Gabriel Rosenstock

“Tá an ghealach ina luí ar a droimGlan ar meisceCoimeádann sí na héin ina ndúiseachtI dteanga iasachta atá a ngiob geabSníonn abhainn airgeadúil in aghaidh na fána,Iompraíonn scáil na sceiche gile léi,Taoi amuigh ag siúl, ní foláir, cosnochtaThe moon lies on her backMad drunkKeeping the birds awakeThey chat in a foreign tongueA silvery river flows up the slopeBearing with it the reflection of a fairy bushYou must be out walking, in Your bare feet”

“all my pastspread outlaid bareI trample on itwhat else to do”

“if people ask for directionsI point to the gibbous moonwhen asked how I amI smile the cusp of an eclipse”

“Dar ÓmaI was a beggarYou threw me a smileI ran offdeliriousinto the distancelater, tiredhungryI sat downnow people toss me coinsI throw them back at themall I ever wantedwas Your smile”

“Two thousand Sufi poets assembled in Baghdad last nightBullets, rockets and granades flyingAllah heard only their wine voicesBursting in a fireball straight to ParadiseBombs and explosivesIlluminated the shame for an instantBefore sinking suddenly to earthEchoes of their words seep through wounds”