Posted: 10 December 2011 in FADIL OKTAY
Tags: , , , , ,

the chances are that she was tired of us
oftentimes she came by dying a heaven
imams started to pray whenever I touched
and vergers hung eagerly on the rope of bells
while she hid our orphan souls in her embrace
every morning I let her go helplessly
as I was granting the sun for a patriarch

hopefully grown among the old stones
a fig leave smiling wittingly was she
her hands were diligent like far eastern girls
she heaped the bed joyfully in high spirits
just like all those green ivies loving its soil
if I was seen far away, she’d even forget her name
her silence went mad with shrieks and screams

how much ever green grass she’d on her body
always she would cuddle me with all of them
searching for words of bird beaks for poetry
she deemed a red pencil as a lipstick usually
and she wore the freshest scent of jasmines
while a bull as lothario as El Cordobes
looting the shelter in her angelic dreams.


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