IBRAHIM HONJO

 

 

Arrival Out Of Ignorance

 

For whom the church bells toll

for whom is a muezzin praying from the minaret

on Friday at twelve

for whom I cried that Friday

 

who are they calling at this time swollen from pain

which I hugged with the first sob

 

I arrived at the right time, they said

when spring began to mature

they gave me the name of my grandfather

who was swallowed by the great war

 

all wars are great and blood-stained

 

I was born after the last great war

I cry for all the wars of the past and future

 

do the bells toll to announce my birth

or some new great war that will eat me

 

does the muezzin pray on the minaret

to announce a new upcoming bloodshed

or just advertise my crying

 

I’m here and I do not know why

my mother did not promise me anything

she only held me on her bosom

tears came out of her eyes

because

she had nothing in her breasts to feed me with

 

my father was somewhere, carving stone

and he looked on this day through one eye

 

they promise everyone that it will be better

and it is always better for someone

after great wars

 

God has never stopped the bloodshed

by brainwashing

they awake the imagination of the population

and with fear, they complete their promises

everything is imagination except my birth

 

I really did not want to come here

and witness the self-destruction of mankind

somebody planted a cuckoo's egg on me

which I sensed at birth

 

only my mother and father

rejoiced in my first cry

afterward, everything was according

to the unwritten rules of the universe

 

it's time to go to that gray stone

and dream in peace

about the peace destroyed

in the name of the Creator of the Worlds

and non-existent democracy

 

the myth of peace and peacemakers

remains only a myth

because

peace can only be made by producers of war

 

bells will continue to toll

and a muezzin will pray

sheep will continue to follow a bell-ringer ram

 

I watch the ship sink without the captain

and the helmsman

 

I'm singing “The Internationale“

 

Autumn Night In Me

 

Night butterflies land on my shoulders

stars like fireflies setting their soft light

on my sleepy eyes

 

autumn is sunny and endlessly colorful

salmon going to hatcheries

clouds are wearily flying from east to west

and from north to south

 

leaves secretly falling from branches

in the rhythm of the Argentine tango

 

An evening smell of roasted chestnuts

imprisoned in the nose

and a rush of saliva in the mouth

 

The voice of an owl

is breaking the silence of the night

in me, everything is sealed

as the greatest secret

 

some new disquietude ravages my soul

and some new unusual thought

is breaking my soul

 

the autumn sprinkled my soul

I sigh feeling the beauty of the landscape

 

Dying In A Poem 

 

No, I'm not dying my darling

It is me being born again

in a poem without enthusiasm and wings

after all cannonades

 

just keep silent, watch and wait

for me to start crying or smiling

wait for me to see off the last great war, weeping

wait for me to smile to a new life

 

wait

just wait

for a poem to start speaking inside of me

and let her cry over everything that was

and smile at everything that will come

cuddle her lament

and her laughter on your chest

hug the winged poem

and let her fly with the first strong wind

far, wide, deep and high

and watch

just watch

how I am born frozen in the poem

and how I’m leaving with the poem

after the Great War

to rest from all past and future cannonades

 

please

do not cry on departure, like you used to

we mourned goodbyes long ago

on the platforms of many cities

 

let's smile together

for everything that has passed

and everything that is coming

look around you

and wait for a bird to sing

and cheerfully fly to no return

 

and I want you to know

everything that comes must leave

 

and it never comes back

 

take my hand and hold it firmly

smile at my last trip

it's time for the last goodbye

the devil came to claim his own

he is the only one who comes, goes and returns

 

IBRAHIM HONJO

 

IBRAHIM HONJO is a Canadian/Bosnian poet-writer, who writes in Bosnian, and English language. He has worked as an economist, journalist, editor, marketing director, and property manager. He is currently retired and resides in Vancouver, BC. Honjo is author 24 published books in Bosnian Language, (7 books in English, 3 books bilingually (in English and Bosnian language). In addition, 4 joints’ books of poems published with Serbian poets. His poems have been represented in more than 60 world anthologies. Some of Honjo’s poems have been translated into Italian, Spanish, Korean, Polish, Slovenian, Bahasa (Malaysia), Mongolian, Turkmen, Turkish, Russian, Bengali, Portuguese, French, Arabic, Tajik, Vietnamese, Chinese, and German.

He received several prizes for his poetry.