Taifas Literary Magazine no. 4, October, 2020 by Ioan Muntean

2 authors ... p. 2

editorial ... p. 3 poetry ... p. 6 prose ... p. 33

essay ... p. 41 confabulation ... p. 44 2 authors ... p. 47

TaifasLiterary LiteraryMagazine Magazineno. no.4,4,2020, 2020,October October Taifas

Gabriela Mimi Boroianu

Vladanka Cvetković

Romania

Serbia

Hemija osećanja

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...

Nebo je boje limenog cinka. Moja osćanja nevoljna u obelodanjivanju svoje hemijske strukture. Uostalom, kako se mere osćanja? Epruvetom? Pipetom? Vagicom?

Jenseits des Lebensendes eine Seele sucht ihre Flügel;

Sreću nosih kao oreol,

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;

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

În rănile mele cresc pene... Așteptă-mă la porțile visului, să zburăm împreună.

iskreći srebrnastom srćom koja preti da nas povredi. TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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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.

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.

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 At the same time, through repeated anywhere else around. That being said, we can exercises, man became able to recognize the appreciate that two violins do not sound notes of sounds in nature without reproducing year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

editorial 3-4

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them on a musical instrument. For example, Rachmaninoff had fun saying to a visiting friend: ĘźThe 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!Ęź 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 TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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magnetic field that surrounds all elements emotional states. Thus, the instrumental existing in the environment. message may be different from the textual one, The masters of music understood the whether the performer intends it or not.

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

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.

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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 welldefined 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.

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poetry 5-24

***

Ion Cuzuioc Romania

ninsoare în toi – vecinii de peste drum *** se bat cu pernele

azil în flăcări – dintr-o odaie păpușa rostind mama

*** târgul de Crăciun – cu zdrențele în stradă *** sperietoarea

***

pălăria tatei – în pânza paingului cuibul de molii

Regina nopții – îmbrobodită după prima ninsoare

***

vrăbii în scrânciob – datina strămoșească legănată de vânt

pe amurgite – soarele spre orizont cu dealul în spate

*** roadele toamnei – luna și soarele pe rând în carul mare

*** postul cel mare – cerșetorul și porumbeii *** din același colac

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

copilul orfan – pe – o filă de hârtie desenând chipul mamei

moștenire – ocrotită de – un paing icoana mamei TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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*** 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

***

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.

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

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.

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*** pe ultimul drum – în urma sicriului florile călcate

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Bozena Helena Mazur-Nowak

and told me, I should forgive, because life is a little more gracious then.

Poland Every summer I spent with my Grandma Scheherazade was so different and unique to me. I remember everything well to this day You are like the lost treasure, although she is forever gone. from the series "heart with Polish origin" which I managed to find without a map, he said Zbigniew Michalski Your lips are like a mystery I want you to share with me, Poland he added. Audrey Hepburn If your eyes could talk, they would tell the story, kiedy znalazła dla siebie to which I could listen forever and ever, wymarzoną ścieżkę przez życie let me, he begged. poczuła powiew szczęścia który wyniósł ją bardzo szybko pod niebiosa

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.

choć musiała porzucić złoty sen za gwałtownym zakrętem losu pośród plejady hollywoodzkich supergwiazd Grandmother Maria zabłysła pełnią swojego talentu

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,

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 TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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mengobarkan angin gemuruh kerinduan pada kebenaran".

Iwan Dartha Indonesia

Episode Psikiatrik Inspiration limbung di sudut-sudut kelu

Morfem Monyet Konon suatu saat, monyetmonyet 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

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-akal miring tak merasa garing senyum retorika pamer kepalsuan komat-kamit sembur aroma beracun kau gila, menikmati bekal neraka 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

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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 Since time immemorial and future

kaki-tangan bertahan hidup bulu-bulu akal meregang mata-mata juling memicing mulut-mulut ngotot melotot mabok merampok hari esok

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Selma Kopić Bosnia and Herzegovina

The last beats of summer

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!

Fabian Historias Argentina

Tranquilas nadie escucha

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 TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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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 no co ty powiesz... co ty powiesz... 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...

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Adam Gwara

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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.

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..

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Taifas Literary Magazine no.

Bhagirath Choudhary India

4, 2020, October

Born of evolutionary hope and charity O, Ubuntu Let me discover anew my humanity.

Ubuntu LenuĹ&#x; Lungu

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

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!

year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; ISSN-L 2458-0198

I am Because we are And my dear you Says Ubuntu !

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

of your shoulder will make the heart of men submit to thebeauty of your spirit

Omar Aburto México

Even from the dark side of nature, Escrito con estrellas Men could sight the appearance of the summer sun that puts on the image of your Fulgente, sin dormir es mi sueño peerless face, y dormido brota sugestivo, Bringing out a beauty like a sky cloaked with clarividente no intuitivo a plate of rainbow 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

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

The Chosen One.... Your garment and sparks of affection are enticing every bit of second under the influence of the rising sun

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!

