kılınç arslan the ruler of Alanya lost his crown and throne exiled from his country on him the conqueror’s broken jewelry komotoni granted as a livelihood though he lost his country in the land of finesse still claiming the master with his hands running to Egypt from his livelihood banner repaired the jewel
Sultan in the land of Finesse Read More »
Let us be quiet in front of a wall Let wild weeds encircle the stones Shall we be silent by a roadside? Roads shouldn’t be a door of foreign land to the heart Shall we hear our voices by being quiet? Why don’t we have the men returning from foreign land to their homeland?
A POEM FOR LETTING US BEING QUIET Read More »
to the fig piercing through a rock In between our hands and love stand mounds all the time for thanksgiving women letting go of its hold from a slope indeed it is the soil with no rain through one yard to another as you pass by like cranky horses women get through
OUR HANDS AND MOUNDS Read More »
Streets filled with, as the evening descends Destitution; a prolonged cigarette smoked Soaring sounds of pots and pans from homes Mud-brick faces smeared with dread Who stopped speaking in the mountains, and died A coy rain leaned forward its head Waiting for a just morning, a pinch of sun’s hue A people’s uprising, an
Black is the night, black the asphalt of this seasonal return to where it all began. In the trunk, the bare essentials that are of no use where you were born. The olive trees greet you at the roadside, the clothes you wore in former days, the toys of childhood, the voices of the neighborhood, and, if you are lucky, a mother,
Dorel Cosma The line gets longer. It presses on me the moment which restlessly accompanies me. I’m waiting in front of the booking office window. The smell of the trip distributes the infinite life in front of my eyes. I cannot be calm. Where will I go? I shall make up my mind when
(English translation by Pina Piccolo) A woodpecker pecks at the edges of the world, will it collapse? you ask me in a troubled tone. Blurred as we are by the fog infecting these woods, I confidently answer: No way! But the question keeps on echoing inside: Will it collapse? Will it collapse? All seems
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Mesut Şenol Coming to fruition in finding a place to settle in your soul The back gardens of your own paradise still cry for a deal Will the newcomers be patient with what they see in their dreams? Again, it’s not a huge enterprise to fool the hell’s guards Or else you might danger your
IF THE WINDS BLOW ON YOUR FACE Read More »
I eat grass. It grows on land scorched by shells. I swallow sand. I am like all those who died in line for flour. Flour and sand, grass and wheat so alike, yet so different. I cry from hunger, despair, helplessness. No one hears me, no one sees. I live in a city of the
She was told she was beautiful like a girl from a renaissance portrait, limp as a reed and weak as an ivy. She believed that she needed to find her prince mighty and oak-like, to writhe among the branches, follow the sun and sparkle in its golden rays. The storm has come. It shattered the
