Ali Abdolrezaei

 

 Eleven poems by Ali Abdolrezaei

 

Death to the Dictator

 

 

Hey Mr, Master, Sir, Supreme Leader,

After the last comma Come on!

Put a full stop!

 

From the moment’s roof top

Today’s crying Death to the Ruthless

Tomorrow’s its witness

Don’t fire on unarmed loneliness

All folks have spilt to the street which leads to the sea

See!

The water that’s flowed

Won’t return to the river

Why fire on protesters?

Their bloody palms are waving to your hammer which is coming down

Watch!

Which is your mother? Brother? Sister?

Dear Mr, Sir, Supreme Leader

Hey whoremaster!

Facing you

The question mark that’s whying

Is the comer!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Microphone

 

 

 

He’s a dic dic dictator who forced you to write a dic dic dictation about his fac fact as a fucking fac factory which’s making king in your thing thing

Think!

Go on strike!

Please!

Turn off this fucking Mike!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elections

 

 

 

 

I’m not in your company

My honey!

Leave it!

The best choice in this election

Is my erection

Come on!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exile

 

 

 

Of course I’m fine!

As a single line

In an empty file

I’m in exile which means

Thinking about nothing

Singing without voice

Fuck!

There are no bits

In this orange juice!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

News

 

 

 

That’s it!

I’m getting fat

And have to put on my head

a big hat

There is an old cat

in my mind

that’s doing a few meows

Listen!

That’s my news

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poets

 

 

Poets are chains of mountains

I wish that summits meet

To say hey

high

to each other

 

 

 

Electric

 

 

 

Although my jacket has no pockets

All lights are connected to sockets

I’m abused

Though you’re the same drug which I refused

If my plug touch your socket

How much electric is used?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disco

 

 

What’s the difference between me and

you who’re off to Disco?

For discount

I am going to Tesco

 

 

 

 

 

Penis

 

Although I’m left

I write right

About your juicy pussy this tight!

Don’t ask me what happened to you that night

I’m a communist who makes love by pen

Pen is my all

My whole is penis

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clapping for God

 

 

 

 

The River Thames is off where?

The London eye’s high why?

Who made my sky shy?

This Town’s vomited its people

Although my cup is empty

All windows are full of tea

What’s wrong with the city?

London is a song which the stranger sings at sunset

Let’s clap for all these Please!

 

 

 

 

In Mr of street

 

 

 

Why is that babe wandering in Mr of street which could be

everybody

except me?

 

It’s getting dark

The park is sleepy

My heart but is parked on an old seat

 

Like some desperate hands

Branches of two trees are hugging

This oak is my mother

That elder my father

Why is not my wife

The girl who is passing by

In front of me?