The butterfly that dances on the blue surface TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

Por tanto error cometido,

Antonia Rodríguez Ferreiro

por los caminos torcidos,

Spain

hoy ya no gozo una casa

Té

que a mí me ha pertenecido.

Sentada delante de una taza de té,

De tanto como tuvimos

en una conocida cafetería,

tú yo lo perdimos todo,

mirando al mundo con osadia,

y en la vejez busco el modo

esperando encontrar mi fe.

de continuar el camino.

Enfrente, un viejo caballero

Pero hay algo que agradezco a tu consejo tan sabio:

está a leer, una revista de pornografía,

volver al verso de antaño con más fuerza que al

levemente teniéndola

comienzo.

escondida, entre las páginas del diario

Porque a escribir me

de ayer.

impulsaste, Llegando está el tranvía,

a esta sensación radiante,

bajando una jóven mujer,

mas,los bienes materiales,

acercándose le como una arpía.

por cierto,los expulsaste.

Sentándose frente a él,

Malos negocios reprocho, reprocho que no me oyeras,

recibe el talón de regalía,

mas,en poesía vieras,

hipnotizada por su poder!

este futuro que noto.

Graciela Beatriz Sovran Haro

En parte voy a la pena

A mi esposo Por tantos malos negocios, por tanto impulso fallido, a la vejez he venido sin un pasar decoroso.

por lo que tú me quitaras, en parte el verso me hallara en una sabia faena.

Argentina

Y el verso a ti te lo debo porque a escribir me impulsaras.

year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

Muhedin Mahilaj

Labud N. Lončar

Albania

Montenegro

Mysafirë jemi!

Jedna žena sanja more Nadošlo zrelo grožđe I vri u dojkama U glavi more huči Znojna noć niz trbuh curi Dok sokovi mame leptirove.

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!

U glavi Galeb klikće Pjesmom nekazanom Doziva San i Kao magla misli obavija Dok daleki talasi Ime dozivaju.

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!

Miriše rana jesen i Postelju pod prozorom Sokovima topi — 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

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

Anna Saracchi

4, 2020, October

Slavka Bozovic

Italia

Montenegro

Guardo il mare

Whisper of rain...

Quel mormorio del mare

I love when the rain rustles,

che ascolto seduta nella riva

her whisper touches me,

quando assorta mi rilasso,

the storm disappears in the soul,

lontana da questa vita ingrata

that beautiful feeling hugs me.

immersa tra il moto ondoso dove naufragano senza remi

I love that game of romance,

i miei pensieri,

the restlessness in me calms

guardo uno spettacolo reale

down,

soltanto io e il mare

the wind flips through the

il vento che scompiglia

pictures,

i miei capelli e un onda sale

the stream of love from my

bagna sincera la mia pelle e

heart springs.

poi va via, rimango ancora assorta quasi immersa dentro un sogno

Then the wings of longing

dove nascosta tra la sabbia

carry me,

resta ancora la mia infanzia,

through the auras of loved

una fanciulla spensierata che

ones,

inseguiva un aquilone colorato

I float between the drops of

correndo sfidando il vento

memory,

senza paura di cadere,

emotions sway on the eyelids.

sono qui ora e guardo il mare vedo il mio passato resto nel presente spero nel futuro

I'm fascinated by the magical whisper of the rain,

ma poi non vedo niente,

fountains in the veins overflow,

tra le onde perdo la mia rotta

the soul turns into a violin,

cerco ancora, mmersa tra la nebbia offuscata well, the charms of the symphony do not cease. dalla foschia cerco una barca che mi porti via year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

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, appena calate erano già prossime alla fine del gioco come uno stallo restava seduto all'angolo di un tormento appisolato tra i fanti impettiti si mordeva le labbra. 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...

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

ELENA TUDOSĂ

4, 2020, October

Adam Żemojtel Poland

Tu și eu 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, Astăzi în neputință gust doar singurătatea grea, 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, Atât a mai rămas o amintire și o lacrimă de sare.

Znów slucham 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

year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

Romania

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

Oana Lupaşcu

Romania

4, 2020, October

Di essere felice E l'hai sprecata Ma io, anche se sono caduta Dalla mia nuvola rosa Salta la luna Sono sicura che da sola Cantando come di prima La mia gioia di vivere Mi rialzerò

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

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. TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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Taifas Literary Magazine no.

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

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.

4, 2020, October

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

destiny m o chijioke

Peace to the land, the land rested. But who are these fluttering sparrows That has stolen national treasure.

Nigeria

Pillars of nation Men wake up. 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

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.

Understanding.

Give us our nation.

Cracking through the

We need to restore back our nation! We need to chase

basement

away the pot belle

Of the interior and

We need to drive out

exterior motive of the

godfatherism

heart and mind of

We need to practice

men.

democracy

It hard to kick against

We need a brand new

the pricks Curse

have

country

render

Without spot or

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,

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.

They chase away fear and brought TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

Cuceritorule, erou, felicitări, pentru a ta izbândă!

