, Villani fummo, quand'anche rigettammo, ma a capo chino o peggio, lindi impettiti e sordi, vagammo pel contorto labirinto del peggior vanto: sorpresi e stolti, accettammo. Gemei, gememmo ciechi, d'ignobil nulla. Anna Maria Strzelec-Leszczyniecka Poland [Magic] [Untitled***] Magią był dom wymarzony który budowała latami smak wiśni razem zrywanych kilka zasuszonych wspomnień głos cykad i trawy jedyny orzech laskowy schowany na wieczną pamiątkę w pudełku po złotych kolczykach i ślubnej obrączce które jej kiedyś podarował Mariana Rogoz Stratulat Romania Departe de tine... Lacrimi se-ascund sub pleoape și liniștea mă doare. Îmbrățișez o stea, un dor din lumânare, mi-agăț suspinu-n noapte cu miez dulce de floare, zâmbesc îndrăgostită la anii ce-au trecut, la iarba ofilită sub pasul moale și tăcut. Ating ceașca de ceai, mai sorb un abur oblic și-nchid iar amintirea copilului în ornic. Mi-e dor de Tine, Mamă, de vocea ta - poem albastru -, de-mbrățișarea, ce-o aștept și azi, de pasăre măiastră.
  26. 26. 26 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Zbigniew Michalski Poland Audrey Hepburn kiedy znalazła dla siebie wymarzoną ścieżkę przez życie poczuła powiew szczęścia który wyniósł ją bardzo szybko pod niebiosa choć musiała porzucić złoty sen za gwałtownym zakrętem losu pośród plejady hollywoodzkich supergwiazd zabłysła pełnią swojego talentu nagradzana za profesjonalizm częściej niż utytułowane aktorki czarująca i dystyngowana obywatelka świata zapisała się wielkimi kreacjami na kartach historii kina do ostatka bawiła publiczność oraz wybrednych krytyków jakby nigdy jej nie zmęczył spacer po cienkiej linie sławy Bozena helena Mazur-Nowak Poland The bird' hearts Don't scare my birds away, please, they are so tired after the long trip. They perched on the apple tree, and will surely be sleeping there tonight. Let them dream about the dreamland, so far distant and so wonderful, where life flows very slowly, and there is no violence at all. Where the forests are still virgin and blue lagoons up to the sky. The sea of grass to the line of the horizon. Are there such places yet on the Earth? They are definitely in the birds' hearts, and they are in our deepest dreams, the reality is cruel and won't change, as the men kill the surrounding world each day. Tanu Vermani Kapoor UnitedArab Emirates Entwined Incessantly entangled... in untwisting and untwining.. Recalcitrant knots of memories are conniving. Unravels scars, solemnly I sigh, To vulnerable stance ... and destiny I comply. Agony will cease... all enmeshed will be sort; I’ll cherish for now, whatever I’ve got. As stars.....we are born... ... we sparkle and die. It’s doomed from beginning, ... no reason to cry!! To heart these musings... ... are of solace.. Implausible desires lay sedated.... .... undeviated at one place!!
  27. 27. 27 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Zehra Bajić Alić Bosnia And Herzegovina Ti i on Nemaš ti tu ludost iza uha koja bi nakapala mi se na jezik on i kada ćuti govori mi slatke riječi u tvojim očima su tame i blijesak nedorečenog ja u njegovim mijesim nebo i bistro jezero . Ti nikada nećeš biti on on i kada me lomi puše u rane uzme me za prste i stisne ih jako miriše kosu uđe u trbuh čežnji i ode jer zna da ga čekam. Nemaš ti usne kao on koje bi ja ugrzla željnim zubima i osjetila toplu krv u kojoj crvena zrnca piju ona bijela ti si samo zapetljan vjetar koji ne zna gdje i kamo da duva. Ja i neću da budeš ti on jer on je moja ljubav moja kaplja sunca u zoru on je moja koža naborana oko struka i osmjeh iza kog je tuga. Nećeš ti nikada biti on ne dam ma pusti to ni jedan od vas dva za dušu me ujest neće ni neko treći , peti al on ostavio je trag i uvjek se vraća na svoje mjesto. Bello Ayuba Nigeria I can't marry a poetess How can I seduce you? While stars abet you to consume rays In lines sparkling words on papers How can I seduce you ? While I only grope hays That impregnate rhythms Incite pen to bear rhymes Instead soaking her nipples but end in pen's nipple A poetess is a goddess That: Spurts your faith to frolic Spurs your pain to prey Spurns your stick to seduce or grope grace I can't marry a poetess With no doubt my chest 'll be her slates My feet 'll turn to hooves She bathes me in inks And dresses in bookshelves With no doubt I'll be vagrant.
  28. 28. 28 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Joanna Svensson Sweden A new life Years ago, when summer Was about to end I felt so intensely and strongly That the time was getting near The time I had awaited For oh, so many days The time that bore The fruit of love I felt so blessed and healed By everything around The sun flowers of days Of days of late summer Whispered every morning That it will be a be a beautiful Beautiful late summer's day The day that the new life arrives Shy little dragonflies Of that late summers day Were dancing pirouettes On the glassy surface Of the tiny little brook Even Uncle September With his hat with the widest brim Often came to visit Sitting on the bench In our shady little garden Making notes on invisible paper Written in invisible ink Telling that a miracle Was about to take place Early in the morning On that last summer's day All was prepared For the miracle to take place A New life was to begin With no predicted time This was about to be A great big harvest fiest Everything was prepared All in perfect time The Apple-trees of utmost splendor Had offered their sunriped fruit The Dog-Rose bush Came all dressed up In a dark green coat All emerald and juicy Shaped by fullgrown verdure With ornaments of coralred pearls The sun flowers had decided To stand guard at the garden gates I saw them there already On the night before at sunset Confering with each other Trimning their splendid, colorful clothes
  29. 29. 29 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 I just knew that it would be Such a very special day When the life I bore inside of me The first of two blessed lives Was about to enter To be welcomed into this world I prayed and I felt the blessing Sweep me in its veil so soft Sweep me in its gentle bossom And kiss me with prosperity I sensed myself Standing on a meadow Filled with moisty Morning dew Reaching hands in the air Towards heaven - praying that It would all Turn out well Then I saw A glade in heaven I saw it slowly Open up A Guardian angel Was coming down to me Saying it would walk beside The newborn child for ever more Years ago that magic summer When the summer was about to end Yes, on that very last day of summer Praise the Lord for a life so blessed That's when my first born son was born! George Ioniţă Romania Ploaie despărţită-n două cu ce-am putea să stingem focul ce ne arde-n trup uscate buze sărutul iar s-adape şi mâna ta în mâna mea un legământ - de mai încape... voi curge peste tine-ntr-un potop de doruri ude inundă-mă şi tu în val de rouă să răcorim aceaste clipe prea arzânde cu stropi de ploaie despărţită- n două... Elena Spătaru Romania Când vara zâmbește Te vreau pe șes precum grâul ales, să gustăm amorul cu chip de fluturași aleși, să rătăcim prin univers deschis în glasul tău de vis să rămân un crin special, când vara zâmbește veselă în noapte, un dans feeric deasupra noastră.
