“Internationalism”

Internationalism

What a concept for our times!

After all, not perilous are all -isms.

Internationalism . . .
a passionate dedication to world peace . . .
hence, the key to the betterment of humanity.

I dream of the day
when, across the board,
our curricula dons finally
a sweeping devotion to humanism,
an unconditional inclusion-ism.

A dream, not impossible to make true . . .

If only
each of us
were to aspire
to inhale and exhale
as the likes of Henry La Fontaine!

*One of my three poems that appeared in the February 2020 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly international anthology, published by Inner Child Press International.

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An Enemy of War

I Too Am an Enemy of War

Love left another note on my nightstand.
This time, dance steps donned the paper.

The god of war had met the end of its life.
“Suicide” was the cause of his much-awaited demise.

The autopsy report did not mince words.
Laughter and joy set the tables at the wake.

© hülya n. yılmaz, February 10, 2020

*One of my three poems that appeared in the March 2020 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly international anthology, published by Inner Child Press International.

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“Mazinin Kalbi Hala Atıyor”

Mazinin Kalbi Hala Atıyor

Ah benim iç acılarım!
Ah benim bir sürü yüreği sızlatan adımlarım!
Neden bu kadar gecikmeli geldiniz kapıma?
Nasıl oldu da bunca zaman
yoklamadınız beni, girerek vicdanıma?

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 24 Ekim 2019

 

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Atop Snowy Peaks

the urge to breathe uninhibitedly
grows by the minute
to soar over lands, seen and unseen
to embrace loved ones, known and unknown
to dive into streams, rough and gentle
to view the sky from under choppy waves
to build dreams on fine and coarse sands

leaving footprints
atop snowy peaks

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 2.16.2020

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“At the Shore”

the mist of the Mediterranean Sea on my face
surrounds me with my loved ones’ embrace
a childhood spent carefree
early youth and young adulthood?
what a bliss!
all my life stages there
are brightly lit in my memory
with nothing left for me to desire
for fulfilled am i to an ultimate degree

on this day, i keep looking back
at each of those moments, i am taken aback
for the beauties i breathe in vividly prevail
and eagerly, i forge ahead to inhale

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 2.10.2020

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“torn”

a mother’s and a grandmother’s love on one hand,
romantic love on the other . . .
uncertain is my remaining time
just like every breathing soul
nevertheless, i am nearby yet far away
yearning for them day by day

neglecting my little family
i am not whole, for i am not wholly there
neglecting my beloved
i am not whole, for i am not wholly there

torn in-between

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 2.4.2020

 

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Haunted, an Old Poem

haunted

a life-like statue called my name
a human blue-print of metal
stones filling its insides

for the artist, that was “grief”

depicting a haunted soul
one that grieves over the ongoing wrongs,
those of the past, those yet to come,
the disconnection or death of loved ones
and their accumulated sorrow

relief
escapes me these days
sleep is no longer peaceful
fatigue persists, pays repeated visits
dragging my psyche into a well of quicksand
the more i try to stay afloat
the deeper is my dive
when least expected,
the fall hits me with a vengeance
overwhelming me with all that i am
i then delve into a state of numbness and grieve
over memories that won’t shut up,
over worries that shout out even louder,
over my body’s one-track-minded limitations,
over my incapacitating self-analyses,
over my faint heart’s unending empathy

in vain, i then desperately seek relief
while being haunted by grief

© hülya n. yılmaz, 8.24.2019

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