This poem was born from the weight and mystery of the urban soul — that vast landscape where forgotten dreams, anonymous courage, and quiet heartbreak coexist. The city is not merely a place; it is a living body that carries echoes of beauty and ruin, tenderness and betrayal. I wrote this piece as an ode to those unseen heroes whose battles are silent, whose smiles are thin but luminous. In every corner, beneath the asphalt heat and the fading afternoon light, I felt their presence — not as myths, but as questions that burn with meaning.

— Gabriel Ganiarov


One might say that the city and its heroes
are like unknown lights
dim memories of memories
that fade away in their soft breaks

And the city is home to
monsters and deceitful maidens
good men
women of sweetened grace

true lovers of skirmishes

The city contains
unheard-of essences
black pools of misfortune
heavy wads of cash

it also harbors in its bowels
the dazzled cry of the poet
the cruelty of the abandoned
the strong caress of the beloved


The city and its heroes
plunge into every drop of light in its afternoons
one after another
their emaciated and smiling faces
like the questions that south of its sun
warm themselves immensely on asphalt...

Diríase de la ciudad y sus héroes
son como luces ignotas
foscos recuerdos de memorias
que se agotan en sus blandos quiebres

Y es que la ciudad alberga
monstruos y doncellas falaces
hombres buenos
mujeres de gracia edulcorada

verdaderos amantes de refriegas

La ciudad contiene
escencias inauditas
pozas negras de infortunios
pesados mazos de billetes

tambien alberga en su entraña
al grito deslumbrado del poeta
a la saña del abandonado
a la caricia fuerte del amado


La ciudad y sus héroes
se despeñan en cada gota de luz de sus tardes
se suceden una a una
sus caras demacradas y sonrientes
como las preguntas que al sur de su sol
se calientan inmensas en asfalto...

Si direbbe della città e dei suoi eroi
sono come luci sconosciute
ricordi oscuri di memorie
che si esauriscono nelle loro morbide fratture

E il fatto è che la città ospita
mostri e fanciulle fallaci
uomini buoni
donne dalla grazia addolcita

veri amanti delle risse

La città contiene
essenze inaudite
pozze nere di sventure
pesanti mazzi di banconote

ospita anche nelle sue viscere
il grido abbagliante del poeta
la crudeltà dell'abbandonato
la forte carezza dell'amato


La città e i suoi eroi
si precipitano in ogni goccia di luce dei suoi pomeriggi
si susseguono uno dopo l'altro
i loro volti emaciati e sorridenti
come le domande che a sud del suo sole
si riscaldano immense sull'asfalto...

On pourrait dire que la ville et ses héros
sont comme des lumières inconnues
des souvenirs sombres
qui s'épuisent dans leurs douces ruptures

Car la ville abrite
des monstres et des demoiselles fallacieuses
des hommes bons
des femmes à la grâce édulcorée

de véritables amateurs de querelles

La ville contient
des essences inconnues
des fosses noires de malheurs
de lourds liasses de billets

elle abrite aussi en son sein
le cri éblouissant du poète
la cruauté de l'abandonné
la caresse forte de l'aimé


La ville et ses héros
se précipitent dans chaque goutte de lumière de ses après-midis
ils se succèdent un à un
leurs visages émaciés et souriants
comme les questions qui, au sud de son soleil
se réchauffent immenses sur l'asphalte...


Gabriel Ganiarov
Copyrigth: 2025

One might say that the city and its hero

Gabriel Ganiarov
My work is born where language collapses and the tremor takes root. I write poems: I summon resonances. I am neither a producer nor a beatmaker: I am a poet who has learned to breathe with machines, to dance with code, to translate electricity into memory.

This sonic space I inhabit is the extension of my writing. Every song you hear here was conceived from the pulse of a poem—not one that aspires to formal perfection, but to the crack, the fold, the lingering echo of a soul that refuses to be silenced.

I call this gesture synaptic poetry: a lyrical architecture woven from unexpected connections—between word and algorithm, between emotion and machine, between exile and belonging. The melodies that accompany me here were designed with artificial intelligence, but it is my voice that activates them, my story that embodies them, my resistance that gives them meaning. There is no artifice without soul.

I am part of a displaced, fragmented generation—but not a silenced one. I come from the analog age and have evolved into the digital. That is why my aesthetic answers to what I call the Poetics of the Margin: not a lesser aesthetic, but an ethical stance. I write from the edges of the cultural map and from the fissures of the industry; I sing from the diaspora, not as a victim, but as a witness, as an exile of noise and a cartographer of whisper.

Here, on this profile, converge verses sung in more than one language, rhythms that have crossed sonic borders, and wounds that, when they dance, become bridges. Listening to these songs is opening the door to a lyrical continent where nostalgia merges with the digital pulse, and intimacy becomes expansive.

Welcome to this musical frontier where poems pulse and scars sing.
Here there is center, there is root.
Here there is homeland, there is voice.
Here, you can hear the rain falling—and also create from the beat, let the glitch run free, and endow poetry with binary code, in tune with the times we live in…

Poet,Author,Composer,Songwriter. Proudly born in Venezuela, living in Perú
kata ton daimona eiatoy
Follower of the Ligth

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