Journal of Transnational Literature

  1-Dust house Translated by: Goran Sabah I write What the Earth and sky tell me To write with the notebook of the wind With the pen of the cloud. Dust storm or not Is it coming? Are you blind? The air tells us: You, the dust, when you rain The sky’s sight gets blurry. *** For ages, they have wanted us to leave the Earth Who will move to Mars? Isn’t it copy pasted here? *** In the air The air is not itself and the Earth’s skull is cracked, When it awakes, It forgets about rain, snow and hail. Colored or not, White becomes an old poem inside the snow to get obsolete! Flood becomes a prose for the calendar The farmers will read it in their farms. Hail breaks lesser windscreens than before Dust comes by itself, attaches itself to the windscreens, Only when the price of wipers goes higher Human beings understand their naivety Only then slam their heads against the wall. *** No one has energy for revolutions Look, revolution is waged in the air, Orange revolution Turns into red. *** Dus...