Daniela Vîlceanu Romania

4, 2020, October

Răspunde-mi sincer, mă iubești? Dilematic Sau îmi văd de nimicurile mele lumești?

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 miar 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?

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.

year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

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,

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

La vigna è il campo più amato,

Lina Alfieri

quello in cui l'agricoltore investe

Italy

lavoro e passione, fatica e poesia.

„”Andate anche voi nella Senza poesia vigna”

anche il sorso di vino

„Andate anche voi nella vigna;

è sterile.

quello che è giusto ve lo darò”.

Antoinette DiGiorgio Corbell

Il proprietario terriero esce all'alba,

Italy

in cerca di braccianti

Steam

e li cerca fino a che c'è luce. Da a loro tutti la stessa paga,

In the heat of the humid night

non toglie nulla a

Sanity can become

primi...

obscured

aggiunge agli altri.

All I feel is the hot

Non è ingiusto, ma

perspiration

generoso. L'uomo

Clinging to every inch prima

del

Of this burning body

mercato,

My mind is muddled

la dignità prima delle

fog

ore ...

Yet each pore is aware of the heat

avvolge di carità la giustizia

Exuding from them

e la profuma.

I think about the edginess

Lui dona,che non sa fare di conto,

Of the quiet darkness

ma sa saziarci di sorprese.

Not a breeze is blowing This stillness makes me gag

Nessun vantaggio, allora,

There I am waiting

a essere operai della prima ora?

For this ardor to be doused

Ahhh, at last the caress of his touch Un vanto c'è, umile e potente,

A fresh gust of cool breeze

''aver reso più bella la vigna della storia."

Sending thrills throughout My impassioned form

''Verrai a cercarmi ancora,

Releasing steam

anche se si sarà fatto molto tardi?'' TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

Gianfranco Aurilio

Anna Maria Strzelec-Leszczyniecka Poland

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.

[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.

year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

Italy

4, 2020, October

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

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

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 United Arab Emirates

Entwined

Let them dream about the dreamland, so far distant and so wonderful, where life flows very slowly, and there is no violence at all.

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.

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!!

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Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

ni jedan od vas dva

Zehra Bajić Alić

za dušu me ujest neće ni neko treći , peti

Bosnia And Herzegovina

al on ostavio je trag

Ti i on i uvjek se vraća 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

na svoje mjesto. Bello Ayuba Nigeria

ja u njegovim mijesim nebo

I can't marry a poetess

i bistro jezero .

How can I seduce you? Ti nikada nećeš biti on

While

stars

abet

you

on i kada me lomi

consume rays

puše u rane

In lines sparkling words on

uzme me za prste i stisne ih

papers

jako miriše kosu

How can I seduce you ?

uđe u trbuh čežnji i ode

While I only grope hays

jer zna da ga čekam.

That impregnate rhythms Incite pen to bear rhymes

Nemaš ti usne kao on

Instead soaking her nipples but

koje bi ja ugrzla željnim zubima

end in pen's nipple

i osjetila toplu krv u kojoj crvena zrnca piju ona bijela

A poetess is a goddess

ti si samo zapetljan vjetar

That:

koji ne zna gdje i kamo da duva.

Spurts your faith to frolic Spurs your pain to prey

Ja i neću da budeš ti on

Spurns your stick to seduce or grope grace

moja kaplja sunca u zoru

I can't marry a poetess

on je moja koža naborana oko struka

With no doubt my chest 'll be her slates

i osmjeh iza kog je tuga.

My feet 'll turn to hooves She bathes me in inks

Nećeš ti nikada biti on

And dresses in bookshelves

ne dam

With no doubt I'll be vagrant.

ma pusti to year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

jer on je moja ljubav

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

In our shady little garden

Joanna Svensson

Making notes on invisible paper Written in invisible ink

Sweden

Telling that a miracle

A new life Was about to take place 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

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

I felt so blessed and

fiest

healed By everything around

Everything was prepared

The sun flowers of

All in perfect time

days

The Apple-trees of

Of days of late summer Whispered

utmost splendor

every

Had offered their

morning

sunriped fruit

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

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 TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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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

4, 2020, October

George Ioniţă Romania

Ploaie despărţită-n două cu ce-am putea să stingem focul ce ne arde-n trup

I prayed and I felt the blessing

uscate buze sărutul iar s-adape

Sweep me in its veil so soft

şi mâna ta în mâna mea un legământ -

Sweep me in its gentle bossom

de mai încape...

And kiss me with prosperity I sensed myself

voi curge peste tine-ntr-un

Standing on a meadow Filled with moisty Morning dew Reaching hands in the air Towards heaven - praying that It would all

potop de doruri ude inundă-mă şi tu în val de rouă să răcorim aceaste clipe prea arzânde cu stropi de ploaie despărţităn două...

Turn out well Elena Spătaru 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!

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.

year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

Then I saw

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

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! TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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Taifas Literary Magazine no.

Like mothers kind they bring relief.

