I would suit very well to lean on your misty shoulder my hair would be windblown by the breeze of your chest I would have stood so slim in your crowd for the sake of a virgin prettiness I would start from the essence to walk towards desertedness its hand would have shaped
the story of a wider time frame Read More »
we are the two shanty houses facing the day side by side I am the pink painted and single-floor house you are the dark yellow and two-story one I am worn-out now and my windows look tired while you are filled with curiosity and love if you fall over so would I since I lean
border-transgressing Read More »
in the summer days you used to wake up from the women you kissed the faces of those women used to pass through their poems like a bride each of them used to have a look as if they made love and just died at their routes, at the evenings you collected departure by force
right after the travels Read More »
Had my mother been here, autumn would not have dared to enter this land For had she drawn the sword of her heart, even autumn would have recoiled It happened because she was not here: Autumn… and my mother, to say so is the truth She would not have allowed it, and she would have
AUTUMN AND MY MOTHER Read More »
I was making my way through the days, beads of sweat on my brow Walking toward you, yet remaining on the sidelines There was a distance within this closeness, one I couldn’t name If I reached out, I was a hair’s breadth away from touching “You were the amusement park, and I was the child
It would have been nice being by a sea side, Competing with seagulls, Smelling the seaweeds, And collecting the mussel shells… Waiving at the ships passing from a distance, Then lying down on the sand, It would have been nice to sing a folk song, About loving, And longing… It would have been
It Would Have Been Nice to Love Again Read More »
Different subjects of different Gods Mystic wayfarers of ancient times As they were going round the blessed rite’s circle They were dropping their sins onto the fire giving birth from their ashes It has not been a human that they walked over yet Selves used to be burnt in the arms of the flames
THE SUBJECTS OF DIFFERENT GODS Read More »
My dad was a master of stone He used to take to pieces of those huge rocks His sledgehammer weighing twelve kilos. He used to recognize very well the variety and the veining. He used to sculpt and shape. Cornerstone, the big stair stone, gravestone, Housetop roller stone… Without complaining about hot or cold weather
The earth is on holiday today Heavens are in charge Snow descends restively The park is entrusted to the birds The trees feel cold but delighted Snowman is bewildered His nose is being picked apart by children Who have reddish smile. Children are joy of present, question marks of future Should I drop
I AM IN THE MOMENT Read More »
Romance did not try to find the cure for loneliness A child went to sleep without listening to the story A book told about its dream ceaselessly A vegetable gave away its taste without trouble The tea brew itself pretty slowly The late comer apologized accepting the blame… The waiting one forgave immediately Romance was
