Tag Archives: social realism

A 1960’s Northern Town

fading back the years,
to Friday-paid dirt-nailed
stand-up straight-razor guys,
smoke-stenched, beer-drenched,
immersed in Willy Dixon’s words
strung like wire
barbed across their hearts;
lost in deep resonances
of factory-line steam-hammers
raw and edged
like John Lee Hooker’s
drunk on too much scotch
and too much weekend parfumerie,
unrequited by Howlin’ Wolf’s
plaintive primordial lament
“ won’t you come back to me? ”
its timeless patina of weariness
covering the night that goes crashing,
its braggadocio getting swept aside;
the only consolation
is in the cold clear air
of Sunday morning.

Ask Yourself

You take pride in
boasting about
you are a HOME MAKER
ask yourself
are you also
within the four walls of
your  home
are you even a consultant ,
a participant in the process of
decision making
I am no crusader
just a fellow traveller
on this earth
who is asking you
an uncomfortable question
you are not bound to answer
but I seek your indulgence
please question yourself
more often
who are you
what is your purpose
on this earth
because you are
a soul
not just
not merely
a Home Maker
there is more
to your story.
make it worth telling
choice is all yours
you have to  choose
between being a door mat
or a self respecting being
make your choice
all of us are home maker first
but we need to be
decision makers as well.

The Last Cicada

The sadness scattered
over the walls resonating
with what was
in the heart
of the mountain.
No sound could be heard.
A myriad of eyes belonging to cicadas
were shrouded in mist.

A somewhat long-winded
like a speech
surrounded the sky.
Maybe it was an echo,
a sesquipedalian one.
It wasn’t breathless at all.

Nothing could have saved
nature around.
Neither of the forests,
neither of the birds,
and neither of the bears
could survive…..
Nothing more
could have been done.

All the moving peaks became
small stones, as solitary
as the moon,
at the fugitive horizon.
The last cicada

Everything became motionless.
There were only the shadows
of the trees
to follow the sunbeams.
The nature game
turned detrimentally
into a disaster.

In an illuminated city,
a man bought
a lovely bouquet of red roses
wanting to bestow
what it is considered to be
a symbol of romance.
This man needed
to express his love
and to let his woman know
how he feels about her.
This man disappeared.
He was the last one.
Nothing could have saved him.
Nothing more
could have been done.

Poem by Marieta Maglas

The name of the painter is Adam Sturch.

Little Birdie

Little birdie cracks its egg
to breathe in open air.
It likes its nest, mommy bird
and siblings next to hers.
She sees her wings,
moves them gently,
their use she wants to learn.
And in the sky,
she wants to fly,
high and high and high.
Ma realizes and emboldens
little birdie to flutter around
and one day comes,
she finds the sky
and soar so high in blue.
She senses the wind,
touches the clouds,
acquaints with scorch of sun,
perches here and there
and sings her twittery song
She can’t express
how she feels,
she can only tell
‘God has made a world for me
so vast and beautiful,
all is mine, I so admire
let me only fly
and discover my God’s realm.
But in vain she thinks so much
this world is not for her.
Some eyes are there
who always stare,
spread the traps for her.
She is caught in mesh
and moved to a cage,
her sky is taken away.
‘Oh my wings are not to fly
they can only flutter
flurry and flap and whirr
until this cruel world is
wrought with selfish folks’
Then she dies a soundless death
with unquenched dreams
in her eyes……

