Selected Poems

From Tengrí: The Book of Mysteries

Íkaro Valderrama
Dead Friends
Remember that his fate will also be yours;
for him it was yesterday, for you today.
(Sirach, XXXVIII, 22)

Surrender the dancing silence

green pheasant in the hands of the air,
dead friends are coming over tonight
to set on fire the last flowers.
May the flutes fly as rainbow parrots,
may the night befell with drum-like heartbeats:
out of the mystery dead friends will come
to sing with me their eternal deluge.
(I am a cemetery, a humble body
for dead friends that keep returning.
I am a cemetery, fertile land, water and sider,
for dead friends that bury the living ones.)
May the flutes fly as rainbow parrots,
may the night befell with drum-like heartbeats:
out of the mystery dead friends will come
to sing with me their eternal deluge.
Tremors from the Source
The Inevitable Reality.
What is the Inevitable Reality?
(Quran, 69, 1)
A non-existent book also states
that the one who walks the path of Buddha
must learn how to remain silent.
The book declares: “The enlightened voice
is a lotus under water.”
This thought (like a delicate deer)
becomes ink on the musical tissues
of Al-Turayek, the great mystical poet
who—according to Arabian biographers—
never existed:
“silence shells
we the creatures that live under the sky
are awaiting the tremors from the source.
Here—in my deepest waters—
poems bloom.”
Ballerina
Who is your Lord, O Moses?
(Quran, 20, 49)

The ballerina sleeps

upon a bird’s back (she crosses
the night)
Wind satellite
gipsy firefly,
the black eye dances and dances
visions go on dancing without stopping
and a song hive
jiggling her handkerchief.
The curtain, the cloud, the trumpets are raised!
The light ballerina’s dreams are raised!

This is what the Sacred Scores say,

the ancient testaments of Sound:
“if the Gods applaud, may your dance rains,
if a cricket sings, may your dance rains,
if a dog barks, may your dance rains.
It is necessary to go through time’s hands,
through the silent walls of dawn.”
Sleep aerial ballerina of dreams
sleep aerially in your floating room.
Eagles

My Father´s eagles
in the mountain range night
hammered my tigerness.
Without teeth nor desires,
I am going on my knees (full of stars)
to the hidden place, forest and sky
dormant upon its plumage.
In the eternal nest
of the mountain range night
(Massive sky, full moon)
he feeds me
Father to son, Beak to mouth,
God to man until my substance explodes…
In the eternal nest of the mountain range night,
shells of both planets and universes
(cliffs of the beginning)
shatter
shimmering like the trembling song
of a bird in the mist.
Sound’s Pure Milk
Motionless, yet still moving
(The Bhagavad Gita, XIII, 16)
Sound’s pure milk,
open sky between your legs,
beyond every abyss
where the Whole is born.
Orgasm, celestial animal
at the edge of light:
Let us pray:
Jesus Christ’s umbilical cord,
divine cell’s food,
Heaven’s root in a woman’s placenta.
Virgin mammal, God mammal,
Mystery mammal:
strip our clothes.
Virgin mammal, God mammal,
Mystery mammal:
breastfeed us.
If the storks are pregnant with your Word,
may their heat fall upon us:
Feather and singing forever and ever,
feather and singing in the garden’s datura.
Another Bird
Listen to this dream I had
(Genesis, XXXVII, 6)
Another bird,
trembling rainbow
in my dream’s forest,
is singing deep within
the sleeping bird.
Querubín
And you will see the angels…
(Quran, 39, 75)
On the altar of jaguars
an angel offered me its body,
its animal flesh without a shadow.
I told it: “Dust you are, Sun you will become,
and the guts ruling my certainty
shall give you shelter. Come inside me, weird creature,
and rejoice!
At that time, this happened:
the night opened its yellow jaws
and a bird came to announce the ceremony:
Kaiuh, kaiuh
kaiuh, kaiuh.
Ruminating the celestial molecules,
my teeth then conquered
a mystery on the altar of jaguars:
the divine angels—living beings
that were born in the jungle
as omnivorous flashes of light—feed on
anacondas and toucans, on sheep, beetles, and horses,
on elephants, seagulls and planets.
Let us pray:
Indian Angel by the Putumayo river,
Indian Angel that devours Galaxies
come inside me,
and rejoice!
Ananyaq
And they say, "Legends of the former peoples
which he has written down…
(Quran 25, 5)
Ananyaq, the Eskimo grandfather, used to say:
Women are majestic birds
that cast their rainbow on the ice;
hence, a song blossoms wherever a woman is born.
Ananyaq, the Eskimo grandfather, used to say:
The pipe of Amarok, the whaler,
knows the histories of all men;
hence, the walruses will keep our memories
after Amarok’s ship sinks in the sea.
Ananyaq, the Eskimo grandfather, used to say:
The speech of men is the tip of the iceberg.
And he also used to say:
Water is the home of Inuit,
the place where both children and histories sleep.
Ananyaq, the Eskimo grandfather,
used to remain silent.
Goat Girl
In Me are all existences contained
(The Bhagavad Gita, IX, 4)
You, Goat Girl,
nameless princess,
white fur wandering
through the forest’s silences,
through the ruins of light,
come bring the prodigious horns,
the sharpened diamonds
that wounded the yellow
lungs of the beast
into my sight—into
the garden of sleeping bats.
Goat Girl,
child of my own mist,
mother of all the stars and foe of the unicorn,
give back its animal breath
to my body.
Jungle Elders
Stand in the assembly of the elders
(Sirach, VI, 34)
I
Waiting for the primeval sound
the vaginas of silence dilate
when the jungle elders, crowned
by macaw-serpents, whistle.
Can you hear the planets shaking,
the ruminating stomachs of the ellipse?
If you can, then you are Bird,
ethereal son of the celestial quantum.
Your name: Ayahuasca.
Your source: Ayahuasca.

II
Waiting for the flower while celebrating
liturgies, the pupils of mystery dilate
when the jungle elders, crowned
by anaconda-jaguars, whistle.
Can you see the insects travelling,
the vibrant fireflies of morning’s dawn?
If you can, then you are Tiger,
ethereal son of the celestial quantum.
Your name: Ayahuasca.
Your source: Ayahuasca.