  30. 30. 30 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Paul Rotaru Romania Misery I’m slipping like the water in the sewers Towards the cradle of a muddy sea. No gathering of some compliant viewers, But only hopes and only misery. My goddess always swears a candid loving – Sometimes I know she cheats, sometimes I don’t. I thirstly kiss her hair in the morning – She doesn’t feel! I know she always won’t… Perhaps I am indifferent to her passion, Perhaps I never understand her lust. Oh, tell me Lord, how should I pass this session Or how, at least, I’d clean my eyes of dust. She only cheats the manhood with her beauty, The mistress in a land of criminals. My poem is the feeling of a naughty Who sucks the blood of pacifying gulls. Forgive me, Sun, for these unchained illusions; Forgive me, Moon, for my dispair in night. I’ll never have the strenght to fight confusions, I shan’t be able to defeat the right. That’s what I am: a slave into the doubtness, The ultimate of demons to defeat. My misery is keeping me in darkness As rivers bring their garbage just to eat. She’s just a dream who promisses the heaven To all she kills! I know she always does. No blood, no soul, no worries – they just happen To die before the world would give its fuzz! I know, because we live the same old story, With cheated humans, guilty for their love. Tomorrow tells me not to have a worry, As haven never lies in skies above. I shan’t be laughing! That means no deliver Of what could be just a satanic joke. Oh, Buddha, let me sink into the river And just revive through my consuming fog. I would forget the misery of hoping If only I had less of poetry. I would defy eternal sins of loving If only I’d never tasted misery! Forgive me, Love! I can’t be fool pretending Of never hearing shewolves cry their lust. By God! By Satan! I shall be defending My only treasure: poems in the dust! So please, my darling goddess, don’t remember A drop of tear flowing from my eyes! I hope you would be safe until november, Unless you change the number Satan dials! You might be safer without all my poems, You might be happier after I die. My grave will swallow every reminiscence To keep you strong in hope you’ll learn to fly. Beloving memories would fade in sewers As rats let poison to revive their blood. Don’t be afraid, my goddess, only rumours Are prophecies of the eternal flood! Keep loving everything that nature offers, Keep breathing all the air for your heart. Before you realize that Satan covers Your immortality, I’ll be apart! So don’t pretend that you regret this moment Of sudden leaving Eden in the sky. Your mouth of Sun will breath the air of covenant Until consuming wishes that I die. And free, forgeting all my once existence You would be happy lying other fool. By getting older, you will make the difference Between a cheaper world and other doom. At least you’re just a shewolf, precious goddess; You’ll be remembered as iconic star And all the misery I felt in darkness Will flow into the poem that you are!
  31. 31. 31 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 Odujebe Oluwole Nigeria Sunrise hope It was a bright sunrise At time so nebulous The sun in it's guise Do reveal the fabulous! The shore's miracle On the morning sands Sprouts to the pinacle On the vast sea bands! A Sunday, so radiant Ambience so serene The breeze so brilliant A wonder filled scene! Here love did prevail Nature's sweet scent Too, profusely avail In hope, magnificent! Suresh Chandra Sarangi India Who is wife ? A wife is half of the man, transcend. In value far all other friends. She every earthly blessing brings. And even redemption from her springs. In lonely hours companions bright. These charming women give delight. Like fathers wise,in duty tried. To virtuous acts they prompt and guide. Whenever we suffer pain and grief. Like mothers kind they bring relief. The weary man whom toils oppress. When traveling through life's widerness. Finds in his spouse a place of rest. And there abides, refreshed and blest. Metin Yildirim Antakya Turkey As the world turn In the light of every day. The bittersweet life begins. At every sunrise. Hopes are reborn. The days were good and bad. How did the corona viruses come out? People are locked in the house. Bitter fears swept the world. Some cry, some laugh. He was neither comfortable nor morale. They are fluttering and hesitant. Certainly dark days will pass someday. The world wants a comfortable world. Very easy dreams. It is difficult to implement. Life is worth living well.
  32. 32. 32 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 Yanush Doyniak Poland Teatrum nadziei Przywiązany do nieba pasem Oriona ciężarem dyszla Wielkiego Wozu opadam ku ziemi czego mi jeszcze trzeba świeci księżyc a kot Pascali przy piersi mruczy wtedy na strofach wzlatuję na niebiosa cisza granatem śpiewa serce pisze poemat gdzieś w ciemnej dali płynie klucz gęsi w obłokach do lepszego jutra Anna Maria Sprzęczka-Stępień Poland Dla Pana Stanisława D. Tutaj mieszka pewien Pan, nie każdemu może „znan". Ptasie on nazwisko nosi. Namaluje, wycuduje, gdy poprosi pan czy pani. Obraz, szopkę (i ruchomą!) – rzeczą mnie to jest wiadomą. „Co, Dziewczyna?" – Brata pytał. „Co, Chłopaku?" – do mnie to. Taka Jegoż jest logika. Piotruś autkiem się rozbijał, potem autko dał do Stryja. Stryj Wnukowi je przekazał – jeździł Jacek... „wte i nazad"! Mama Ania aż z podziwu (dla talentów...Dudka tylu) wyjść nie może! Szczęść Mu Mały Jezu, szczęść Mu Panie Boże! Pani Marii, Zuzi, Izie i Agacie, gdzie ich ścieżki: w Tarnobrzegu czy w Krakowie. Daj im zdrowie!
