Sensing organs
What
my heart would feel remains a mystery
or
what my ears may hear at dawn...
The
whistling of a locomotive, as it leaves the station,
travels
towards us and once again
we
tremble, smitten by love.
My
dog has died. Who will be guarding my home?
This
train I missed. When will a next one come?
And
what if love is scattered - how are we to piece it back together?
We
are such wells, brimming with water,
only
by song.
Stepping outside
It’s
cool and quiet
as
on a peaceful sea.
Darkness
is hanging out its purple cloak
on
poplars’ ends.
With
my scorched soles
I
feel the rocks, the grass
barely
showing and I head out –
no
roundabouts and no illusions –
towards
the butterfly sunset
in
my childhood.
Regret
I
finally wiped off my nails.
I
had them done with branches, on forest green.
You
did not get to see them and it makes me think
of
what you are going to wear today:
your
brother’s tee-shirt or the shirt I gave you?
Every
day seems lost to us…
We
build walls for ourselves, by heaping up fluttering wings,
to
keep out the beasts and the light.
This particular selection of poems was also published in Turkish, in a magazine called Virus. Thank you, Nazmi Agil for making it possible!
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