Daffodil, were I adamant as thou (based on John Keats’s “Bright Star”)

Picture of a daffodil

Image: ‘DSC_8638.jpg’ © bobosh_t. Source: CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Author: Katharina Schwarck

Daffodil, were I adamant as thou—
In lone withstanding throughout frost and blight
Watching Eve’s sin fly by the verdant bough
Spring’s sprightliest, resolute Anchorite
The growing buds at their insurgent task
Of crucial cleansing of paternal grounds,
Or glaring on the old tendentious mask
Filled with hatred upon kitchens and crowns—
No—yet tenacious, yet intractable,
Flourishing through her ruthless loyalty,
To feel her vigour, indomitable
Keen in her zeal against propriety
Still, still to hear her deeply-taken breath,
And so grow ever—or else wilt to death.

Poems by Hanna Gorani

 

Nonsensical whimsical

May 17, 2019
|

Author: Hanna Gorani

The Domestication of forests
                        The Disturbances of the Night
The Duration of millennial Greed
                        -obscure and wholesome;
full of terrible delight.

The Abortion of desires,
& Abolition of all constraints;
               And Above all moral duties
– a Thirst for embodying Saints;
A Hunger for -spiritual-
Power
(What non-sense
What non-sense!)

Crime & Common sense
That is how it goes these days.

What not to love
What not adore –
     in the insidious madness
Of all normality.

Sacred banality
Frivolous fatality
(What non sense
What non sense!)

The Fascism of Thought
the -ism, always the -ism
Embracing the paradox
of our
Holy
Atheism.

How sensible / how right
how peaceful
a Fight.

LOOK AT HER! LOOK AT HER! – turning blue

December 17, 2018
|

Author: Hanna Gorani

Sense of taste – lost this morning
Sense of self – in the ocean lost, during birth
lost
Love – she is also gone
and I – I am going.

it’s a crystal-fragile life, this terrestrial burden
dense with purposeless materiality
oh, watch my skin turning grey from asphyxiation;
It seems to be I am a fish out of water.

They ask me,
the
ones who see through my marine soul,
they ask, their throats swollen and red,
how do – how do – how do you
BREATHE
in this thick atmosphere, its cruel gases, its callous density
I ask them the same
/They say they don’t notice it anymore;
life has a way of luring us
into
wearing masks of joy, silliness and contentment.

/But my mask continuously falls off
Leaving me with a bitter taste of unbelonging
right on the tip of my dried up tongue.

On my slimy scales
the awkward mask of humanness continues gliding off,
no rigid object can find its place
anywhere near my silky skin/
And the creatures of the Ocean
have swum deep and far away from the Men
whose grief-ridden faces and cynical voices
proclaim with terrible harshness
dogmas of Ego, dogmas of what they call
Truth.

As for me, I recall
A life in limpid waters
where I, a clairvoyant
a third Eye revolutionary
a child of Gods
sister of nymphs
would swim blindly into untouched depths
of eternity.
A glitch in the Matrix
and then I was put
on this earthy, musky, stinky soil
and for a split second
I almost turned human.
But LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME
my skin is now turning lilac
I remember the waters crystalline
the almighty Force which brought me
the Undying Wisdom which taught me
the secrets of Infinity
And I retreat, I isolate myself
the collective pain recedes;
Withdrawing from all rigid
dimensions
My skin is back, slimy and blue.

Poseidon’s beloved one
almost touched Mortality
but
LOOK AT HER! LOOK AT HER!
turning blue. –

A REBELLIOUS ONE

April 10, 2019
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Author: Hanna Gorani

INFERNAL NIGHTS
AND MARKS OF REBELLION
MARKED DEEP IN OUR VEINS;
A TRIBAL DANCE 
IN SEARCH OF A GOD.

WE ARE OUR OWN PROTECTORS
SHIVA’S NOT LOOKING OVER US.

SUCKED
INTO A CYCLICAL SPIRAL
OF TIME
EVENTS UNFOLD
AS WE’VE BEEN TOLD
A HUNDRED OF TIMES
THE MYTHS, THE LEGENDS, THE SUPERSTITIOUS
FLAIR
OUR GRANDMOTHERS PUT IN OUR FOOD;
ALL OUR TROUBLES
DEEPLY ENCODED
IN OUR HEAVY PAIN-BODIES
HEATED LIKE ERUPTED VOLCANOES
MOVING FOR A CHANGE
-A CHANGE THE GODS HAD NOT PREDICTED.
THIS IS NOT HOW IT
ALL ENDS.
OUR TEMPLES WON’T SHATTER
UNDER THE SATIRICAL GAZE
OF THE HUMAN DISASTER.
WE ARE MADE OF DESIRES
DEEPER
THAN ENVIES
OF ANNIHILATION.

AN ELIXIR RUNS DEEP IN OUR VEINS
DEEPLY ENCODED
IN OUR DNA
AND IT’S MADE OF
LIFE
A TRIBAL DANCE
RELENTLESSLY
DEFYING
THE PROPHETIC END.

untitled distitled

Some

Poems

are better

than others.

Some Humans

more

equal.

Some Justices

righter.