  33. 33. 33 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 prose 25-30 Anna Maria Sprzęczka-Stępień Poland Auntie Stasia If I were to tell now who is my favourite family member, I would say it with no hesitation: Aunt Stasia. Well, of course, along with my big boy, Jacek. She lives in a small town of Tarnobrzeg, in the south-east of Poland. Unfortunately, we don’t meet very often nowadays, but once she used to call in on us every Saturday. My Auntie is a rather short woman in her early seventies. Her plump round face is framed by a mass of curly fair hair and her sparkling blue eyes show her humour and friendliness. She often wears casual clothes, but she also likes to be elegant from time to time. And she really is, in her long skirts and well-tailored and perfectly ironed blouses or shirts. Auntie Stasia has a very pleasant personality. Never have I met a more patient and kind-hearted person. She always has time to listen to her grandchildren’s big problems. She is also very helpful, not only for her family but also for friends. Quite willingly, my dear Aunt comes to them and helps with everyday chores. I remember that once she was asked to look after a very ill elder woman, and she didn’t hesitate even for a second. No doubt, she is generous. Always remembering my son Jacek, she never comes without a small gift for him. It’s worth adding that she’s truly hard-working. Her flat shines and she always prepares something delicious to eat for her guests. My Aunt always seems to be busy. She spends a lot of time doing the housework, baking or cooking and so forth and so on. When she is not at home, she is usually at church or either visiting her friends or family. This is a person who really taught me a lot, just by her own example. I would like to be such a good human as she is. When you are with her, you can relax. Although we see each other occasionally, I still really like to spend my spare time with my Auntie Stasia. Cheating Doesn’t Pay It was a beautiful autumn, just the beginning: September. So golden and sunny. People have been coming back from their holidays. James too. He has spent wonderful time in the countryside, but all good things must come to an end. The next day after the return, first thing in the morning, James went to the bank where he worked. Nobody was there. He switched on his computer and started realizing his vicious plan. He opened an account for himself; then he charged the bank’s account. The money was finally there! “It will solve my £ 20,000 problem.” – Jim sighed with a relief. When he was about to go, suddenly other employees came in to the room. “What are you doing here so early?” – one of them asked. It was Tom, Jim’s best mate. “Oh, hmm, so…” – James murmured nervously. He wasn’t prepared to this turn of events!
  34. 34. 34 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 “Well, I have been so snowed under with work recently that I thought I could come here earlier one day to get through it. And here I am!” What a brilliant and simple answer it was. At least his colleagues believed him, even though he seemed to be confused a little bit. James was quite satisfied and he eventually calmed down. “But what am I going to do when they find out about the fraud? Sooner or later it is going to draw somebody’s attention.” – James kept thinking about it. The rest of the day, he was on pins and needles. But the day finally passed and nothing, absolutely nothing had happened. Next day Jim went to work as usual. With some dose of hesitation, he opened the door of the office and entered the room. Everybody was there. Jim noticed that they had been gossiping about something in low voices. But at the very moment they saw him, they became silent. “The boss wants to see you, Jim. He is waiting for you in his room.” – Tom said. Left with no choice, James did what he was asked to do. “Good morning, James.” “Good morning, Mr Harper.” – Jim replied with noticeable uncertainty in his voice. “Do you know what I want to tell you? Oh, I’m sure you know!” Jim stood still, not being able to say any single word. “I should have called the police, but I didn’t. You’ve been such a good and intelligent employee! It’s a pity I must say it: YOU ARE FIRED!!!!!! Šahdo Bošnjak Bosnia and Herzegovina Snovi Šehida Ibrahima ROMAN 13. POGLAVLJE Sjedili su u bašči, na prostrtoj deki, sami, pijući crnu kahvu, pušeći ko zna danas koju po redu cigaretu i šuteći, svaki zanesen svojim mislima, nastojeći tako posložiti u glavi haos i pronaći način za rješenje brojnih životnih problema, nastalih u ova pasija ratna vremena. Nedaleko od njih žuborila je Usora dok se naokolo hvatao paučinasti mračak i ugođaj bi bio potpun, osjećao je Hamid, samo da nije ovog prokletog rata, pa oduševljen ljepotom, koju je najzad primijetio, u jednom trenutku prekide šutnju i progovori: – Veliko je zadovoljstvo, labude, sjediti ovdje dok nastupa akšam, pa mi nešto naumpade ona pjesma: “Ah, meraka u večeri rane...“ – Baš je lijepo... – složi se izviđač, makar što ljepota nije dopirala ni do njegovog razuma, a kamoli do njegovog srca i duše, uzburkane različitim osjećanjima, nad koju se nadnio golem, mračan oblak, da se momku na licu, tom svojevrsnom ogledalu duše, pojavi grč bola, koji vodnik ne primijeti, što zbog nadolazeće tame, što zbog buljenja u talase rijeke. – Nego, kako je na liniji, mislim... ima li problema? – Pa, baš i nema... Ovaj, ma nije baš posve da
