Radek Hasalík

The Land of Princesses
    ~ For all Female Iranian Poets

 
Land of desert sands hot like a lava
land, which knew, what means a great glory
land washed by a salt in every second side
land of love apples behind a gate of hell.

What is still alive from a great glory
stiff napes of minarets carry to heavens.

Land get used to produce fruits secretly
land, where a courage lives intractable
land convicted to eternal wishs
land in a sleep awake, by day full of dreams.

Everyone new banished dream
longed for breathe free and to fly away.

Desert flowers suck a moisture from a mother earth
they conceal their eloquence and look like dumb.
Desert flowers turn a world into a head again
they live, where it can´t, they are amused at most.
Desert flowers, guards of a life over a death
no hot breaks them, no wind crushs.
Desert flowers, a pride lonely in a fight
against each adversity of fate, since a world has exist.
Desert flowers, a beauty growing in a brash
grinning at a desert, a decayd heat of smelter.

Land, where a youth still going to grow
land, which didn´t free a soul of fasting
land, a proud source of princesses
land, a love beyond a grave, a beauty, a vain dream.

Godmother by generations of the ageing young
by princesses placed into a damned tower.

Land stroked by an ocean, by a sea
land locked up in so tight courtyard
land blessed by very scarce metals
land, that once you wake up by words.

Immersed into the armful of reassuring waters
she quietly tries to solve her destiny, she looks for a fixed point.

© 2014 Radek Hasalík

On Magnetic Lines

Take me a time, what you so need,
on a road of mine I long for seat.
	
Fates of our lives wanted to meet,
from cold degrees to make a heat.
	
Take me a time, now I may wait,
A life by your side seems to be great.

Hide your reproach, prevent my hate,
Our love stay fine against a late date.
	
Take me a time, I want to be yours,
to take off a dress, to close the doors.

From a board of bliss I collect a force
on magnetic lines to call Help by morse.
	
Take me a time, what you miss still,
than you reach a top of a poetry hill.
	
Wait for me, dear, for your good will
goddess of Love goes a grace to fill.

Take me a time, what you have lost
in cells of past, warmless and frost.
	
Limits of mine, many, more, most,
you let me break on wings of post.

 
© 2014 Radek Hasalík

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