Odujebe Oluwole Nigeria

4, 2020, October

The weary man whom toils oppress. When traveling through life's widerness. Sunrise hope Finds in his spouse a place of rest. And there abides, refreshed and blest.

It was a bright sunrise At time so nebulous The sun in it's guise Do reveal the fabulous!

Metin Yildirim Antakya Turkey

As the world turn

The shore's miracle On the morning sands Sprouts to the pinacle On the vast sea bands!

In the light of every day. The bittersweet life begins. At every sunrise.

A Sunday, so radiant Ambience so serene The breeze so brilliant A wonder filled scene!

Hopes are reborn. The days were good and bad. How did the corona viruses

Here love did prevail Nature's sweet scent Too, profusely avail In hope, magnificent!

come out? People are locked in the house. Bitter fears swept the world.

Suresh Chandra Sarangi

Some cry, some laugh. He was neither comfortable nor morale.

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.

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.

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. year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

Yanush Doyniak

Anna Maria Sprzęczka-Stępień

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

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!

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Taifas Literary Magazine no.

prose 25-30

Anna Maria Sprzęczka-Stępień

4, 2020, October

and she always prepares something delicious to eat for her guests.

My Aunt always seems to be busy. She Poland spends a lot of time doing the housework, baking or cooking and so forth and so on. Auntie Stasia When she is not at home, she is usually at church or either visiting her friends or family. If I were to tell now who is my favourite This is a person who really taught me a lot, family member, I would say it with no just by her own example. I would like to be hesitation: Aunt Stasia. Well, of course, along such a good human as she is. When you are with my big boy, Jacek. with her, you can relax. Although we see each She lives in a small town of Tarnobrzeg, in other occasionally, I still really like to spend the south-east of Poland. Unfortunately, we my spare time with my Auntie Stasia. don’t meet very often nowadays, but once she used to Cheating Doesn’t Pay call in on us every Saturday.

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 Auntie Stasia has a very pleasant computer and started realizing his vicious personality. Never have I met a more patient plan. He opened an account for himself; then and kind-hearted person. She always has time he charged the bank’s account. The money was to listen to her grandchildren’s big problems. finally there! She is also very helpful, not only for her family “It will solve my £ 20,000 problem.” – Jim but also for friends. Quite willingly, my dear sighed with a relief. When he was about to go, Aunt comes to them and helps with everyday suddenly other employees came in to the chores. I remember that once she was asked to room. look after a very ill elder woman, and she “What are you doing here so early?” – one didn’t hesitate even for a second. of them asked. It was Tom, Jim’s best mate. No doubt, she is generous. Always “Oh, hmm, so…” – James murmured remembering my son Jacek, she never comes nervously. He wasn’t prepared to this turn of without a small gift for him. It’s worth adding events! that she’s truly hard-working. Her flat shines year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

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.

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“Well, I have been so snowed under with Šahdo Bošnjak work recently that I thought I could come here earlier one day to get through it. And here I Bosnia and Herzegovina am!” What a brilliant and simple answer it was. At least his colleagues believed him, even Snovi Šehida Ibrahima 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.

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. Next day Jim went to work as usual. With Nedaleko od njih some dose of žuborila je Usora dok hesitation, he opened se naokolo hvatao the door of the office paučinasti mračak i and entered the room. ugođaj bi bio potpun, Everybody was there. osjećao je Hamid, Jim noticed that they samo da nije ovog had been gossiping prokletog rata, pa about something in oduševljen ljepotom, low voices. But at the koju je najzad very moment they saw primijetio, u jednom trenutku prekide šutnju i him, they became silent. progovori: “The boss wants to see you, Jim. He is – Veliko je zadovoljstvo, labude, sjediti waiting for you in his room.” – Tom said. ovdje dok nastupa akšam, pa mi nešto Left with no choice, James did what he was naumpade ona pjesma: “Ah, meraka u večeri asked to do. rane...“ “Good morning, James.” – Baš je lijepo... – složi se izviđač, makar što “Good morning, Mr Harper.” – Jim replied ljepota nije dopirala ni do njegovog razuma, a with noticeable uncertainty in his voice. kamoli do njegovog srca i duše, uzburkane “Do you know what I want to tell you? Oh, različitim osjećanjima, nad koju se nadnio I’m sure you know!” golem, mračan oblak, da se momku na licu, Jim stood still, not being able to say any tom svojevrsnom ogledalu duše, pojavi grč bola, koji vodnik ne primijeti, što zbog single word. “I should have called the police, but I didn’t. nadolazeće tame, što zbog buljenja u talase You’ve been such a good and intelligent rijeke. – Nego, kako je na liniji, mislim... ima li problema? employee! It’s a pity I must say it: YOU ARE FIRED!!!!!!

– Pa, baš i nema... Ovaj, ma nije baš posve da

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE 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

4, 2020, October

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

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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.

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!”