  35. 35. 35 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 nema, ima, kako da nema... Jutros su nas obavijestili iz Komande da neprijatelj sprema dosad najveću ofanzivu na Kalošević. Naši obavještajni izvori javljaju kako im svakodnevno pristižu velika pojačanja u ljudstvu, čak otud iz Srbije, pa u oružju i materijalnotehničkim sredstvima. Stiglo im je i nekoliko tenkova, sve nove osamdeset četvorke, glanc iz fabrike. Isti obavještajni izvori također kažu da su Srbi u završnoj fazi priprema i da ofanziva može da otpočne svakog časa. Ovaj put su, izgleda, najozbiljniji u namjeri da konačno zauzmu ne samo Kalošević već i Tešanj. Jah, eto, labude, tako nekako stvari stoje... – Proklete četničke hulje! Ima li drugih novosti? – Da, tanki smo s municijom i sa sredstvima za protivoklopnu borbu. Za BST, naprimjer, imamo samo jednu kumulativnu minu. Imamo doduše dvije zolje i nešto granata za RB-ove. No, što je, čini se, najvažnije, asfaltna komunikacija Teslić – Doboj dobro je osigurana te nam otud ne prijeti velika opasnost. Znaju to, sigurno, i Srbi i neće se usuditi na proboj tim pravcem. Tenkovi će svakako davati njihovoj pješadiji veliku podršku, ali mislim da se neće usuditi na tenkovski proboj ni iz Bugarinovića, zato što bi im bilo jako rizično, osim ako operacijom ne bude zapovijedala kakva budala, u što lično sumnjam jer imaju dovoljno školovanih oficira iz JNA. Ono, labude, što me posebno raduje, jeste visok borbeni moral naših boraca, koji, svi do jednog, prkosno izjavljuju – da četnici preko njih živih nikad neće kročiti nogom u Kalošević. Neprijateljski vojnici već vode verbalni rat s našim borcima. Ma znaš, to je u psihološkopropagandne svrhe, samo s jednim ciljem – da sebe ohrabre, a da naše borce i narod pokolebaju. Baš prekjučer javlja se neki planinac, veli da dobro poznaje Kalošević jer da je ovuda progonio stada ovaca na zimovanje u Posavinu. “Eto nas, balije, za koji dan vama na kavu u Kalošević.” A onda prijeti: “Ni pas, ni mačka neće ostati, ni dijete u bešici, sve ćemo poklati!” Drugi, valjda kroz dogled, opazio kako nam dijele ručak te, glasom punim mržnje, dobacuje: “ ‘Rante se, ‘rante, balije, da za dva-tri dana budete deblji za ražnja!...” Sve i jedan borac vjeruje da bi četnici svoje prijetnje i ostvarili, ako bi ušli u Kalošević. I ništa im ne podiže borbeni moral kao to uvjerenje! A čuj ovo, Zijo Mamić, onaj đavo što skida snajperom čete ko cvjetove pod šatorom na vašarima ili proslavama, ne može otrpjeti pa uzvraća: “Samo vi dođite, vlasi, da vas ko mnoge četnike dosad, pošaljemo na onaj svijet, vašem đeneralu Draži Mihailoviću na smotru i svetom Savi na ispovijed!” Na to sa srpske strane zapljuštaše žestoke psovke nakon čega se ponovo javi onaj planinac: “Turci, je l’ vam promaja u džamiji dok se molite svome Alavu?!” Time je podsjećao na nedavni napad kad su tenkovskom granatom izbušili munaru. Ponovo ne otrpje Zijo, vraćajući im istom mjerom: “Čuj, bradata spodobo! Nama promaha u džamiji, a vašoj dvadeset osmerici četnika promaha u glavi od naših metaka, pa ste sutradan u Tesliću proglasili Dan žalosti. Usto vam je naš Bahrudin servirao granatu ravno na sto, dok ste večerali u pokoj duši četnika Mileta. Tom prilikom ste izbrojali desetak mrtvih i isto toliko ranjenih. Napadnete li opet, proći ćete mnogo gore nego tad!...” Bradonje ponovo ljuto opsovaše i
  36. 36. 36 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 zaprijetiše kako će nam to za dva-tri dana sve vratiti, i to s kamatom. Jah, umalo da zaboravim; ovo što ću ispričati, tebe će, labude, siguran sam, iznimno zanimati. A onda se prodera krupan, autoritativan glas, koji se dotad nije javljao: “Tišina, seljačine beslovesne, da vojvoda nešto kaže Turcima!” Na njihovoj strani nastade grobni muk, po čemu sam zaključio da je veliki autoritet među četnicima. Onda zovnu: “Ej, balije, da vas nešto ozbiljno pitam! Ima l’ tu Ibra’ima Bošnjića?! Studirali smo skupa u Saraj’vu i bili nekad veliki prijatelji.” “Šta te briga, vlaše!”, odbrusi neko od naših. “Ako nije tu”, poručuje isti glas, “pozdravite ga od Đorđa Stanivuka i recite mu neka odma’ zaboravi staro prijateljstvo. Odsad smo smrtni neprijatelji, i sretnemo li se negdje – zaklat ću ga zubima, ili mene neće biti!...” “Tebe, tebe, vlaše, neće biti!”, otkresa Meho Šego, odlažući prazan tanjir na klupicu pokraj rova. Međutim, Đorđe više ništa ne reče, a i neprijateljski vojnici, kao po nečijoj zapovijedi, prestadoše s daljnjim provokacijama. Na ove riječi Ibrahim se lecnu, a u grlu zastala oskoruša, pa ni gore ni dolje, dok kroz glavu prolaze sjećanja na Sarajevo, na sretne dane studentskog siromahovanja. Sjeća se visokog, crnomanjastog Stanivuka. Plaho naočit momak. Dijelili su zadnju koru kruha, zadnju cigaretu. Iz iste su čaše pili jednu koka- kolu. Sjeća se lažnog imena, Ismet, kad se udvarao muslimanskim djevojkama. I kako je govorio da bi volio više od svega da se oženi s muslimankom. “Da, lažno, lažno... Sve je na tim bijednicima bilo lažno, dok su s nama zajedno živjeli. Lažno prijateljstvo, lažno kumstvo, lažni komšiluk, lažno bratstvo i jedinstvo, lažno sve. Sad, kad su, najzad, skinuli maske i pokazali neljudska, zlikovačka lica, tek sad, ustvari, vidimo ko su. Srbočetnici, fašisti, napokon su otklonili vječitu dilemu, ako ju je ikad i bilo, i pred cijelim svijetom pokazali svoju moralnu bijedu, pokazali su da su zvijeri i spodobe u ljudskom obliku. E, moj Đorđe, zar bi me ti ubio?! Da li je moguće da bi na mene digao ruku, ruku koju sam toliko puta stisnuo, pozdravljajući te i misleći da stišćem ruku iskrenog prijatelja, prijatelja koga sam cijenio i volio kao brata, ruku s kojom sam dijelio zadnji dinar, zadnju cigaretu?! Čak si i to zaboravio kako sam nedavno rizikovao vlastiti život, spašavajući te od razbjesnjelog Mahmuta. I kako sam sve učinio da budeš razmijenjen, energično se zauzimajući za te kod svojih nadređenih. Zaboravio si, eh... Eto, takav si ti; takvi ste vi!” – Nešto si se, jarane, duboko zamislio. Kanda su ti misli daleko odlutale? – prenu ga i vrati u stvarnost prijateljev glas. – Hah?!... – zbunjeno izusti izviđač. – Kako tvoja rana? – upita vodnik. I, ne čekajući odgovor, dodade: – Još jednu heftu pa ćeš, čini mi se, biti kao nov. – Heftu?! Hm, dvoumio sam nešto da li da pođem sutra na liniju. Nakon ovoga što sam saznao od tebe, sad više nemam dvojbe. Idem, pa makar i na jednoj nozi. – Ali, Ibro, oprosti, pa to je ludost... Rana ti još nije sasvim zacijelila, ugruhan si, psihički potresen... – Rana, hm... Sve su to trice i kučine. Rekao sam ti već da ću se protiv tih zlotvora boriti, zatreba li, i na jednoj nozi. Uostalom, svejedno je – poginuo danas ili sutra.