The Non-Existent Truth

The defined and the undefined truth,

Endowed with knowledge or without knowledge,

Sometimes real or unreal,

Certainly including being and non-being,

Accepting that being is true,

Accepting the non-existence of being,

When the absence of existence means the negation of being,

Accepting that truth did not exist,

And it would have been true that it did not exist, at the same time,

Understanding that truth is eternal,

Imagining the idea of a non-existing world,

Before its own existence,

Accepting the universal and the immortal truth,

So interchangeable with the existence,

While the universal never ceases of itself,

Recognizing the truth always existing in an eternal intellect,

While the created truth is not existing,

Understanding the created truth as not existing,

Remaining truth, when the true things have been destroyed,

Or remaining truth, when all true things can be destroyed,

Or remaining truth, when our minds cannot see the truth itself,

Truth being, in a sense, always as a consequence of its act,

Truth not being in the sense, because

The sense does not know the truth it truly judges,

Even it judges truly about things and about

The existent and the non-existent truth…

If you were a spring without flowers,
probably then all my trees
would be lethargic.
If you were a wind coiling without leaves,
possibly all my trees would be already fallen,
and if you were a sky without its sun,
certainly no other tree could
germinate to grow from seed.
And I would not be able to exist any longer,
for I am the forest.
But in the snowy winter that would follow,
and in the churches with empty bells,
not ringing in the frost,
God would be still existent.
But you were my springing spring,
my whispering leafing wind
and my sunny sky.
And, in the winter,
in your absence,
I did not cease to love you while
craving for the melted snow,
craving for the blossomed trees,
craving for the ringing bells…

© copyright Marieta Maglas

Today is the Time

Today’s Time is very critical,
while we make use of it,
the treatment we give to our time,
it should be very special.

it is said that,
once time is lost,
it never comes back,
its true fact of life,
everybody of us knew it,
yet we waste our time,
as if time is ours,
and we can roll it back.

We should understand,
the importance of time,
we should never ignore,
the true value of time,
indeed once time is lost,
it will never come back,
we will just sit and cry,
than there will be no returning back.

Today is the day
we should get up and realize,
the true value of time we have,
today is the day,
we should spend every moment,
as if this is all we have.

So if possible,
take time and do one simple act,
love your loved ones,
spend time with your family today.

Say whatever you always wanted to say,
but you didn’t get time for it,
say it today,
just say it today,
live it today,
as today is the day,
which will be yours
and make the most out of it
only and only today.


A Sephirothic Angel

The sounds made spiky, jagged

angles. They were like deep water

gushed up
through three mouths. The woman
slowly moved her head
from side to side. She lost

her right sight, nor could she

recognize the chasm
around. She tried to dance
her legs while wearing a weary dress. Her
blues partner was
indistinguishable. She appeared
to be in love with him,
but in fact, she needed to feel
changed by
this healing power. She felt

his left hand gently caressing

her breasts

while talking about
her wistfulness as about a solitary stone
in the sea. A Sephirothic Angel having

a white wing
and a black one

approached to help her find
the balance between life and death.
This angel remained behind

the right edge of the window

on her bloodied wall. In the mirror
of time, her white and black face
skin cracked.

Her soul was
old, though still pure
while trying to
crawl out from
its hiding chaos.It was the end

of the summer, and
the arctic terns flew south
to spend their
next future
on a pack ice.

sephiroph angel of darkness


Regret the mismatch

Wish I was like everybody else

Not because I want to

Don’t want them to take

The trouble of reaching

My levels

Though they think

To be better off

I know I am the special best

How magical

Balanced steps to a misbalanced life

Dis-balanced steps to a balanced life

I heard a friend is around

Hiding behind that corner

Enough for me for the rest of my life

Why then change

And honestly speaking

Have a secret desire

I pray for them

To be deprived of

Such wonderful life





Child Abuse

Even devils act mild
Before a child
Something terribly wrong with man
Who has no inhibitions
In turning wild with a child
Uncles, fathers and grandfathers
Teachers and neighbours
All have turned slaughterers
Offering sacrifices of pious childhood
To procure blessings
For their ill desires
And the after-whispers
Pouring poison into little ears
Asking everyone
What they talking about
How ironical is this
Poor victim has no idea
Of the harm inflicted
A life burnt
In the fire of burning desires
A budding life revealed to
Devilish aspects of growth

Words and blows
It all shows
As they grow
And the snow
Of innocence melts
A wound on skin
Time can heal
What happens to
The wounds within
Life is not just
Skin thin
Violence is infectious
Why infect your child
With the disease
Ruining his childhood
Infecting his adulthood
With violence and indecency
God knows when we stop
Turning brilliance into violence