Tag: poem

Cohiba Maduro 5 Genios paired with Lagavulin 16

Have a Cigar: Cohiba Maduro 5 Genios

Chris Khatsch1 Comment

Name: Cohiba Maduro 5 Genios

Country: Cuba

Shape: Parejo

Size: Robusto Extra (5 1/2 inches x 52)

Strength: Medium to Full

When you can celebrate,
celebrate.

What can I say?

This life is for rent.
It will be over
sooner than you’d like.
So don’t waste it on stupid things,
and don’t work too hard.
You cannot buy eternity
no matter how rich you are.

I’m not sure what it cost us
to be born.
But we must have paid a high price
to rent our lives.
So make the best of it.
Time isn’t cheap. And
if you can celebrate,
celebrate.

What more can I say?

When your time is up, it is up.
You just drop.
You won’t get that five more minutes to say
I love you or goodbye.

That’s what I learned from dad.
I was at work when I got the call.
It was already
game over. Adios.
Bye-bye, daddio.

What can I say?

I miss the man.
We could have had more beers together.
We could have talked more,
hugged more,
celebrated more.

But he’s gone now.
So, game over. Adios.

You never get to say goodbye.

Never mind.
Never mind.

When you can celebrate,
celebrate.
Don’t wait for occasions.
Don’t try to make things perfect,
it’s a waste of time.

A good smoke, a good drink,
and a few good memories
are all you need.

Yeah, I have many good memories
and tonight I celebrate with them.

Cheers, dad.

Have a Cigar: Casa Turrent Serie 1901 Robusto

Chris Khatsch5 Comments

Name: Casa Turrent Serie 1901 Robusto

Country: Mexico

Shape: Parejo

Size: (5 1/4 inches x 50)

Strength: Medium to Full

I could smell
the leather armchair of a philosopher
misplaced and forgotten in a chocolate factory.

I could taste
the sweetened pain of a man biting on a leather belt
in a torture chamber.

Where does the sadism come from?

I could taste earth, wood, and chickpeas
dissolved in coffee —
muddy, Arabic coffee.

I was smoking a cigar
and nursing a twelve-year-old whisky.

“This is a good cigar,” I said to my wife
who was busy witnessing the synthesis of
people, music, and alcohol
in a failed state.

The music was loud,
the lights were dim,
the people were
cocktail-drinking, popcorn-eating zombies
wasting their lives.

Or… Were they trapped in this city
and the best they could do was
party?

And was I not like them? There,
burning valuable time.
Waiting, maybe, for something.

I was there smoking
time
like I could smoke eternity
without ever feeling bored.

I was there blurring reality
with smoke.


“Repentance” by Bedros Tourian

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Bedros Tourian (1851-1872) was an Armenian poet and playwright. This is my translation of “Repentance” from Armenian to English. It was written in 1871, a short time before his death.

Repentance

The end of a day
Yesterday when in cold sweats
I was taking a somber nap,
And two faded roses
Were burning on my cheeks,
Undoubtedly a deathlike pallor
Was glimmering on my forehead
And I experienced a moment of death,
I heard my mother’s sob…
I opened my drowsy eyes,
I saw my mother’s tears…
Oh, true compassion
Pearls false and fake…
My mother had a bottomless pain,
I was that pain…
Ah, a storm formed in my head…
I let this dark torrent out…
Oh, forgive me, my God,
I saw my mother’s tears…