  37. 37. 37 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 – O kakvoj ti to, prijatelju, pogibiji? Ta, šta ti je? Živ čovjek ne ide u mezar. A dok je čovjek živ, ljudski se nadati. Ibro duboko uzdahnu, a lice mu se umi vrelim suzama, koje su pekle kao žar, ali on to nije niti osjećao kad je rekao: – Ti se možda i možeš nadati, ali ja ne. Ja sam sinoć odsanjao svoj posljednji san. Sanjao sam, labude, vlastitu smrt!... Moj životni krug se zatvara... To je kraj... kraj... svega!... Nakon tih riječi, zašutješe, zanijemješe obojica. Dugo su tako šutjeli, svako zaokupljen svojim mislima. Onda Hamid prebaci desnu ruku preko prijateljevog ramena, zagrli ga i tješeći ga reče: – Nemoj da prenagljuješ pri zaključcima. Sve je to psihički stres prilikom ranjavanja od koga se još nisi sasvim oporavio. Sve će to biti dobro, vidjet ćeš... A u mislima je počeo da strahuje za prijateljev život. Znao je, kad je smrt u pitanju, da tu Ibro ima snažan predosjećaj, intuiciju, šesto čulo, šta li? Da je taj predosjećaj čvrsto skopčan sa snovima i da ga još nikad nije prevario. A, opet, s druge strane, kako vjerovati da čovjek, obični smrtnik, može imati te nadnaravne moći?! Kad bi o tome razmišljao, još nikad ne bi uspio razriješiti tu enigmu, bolje reći taj paradoks, pa ni sad dok čuje prijatelja kakao s mukom, i bolom u glasu nastavlja pričati o sinoćnjem snu: – Ovo je san koji ću ti zadnji put ispričati. I samo tebi. Nisam ga ispričao ni roditeljima ni braći niti ikom drugom, i neću. A tebi mogu, jer si mi ti najbolji prijatelj, i znam da mi se nećeš smijati niti ćeš moju priču izvrgnuti u sprdnju, kako bi to mnogi učinili. Ma, znaš kakvi su ljudi, puni slabosti. Ali, ne zamjerim im, zato što smo i sami ljudi. Vjerujem kako ćeš priču koju ću ti ispričati sačuvati kao tajnu do kraja života, jer je to i moja želja. Sinoć sam se osjećao iznimno umornim pa sam legao neuobičajeno rano, odmah svečeri. Čini mi se da sam odmah zaspao, a onda su krenuli snovi. Kao: vraćam se s izviđanja, sam samcit. I gladan, i žedan, i usto mrtav umoran. Naiđem tako na jedno osojno mjesto, mala zaravan, na njoj trava mekahna ko duša. Svježa hladovina svu je obgrlila da me odmah žeđ minu. Dušek- trava sama mami, zove da malo prilegnem, odmorim. Srušim se od umora i izvalim na leđa pa onako nalakćen metnem travku između zuba, odmaram koščice i uživam, što bi se reklo, u prirodnim ljepotama. Odnekud pjevuši slavuj, ma milina ga slušati, dok pred očima pukla predivna panorama: nepregledan kanjon, zarobljen u zagrljaju s jedne strane četinarske a s druge strane listopadne šume. A ja pomislim kako ovako nekako, možda, izgleda u Džennetu kadli ti se iznenada oćuti bat kopita, prolama se, ali nekako potmulo, kao da dolazi iz same zemljine utrobe. Obrnem glavu lijevo – i ništa. Obrnem desno – kad iz šume ispade jahač na pomamnom vrancu te se stane postrance spuštati niz strminu. Uh, vidim: k meni se zaputio! Ustanem, iz pristojnosti, da barem sjedeći dočekam nezvanog musafira, ili bolje reći putnika namjernika. Dok mi prilazi sve bliže, znatiželjno ga posmatram. Brada mu duga, do pasa, sijeda. Vidim, čovo mi poznat, kanda sam ga negdje vidio... I sjetim se. Samo, umjesto zelenog sad je na sebi imao crni ogrtač, nekako plaho dugačak, gotovo do zemlje, raskopčan, ispod koga se vidjelo
  38. 38. 38 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 kratko crno džube, crne čohali, malo preširoke čakšire, crne čizme, a na glavi mu vješto savijena crna čalma, tek navoji joj pričvršćeni zlatnim kopčama. Na čalmi zlatni znak, ama, toliko sjajan da u se ne da dugo gledati. Zabliješti ti oči kao da gledaš ravno u sunce, a po njemu ispisana meni nerazumljiva arapska pismena. Za pojasom crne korice iz kojih viri pozlaćen balčak kratke savijene sablje, krivošije. Riječju – sve na njemu crno. Pošto, najzad, stiže do mene, zategnu vrancu dizgin. Konj ukopa u mjestu sve četiri, a neznanac uljudno pozdravi: “Es-selamu alejkum!” “Alejkumus-selam!”, otpozdravim i u nevjerici i sa zebnjom iščekujem šta će došljak dalje reći ili poduzeti. A on upita, iznenađujuće blagim, raznježenim, gotovo pa očinskim, glasom: “Jesi li mi rad, sinko?” “Jesam, jesam, kako da nisam?!”, velim, ne znajući šta drugo da kažem, sav premrijevši od straha. “Ja bih malo da sjednem, s tobom koju riječ da probesjedim pa moram na put. Mnogo me još sličnog posla čeka, jah!” Dok je govorio, nije sjahivao s konja, očekujući, valjda, moje dopuštenje. “Bujrum, samo izvolite!”, provalim u nedoumici. “Eto, sinko, dolazim ti drugi i, posljednji put”, reče neznanac, sjedajući na travu pored mene i vadeći ispod džubeta veoma staru knjigu, požutjelih listova, sličnu Kur’anu, samo sad u crnom povezu. “Donosim ti jednu radosnu i jednu mnogo tužnu vijest.” Na njegove riječi “i jednu mnogo tužnu vijest” ja se stresoh od groze, a on je sjedio pored mene, ovako kao ti, mirno listao nagrižene stranice požutjele knjige i govorio: “Ovo je, sinko, Knjiga sudbina. Ubrzo ćeš saznati šta ti je u njoj zapisano. A kako imam da ti prenesem dvije vijesti: jednu radosnu i jednu tužnu, ja bih da pođem od one radosne, jer za tužnu nikad nije kasno.” Kako je pronašao određenu stranicu, počeo je da čita polahko, razgovijetno, glasom dubokim, kao da govori iz duboke kace ili s nekog drugog svijeta: “Ti, Ibrahim (Remze) Bošnjić, boriš se za slobodu svog naroda i svoje zemlje. Boriš se za slobodnu, suverenu, demokratsku Bosnu i Hercegovinu; za zemlju jednakih prava i sloboda za sve njene narode i sve njene građane, neovisno o njihovoj vjerskoj, nacionalnoj, političkoj ili nekoj drugoj pripadnosti. To je tvoj san, san koji i – budan sanjaš. Tvoj san će se sigurno ostvariti. Do njegovog ostvarenja proći će mnogo vremena. Prolit će se još mnogo vrele šehidske krvi. Kolone šehida, najboljih sinova Bosne, preći će tamnu rijeku, rijeku zaborava, što razdvaja dunjalučki od ahiretskog života. Na kraju te natčovječanske borbe tvoj narod će izvojevati veličanstvenu pobjedu protiv svih svojih dušmana. Zato što vodi najpravedniji, odbrambeni rat, sveti rat – džihad; rat za svoje svetinje: svoju slobodu i slobodu svoje domovine, za slobodu svoje vjere, svoje kulture, svojih običaja i svoje tradicije; rat za mezarove svojih predaka; jer vodi najpravedniji rat za svoje dostojanstvo i – za svoj opstanak. Tvoj narod će pobijediti voljom mog i tvog Gospodara. Sad je na redu ona druga, tužna, vijest, za koju, kao što rekoh, nikad nije kasno. Naime,
