I rained my heartbeats on the sky below, I burned the murderers of my body and my heart on the diseased clouds in the desert, on the roads of the raging sky. I could not be resurrected in the heart of my corpse.


Unlawfully loaded sentences pass through the red veins of my heart. The whole world fell into my hands as I witnessed my shortness of breath. I can’t feel my hands, no matter how much I watered the leprosy flower, I couldn’t die with my heart beating. We chased the heart stone with black-maned horses among the dust of books and library archives. We emptied my heart a million times. My body was not resurrected. I stood at the entrance to your heart.


When I remembered it, I held it in my mouth with its untranslatable name. As I pump Jerusalem into my heart, I shake the walls with the fire in my eyelashes with black birds. Let them look to my left, I stopped grinding with my spinal cord in my pocket.
I couldn’t be resurrected 🖤



Jerusalem, I lifted my face to the wall.
I turned my heart upside down in the arms of a tree that came far from the land of many sinners, and I sealed it with Hebrew writings, the entrance to which could never be found.
Seven centuries have passed from the black wells of my life
Black fairy tale birds are killing themselves by stoning themselves on my corpse. 🖤



I couldn’t be resurrected 🖤
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