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, – Nešto si se, jarane, odlažući prazan tanjir duboko zamislio. na klupicu pokraj rova. Kanda su ti misli Međutim, Đorđe više daleko odlutale? – ništa ne reče, a i neprijateljski vojnici, kao po prenu ga i vrati u stvarnost prijateljev glas. nečijoj zapovijedi, prestadoše s daljnjim – Hah?!... – zbunjeno izusti izviđač. provokacijama. – Kako tvoja rana? – upita vodnik. I, ne Na ove riječi Ibrahim se lecnu, a u grlu čekajući odgovor, dodade: – Još jednu heftu pa zastala oskoruša, pa ni gore ni dolje, dok kroz ćeš, čini mi se, biti kao nov. glavu prolaze sjećanja na Sarajevo, na sretne – Heftu?! Hm, dvoumio sam nešto da li da dane studentskog siromahovanja. Sjeća se pođem sutra na liniju. Nakon ovoga što sam visokog, crnomanjastog Stanivuka. Plaho saznao od tebe, sad više nemam dvojbe. Idem, naočit momak. Dijelili su zadnju koru kruha, pa makar i na jednoj nozi. zadnju cigaretu. Iz iste su čaše pili jednu koka– Ali, Ibro, oprosti, pa to je ludost... Rana ti kolu. Sjeća se lažnog imena, Ismet, kad se još nije sasvim zacijelila, ugruhan si, psihički udvarao muslimanskim djevojkama. I kako je potresen... govorio da bi volio više od svega da se oženi s – Rana, hm... Sve su to trice i kučine. Rekao muslimankom. “Da, lažno, lažno... Sve je na tim bijednicima bilo lažno, dok su s nama zajedno sam ti već da ću se protiv tih zlotvora boriti, živjeli. Lažno prijateljstvo, lažno kumstvo, zatreba li, i na jednoj nozi. Uostalom, svejedno lažni komšiluk, lažno bratstvo i jedinstvo, je – poginuo danas ili sutra.

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– O kakvoj ti to, prijatelju, pogibiji? Ta, šta ti ljudi, puni slabosti. Ali, ne zamjerim im, zato je? Živ čovjek ne ide u mezar. A dok je čovjek što smo i sami ljudi. Vjerujem kako ćeš priču živ, ljudski se nadati. koju ću ti ispričati sačuvati kao tajnu do kraja Ibro duboko uzdahnu, a lice mu se umi života, jer je to i moja želja. Sinoć sam se vrelim suzama, koje su pekle kao žar, ali on to osjećao iznimno umornim pa sam legao neuobičajeno rano, odmah svečeri. Čini mi se nije niti osjećao kad je rekao: – Ti se možda i možeš nadati, ali ja ne. Ja da sam odmah zaspao, a onda su krenuli snovi. Kao: vraćam se s izviđanja, sam samcit. I sam sinoć odsanjao svoj posljednji san. Sanjao sam, labude, vlastitu smrt!... Moj životni krug gladan, i žedan, i usto mrtav umoran. Naiđem tako na jedno osojno mjesto, mala zaravan, na se zatvara... To je kraj... kraj... svega!... njoj trava mekahna ko duša. Svježa hladovina Nakon tih riječi, zašutješe, zanijemješe svu je obgrlila da me odmah žeđ minu. Dušekobojica. Dugo su tako šutjeli, svako zaokupljen trava sama mami, zove da malo prilegnem, svojim mislima. Onda Hamid prebaci desnu odmorim. Srušim se od umora i ruku preko prijateljevog izvalim na leđa pa onako ramena, zagrli ga i tješeći ga nalakćen metnem travku reče: između zuba, odmaram koščice – Nemoj da prenagljuješ pri i uživam, što bi se reklo, u zaključcima. Sve je to psihički prirodnim ljepotama. Odnekud stres prilikom ranjavanja od pjevuši slavuj, ma milina ga koga se još nisi sasvim slušati, dok pred očima pukla oporavio. Sve će to biti dobro, predivna panorama: vidjet ćeš... nepregledan kanjon, zarobljen A u mislima je počeo da u zagrljaju s jedne strane strahuje za prijateljev život. četinarske a s druge strane Znao je, kad je smrt u pitanju, listopadne šume. A ja pomislim da tu Ibro ima snažan kako ovako nekako, možda, predosjećaj, intuiciju, šesto izgleda u Džennetu kadli ti se čulo, šta li? Da je taj predosjećaj iznenada oćuti bat kopita, čvrsto skopčan sa snovima i da ga još nikad prolama se, ali nekako potmulo, kao da dolazi nije prevario. A, opet, s druge strane, kako iz same zemljine utrobe. Obrnem glavu lijevo – vjerovati da čovjek, obični smrtnik, može imati i ništa. Obrnem desno – kad iz šume ispade te nadnaravne moći?! Kad bi o tome jahač na pomamnom vrancu te se stane razmišljao, još nikad ne bi uspio razriješiti tu postrance spuštati niz strminu. Uh, vidim: k enigmu, bolje reći taj paradoks, pa ni sad dok meni se zaputio! Ustanem, iz pristojnosti, da čuje prijatelja kakao s mukom, i bolom u glasu barem sjedeći dočekam nezvanog musafira, ili nastavlja pričati o sinoćnjem snu: bolje reći putnika namjernika. Dok mi prilazi – Ovo je san koji ću ti zadnji put ispričati. I sve bliže, znatiželjno ga posmatram. Brada mu samo tebi. Nisam ga ispričao ni roditeljima ni duga, do pasa, sijeda. Vidim, čovo mi poznat, braći niti ikom drugom, i neću. A tebi mogu, jer kanda sam ga negdje vidio... I sjetim se. Samo, si mi ti najbolji prijatelj, i znam da mi se nećeš umjesto zelenog sad je na sebi imao crni smijati niti ćeš moju priču izvrgnuti u sprdnju, ogrtač, nekako plaho dugačak, gotovo do kako bi to mnogi učinili. Ma, znaš kakvi su zemlje, raskopčan, ispod koga se vidjelo year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