  39. 39. 39 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 dužan sam ti prenijeti da ćeš u borbi na tom pravednom putu ti uskoro junački poginuti. Znam, ti si za ovozemaljska poimanja mlad i htio bi još živjeti. Pored toga, na dunjaluku ostavljaš najmilije: roditelje, braću, prijatelje, djevojku, ratne drugove... Sve! Zato je ova vijest za tebe mnogo tužna. Ali... naređeno mi je da ti kažem da se zbog toga mnogo ne žalostiš, sinko. Tvoja smrt nije uzaludna – jer će tvoji snovi biti ostvareni. Pored toga, ti si šehid! A to je najveća čast i merhamet, kojom naš Gospodar nagradi i obraduje jednog smrtnika. Tvoja duša će u Džennet! Tamo će ti biti ukazane sve počasti i uživat ćeš sve blagodati našeg Gospodara. U Džennetu će tvoja duša sresti duše tvojih roditelja, prijatelja, saboraca... Mnogi od njih bit će, također, šehidi. U Džennetu ćeš sresti i dušu osobe do koje ti je toliko stalo – dušu tvoje Zaime.” Na samo spominjanje njenog imena zadrhtao sam poput travke na buri, poskočio na noge i uspio da izustim samo jedno: “Ali...” Nije mi dozvolio bilo šta da kažem, upitam, da glasno zaplačem, da makar ljudski kriknem. Presjekao me pogledom, i natjerao da zanijemim, gotovo mi naredivši: “Ne, ništa me ne pitaj! To je sve što piše u Knjizi, a što mi je naređeno da ti prenesem. Sad moram poći.” Odmah vrati crnu knjigu pod crno džube, zajaha crnog konja i na polasku, opet uljudno, pozdravi: “Allahimanet, sinko!” “Allahimanet!”, kažem, te se probudim, sav okupan u znoju. Zoran Radosavljevic Bosnia and Herzegovina Hajmo Lagano Pesak od cvetnog praha..po meni se prosuo bez straha..Noć se bešumno cepala..svetlost mesećine obasjava mi sobu..a ti mi kroz snove šetala. Zato vodiću te... u Spaniju i Portugal, pa da nam ostanu senke na obali Atlantskog okeana i sećanja na krečnjačke stene između peščanih plaža Algarvea... Da po pesku Azurne obale trčimo bosi... Da nam izlaze žuljevi od penjanja po stenama kamene Sicilije..Hajdemo na sever Portugala, u onaj predivni region Minjo da ispijamo zeleno vino i smejemo se životu... Tvoj zagrljaj peron, tvoji snovi silazne stanice; tako biram da dišem u ovom životu... Probudimo se čupavi. kraj kreveta načeto vino, a na stolu pomorandže; još samo da je Pariz iza roletni..a mi u Lisabonu... da naućimo Portugalski kako bih uvek mogli da dozovemo okean stihovima Fernanda Pesoe..da mi mirišeš na okean... i daleke svetove ..da mi mirišeš na najlešpe snove... Da obučeš naajlepšu haljinu, otvoriš vino, pojačaš fado i počeš da plešeš po kući, čekam još samo da se stvorim na ulicama Lisabona..da trćimo zagrljeni po kiši... – šta je toliko lepo u tom Portugalu – sve, na primer Ponte de Lima da živimo Portugal od 16. veka, kada se otvorila ulica koja je prolazila preko bašte portoanskog biskupa; živimo ga od kad živi Rua das Flores...samo ti, a u tebi sve lepote sveta... samo ti a u tebi sva ludost i sreča deteta... jer duša ti je satkana od peska Sahare,
  40. 40. 40 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 pločnika Moskovskih ulica, lepote Plave džamije, glasa fado pevačica i duše Atlanskog okeana... Krašču te rećima sve manje češ biti svoja a sve više moja... Njeno telo miriše na stotine gradova, na hiljade zabačenih ulica u kojima su pijani pesnici ljubili muze po poslednji put.miriše na portugal..njene su dubine najlepši okeani..zato i sedim i čekam te... negde daleko, na nekoj ušuškanoj plaži Portugala... Sva si od skandinavskih vetrova, berlinskih noći, grčkih maslina i portugalskog vina... vinskih podruma Porta i snova u bojama Lisabona... Rukama krvavim od borbe sa njenim demonima sakupljao sam ostatke pepela te Pompeje u njoj..Vezuve moj..gasila te prekrasna reka Sarno.. Bila je rodjena sa vatrom u sebi. Čuvala je u dodirima i mislima, i poklanjala malo po malo ljudima, sve dok joj iskra u oćima nije nestala.Nestala je toplina i dobrota koju je širila..Ljudi su je istrošili i ostavili... Da joj ližem krvave očnjake posle životnih poraza, ona da me čuva od celog sveta... Da vidamo rane jedno drugom... klesanjem joj đavoli prošlosti želili oduzeti dobrotu..borio sam se koliko sam moga da sačuvam tu njenu anđeosku lepotu... Meni su godinama krvava stopala, a i dalje istim putevima moja duša korača... idem njoj u susret da je čuvam dok opet ne ojača... nemoj te da pomislite da tražim izgovor samo da bi lutao... Kad je Niče plakao, svet je ćutao... a ići ću opet i opet iznova... čujem kako viću izađi iz zabluda i uđi u stvarnost, umrećeš od lažnih snova Ne znaju oni da sam takav po rodjenju... pred putokazima spuštam glavu, volim da idem po sopstvenom nahođenju... kao i biljka kad sama od sebe baci svoje sopstveno seme... džaba ste štedeli sve te tišine, reči, dodire i pesme kad se pravi ljudi pojave u pogrešno vreme... Jurim prema njoj danima i noćima... ne bole me padovi ali bi me boleo pad u njenim oćima... potrudiću se da joj život ne bude samo od plača... ostaću sa njom dok ne ojača... Rukama krvavim od borbe sa njenim demonima sakupljao sam ostatke pepela te Pompeje u njoj... Vezuve moj..gasila te prekrasna reka Sarno... Bila je rodjena sa vatrom u sebi. Čuvala je u dodirima i mislima, i poklanjala malo po malo ljudima, sve dok joj iskra u oćima nije nestala.Nestala je toplina i dobrota koju je širila..Ljudi su je istrošili i ostavili.. Da joj ližem krvave očnjake posle životnih poraza, ona da me čuva od celog sveta... Da vidamo rane jedno drugom... klesanjem joj đavoli prošlosti želili oduzeti dobrotu... borio sam se koliko sam moga da sačuvam tu njenu anđeosku lepotu... Meni su godinama krvava stopala, a i dalje istim putevima moja duša korača... idem njoj u susret da je čuvam dok opet ne ojača... nemoj te da pomislite da tražim izgovor samo da bi lutao... Kad je Niče plakao, svet je ćutao... a ići ću opet i opet iznova... čujem kako viću izađi iz zabluda i uđi u stvarnost, umrećeš od lažnih snova Ne znaju oni da sam takav po rodjenju... pred putokazima spuštam glavu, volim da idem po sopstvenom nahođenju... kao i biljka kad sama od sebe baci svoje sopstveno seme... džaba ste štedeli sve te tišine, reči, dodire i pesme kad se pravi ljudi pojave u pogrešno vreme... Jurim prema njoj danima i noćima... ne bole me padovi ali bi me boleo pad u njenim oćima..potrudiću se da joj život ne bude samo od plača... ostaću sa njom dok ne ojača.
