A HAIKU

the voice of silence
rustles in the night’s quiet
rivers always flow

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 11.7.2019

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dispensable

dispensable

a futile experiment
unintended . . .

vanity snickered
as none noticed

gone

as
if
never
having
taken
a
breath

dispensable

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 10.31.2019

 

 

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“life on fire”

life keeps burning into Earth’s core
gold-plated pen on imported paper . . .
insane politicians, disguised as humans
don their games of ultimate absurdity
against the wildest definition of sanity
each de-constructs, destroys and destructs
until their own brains shrink day by day
alongside ours, which we have obviously sent
onto lost grounds somewhere else to play

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, August 21, 2019

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“hypocrisy”

those who say they speak for humanity

dress up in the darkest brand of nationality

including my own state of being torn

what an extent to hypocrisy!

rapidly, we become historians

though we are the mere custodians

of our own preferred schools of thought

long ago, innocence had been lost

no matter who now claims to have it

only a blurry line remains

atop the muddled bloody stains

in the name of humanitarianism . . .

what a glamorous facade!

why not call it what it is?

selective nationalism!

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, October 13, 2019

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A HAIKU

utter destruction
many sleepers take a side
the heart must decide

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, October 12, 2019

 

 

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“Cezve”

Bir cezve
Biraz kahve ve su
Bir kare çikolata
Şeker yerine

Birkaç yudum akabinde
Eser kalmaz o tattan

Anılar oysa ki öyle mi . . .
Her bir fincanda yüzlercesi

(c) hülya n. yılmaz, 16 Ağustos, 2019

 

Cezve.240_F_277398128_yJoUcOUhQWIE2LPxSa2T3HgmzQQOfLuT

[Free online image]

 

One cezve*
A bit of coffee and water
One piece of chocolate
A sugar substitute

The taste? Gone!
After a few sips

As for the memories . . .
Hundreds, in one single cup

English translation: (c) hülya n. yılmaz, October 5, 2019

*Turkish coffee pot

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“The Igbu Landing

The Igbu Landing

Denial came as it still tends to do.
“It’s only a legend”, shouted the well-to-do.
In his time or now, he was no legend however,
Roswell King, the white overseer.
His ink had mastered a horrifying account;
Not far away, but from a plantation nearby.
Pierce Butler was the name of the God-forsaken place
Where the white overseer once again put history to shame.
Those died in mass suicide were given not one single name.

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 15, 2019

This poem has been published by Inner Child Press International in the April 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI.

* An excerpt from the source, Igbo Landing Mass Suicide: “While many historians for centuries have cast doubt on the Igbo Landing mass suicide, suggesting that the entire incident was more legend than fact, the accounts Roswell King and others provided at the time were verified by post-1980 research which used modern scientific techniques to reconstruct the episode and confirm the factual basis of the longstanding oral accounts.

In September 2002, the St. Simons African American community organized a two-day commemoration with events related to Igbo history and a procession to the site of the mass suicide. Seventy-five attendees came from different states across the United States, as well Nigeria, Brazil, and Haiti. The attendees designated the site as a holy ground and called for the souls to be permanently at rest. The Igbo Landing is now part of the curriculum for coastal Georgia schools.”

 

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