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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 sinko?”

rad,

“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.”

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.

Na njegove riječi “i jednu mnogo tužnu Sad je na redu ona druga, tužna, vijest, za vijest” ja se stresoh od groze, a on je sjedio koju, kao što rekoh, nikad nije kasno. Naime, TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

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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.”

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 Odmah vrati crnu knjigu pod crno džube, zajaha crnog konja i na polasku, opet uljudno, da živimo Portugal od 16. veka, kada se pozdravi: otvorila ulica koja je prolazila preko bašte portoanskog biskupa; živimo ga od kad živi “Allahimanet, sinko!” “Allahimanet!”, kažem, te se probudim, sav Rua das Flores...samo ti, a u tebi sve lepote sveta... samo ti a u tebi sva ludost i sreča okupan u znoju. deteta... jer duša ti je satkana od peska Sahare, 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.”

4, 2020, October

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4, 2020, October

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. TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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essay 31-35

Myriam GhezaĂŻl Ben Brahim

4, 2020, October

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 Story of a solitude responsibilities, a huge workload, a good salary. I met someone. We got married. The Laughter has always been a part of my life. relationship didn't work out. We got divorced. I come from an Italian family where, growing One day I was having lunch with a friend. up in the suburbs of Paris, all I heard was She asked me if I was okay. I was at the bottom laughter and singing. Laughter very quickly of the hole and spontaneously told her that I served as a defense mechanism and was very had only one desire: to quit my teaching job, useful in fighting my shyness. take my backpack, leave and Later it was essential to my make a documentary on socialization. laughter. Since I was a kid, I had I have been a Spanish always dreamed of going teacher for sixteen years and around the world, but the idea an actor for ten years. In 2016, had been put on hold for a I made my most decisive while. There in this decision: to go around the conversation of depressives world for a year and make a over sushi, the project came to documentary about laughter. life. As an actor, I wanted to I really enjoyed teaching but understand the mechanisms of I already felt that my life didn't humor. I wanted to know if we fit me or no longer did. A could all laugh at the same feeling. I was beginning to feel things, from Moscow to that my relationship to the Melbourne. world was different. So I dusted off my idea of This trip made me a laughter activist. The a trip and I realized that the project was very common point of all those I met is that they use complete in my head. I knew exactly what I art to heal, denounce or give hope. My most wanted to do. beautiful revelation was to discover the art of I could stop everything in New York and the clown. Not the circus clown that everyone nothing was still waiting for me in France. It knows, but the humanitarian, social clown; the was the ideal moment. From that moment on, one who goes to hospitals to make the sick I started telling everyone about it. The project laugh and to refugee camps to bring a little had a name, a date, a fundraising campaign on comfort. the internet. It is enjoyable to be able to understand the It took six months to organize the person in front of you, to see what departure. psychological leverage you can use to help During this time I always felt like I was them. year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; ISSN-L 2458-0198

Tunisia

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

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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.

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 My initial idea was that this project would don't have a fixed apartment. I don't have a have a beginning and fixed couple. I don't an end. I was thinking have a fixed income. I of coming back to move all the time. So Paris to resume a my friends and family more normal life. will always be worried When I came back, I about me even though realized that this it's still a gentle would not be possible. pressure. They have I didn't feel like I was learned to trust me. going back, but like I was making a stopover to I've always been very sociable, but more see my buddies and my family. As soon as I and more I appreciate solitude. During long arrived, I could already see myself leaving. periods when I am not alone, I feel a real need This trip turned a lot of things upside down. to be with me.

I was very lucky and made many exceptional encounters. At each critical moment, I met someone who helped me and opened my eyes.

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.

I turned forty six months ago.