  41. 41. 41 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 essay 31-35 Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim Tunisia Story of a solitude Laughter has always been a part of my life. I come from an Italian family where, growing up in the suburbs of Paris, all I heard was laughter and singing. Laughter very quickly served as a defense mechanism and was very useful in fighting my shyness. Later it was essential to my socialization. I have been a Spanish teacher for sixteen years and an actor for ten years. In 2016, I made my most decisive decision: to go around the world for a year and make a documentary about laughter. As an actor, I wanted to understand the mechanisms of humor. I wanted to know if we could all laugh at the same things, from Moscow to Melbourne. This trip made me a laughter activist. The common pointof all those I met is that they use art to heal, denounce or give hope. My most beautiful revelation was to discover the art of the clown. Not the circus clown that everyone knows, but the humanitarian, social clown; the one who goes to hospitals to make the sick laugh and to refugee camps to bring a little comfort. It is enjoyable to be able to understand the person in front of you, to see what psychological leverage you can use to help them. This project really took shape when I was in New York. Starting in 2014, I spent two years working at the French high school. I was head of the language department. I had a lot of responsibilities, a huge workload, a good salary. I met someone. We got married. The relationship didn't work out. We got divorced. One day I was having lunch with a friend. She asked me if I was okay. I was at the bottom of the hole and spontaneously told her that I had only one desire: to quit my teaching job, take my backpack, leave and make a documentary on laughter. Since I was a kid, I had always dreamed of going around the world, but the idea had been put on hold for a while. There in this conversation of depressives over sushi, the project came to life. I really enjoyed teaching but I already felt that my life didn't fit me or no longer did. A feeling. I was beginning to feel that my relationship to the world was different. So I dusted off my idea of a trip and I realized that the project was very complete in my head. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I could stop everything in New York and nothing was still waiting for me in France. It was the ideal moment. From that moment on, I started telling everyone about it. The project had a name, a date, a fundraising campaign on the internet. It took six months to organize the departure. During this time I always felt like I was
  42. 42. 42 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 going to chicken out, that I would never get on the plane. My fear was linked to the idea of the lack of money on the spot as well as the whole logistical part. Even the night before the departure, I slept very badly, I still told myself that I wouldn't have the courage to leave. I left New York to return to France and on September 5, 2016, I took off from Paris to visit fifteen countries. This first world tour was unique. I was very lucky and made many exceptional encounters. At each critical moment, I met someone who helped me and opened my eyes. My initial idea was that this project would have a beginning and an end. I was thinking of coming back to Paris to resume a more normal life. When I came back, I realized that this would not be possible. I didn't feel like I was going back, but like I was making a stopover to see my buddies and my family. As soon as I arrived, I could already see myself leaving. This trip turned a lot of things upside down. The first effect was to detach myself from the extreme, even sickly consumption of which I was a slave. When I returned from my world tour, I arrived at my grandmother's house where my things were stored, and I had the impression that the wardrobe was a store. I was almost ashamed of it. I felt like all this stuff was defining someone I was no longer. I had filled myself materially but at the same time I had emptied myself. The opposite is also true. As I freed myself from it all. I became richer. I am still struggling. When I spend time in the big cities, where the ads are attacking you, I still find myself thinking, "I want that! But this realization has been a great relief. I managed to cast off a lot of moorings, to free myself from material ties. I have no rent to pay, no phone. Nothing to hold on to. I have no fixed place to live and I still have the chance to choose when I work, who I work with and whether I get paid or not. It has changed my life. I've reached a great degree of freedom. This feeling is a source of adrenaline and happiness detached myself from what people might think of me, even though the pressure of the standard exists. I don't have a fixed apartment. I don't have a fixed couple. I don't have a fixed income. I move all the time. So my friends and family will always be worried about me even though it's still a gentle pressure. They have learned to trust me. I've always been very sociable, but more and more I appreciate solitude. During long periods when I am not alone, I feel a real need to be with me. I turned forty six months ago. Now for me the next step is to have my own artistic and humanitarian café that would serve as the headquarters of my association. This would allow me to generate money to be able to do my missions, but also to invite the artists I have met during my travels. The idea is to be able to make known the countries I have travelled through through their creations, and not through misery, photos of kids crying or hungry, etc.. Today, my ambition is to move to Seville,
  43. 43. 43 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198 there is a master's degree in art therapy that interests me. I am very keen to develop this aspect and to have even more psychological acuity. I want to perfect my art and I wish that my clown workshops help more people and better. Moreover, Seville is a city that I know well and that is changing. Maybe this is the ideal place to open this café. Definitely, I feel close to Spain. For the moment it's working for me to trust my intuition and my gut. I know myself better and better. If I spend too much time thinking about a project, it's because I don't want to do it. The "yes, but..." is for me a "no". It's a matter of instinct. Thanks to that, the paths I've taken have turned out to be a lot cooler than I had previously imagined. I'd like to do even more, get out of the system completely and be even more respectful of the environment. Here too there are limits, we can't afford everything. But the better things go, the more I feel like I'm eighty percent in tune with who I am, what I think and what I want to be. I define myself as a forty-year-old French Italian, teacher, actor, author, clown and globetrotter. From now on, benevolence and gratitude bathe my relationship to the world and to the Other. I have the impression that even the universe responds to me differently. It makes me laugh. Bagawath Bhandari Bhutan Peace in every fist… Every blossom holds peace, Ambassadors of serenity are bees, Every dew dances in peace, Amid breathtaking caress. Every shaft of sun spreads peace, And love is eased, Every drop of rain descends with peace, And warms everyone akin to fleece. Every smile is a hope of peace, Every motherly touch is nice, Every stream sings for peace, Wanting not to be in piece. Every country aspires for peace, With law, order and standing police, Every heart race for peace, In its rhythmic beats. Everyone hopes for peace, In the lonely streets, Let us fight for peace, Leaving no crease. Peace be at every home, In every holy song, Peace be the weapon of our generation, To move forward with determination.
  44. 44. 44 Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, 2020, October TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198 confabulation 3646 Michael Ondaatje The term warlight was used to describe the dimmed lights that guided emergency traffic during London's wartime blackouts. The word aptly describes the atmosphere of this haunting, brilliant novel from Ondaatje (The Cat's Table), set in Britain in the decades after WWII, in which many significant facts are purposely shrouded in the semidarkness of history. The narrator, Nathaniel Williams, looks back at the year 1945, when he was 14 and "our parents went away and left us in the care of two men who may have been criminals." Nathaniel and his older sister, Rachel, are stunned to discover that their mother's purported reason for leaving them was false. Her betrayal destroys their innocence; they learn to accept that "nothing was safe anymore." To the siblings' surprise, however, their designated guardian, their upstairs lodger, whom they call the Moth, turns out to be a kind and protective mentor. His friend, a former boxer nicknamed the Pimlico Darter, is also a kindly guide, albeit one engaged in illegal enterprises in which he enlists Nathaniel's help. The story reads like a nontraditional and fascinating coming-of-age saga until a violent event occurs midway through; the resulting shocking revelations open the novel's second half to more surprises. The central irony is Nathaniel's eventual realization that his mother's heroic acts of patriotism during and after the war left lasting repercussions that fractured their family. Mesmerizing from the first sentence, rife with poignant insights and satisfying subplots, this novel about secrets and loss may be Ondaatje's best work yet. Agent: Ellen Levine, Trident Media Group. (May) Giovanna Casapollo Il gesto di Caino Il libro Il gesto di Caino (Einaudi, 2020) di Massimo Recalcati esordisce prendendo in considerazione il testo biblico che definisce la violenza come vera aspirazione a distruggere l’alterità per ambire alla “propria divinizzazione, il desiderio dell’Uomo di essere Dio”. In questa spinta alla violenza riconosciamo l’illusione di rendere raggiungibile questa meta. Contrariamente al mondo animale, in cui la violenza è legata alle necessità naturali dell’organismo di difesa e di attacco, la violenza umana è sempre legata all’alterità che limita la nostra libertà. Per questa ragione Freud, accogliendo il detto biblico, considera il gesto di Caino come il riconoscimento della natura crudele del genere umano, pulsione criminogena dell’inconscio che ne caratterizza la vita: nell’uomo vi è sempre la spinta a liberarsi dell’alterità, dell’Altro che ne compromette l’unicità e quindi l’aspirazione a riconoscersi in Dio. Un altro elemento che giustifica il gesto di Caino è l’invidia che abbiamo visto comparire nel caso di Adamo ed Eva, che si lasciano irretire dalle parole del serpente la cui spinta invidiosa nei confronti di Dio lo porta a diffamarne la legge che proibisce l’accesso

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