Now for me the next step is to have my own artistic and humanitarian cafĂŠ 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 The opposite is also true. As I freed myself kids crying or hungry, etc.. from it all. I became richer. Today, my ambition is to move to Seville, I am still struggling. When I spend time in

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there is a master's degree in art therapy that Bagawath Bhandari interests me. I am very keen to develop this aspect and to have even more psychological Bhutan acuity. I want to perfect my art and I wish that Peace in every fist… my clown workshops help more people and better. Moreover, Seville is a city that I know well Every blossom holds peace, and that is changing. Maybe this is the ideal Ambassadors of serenity are bees, Every dew dances in peace, place to open this café. Amid breathtaking caress. Definitely, I feel close to Spain.

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.

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, I define myself as a forty-year-old French In the lonely streets, Italian, teacher, actor, author, clown and Let us fight for peace, globetrotter. Leaving no crease. From now on, benevolence and gratitude bathe my relationship to the world and to the Peace be at every home, Other. I have the impression that even the In every holy song, universe responds to me differently. Peace be the weapon of our generation, It makes me laugh.

To move forward with determination.

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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.

Taifas Literary Magazine no.

4, 2020, October

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 TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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all’albero della conoscenza. Prima che l’assassinio di Abele si consumi, Caino manifesta verso il fratello un intenso odio invidioso, introdotto dal serpente che fomenta la prima trasgressione. Perché Caino colpisce a morte il fratello? “Egli non tollera di non essere l’unico”. Non è insolito che con l’arrivo di un secondo fratellino si scateni quello che Lacan chiama “complesso di intrusione”, che fa perdere nel primogenito il proprio statuto di oggetto fallico nel desiderio della madre, innescando il senso di abbandono. Si tratta di una situazione che spesso incontriamo nell’esperienza clinica, afferma l’autore.

4, 2020, October

Borna Kekić Milos Croatia

Biography Borna Kekić Zagreb Croatia Autumn is coming…. Autumn leaves fall very quickly Because the new time has come now Love reigns in our hearts Love happiness and goodness It costs people nothing The holidays are over And they were happy And the children started life And old friends found each other The friendship

never

ended

Because love is just one thing

Human kindness is a gift And Caino che è il primo figlio let autumn begin In my veins dell’intera umanità, l’uno Because friendship is the assoluto senza l’altro, viene greatest gift While the autumn trascinato nella violenza da un thing is coming .... altro elemento che definiamo la “mancanza di riconoscimento”: Borna Kekić Summer la delusione che Caino prova Summer is in town, the shade is quando a essere preferiti da calling me .... I'm sitting under Dio sono i doni di Abele e non i an apple tree in the garden, an suoi. Ferita narcisistica da cui scaturisce il gesto violento: non ragioni sociali, apple that evokes memories, memories that warm like the rays of the sun caressing me quindi, ma psicologiche. Ma Dio non lascia Caino senza riscatto, gently like my grandmother’s fingers as I sank into sleep. My grandmother and her apple .... An apple that gave an abundance of fruit that fall when I was born. I intertwine the warmth of memory with the warmth of summer in the shade of my grandmother's apple…. Summer

is in town, Summer is in the garden, warmth Nasce una nuova versione di fratellanza che and serenity in my soul… diviene indice della relazione con l’altro, About the author: Borna Kekić was born in “Non tanto con il fratello di sangue, con il

più prossimo, ma con lo sconosciuto, con il Zagreb, where he finished high school in economics. He started playing music as a little fratello che ancora non ha nome”. year I, no. 4, 2020, October ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

anche quando viene maledetto a un’erranza senza casa impone su di lui un segno che lo protegge dai suoi gesti, che ora divengono doppiamente generativi. Egli diviene padre e costruttore della prima città della storia dell’umanità.

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4, 2020, October

boy in the Zagreb Kids Choir. Borna has been involved in rap music since elementary school Dovoljno je da me držiš za ruku…. and has remained his preoccupation to this day. He writes his own lyrics, makes his own Neću odustati od tebe, music, and back in high school he started creating his own little music studio. The knowledge

acquired

the

School

Economics in the field of marketing and

hodat ću sa tobom putem naše ljubavi. Dovoljno je da me držiš za ruku…..

entrepreneurship encouraged him to take additional activities, so that in addition to

Samo ja

studio recording, he is currently working on videos. Through music he met poets which

encouraged him to express his emotions in Ponekad nesvijesno poletim nebom this way as well. ostavim muke i brige, a ne bih trebao…

Drži me za ruku

Olovka u ruci, Ispred mene prazan Došla si one divne noći

papir.

i ušetala u moj život

Idem

kao kap vode na žedne

putem,

usne.

u svoje misli kročim,

nepoznatim

bježim od svih, tražim mjesto gdje mi neće suditi,

za tebe one noći.

Mjesto gdje ću moći biti samo ja.

Moj život je bio tama,

Onaj ja koji sam u svojoj duši,

osvijetlio ga je sjaj tvojih očiju.

čist, iskren, ispravan.

Moj život je bio tih,

I jak.

probudio ga je tvoj smijeh.

Da ne bjezim.

Moj život je bio bez cilja,

Samo ja…

ti si mi pokazala put.

Samo ja….

Ponovno sam rođen

Dovoljno je da me držiš za ruku…. Krenut ću sa tobom na putovanje ljubavi. TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas October TaifasLiterary LiteraryMagazine Magazineno.no.4, 2020, 4, 2020, October

Poland

Znów dotyk zapamiętany... [The touch remembered again]

znów dotyk zapamiętany uśmiech i iskry z oczu akord dwóch serc zagrany i całus na uboczu i kwiatów polnych bukiecik kaczki puszczane na wodzie miłości skryty bilecik schowany w smutne paprocie a potem opowieść poduszki przez łzy uśmieszek wysłany wciśnięte w mą dłoń paluszki mój Zuzik ukochany kolejny ból pożegnania samotnie krwawiące serce tęsknota do podpisania opadłe bezsilnie ręce i jeszcze słowa co dudnią jak krople deszczu o dachy żale śpiewane lutnią wspomniane ochy i achy i cisza znów na miesiące i noc co obrazy zabiera tak bardzo zimne słońce smutnych przemyśleń opera

year I, no. 4, 2020, October year I, no. 4, 2020, October

Nelu Cazan Romania

Vouă Mi-e toamnă de tine De mine mi-e frig Mi-e toamnă de noi Şi te strig Încep iar frunze Să se-ngălbenească Din toamna vieții Căt a mai rămas Gutuia-mi zămbeşte Trist din fereastră Visăndu-se parcă La un parastas. Din toamna mea Îți dau azi şi ție Nu frunze ce cad din copaci, O lacrima azi , Dar de bucurie Şi aş vrea ca să ştiu ce mai faci. E toamnă acum Dar în mine e noapte Copacii lasă frunze pe drum Te aştept tot aici Doar o singură noapte S-au străns atătea să-ți spun Să vii să-ți culeg struguri copți, Ți-i pun peste semnul de carte, Din toamna ta dă-mi dacă poți, Iubire într-o ultimă noapte Te aştept negreşit toamna asta Crezănd că n-ai să mă minți iar Îți las deschisă fereastra Tu uită-te în calendar, E toamnă iar.

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47 47

Adam Żemojtel

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4, 2020, October

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

yaer I, no. 4, 2020, October

ISSN 2458-0198 ISSN-L 2458-0198 Founded in Constanţa, June 2020

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 Responsibility for the content of texts published in the journal belongs directly to the authors who sign them, in the name of freedom of expression.

Revista de scrieri şi opinii literare Taifas Literar poate fi citită online pe site-urile Cronopedia

(lenusa.ning.com) or: Taifas Literay Magazine Email: worldliterarymagazine@gmail.com

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Authors in summary: ADAM GWARA 11, ADAM ŻEMOJTEL 19, 47, ANNA MARIA SPRZĘCZKA-STĘPIEŃ 32, 33, ANNA MARIA STRZELEC-LESZCZYNIECKA 25, ANNA SARACCHI 17, ANTOINETTE DIGIORGIO CORBELL 24, ANTONIA RODRÍGUEZ FERREIRO 15, BAGAWATH BHANDARI 43, BAJRAM BAJRO NELJKOVIĆ 18, BELLO AYUBA 27, BHAGIRATH CHOUDHARY 13, BORNA KEKIĆ MILOS 45, BOZENA HELENA MAZUR-NOWAK 8, 26, DANIELA VÎLCEANU 23, DESTINY M O CHIJIOKE 22, ELENA SPATARU 29, ELENA TUDOSĂ 19, FABIAN HISTORIAS 10, GEORGE IONIŢA 29, GIANFRANCO AURILIO 25, GIOVANBATTISTA FETTA 23, GIUSY CRISCUOLO PADOVAN 25, LENUŞ LUNGU 14, GRACIELA BEATRIZ SOVRAN HARO 15, ION CUZUIOC 6, IWAN DARTHA 9, JAWEED AHMED 16, JOANNA SVENSSON 28, LABUD N. LONČAR 16, LINA ALFIERI 24, LUCIANO ZAMPINI 18, MARIA STRZELEC-LESZCZYNIECKA 12, MARIANA ROGOZ STRATULAT 25, METIN YILDIRIM ANTAKYA 31, MICHAEL ONDAATJE. 44, MUHEDIN MAHILAJ 16, MYRIAM GHEZAÏL BEN BRAHIM 41, NELU CAZAN 47, OANA LUPAŞCU 20, ODUJEBE OLUWOLE 31, OMAR ABURTO 12, 14, PAUL ROTARU 3, 30, ŠAHDO BOŠNJAK 34, SAMEER GOEL 12, SELMA KOPIĆ 10, SLAVKA BOZOVIC 17, SMART OYEDEJI 14, SURESH CHANDRA SARANGI 31, TANU VERMANI KAPOOR 26, VLADANKA CVETKOVIĆ 2, YANUSH DOYNIAK 32, ZBIGNIEW MICHALSKI 8, 26, ZEHRA BAJIĆ ALIĆ 27, ZORAN RADOSAVLJEVIC 39

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